“Oh fuck,” Jackson said. “This is all we need.”

“I’m guessing it’s not exactly what he needed, either.”

I ducked under Jackson’s arm but didn’t immediately enter the room. Except for Rosen, the place was exactly as I’d left it—half cleaned up, with piles of paper sitting on the desks and most of the ransacked cabinets still open and empty of files.

Rosen himself was wearing different clothes from those he’d worn yesterday, but they didn’t look brand-new, so he’d probably gone home to change. What he’d intended to do after that—whether it was to go to work or back to the hotel—was something we’d now never know.

Just as we’d never know what additional information he might have told us.

There was a gaping wound across his neck, as well as cuts and bruising around his face and on his hands. He certainly hadn’t gone meekly to his death this time.

“Call PIT,” Jackson said. “I want to get a closer look at the body.”

“Why?” I pulled my phone out and hit Sam’s number again.

“Because he wasn’t killed here, and I think he’s clutching something in his left hand.”

I frowned and looked. Though it was barely visible through his clenched fingers, Rosen definitely held something small and white in his hand.

Sam’s message service came up, so I detailed what had happened, then followed Jackson. I stopped on the other side of Rosen’s body and shoved my hands into my pockets. This close, the wound on his neck looked anything but neat.

A shiver went through me, chased by horror. I’d seen wounds like this before. And, in the past, experienced one.

Rosen’s throat had been ripped open by a vampire rather than any sort of man-made weapon—and it hadn’t happened here. There would have been a massive spurt of blood after this sort of attack, and not even a vampire could have sucked away all evidence of it.

Jackson pulled gloves out of a nearby drawer. Then, once they were on, he squatted beside Rosen’s hand and carefully pried his fingers apart, revealing a small square of paper.

Jackson carefully unfolded it. His expression, as he read it, grew even grimmer.

“And the shit,” he said softly, “just hit the fan.”

I frowned. “Why? What does it say?”

He didn’t answer; he just offered me the note. I hastily put on some gloves, then accepted it.

It was both a street address and a warning. The street was in Brooklyn—right in the very heart of red-cloak territory, and a place I was already familiar with—which in itself was scary enough. But it was the warning that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my blood freeze.

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. This letter hadn’t come from the vampires. It had come from the figure I’d spotted in the forest—the gray-cowled man who controlled the red cloaks. The one who had said, “You will yet be mine.”

He was obviously intent on keeping his word.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “They know about Rory.” But, scarier still, he’d obviously witnessed how I’d saved Jackson and now knew that to infect us, all he had to do was stop us from attaining flame form.

“Yes.” Jackson’s tone was as grim as mine was fearful.

“But how? The only person I’ve told about Rory’s importance in my life is you—” I stopped, a sick feeling twisting my gut.

“PIT knows, don’t they?” Jackson guessed.

“Through Rory. He told Sam that he was a necessity in my life and that there could be no me if there was no him.”

“So either Sam is connected to the sindicati and the gray cloak, or PIT has a mole in its organization.”

“Sam may have changed over the years since our breakup, but he’s not sindicati. I’d bet my life on it.”

“And you just might be.”

“It’s not him.” I thrust to my feet. “I have to ring Rory.”

Jackson shoved the note into his pocket. “I’ll study the security tapes and see if there’s anything there. I dare say PIT will take them once they arrive.”

I nodded and walked back to the front door, studying the night as I dialed Rory’s number. The phone rang and rang, and my fear ramped up, until I could barely even breathe.

“Hello?” he said eventually, his voice groggy with sleep. “Em, what’s wrong?”

I released the breath I’d been holding in a huge whoosh. “Oh thank god, you’re okay.”

In the background, bedsheets rustled, and a soft voice murmured something I couldn’t quite catch. He replied just as softly and, after a moment, I heard footsteps, then the click of a door closing.

“What’s up?” His voice was tense, worried.

“Rosen’s been murdered, and whoever did it left a note threatening to make you a red cloak.” I paused, and swallowed. “It could only have come from the man I spotted in the forest. The man cloaked in gray.”

