Lost Innocents

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Lost Innocents By Sonnet O’Dell

Eternal Press A division of Damnation Books, LLC. P.O. Box 3931 Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998 www.eternalpress.biz

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Lost Innocents by Sonnet O’Dell Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-159-7 Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-160-3 Cover art by: Dawné Dominique Edited by: Stephanie Parent Copyedited by: Rose Vera Stepney Production and Layout by: Ally Robertson Copyright 2010 Sonnet O’Dell Printed in the United States of America Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights 1st North American and UK Print Rights All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced , scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Dedicated to: all the people who wrote, emailed, phoned and stopped me in the street to demand a second book. This is for all of you. Thank you for your kind words and support. Acknowledgements: I would like to thank my parents. For giving birth to me, raising me and storing up charming stories with which to embarrass me at a later date. I love you both very much. Chapter One It was a month before Christmas and all through the park, ran Magnus and myself, having a lark. I kept running, laughing into my mobile phone, trying to tell Incarra I’d call her back later. She’d taken to checking up on me a lot since my tiny spat in the hospital. I’d been admitted after collapsing from blood loss due to a wound on my neck. Convincing doctors I’d fallen and just caught my neck on the way down had been easy, but Incarra was a different story. She was positive it wasn’t the truth—and she was right, it wasn’t. The truth was I’d been bitten by a vampire, but she wouldn’t have believed that either. It would also have opened up a huge Pandora’s box about alternate realities and my very strange existence. Rain poured down, sharp and cold; I was getting soaked, and for some reason it was incredibly funny. Magnus was charging along behind me, desperately trying to shove things back into a picnic basket. Magnus is half elf—he’s thirty-one years my senior but looks twenty-five, due to aging at half the human rate—and we’re seeing each other on a semi-regular basis.

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Tonight’s date had started off so well. We’d walked along the river, watched the swans croon from the bridge before heading into Cripplegate Park. There, hidden under a hydrangea, had been a basket brimming with delights. Magnus could cook. I mean really cook, not just prepare stuff from packets like me. After a month of dating, he’d yet to disappoint in any way, not just culinary. He was a real gentleman’s gentleman. I smiled back at him, thrusting my mobile back into my pocket. I’d finally convinced my best friend that I was good. That I was fine and in fact having fun. For some reason, best friends are harder to convince of things than anyone else in the history of the world so far. We ran, ducking under the occasional tree till I spotted a small hut, probably where they kept stuff for the bowling green. “Over that way,” I shouted over the pounding rain. We both rushed to get under the small jut of the roof. It provided precious little cover unless you pressed yourself extremely flat against the wood. Covering my hand with my sleeve, I rubbed a patch clear on the small window; it was dark inside. I grabbed the door handle; it rattled but didn’t turn. “It’s locked!” I exclaimed as if I should have been surprised. “No problem.” I placed my hand over the lock but paused as Magnus’s fingers wrapped around my wrist. “I don’t think you should do that,” he said cautiously. I looked at him, watching a single raindrop slide through his fine blond hair, dripping onto the tiniest patch of his skin that was not already sodden. He shivered. “We can stay out here if you’d really prefer?” I said in that tone that told him he was being silly. I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d said yes, but he shook his head and released my wrist. I placed my hand firmly back over the lock and used my magic to force the lock open. Three years ago I didn’t know I could do magic or that my mother had escaped from a parallel world to ours, where magic was real. When she passed away, the protection her life afforded me broke, and now from sundown to sunup I am drawn into that other world. A world of magic, myths and monsters. The handle turned and the door swung slowly inwards with a loud creak. We scurried inside, away from the wet, away from the cold and let the door slam behind us. I stumbled in the dark, stroking the wall tentatively in search of a light switch. I took an uneasy step forward and stood on something that wailed unexpectedly. I spun, trying to see what I’d done, banged straight into Magnus and ended up a disheveled heap on the floor. The light came on, and Magnus looked down at me. “Are you all right?” he asked, biting his lip to try and keep a laugh in. I looked up at him from under my hair and grumbled. “I’m not getting up, for at least a month, ouch.” I wasn’t as hurt as I was embarrassed, even though my side had caught the sharp edge of the table on the way down. I pulled up to my knees slowly. “Oh look,” I said, spotting a small gas heater, “warmth.” I shuffled over to it, flicking the on button. It didn’t so much roar to life as sputter. Two bars at first and after much hitting, it managed three. I looked at Magnus with a big smile, hopeful of some praise and maybe a cookie. “Well, it’s not exactly a roaring log fire,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s diluted romance, redneck romance—work with me here.”