He swore. “Sam is the only person who knows how necessary we are to each other and, as much as the bastard might hate me, I can’t believe he’d betray you like that.”

“He wouldn’t, but PIT is a different matter. There’s obviously a mole in the organization.”

“It’s certainly the most logical explanation, though I doubt even Sam would have reported something like that.”

“Well, someone uncovered the information, so if not Sam or Jackson, then who?”

“I don’t know. It’s not information I’ve handed out, not even to Rosie.”

Rosie was a widow who worked at the fire station alongside Rory, and the two of them had struck up a “friends with benefits” relationship a few years ago.

“Regardless of how they got the information, you need to disappear. Take leave from work as of now—you’ve got plenty of it up your sleeve.”

He was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But I’m not leaving you and Jackson alone to handle this. If they want you, they’re going to have to come through me to get you.”

“Rory—”

“No,” he cut in, his tone sharp. “They’ve dragged me into this, Em, so let them pay the price. We hunt them, and we end this; they’ve given us little other choice.”

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. He was basically echoing what I’d said to Jackson not so long ago, but his intentions were far bloodier than mine had been.

And I had a bad feeling the price we would pay might be higher than either of us would wish.

But, as he’d said, what other choice did we now have?

“Fine,” I said. “We’re going to be stuck at the office until PIT gets here. Why don’t you head to the hotel we’re staying at and wait for us there?”

“Will do.”

“And, Rory? Be careful. Don’t go home.”

“I won’t. I have clothes here at Rosie’s, and neither Sam nor PIT should be aware of her presence in my life. We’ve kept our relationship quiet at the station, as they tend to frown on that sort of thing.”

I hoped he was right, but I feared he wasn’t. But I didn’t say anything, just hung up and walked over to the desk that held the security monitors. I leaned on Jackson’s shoulder and studied the black-and-white images being fast-forwarded. They showed nothing more than an unchanging landscape of mess and a firmly closed front door.

“Anything?” There obviously wasn’t, but there was always a chance I might have missed something when I was talking to Rory.

“Not yet.”

The unchanging officescape rolled on for several more minutes, until, at twelve forty-eight, the screen finally revealed a shot of the front door opening. Jackson immediately hit PLAY, and the tape rolled on at normal speed. Two figures walked into the room, both clad in black and wearing masks. A weird sense of déjà vu hit me as I watched them carefully search the ground floor. One moved upstairs but reappeared quickly enough; then he and the other man moved back to the door, opening it wider before standing to either side.

Two more black-clad figures came in, Rosen held between them with his throat ripped open. Given we’d spotted no bloodstains between the door and where the two men placed him, he’d obviously already been drained of blood. They placed Rosen’s body on the floor; then all four walked out.

“So the note was already in his hand when he was carried in,” I said.

“They’d know that we’d have to call in PIT, so they wouldn’t have wanted that caught on-screen.” He sped up the tape again. “We’d better erase all evidence of our finding it.”

“Which will only alert PIT that we’ve found something.”

“Yes, but better that than their stopping us from going to that meeting—or worse, turning up themselves.”

I bit my lip. “Actually, that may be the most logical course of action.”

“Logical maybe, but practical? Not so much.” He swung around to face me. “If PIT does have a leak in its organization, then whoever is behind that note—be it the gray cloak, a sindicati faction, or both—will be warned. And that’ll only mean the next time they hit us, it’ll be full force and without warning.”

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “I know, but—”

“You said it yourself earlier,” he cut in. “Our best option now is to bring the fight to them.”

“But I didn’t actually mean going to war with them!”

“I know, and maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe we can talk some common sense into these people.”

I snorted. “Yeah, talk sense into insane pseudo vamps and the man who controls them. Like that’s going to happen.”

“Whoever did this”—Jackson made a sharp motion toward Rosen’s body—“might not be the faction working with the crazies, in which case, we have a chance—”

“Stop the tape!” Even as I said it, I dove past him and hit the PAUSE button.

The tape froze on the image of a man walking into the room nine minutes after Rosen had been deposited in our office. Unlike those others, he wore neither black nor a mask, and he was also looking directly at the camera. He was tall, immaculately dressed, with gray hair and old-fashioned rimmed glasses perched precariously at the end of his long, somewhat regal nose.

And I knew him.

“Who is it?” Jackson asked.

“That,” I said softly, “just happens to be the elusive Professor Heaton.”

“The vamp who chased you at the Chase Foundation?”

“Yes.” And he obviously still wanted me, though for what I had no idea. But it was damn scary that he still seemed fixated on me.

“He obviously has no fear of being recognized.” Jackson hit the PLAY button. “He knew the camera was there, because the first thing he did when he walked in was look at it.”

“Which also means he has no fear of being traced.”

On the screen, Heaton walked across the room and squatted beside Rosen’s body. Like us, he retrieved a pair of gloves, then carefully plucked the note from Rosen’s hand, read it, and placed it back.

“So whoever he is, he knows about the meeting.” Jackson briefly froze the image and hit the PRINT button. A second later, the printer booted up.

“Which could be good or bad, depending on who he’s working for.” I walked across the room to collect the image printout.

“If you ask me, he doesn’t actually look the type to be working for anyone.”

No, he didn’t. And in the brief time I’d been in his presence, he’d certainly given off the vibe of a leader rather than a follower. “I wonder if Rawlings would be able to tell us who he is.”

“I’m sure he could, if the fee was right.”

I folded the photo and shoved it into my pocket. “Well, considering grabbing me only cost a grand, I can’t imagine selling info on the sindicati, or whoever Heaton is, would cost much more.”

“And in that, you might be wrong. If he tells us who that man is, he might well be placing himself in the firing line.”

“He seemed eager enough to sell out Morretti.”

“Morretti might not have been as powerful as this fellow.”

“According to Amanda’s notes, he was one of the four generals who ran the sindicati’s day-to-day operations. You can’t get much higher than that.”

“Unless, of course, we’re talking about the mysterious council that apparently rules them all.”

“I seriously doubt any of them would lower themselves to interview anyone, even if they did know the whereabouts of the missing research notes.”

“You might be right.” Jackson shrugged. “What’s Rory going to do?”

“Get involved.” I grimaced and rubbed the back of my neck. Instinct was screaming it was a bad idea, but there’d be no dissuading him now that his mind was made up. I’d learned very early on in our relationship that while he was slow to anger, once he was there, watch out. By sending us this note, the gray cloak had just pushed one button too many.

“That may not be a great idea. If the worst happens—”

“I’m well aware of the damn cost, Jackson,” I snapped. “And so is Rory. He just doesn’t fucking care in this particular case.”

Which wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair—not to Rory, and not to Jackson. I took a deep breath and waved a hand. “Sorry.”

He looked more amused than taken aback. “So the redhead does have a temper. Good to know.”

I smiled reluctantly. “You’ll be pleased to know she doesn’t fire up often.”

“Sad if true,” he drawled. “I found the flash of anger rather attractive.”

My smile grew. “Let’s be honest here—you’d find the flash of anything rather attractive.”

“Very true.”

The sound of sirens began to invade the silence. I took a deep breath that did little to calm the nerves or the tension riding me, then placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “I’ll go meet Sam. You erase.”

“I’ll need five minutes. Delay them if you can.”

“Another thing I doubt will happen. Just hurry.”

I stripped my gloves off and shoved them into my pockets as I walked across to the door. Dawn was beginning to break across the night sky, its pale pink fingers contrasting sharply against the star-sprinkled black. The air was crisp and rich with the promise of daylight and heat, and I hoped like hell that I’d live long enough to feel the wash of it through my lungs for many more years.

A black car appeared at the far end of the street, its tires squealing as the driver took the corner too fast. “PIT just turned up.”

“Just a few minutes more,” Jackson replied, “and we’re safe.”

The black car halted in front of our building; a second later, Sam and Adam climbed out.