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Magnus smiled, lying down next to me and wrapping our picnic blanket, which was remarkably drier than we were, around us. “So,” he said after a few minutes of silence, “up until the rain, how was it going? Was it going okay?” “Up until the rain,” I said, turning to look at him, “it was perfect.” “But—” he continued my sentence, looking down at me. “Aren’t picnics more of a summertime sort of thing?” “Well, I didn’t know it was going to rain,” he said, starting to get a little defensive. “It’d been a beautiful day, but you insist we can only see each other at night…” He trailed off as I began a hard stare back. “I didn’t say only at night, just that it was more convenient, and you,” I poked him in the chest, “work during the day, so don’t come it with...” Realizing his mistake, he took the only open road to restore harmony. He kissed me. I have absolutely no objection to his lips. This evening he tasted like rain, but he usually tasted like peppermint. Magnus was a compulsive gum chewer at work, so whenever he got to one of our dates his lips were saturated with it. Not that I was complaining—I liked that minty freshness. His lips were warm and soft despite the rain, and pressed against mine, I felt like I could melt. I became this mushy mess from his lips and then came his hands, molding me, reminding me I had contours, I had shape. My fingers brushed the edge of his hair, finding a few strands to wrap themselves around, to hold his head close to mine. His hand caressed my hip for a time, as if ruled by indecision, before he used it to draw me sharply against him. For the first time I felt his desire, so raw and open. It was in the strength of his hands and the press of his body against mine. I wanted to cry out, but his lips kept me silent. He grunted slightly, twisting our bodies so I would lie down on my back, but I resisted. It wasn’t the least bit romantic anymore; we’d crossed into passion, and that could be a great distance from romance. Even my thoughts were beginning to babble like some idiotic schoolgirl. If there were things I was not, that was two of them. He started to use his hips and legs to put weight on me, hold me down where he wanted me. The erotic potential of it screamed through my mind, closely followed by the possibility of violence. He was so strong, and I was just a girl. I knew it was Magnus, I knew if I pulled away from his oh-so-warm mouth and said stop, he’d stop. Despite that intimate knowledge of him, something in me screamed,danger, you’re in danger. I flexed my hand, pressing my fingers into his biceps as his hand started edging up my top, pulling it away from my jeans. As soon as his hand touched my skin, there were sparks and then there was fire. Magnus reeled back from me with a hell of a scream; he manically patted down his arm to smother the flames that were eating at the sleeve of his shirt. I sat panting, looking at my hand. It felt warm like when I do magic, but I’d not tried to do anything. I rubbed my hand quickly on my jeans and looked up at Magnus. He’d gotten the flames out and was poking his fingers through the nicely singed hole in his shirt. “What happened?” I stammered, still breathing a little hard. “Did you get too close to the heater?” I continued to rub my hand on my jeans. It felt tingly and I didn’t like it. I hadn’t set him on fire; I hadn’t. We’d just rolled too close to the old clapped-out heater. That had to be what happened. He reached out, taking my hand in both of his. It made it look so small, and I swallowed back some fear that had convulsed through me earlier.

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“Maybe,” he said. “Were you burnt at all?” He looked over my hand as he asked, flipping it between palm up and palm down several times. I shook my head. Magnus smiled, leaning over his cupped hands, and gave my knuckles a soft kiss. “Thank God,” he said, his smile brightening a little with relief. “Maybe we can turn this off now.” He reached for the heater. “We’re both warm enough.” He twirled the knob at the top, and the bars went out. Magnus crawled back to me so that I was encircled in his arms again and looked down into my eyes as he held me. I got lost in the intensity of them until they shifted fromI want youtoAre you okay? “You’re shivering? I can turn it back on,” he said, and I snapped out of it. Shivering? I felt perfectly warm—in fact a little too warm. Then I worked it out and reached into my pocket. “Relax, handsome. It’s my mobile phone.” I had it on vibrate. I put it to my ear. “Cassandra Farbanks,” I announced my name proudly into the receiver. “Where are you, Cassandra?” came the weathered voice of a woman. I moved the phone and quickly looked at the caller ID. “Virginia?” I said as if I still wasn’t sure. “You can actually use your phone? I’d have thought you’d send me messages by owl or something.” “Don’t be cheeky, young lady. Despite what you think, the telephone was around long before I was born. I can use technology as much as the next person. Why aren’t you here?” she asked after the smallest of lectures. “I’m not supposed to be at yours till eight!” I sounded kind of proud of myself, and I was—I’d not forgotten. “Cassandra,” she said with a sigh, “it is half past.” I grabbed Magnus by the wrist, the one he always wore his watch on, and scanned the time. “Shit!” I exclaimed. “Language!” she scolded me. “But I shall assume that means you’ll be here forthwith. See you soon, dear.” With that she hung up. I put my phone back in my pocket and gave him what was fast becoming a known smile. “You’ve got to go?” he asked. I nodded as if he couldn’t have guessed from my end of the conversation. “Well,” he said, pulling me to my feet, “at least it’s stopped raining.”

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Chapter Two Magnus and I agreed on another date for the coming Monday and he gave me a lift up to the woods, dropping me at the end of Virginia’s drive. All in all it was five to nine when her house came into view. The old porch was draped in streamers of orange and black that had miraculously survived the weather. It might have had something to do with the dense woodland on either side. A pumpkin sat at the top of the stoop, its eyes glowing at me although its horrid face had slipped to look painfully melodramatic with age. I shook my head as I walked up the steps and knocked on the front door. It opened of its own accord, and I stepped inside. Virginia stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding the banister for what looked like support as her eyes watched the hands move on the grandfather clock. Virginia’s face was wizened and wrinkled by age, but I was sure she’d once been quite beautiful—you could still see it in the shine of her gray eyes. The bells of the grandfather clock chimed nine times. “An hour late,” she exclaimed, not cross, but her voice held a tone of disappointment. “And it’s November twenty-fifth; isn’t it time the Halloween decs came down?” I said, jabbing my thumb back over my shoulder in the direction of the porch. Virginia looked at me with a wicked grin crossing her face. “Every day is Halloween in this house, dear.” “Does that mean…?” I scanned the hall and spotted a large glass bowl full to the brim with brightly colored wrapped sweets. “Ooo, candy! Score!” I rushed over to the bowl and helped myself. It was hard and blue in color; I popped it into my mouth and let it roll over my tongue. “It tastes funny,” I said, making a face. “It’s sugar free,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand as if it made no difference. I spat it back into the wrapper. “Virginia, you are missing the entire point of Halloween,” I grumbled. “No, I’m not,” she said, starting up the stairs, “I happen to be diabetic. Now come along.” I rolled my eyes and followed her upstairs. Virginia looked very small and frail from behind, especially in the floral print dresses she loves, but you should never let it fool you. It’s that whole book and its cover syndrome. She is one of the most powerful witches I have ever known. Her sacred space, her circle had taken on a new appearance to include six smaller circles. Three on evenly spaced points on the outline of the large circle and three between those on the inside of the circle. In each circle was a rock or crystal of some kind, and it would have looked quite mystical if it weren’t for the fact that each was sitting on a lace doily. “I just had the floor polished,” Virginia said off my look; “Take your shoes off. I don’t want any scuff marks.” I leaned against the doorframe and started to unlace my boots. I hadn’t planned on taking my boots off

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till bedtime, so I’d worn my complicated lace-ups. “Wrong shoes,” I grumbled under my breath as I pulled the first one off. It wasn’t like I had asked to come round. Virginia had called me after the news had reached her about my near death experience a month or so ago. She had to wait for something special to arrive first, and then it was just pinning me down to a date and time. Even then I’d been late. I smiled as I got my second boot off. I carried them into the room, feeling diminutive without the three inches of heel. I wasn’t short, I was above average height, but with the heels on I could look into the eyes of most of the men in my life. I found it hard to argue with someone when you had to look up at them, and most of the men I knew I argued with, a lot. “So what’s this about?” I asked, gesturing to the rock garden her attic was slowly becoming. She took a seat in an overstuffed armchair that bowed and sputtered dust, and she pointed to the center of the circle. “You need to sit there,” she said. I followed the line of her finger and then returned my eyes to her face. “No offence, Virginia. I trust you, but I am not sitting anywhere until you tell me what you’ve called me here to do.” Virginia gave me a warm smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to blindly trust me, and the fact that you don’t shows you’ve learnt something from me, but not enough yet. It’s a cleansing ritual.” I screwed my face up in disbelief. “I’m not dirty, I shower quite often!” Virginia laughed, and there was something of her younger self in it. “You cannot wash this with soap and water, child. It is your aura that is dirty.” I looked over my shoulder and down my back as if I expected to see something there. “How did you know it’s dirty? Did someone metaphysically write ‘wash me’ on it?” Virginia chuckled again. She reached to her right where there were some newspapers and magazines on a table. One of the papers came hurtling towards me—not that Virginia had thrown it, she didn’t have a habit of it, she just made a motion with her hand and things flew. I raised my hands, catching it, and stretched the folded page out in front of me. It was the local rag; the full-page front article was about the market discovered under the ruins of an old church. I knew all about it—I’d been there. “Are people still talking about this crap?” I asked and read the headline. “‘Police and enforcer cooperation captures black arts traders.’ No bloody mention of my hard work. I am so unsung.” I tossed the paper away, and it shot back from where I’d tossed it to the table. I caught a glimpse of Virginia flicking her wrist before I was assaulted by another periodical. This time it was theConjurer, a gossip magazine for the hip witch and wizard. I had no idea that Virginia read what amounted to little more than the magicalHello!It was open to an article called “Undercover!” “Third from last paragraph and to the end. To yourself, please.” I scanned the article to gather it was about the same thing and skipped to the end. “...it’s entirely unfair,” said our source, “that the police got to take all the credit for the biggest