“PIT has got other investigators,” I commented, crossing my arms. “So why do they keep sending you two out?”

Adam walked around to the trunk, but Sam came toward me, stopping on the step two below mine. The shadows in his eyes were even more disconcerting when we were basically eyeballing each other.

“Because I’m lead investigator on the ongoing red cloak and missing research investigation.”

“Are you also lead investigator on the Aswang problem? And do PIT expect their operatives to work twenty-four/seven?”

“No, I’m not, and yes, if necessary.” He practically growled the answer. “Now, kindly stop blocking the doorway and let us in.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossed mental fingers that Jackson had finished erasing files, and then stepped to one side, grandly waving him in. “Be my guest.”

He brushed past me. His body was oddly cool—almost as cool as Adam, who went by a minute later, carrying several bags.

I followed them in. Jackson was at the back at the room, making coffee, but his gaze immediately met mine and a slight smile touched his lips. Relief spun through me. As much as I wanted to involve PIT in tomorrow night’s meeting, Jackson was right. We couldn’t risk their being warned through whoever was leaking information.

“Would you gentlemen like a cup of coffee?” Jackson said, raising one of the two mugs he held.

“No, thanks.” Sam stopped close to Rosen’s body while Adam began setting up equipment. “Tell us what happened.”

I did so. He grunted and pulled on a set of gloves. “You haven’t touched or moved the body?”

“No.” I gave Jackson a smile of thanks as he handed me a mug of tea. “I really don’t understand why he was left here like this.”

Sam glanced up. His expression gave little away, but I had an odd feeling he didn’t believe that particular statement. “There was nothing left with the body? A warning of some kind?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was some sort of payback for rescuing his ass yesterday.”

“Highly doubtful,” Adam commented. He was setting up some sort of electronic equipment, but the brief gaze he cast our way was every bit as skeptical as the looks I was getting from Sam.

“Have you checked the security tapes?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “They come in at twelve forty-eight. It reveals them bringing Rosen’s body, but the system was shut down after that, so it’s not of much use.”

Sam continued to study the two of us. “Did you recognize any of them?”

“They were in black and wearing masks,” I said. “So no.”

Sam glanced at Adam. “Interesting.”

“Why?” I said.

A brief smile touched Sam’s lips, though it held little humor. “That is of no concern of yours.”

“Actually, it is.” Jackson motioned toward Rosen. “This was obviously meant to be a warning—and it’s one we need to understand.”

“If it’s a warning, then I daresay it’s to step away from your current investigations.” Adam pressed a button on the recorder he’d set up, then put on some gloves and squatted beside Rosen’s body. “Something you’d no doubt be forced into anyway now that the man who employed you is dead.”

“Rosen Pharmaceuticals is more than one man,” Jackson said. “And I have no doubt his heirs will want the research found just as much as Rosen himself did.”

Sam’s gaze sharpened. “Rosen believed there was still research missing?”

I hesitated. “He believed Wilson had backup, yes. But he had no idea where that might be.”

“And before you get all dark and threatening,” Jackson added, “we have no leads as to its location, if indeed it does exist. My initial brief was to uncover who stole his notes, not find the backup ones.”

Sam’s disbelief was clearly evident even if his expression continued to give little away. But at least in this particular instance, we were telling the truth. And maybe he sensed that, because, after a moment, he grunted and looked back down at Rosen.

“We’ll need to see those tapes.”

“Help yourself. The control panel is on the desk behind you, and there’s no password needed.”

“Meaning the security system in this place isn’t actually so secure?” Adam shook his head. “Not wise, given the current situation.”

“Up until the current situation, I didn’t need the system to be secure. And it’s not like private investigators find the body of their client splayed out in the middle of their office all too often.”

No one could miss the sarcasm in Jackson’s voice, but neither man reacted to it. There wasn’t even a flash of the deeper darkness in Sam’s eyes. Maybe the tiredness so evident in his face was forcing that into retreat as well.

“You might as well go,” Sam said. “We know where to contact you if we have further questions.”

Jackson gave me a sharp glance, and it didn’t take a genius to realize why. If Sam knew where we were, whoever was leaking the information from PIT probably did, too.

And I’d just sent Rory there. Fuck.

“Am I able to go upstairs and collect some things first?” Jackson’s hand slid over mine and squeezed lightly as he spoke.

It was meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension and fear that had ramped up another couple of notches. I needed to get out of here and call Rory. While I doubted the gray cloak or his allies would make a move on him before the meeting tomorrow night, it was better if we didn’t take chances from now on.

Sam’s gaze flickered briefly downward. He hadn’t missed Jackson’s reassurance attempt; what he thought of it was anyone’s guess. “Did the intruders go up there?”

“Yes, but only to double-check no one was home,” I said. “They weren’t up there long enough to do anything.”

“Then you can go up.”

Jackson squeezed my hand again, then put his coffee down and quickly headed upstairs. I finished my tea and waited. Sam and Adam continued their investigation, making comments as they went. If they suspected Rosen had been holding something, they made no mention of it.

But then, if they’d suspected that, I doubt they’d be letting us walk. Not without forcing us to hand it over.

Jackson reappeared, several large carryalls slung over his shoulder as he clattered down the metal steps and headed for the door. I pushed away from the desk and followed.

But just as we reached the door, Sam said, “If you two are withholding information, there will be hell to pay.”

I glanced over my shoulder and met his gaze evenly. “Everything we know about Rosen’s death, we’ve told you.”

“I wasn’t referring to Rosen’s death.”

“Then I can’t help you, because I have no idea what you think we might be withholding.” I motioned to the door. “Make sure the place is locked up when you’re finished.”

And with that, I left. Jackson popped our rental’s trunk open, threw the two carryalls in, then slammed it shut again. I climbed into the passenger side and pulled my phone out of my purse again.

“You’d better ring Rory,” he said, climbing in without actually looking at me.

“One step ahead.” I flashed the phone his way. “Only trouble is, I need a location to give him.”

Jackson sucked in a breath. “I have plenty of people who’d willingly give us beds, but I don’t want to drag them into this sort of situation. It’s too much of a risk.”

That it was. “We’re going to have to presume PIT knows what alias you’re using by now, and that means everyone else just might, too. It makes using hotels a somewhat precarious proposition.”

He pulled out of the parking space, the rear tires squealing. “I’ll stop at the nearest ATM and grab some cash. From now on in, that’s probably our best option; it’s far harder to trace.”

“Agreed, but how many hotels take cash and ask no questions these days?”

“There are a few.” The glance he gave me was one of distaste. “But some of them are far from great places to be.”

“Trust me, they couldn’t be any worse than some of the places I’ve stayed at over the centuries.” I hesitated, frowning. “And wouldn’t the sindicati expect us to go to a dive in a seedy part of town? It might be better to do the opposite.”

A smile touched his lips and momentarily lifted the concern. “It might, except that most upmarket hotels want photo ID if the customer is paying by cash.”

I swore softly. “Where, then?”

“Let’s try the Journey Man in Collingwood. It’s a backpackers’ hostel, but it also has several longer-term, self-catering rentals out the back.”

“We can pay cash, no questions asked?”

He nodded. “I used it once in an undercover op. As I said, it’s pretty basic, but the bedding is clean even if the shower is not.”

“One out of two isn’t bad.”

I dialed Rory’s number. He answered almost immediately. “What’s up?”

In the background, I could hear people talking as well as someone announcing the arrival of a train. I quickly told him what had happened, and then asked him to meet us at the Journey Man instead.

“I’m currently at Flinders Street, so I’ll just change platforms and meet you there.”

“I’ll text the room number when we have it.”

“No prob.”

He hung up. I shoved my phone away, then said, “What did you have in those bags beside clothes? There was a decidedly large clunk as you put them down.”

He grinned. “I had to go rescue a few of my toys, just in case PIT uncovered them.”

I gave him a long look. “You have a stash of guns in your office as well as in your car?”