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bust this city has ever seen. Coming across the market was incidental, as they were actually after a soul-sucking demon. How did they find it? By following the talent of someone else and pushing them outta the spotlight when it came glory time. I was there, I know what went down. I was following the lead of one mega hot witch, I mean she’s a seriously hot chica.” [source makes a gesture with his hands below his chest] “But no one tells what she went through. Check it right, after being possessed by the big ass demon herself, she forced it out—but not before it got her to take a knife to her throat. She sent that mother back to Hell, and did she get a thank you? Is that the end? Hell no, chica survived and got nothing for it!” Upon our source’s refusal to reveal the witch’s name, we ended the interview...” I stopped there and gaped for a moment. That was Wraith, right down to the inappropriate hand gestures; it was almost like I could hear his voice while I was reading it. He didn’t mention he ran screaming as soon as he was able, and I’d had no idea he had stuck around after. I looked at Virginia, who clasped her hands in her lap. “You want me to autograph it?” “Cassandra.” Her tone was a warning. “What? I told you about this.” “Conveniently leaving out the part with the demon.” “Okay, gross factual misrepresentations, one, and two, I did not put a knife through my throat and I did not nearly die ’cause of the demon, at least not that demon.” I handed the magazine back to Virginia, who placed it on her lap. “I believe you, and the wound on your neck is clearly from a vampire. Should I warn you about your association with them?” she asked. She was perfectly ready to give me the lecture on why hanging out with vampires was not good. “I am not associating with them; at least I am trying not to.” It was the truth—I avoided Dante’s at all costs, and the phone calls had stopped a week ago. I think they, no, he had gotten the message. He was Aram, a vampire who was responsible for the bite on my neck and my near death from exsanguination. I was doing my best to cut him out of my life, ignoring his calls, changing my patterns of behavior and avoiding his place of business. I was doing very well so far. “So what’s this got to do with someone getting you a gift certificate to crystals ‘R’ us?” I asked, trying to get back on topic. Virginia snorted air out through her nose, which was usually a sign that she was getting tired of what she called my “attitude.” “When a demon or in fact anything possesses you, it leaves a hole in your aura. If that hole remains un-dealt with, you will be more susceptible to possessions and magic that utilizes the same principles. Now sit with your back to the obsidian.” I stepped backwards into the circle, my eyes on the natural glass made from hot lava being submerged in water. I knew it was a grounding stone, a “protector” said to “mirror one’s soul.” It was shimmering black; the front looked almost like it was liquid. I wanted to touch it to remind myself it was solid. In front of it was a smaller, clear pink-colored stone in perfect line with the other.

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“Eyes front,” Virginia barked as if I was a disobedient student. In front of me was a rose quartz elephant. Finding a lump of rose quartz in its raw, un-carved shape was unusual, but I wasn’t sure carving it into the shape of a pachyderm had the same effect. The other stones I didn’t recognize. The two on my left weren’t in line with each other. The smaller one on the inner circle was so green it looked almost black but was speckled with red. The larger stone on the outer circle was white, almost marble like but rougher. It looked chalky, but it wasn’t chalk. On my right, the smaller stone was translucent, with what looked like dark fissures in the surface. It looked soft like dough, like I could knead it so that the cracks would vanish and I could leave it smooth. I looked at the larger stone behind it for a while. It was dark gray, but I could see the grain of it. I suddenly knew what it was; it was petrified wood, jet, similar to coal but harder. It had absorbing qualities for drawing out negative energies. “Okay, that’s jet,” I pointed, “and I know the obsidian and quartz, but I’m blank on the others.” Virginia gave me a little grin, no doubt happy with the opportunity to enlighten me. “The large white one is moonstone for emotional balance. The pink is kunzite for empowering positive energy. The small greenish red stone is bloodstone for revitalization, courage and strength.” I picked the last stone up and rolled it around between my hands. “And this one?” “Agate, for physical balance. Now put it back as you found it and we can get started.” I placed it back down as close to how I had found it as I could remember and sat waiting for the next instructions. Virginia scooted a little so that she could lean forward. “Focus your energy into the rose quartz, then think about the other stones as I call their names, but stay focused on the elephant.” “Right, Nelly gets all the attention; let’s hope the others don’t get jealous.” I felt a sharp sting on the side of my head, and I managed to bounce to avoid the complete blast. “That is enough cheek,” Virginia growled. “Concentrate!” I nodded and looked sullen. Virginia didn’t hit me physically; being elderly, her body no longer had the clout. She’d hit me with power instead, a quick whip of it just above the skin like a metaphysical slap. I didn’t protest. She was of that generation, disciplined; if a child misbehaved, you smacked it till it learned not to do it again. I suppose to Virginia I really was just a child, as she was over four times my age. I concentrated on the pink elephant, willing my power into it like a laser beam. “Jet and albite,” Virginia called, but her voice was a little distant. When I thought about them, it was like my power split, refracted through the rose quartz and into the stones on either side of me. “Obsidian!” I did it, and the moment I did I felt encircled by my own power, my energy; it felt like having a warm