“Of course. You never know when you’re going to find yourself in need of one.”

“But haven’t Fae got an aversion to too much metal?”

“Only cold-forged iron. Anything else doesn’t count, including guns, which are generally made from a mix of alloys and steel.” He flashed me another grin. “But in this case, some of them are plastic.”

That raised my eyebrows. “Plastic?”

“The latest in weapon hardware. These, however, are more of the water variety.”

I blinked. “I don’t suppose they come loaded with holy water?”

“Well, no, because that would just leak out over time and be wasteful. Holy water is very expensive to source and buy, let me tell you.”

“And here I was thinking holy water was simply fresh still water consecrated by a priest.”

“It is, but they do tend to frown on its being used for anything other than religious purposes. Hence its becoming a black market item—especially since vampires and werewolves came out in the open.” He swung to the left side of the road and halted in front of an ATM. “Won’t be a moment.”

He jumped out and raced over to the machine. Within minutes, he was back in the car, with a large amount of cash, and we were moving on.

It didn’t take us that long to drive over to Collingwood. The Journey Man was actually a two-story pub on Johnston Street. Its exterior was basic—the concrete walls were an odd green-gray color, and the ground-floor windows had been painted black. Though they were large, each one was made up of at least twelve smaller panes, many of which had obviously been broken over the years and replaced by different-colored glass. The upper floor had smaller sash windows in serious need of repainting. Several were open, allowing the curtains to spill out; tattered red and green flags fluttered limply in the breeze. The place looked shabby and cheap—exactly what Jackson had said it was.

He swung onto Harmsworth Street and found a parking spot about halfway down. “I’ll go organize a room. Stay here.”

He didn’t wait for an answer; he just jumped out and headed in. I scanned the area, seeing little in the way of life across the mix of light industrial buildings and newer housing developments that filled the street. But then, dawn was still busy coloring the night sky; only the very eager would be up this early on a weekend.

Jackson reappeared a few minutes later and opened my door. “We have a back apartment on a week-by-week basis, cash up front, no questions asked.”

I climbed out and gave the building a dubious glance. “I’m hoping we’re not going to be here for a week, let alone more than that.”

“Well, so am I, but better safe than sorry.” He handed me the two bags from the trunk and a set of keys. “It’s 1B, first on the right just through that gateway.”

The gate he motioned toward was as battered and in desperate need of painting as the rest of the place. “Where are you going?”

“To dump the car elsewhere.”

“That’s going to make getting around awfully difficult.”

His grin flashed over the top of the vehicle. “I’ve arranged another.”

“Don’t tell me—the hostel’s owner has one available on a cash basis and no questions asked.”

“Well, he’s the manager rather than the owner, but otherwise, yes. And at least we won’t run the risk of it being recognized.”

The vehicle might not be, but we undoubtedly would. But all I said was, “Be careful.”

“You, too.” He jumped in the car and headed off. I hefted the bags over my shoulder and went through the decrepit-looking gate. Our apartment—though that was altogether too grand a name for something that looked to be little bigger than a shoe box—was squeezed into a small rear courtyard that contained several other tiny buildings. It was two-story, with two windows on either side of the door and three on the top level. Fly screens that had definitely seen better days covered all the windows, and there was also a security door that looked to have been kicked in more than once, if the dents and bent metal in its middle section were anything to go by.

I unlocked the screen door, then the main door, and somewhat warily entered. It was little more than one room that contained a small kitchen and living area, but the furniture was functional and tidy, and the air smelled fresh and clean. I headed up the stairs at the back of the room. The next level had a bathroom and a bedroom containing two double bunk beds. But again, it was clean and functional, even if the walls were in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.

I dumped the bags on one of the bunks, then got out my phone and sent Rory the room number. Be there in ten, he sent back.

I headed back downstairs, found the kettle and a surprisingly good supply of coffee and tea bags, and made myself a cup. Eight minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. I put my mug down and walked across to check the peephole. Rory smiled back at me.