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blanket tossed over me. “Kunzite,” she said, and her voice sounded further off. I concentrated on pushing my power into the little pink stone I knew sat behind me. Power hit me in the back; I shuddered and whimpered. It hurt like someone had pushed a needle through the blanket and into me. I started to raise my head. I needed to see Virginia, to know that this feeling was something that was meant to be happening. “Keep concentrating,” came Virginia’s voice so close and loud it was almost frightening. “It,” I managed, “hurts.” “I know, it’s a big hole. Think on the agate and bloodstone, it’ll start to close.” Thinking of them added another two needles. I wanted to scream, and I think I began to. “You’re doing well, Cassandra. Try to calm down, think of something good.” I was trying to concentrate, but it really bloody hurt and she wanted me to think happy thoughts. What was this? Peter Pan? I wasn’t trying to fly. I got what she wanted; she wanted to distract me from the pain. I went back in my mind to my date, the river, how peaceful it had been, the swans’ serenade. I thought of the gorgeous food he’d packed and then how even the rain hadn’t spoiled it. Then I was suddenly on the floor, Magnus above me, holding me, kissing me, and the fear came rushing in. Had I set him on fire? Why had it happened? He wouldn’t have hurt me, but something in me was screaming, Danger! Get him off, make it stop. A sound like thunder came from my left. I broke concentration just in time to cover my face and hit the floor. Rubble spattered against my side and flew over my head. I rose up to find Virginia standing and that the moonstone had exploded. “What happened?” I asked, blinking up at her. She tutted and bent down to pick through the rubble to see if the floor was damaged. “Shouldn’t have used a water element for—” she mumbled and stopped when she realized I was listening. She looked at me. “For what?” I asked “What were you thinking of?” “Magnus,” I said honestly. She stood, dusting herself off, and walked to fetch a broom that was resting in the corner. “In a ritual that needs calm, you decide to think about boys,” she grumbled and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” I stood up, brushing white dust off the side of me. “Did we at least get the hole closed?” I asked, picking tiny flecks of stone from my hair. “Not all the way, but it’s smaller. Just wear your tiger’s eye while doing spells till I can replace this and we can try again.” She brushed the chunks of the stone up to make a pile. I wondered if we couldn’t just glue it back together, like crazy paving. Virginia stopped cleaning, leaned on the broom and stared at me with youthful light in her eyes.

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“So what did you do on this date to make you react so—” She paused and added, “strongly?” “That’s not the word you were going to use.” “You’re right; I was going to say violently but thought it might upset you. What happened, child?” “It’s—” I began, but I didn’t want to go into detail. “Something happened when we started to get close. There were sparks.” “That’s good,” Virginia said with a smile. “No,” I shook my head, “I mean actual sparks. Flash in the pan sparks. Last time I checked, kissing was not one of the careless ways a person could burn down the building they are in.” Virginia’s smile dropped a little at the edges, and I stared hard at her. “You know something about it, don’t you?” “It could be any number of things; it is a fairly long scale.” “Give me the best and worst-case scenario then,” I said, raising an eyebrow. I was starting to realize she was subtly trying to avoid in-depth talks about my powers. “Best case, you got a little flustered and reacted by instinct. Worst case, there is something in Magnus, perhaps his dark court blood, that your power just doesn’t like. That would be a shame as he is such a nice boy, so helpful.” I laughed. Since Magnus and I had started dating he’d been to see Virginia a few times. Virginia always managed to convince him to fix something. Last weekend he’d been fixing all the latches on her shutters—with winter coming, she needed to be warm. “That is just a nice way of saying you are willing to extort my boyfriend’s goodwill and the fact that you’d be about his mother’s age.” She tried to give me innocent eyes, which didn’t quite work in her seasoned face. It was true what they said, that the inside of you, the spirit never aged. Who “they” were was still a matter of some debate. “Is he picking you up?” she asked, grinning with teeth that were still all her own. “Because the garbage disposal is bunged up.” I laughed again. Virginia was the only person I could talk to about Magnus. Nancy didn’t want to have any topic of conversation that wasn’t about her, and although I’d retained a semi-friendship with Bethany, being Magnus’s little sister it was hard to talk to her about my fuzzy feelings towards him. Bethany and I had met through Magnus, as he’d hired me to find her when she had gone missing. It was nice sometimes to have another magically inclined friend around who wasn’t currently serving a five-year sentence as a cat. That was Nancy at the moment. She’d done a lot of not so nice things and then some really bad things. She’d been caught and now this was her punishment, to be left as a stray cat. Except I couldn’t allow that, so she lived with me as sort of a roommate. Nancy yelled a hell of a psychic storm down on me if I ever referred to her as my pet. Most of the time I gave Nancy a free pass because her life, being reduced to a cat, happened to suck beyond anything that happened to me. But sometimes, just sometimes, I thought about how easy she had it as a cat. She had a bed, regular meals and could lay about the apartment all day. In fact being a cat

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seemed to quite agree with Nancy, except she missed her thumbs. You never realize how much you use and need a thumb till you don’t have one. I mean she couldn’t even feed herself. That was when it dawned on me; I’d not fed her before I left for my date. I cringed, and Virginia noticed. “What’s the matter, dear?” “I’d better get headed home,” I said, rushing to get my boots from where I’d left them. “I’ll call by soon.” Damn! Was I ever going to be in for a headache when I got home.

Chapter Three I’d fed Nancy, taken two paracetamol and gone to bed. When I woke to daylight streaming in through the balcony doors, the headache I’d gone to bed with was just a tiny twinge along one eyebrow. I’d been unable to shake it off. Nancy had been furious and gone on a tirade about her “condition.” I’d let her eat some and then put her out for the night. Transformed witches and wizards still retain the ability to transmit their thoughts into another magic user’s brain. I suppose it was a way of stopping a kind witch from taking home the wrong stray. Some don’t have a great talent for it, like me. It hurt like hell to have her barging into my brain, and distance helped. Usually I would just shut my bedroom door, but this time I really needed some distance. Nancy was not allowed in my room at night as a rule—sometimes she would accidentally get stuck on transmit while asleep and I’d share whatever she was dreaming about. Nancy had not had a brilliant life, and some of the nightmares she had would leave me with scars. Awake, both of us could control better how much we gave and received. I hated to be on the receiving end. Nancy was never interested in talking about anything quietly—her thoughts were always screams, a constant loud objection to the injustice that was her imprisonment. “What time is it?” I asked myself, pushing up to look at the clock on the bedside table. The clock said it was 9:15 AM. I had to hurry—I had a class at ten. I pulled myself out of bed, walking a little slowly, and rubbed my temples as I walked. I was beginning to look forward to Nancy becoming human again. It was only another two years. I yawned. I needed coffee. I opened the door into the living room; the room was still a mess from having to chase Nancy around so I could throw her out. I stumbled over a cushion on the floor and braced myself on the counter. I looked back at it, irritated, and kicked it so that it went flying into the air, hit the far wall and slid to the floor. There was a strange satisfaction watching it hit the ground. I made coffee, took a few sips and felt like I could face the morning. I dressed in a hurry, not really caring what I put on, as long as I had something on. I finished my coffee while bundling books into my bag. I was out the door with fifteen minutes to spare and raced through town to college. I skidded into class just as names were beginning to be called. The tutor and I exchanged a look as I sat down, but nothing was said. I barely found myself interested in the topic of discussion; I pitched in now and then, but really I didn’t say anything important. I knew I should be paying attention, but for some reason my headache wasn’t

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going anywhere. It’s hard to concentrate on case studies, especially long-winded ones, when your own mind is driving you just as crazy. My stomach rumbled. Coffee, although good first thing in the morning, is not breakfast. By the time class was out, I was so hungry that the pain in my head became secondary to the one in my stomach. I headed straight to the canteen. If I was lucky, lunch wouldn’t have started yet, and I might be able to score a bacon sandwich. Whether or not lunch had started turned out to be the least of my problems. Incarra appeared on my left side and Anton on my right; I was boxed in by the pair of them and led to a table. They couldn’t have steered me more without each taking one of my arms. Reluctantly, I took a seat. “Hey guys! What’s up?” I asked innocently. Incarra and Anton took a seat opposite me, crossed their arms in a scary unison and stared at me. I made my eyes go wide but got no reaction. “If you guys are going to go weird on me, can I at least get something to eat?” Incarra and Anton looked at each other, seemed to have a strange psychic moment and then nodded together. They watched me walk to the counter; I could feel their eyes on my back as I managed to scoop up the last bacon sandwich and moved to the till. My mind whirled as I dug through the back part of my wallet for change. What did they want? Why where they sitting there like they were going to question me? Had I done something wrong and not realized it? I’d talked to Incarra only last night. I had three choices: run, pretend to get sick from the sandwich or go back to the table. I couldn’t run—that would make me look guilty. If I pretended to get sick, it would delay the conversation, not avoid it. That really left me with only one option. I had the time it took me to walk with my sandwich back to the table to come up with a plan; a very vague plan, as I had no idea what the topic of conversation was going to be. I sat down and looked at both of them. “So, what can I do for you?” I said, making more eye contact with Anton than Incarra. His eyes held less danger right now. Incarra coughed, and involuntarily my gaze flicked to hers. The look on her face made me turn quickly away again. “We’re worried about you. It’s been nearly a month,” Incarra said, “and you still won’t talk about it!” I rolled my head in her direction, my eyes only a second or two behind. “Talk about what?” I asked. “About what happened,” Incarra said, getting a little exasperated. I looked at her as if to say I had no idea what she was talking about. She sighed and looked to Anton for support. He shrugged, and after a nasty stare from Incarra gave me serious eyes. “What Incarra means...” he said, giving her a darting look, “she means, the fact that you were in the hospital just over a month ago.” Oh! So that was what they wanted to talk about. I sat for a minute trying to remember exactly what story I’d told them. I knew I hadn’t told them the truth, the truth being I’d been bitten by a vampire, but they’d never have believed that. Incarra and Anton knew nothing about the other world, nothing at all, and I wanted to keep it that way. It was for their own good; or at least that was what I told myself every time I had to lie. “I told you about that. It was an accident—I got dizzy and fell. I caught my neck on the way down, and I went to the hospital to get it fixed.”