“You’re looking decidedly chipper for someone who just received a death threat,” I said as I opened the door.

“I found pizza.” He held up several boxes. “And it’s not like we’ve never received death threats before.”

I locked the door and followed him across to the small table. “But this is decidedly different from those others, because he’s not actually threatening to kill you. And I have no desire to uncover what becoming one of them would do to us both.”

“Nor do I.” He put the pizza on the table, then caught my hand and drew me into his embrace. “It’ll be okay, Em. We’ll figure something out.”

I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against his chest, enjoying the momentary sanctuary of his arms. “It’s just that I have this really bad feeling it’s all going to go to hell.”

“Which you’ve had before, and often nothing has come of it.” He kissed the top of my head, then pulled back. “Where is the third member of our hunting party?”

“Out hiding the rental car.”

“Ah. Good idea.” He flipped open the pizza boxes, revealing Hawaiian and barbecued chicken—my two favorites. “But if he doesn’t hurry, he’s going to miss out.”

I snorted softly and helped myself to a slice of the chicken. Though it was early in the morning, I was famished. The furnace may have fueled my soul, but the flesh needed sustenance as well.

Jackson returned fifteen minutes later. He sniffed the air as I unlocked the door and let him in, and he said, “Pizza. The breakfast of champions.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Rory stated. “And there’s even some left.”

“Excellent.” He grabbed a slice of the Hawaiian and sat down. “The car’s stashed over near Melbourne Uni. We’ll retrieve it once all this is over.”

If any of us are still alive when it’s all over, I wanted to say. I headed over to the kitchen to make another round of coffee and tea instead.

Jackson’s gaze followed me, making me wonder if he’d caught that particular thought. “And I bought this.”

He retrieved something from his pocket and placed it on the table. It was a map of Greater Melbourne.

“Why not just use the phones?” I picked up the three mugs and headed back to the table. “Google’s street view will be a whole lot more useful when it comes to showing us the layout and streetscape.”

“Yes, but it’s easier to plot our moves with something much larger.” Rory shifted the pizza boxes and unfolded the map.

The part of Brooklyn that the red cloaks had apparently taken over was sandwiched between the West Gate Freeway and Geelong Road, with Millers Road and Grieve Parade being the other boundaries. Or, at least, they were the roads that signified the no-go section.

“Here’s where I’m supposed to meet them.” I pointed to the area on the map. “It also happens to be the same area where I rescued Sam.”

Both men glanced up sharply. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, I don’t think it is.” I wrapped both hands around my mug in an effort to warm them, but it didn’t do much to ease the chill running through me. “The gray-cloaked stranger seems to hold a whole lot of hatred for Sam.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair. “But why go from attempting to kill him to attempting to kill you?”

“Maybe he’s aware of Em’s past relationship with Sam. Maybe he presumes killing her will affect Sam more than his own death.”

“Dying is a pretty permanent result,” Jackson noted drily. “It’d certainly affect anyone at the wrong end of it.”

A smile twisted Rory’s lips. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. But why would this gray cloak think Sam still harbors feelings after five years?”

“He can’t. He’s probably just presuming.” I took a sip of tea.

Rory didn’t look convinced. “That doesn’t explain the whole ‘He will not get you’ statement.”

“No.” Jackson’s gaze met mine as he grabbed another slice of pizza. “Maybe that’s something you need to ask this person tomorrow night.”

“I’m not asking him anything. I’m going to cinder his ass to hell and back, and make the world a safer place.”

“If he was in the forest, he’s aware of your capabilities,” Rory said. “I doubt he’ll expose himself to such a risk.”

“Which doesn’t negate the fact that he will be ash if I’m given the slightest chance.”

Rory grinned at me. “I do so love it when you get fired up.”

I made a face at him. “So, what’s the plan?”

Jackson glanced at Rory. “Do you know how to use a long-distance rifle?”

“It’s been a while, and the technology has undoubtedly changed, but I should be able to get the hang of it quickly enough.”

“Then the plan is, we head to a distant rooftop and shoot the fuckers Em doesn’t burn.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Emberly?” Jackson glanced at me, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll be in the street confronting them. As long as you’ve got my back and you don’t get hurt, I’m happy.” I contemplated the map for a minute, trying to remember the street and the buildings around it and how many hiding spaces there were—for me as much as them. “Getting in is going to be the problem. Both of you are somewhat recognizable, even from a distance.”

“Which is why we will be wearing disguises. The gray cloak may have his troops out on watch, but from what I’ve seen of them, they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed.”

They didn’t have to be. Not if theories were true, and they were working on some sort of hive mentality. The gray cloak would know what they knew, see what they saw.

“Besides,” Rory added, “it would probably be better if we went in before dusk. The red cloaks may be active and on watch, but I doubt they’ll be expecting anyone to enter that place before night settles in.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Neither would I,” Jackson agreed. “But they haven’t got infinite resources yet—not if what Sam has said about the number of infections is true. They can’t watch every street in and out of that place; not without leaving the meeting point short.”

It did make sense that they’d put most of their effort into ensuring I couldn’t escape the meet zone. The gray cloak had witnessed what I was capable of in the forest, and he knew that when it came to close-up fighting, it was going to take numbers to outlast me.

But that also meant he’d know long-range options might need to be employed as well.

“Which is a possibility we’ll need to be aware of once we’re up there,” Jackson said.

Rory glanced at the two of us, frowning slightly. “I get the feeling I just missed part of the conversation.”

“You did.” I briefly explained what had happened in the forest after Jackson had been wounded by the red cloaks, and the subsequent effects that were now beginning to appear.

“Wow,” Rory said. “That was one hell of a risk you both took.”

“Yes, but the worst thing that could have happened was me being consumed by Em’s fire.” Jackson shrugged. “I’d rather death than life as a red cloak.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Rory contemplated us for a second. “It’ll be interesting to see how deep the connection goes, and what it means physiology-wise.”

I blinked. “My physiology hasn’t changed. You’d know it if it had.”

“Yours hasn’t, but Jackson’s has. He became, however briefly, a being of fire. He wasn’t full spirit, but he was no longer just flesh. There will be greater changes, even if they’re not evident just yet.”

Jackson scraped a hand across his jaw. It sounded like sandpaper being rubbed across a rough surface. “I’m already able to bring fire to life without a source being near. What else could there be?”

“That is the million-dollar question.” Rory didn’t look overly concerned, but then, it could take months—even years—for the full consequences to be known. “But if threads of our fire have been left in your being by the merging, then it is also possible you will have gained the drawbacks. Our fire comes from our being—our very soul—and we can be drained to the point of death if we are unwary.”

“As can a fire Fae who is remiss in keeping close to his element.” Jackson held up a hand, halting Rory before he could actually say anything. “I know, and I’ll be careful. But until we know the full result of the merging, conjecture is pointless.” He tapped the map gently. “For now, let’s just worry about getting through tonight.”

Which was a goal I could totally get behind. “It might be better if you reveal your presence tonight only if absolutely necessary. Let me take out whatever cloaks I can with fire—including the gray cloak if he’s there—”

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Jackson said, his tone grim. “He hasn’t missed any of the fun so far, and I doubt he’ll miss this when it’s on his home turf.”

“Agreed, but for safety’s sake, it’s better if you’re backup rather than a first assault. Besides, I doubt the bastard will make an appearance until the odds are stacked in his favor anyway.”

“All of which makes sense,” Rory commented. “But the minute I even sense you’re in trouble, we start firing.” He glanced at Jackson, who nodded in agreement.

“Which is perfectly fine by me.” And I hoped that by that point the cloaks would be too busy trying to subdue me to send anyone looking for them.

Rory pulled out his phone and brought up Google street view. Jackson leaned forward, and the two of them began plotting and arguing about which building rooftops provided the perfect mix of cover and line of sight.

I leaned back and left them to it. I had no doubt that this meeting was nothing more than a trap, and that meant I really had only one task.

To stay alive.