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Incarra and Anton shared a look that said they didn’t believe me. I took a deep breath and shrugged. “Then tell me, what happened to your top?” Incarra asked. She looked pleased with herself—she thought she had me stumped. I’d been lying for too long to be caught out so easily. Sad but true; do something long enough and you get good at it. “I used it to stem the bleeding. Must have got lost in the emergency room. Covered in blood, it probably got binned.” Incarra didn’t know what to say to that,it showed on her face; she probably hadn’t been expecting something so reasonable. Anton sat back in his chair. He looked like he was ready to give up, but I knew Incarra wasn’t as easily sated. “Where did you fall?” she asked. I tried not to hesitate over the fact she was asking for a level of detail I’d not considered. I scratched my head and took a bite of my sandwich. It gave me enough time to think where the most likely of places would have been. “Well?” she said, pushing the issue. “I think I was going down the stairs of the bridge at Shrub Hill. I was rooting about in my bag, looking for my purse so I could get a taxi home. I slipped and fell.” I devoured my sandwich but kept my eyes on her, watching her brain tick over the information I had given her. You wouldn’t know it to look at her but Incarra is older than me by a year and a half. She’s five foot nothing, with black hair, the tips of which she dyes to reflect her mood that month, and intense china blue eyes. I remembered when I’d first met her. She’d been on the steps of the city’s hall of records, having a massively public breakup with a guy we refer to now only as “the jerk,” like he was some sort of psychotic costumed villain. Except his clothes had none of that kind of flare. Say what you like about psychotic villains, they know how to dress well. Apparently she’d changed too much for him, changing her name, and now she wasn’t his pure British girlfriend. He’d turned out to be a very closeted xenophobe. Incarra’s biological father, although never really in her life, had been Japanese. She didn’t look hugely Japanese—you could see it a little around her eyes when they weren’t heavily covered in makeup and in her smallness, but she had a very western face. She looked a lot like her mother. At that point in her life she had been trying to locate her father. With the man who’d raised her no longer in the picture, having divorced her mother when Incarra had first brought up her biology at fifteen, there was no one to stop her looking into it. But it had been the final strain on her relationship. She’d been with “the jerk” since high school. A lot of relationships that start in the early teens don’t tend to last. I am of the opinion that anyone under the age of about twenty is still trying to find who he or she is and thus is subject to dramatic change. People can grow up and in different directions. Incarra had taken a liking to both ancient and modern Japanese culture and incorporated it into herself. She could in fact, speak the language fluently when she wanted to, but she only threw in the odd word here and there, she said, to accentuate her cuteness. She used to laugh that if her mother had married the man who’d made her pregnant, she’d have had a cool last name like Mata Hari. I’d hated pointing out to her that Mata Hari was in fact an Indian name.

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But she’d never found her father, and I think she was now resigned to the fact that she never would. It was something we had in common. I’d never known my father either; he’d died in a car crash when I was two or three. I could remember his face thanks to the help of pictures my mother had taken, but I wasn’t always sure if what I remembered of him was actually true or not. “I’m just worried about you,’ Incarra said, bringing my attention back to her. “You’ve just not been the same since...” She paused and turned her eyes down to the table. I swallowed what was left of my sandwich and looked to Anton, who looked like he was just trying to stay out of it. “Just say it, Inc!” I demanded, and she turned her eyes back to me, looking at me like it hurt to say it. “Since your mother died.” Well yeah, I thought. I haven’t been the same. I discovered there was another reality alongside this one; every night when the sun went down I had to go over there, alone. It was colder over there, darker, there were real monsters and magic over there, and I couldn’t tell them a damn thing about it. I’d felt like telling them a thousand times, but they’d never have believed me. Incarra might have been my best friend, but if I spouted off something like that to her, she’d be the first to tell me to seek professional help and, failing that, a nice white straitjacket. I didn’t want to join the insane asylum club, and I don’t care what anyone says, anything that gives out a jacket to its members is a club. “To be fair, Inc, you knew me all of a year before my mother died, and Anton has known me only since I restarted college. This is me, guys and I am A-okay, hunky-dory, peachy keen and fine as fine can be.” “Then why does it always seem like you’re hiding...” My mobile phone started to ring. I pushed back my chair, got up and answered it as I walked away from the table. It was a clear, “we’re done.” “Cassandra Farbanks!” “It’s Michael,” he said, but I didn’t reply. “Michael LeBron.” “I know who you are, Michael. I was just hoping you’d get to the point.” “Bad time?” I sighed, rubbed my temple and shook my head even though he couldn’t see it. Michael LeBron worked for PCU—Preternatural Crimes Unit—in the other reality. You could make phone calls across the dimensional barrier between our two realities; I wasn’t quite sure how, but you could. I had to add a couple of digits to make sure I got the right side, but either side could call me just by dialing my number. I guess because my phones were both unique to me. It helped keeping the whole reality hopping a secret. “No, no, not at all. I’m sorry. What can I help you with?” I guess I owed him something, as he had just given me the perfect excuse to leave what was turning into a very uncomfortable conversation. I wasn’t really mad at either of them—I was turning into quite a shifty character with all the secrets I had to keep—but it looked like I was mad. They’d leave me alone for a couple of days, apologize, and then we’d be all buddy-buddy again until I had to lie about something else.

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“I need your help with something magical. Can you meet me and some people tomorrow night? I’ll be coming straight from something else, so I won’t be in uniform.” “All right. What time?” “Eight thirty, the Trolls Head. Do you know where that is?” “Yeah. I know where that is.” And I hung up.

Chapter Four The Trolls Head pub isn’t far from my place in the other reality, just up some narrow back streets and away from town. It’s a bit of a rough joint, not many normal humans dare go there, and a lot of it has to do with the owner. Not really the place I wanted to spend my Saturday night either. Garrick Clarion is part rock troll, except nobody knows which part—no one has ever had enough courage to ask him which ancestor was brave enough or drunk enough to get it on with a female troll. He tolerates no nonsense in his establishment, and being part troll makes him one hell of a bouncer. Rock trolls have bones that are like diamonds, incredibly hard to break, unless by another rock troll. To even have a fifteenth of that kind of invulnerability means you’re tough to deal with. Garrick’s skin is also amorphous; it can erupt into granite scales like armor. I’ve only ever seen him do it up to his elbows but it’s still pretty impressive. I’ve been in his pub once or twice—it’s a good place to go when you want a nice quiet drink and you don’t want to be bothered. For someone like LeBron to choose it as a meeting place was both surprising and smart. There was no way someone else outta PCU would frequent it and catch us. Although why we were being so secret squirrel about things I didn’t know. I’d only agreed to meet him as a way out of that uncomfortable conversation with Incarra and Anton. I had no real clue what I was walking into, and as I made my way across the parking lot to the warm light of the door, I found myself regretting that I’d not called him back right away and asked. I pushed the door open and was hit by that old pub smell—that before-the-smoking-ban smell of stale smoke, men and beer. I let the door swing shut behind me and was surveyed by patrons as I looked around for LeBron. I didn’t see him; I checked the clock on my phone, and I wasn’t earlier than we’d agreed. Garrick looked up from his paper on the bar, eyed me standing in the doorway and motioned me over with a curl of his massive fingers. Everything about his features was a bit square, his chin and his large nose especially. His hair was cut short, military short. His right bicep sported a tattoo that suggested he’d had a stint in the armed forces. He leaned over the bar a bit as I leaned on it. “The cowboy’s waiting around back for you!” I arched an eyebrow at him. Was that supposed to be some kind of code? Like “the owl flies at midnight.” “Did you really say ‘cowboy’?” I asked.

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“Yup.” And with that he went back to his paper. He was a man of few words, which didn’t denote a lack of intelligence—his paper was theIndependent—but that he was more a man of action. I pulled up from the bar and headed around the corner of it to where the pub extended back, eventually reaching a beer garden. The doors to it were shut and more than likely locked, as no one would want to sit outside in this cold. I scanned the few tables, and my gaze fell upon the left-hand booth in the far corner. There was a middle-aged couple, sitting hand in hand and looking very nervous. Across from them sat another man, his back to me so I couldn’t see his face, but he was wearing a white Stetson. The woman looked up from the bubbles of her soft drink and made eye contact with me. It was a good amount of contact, especially with a complete stranger in a rough pub. She started to tug on her husband’s sleeve until he too looked up. He looked at me once, completely calm, and talked to the cowboy. The hat moved and a face appeared around the corner. Michael LeBron smiled at me, excused himself and walked slowly over. “Well,” I said, a smile spreading over my lips, “it’s a look.” Not only was he wearing a white Stetson but he had on a checkered shirt, faded blue denim jeans and brown leather cowboy boots. “What? I told you I would be coming straight from something.” “I didn’t realize that something was a hoedown, Tex!” He looked at me with a hard scowl forming along the line of his eyebrows. “My dad’s girlfriend emigrated here from Texas. She misses it so much that she bought the family line dancing lessons as a gift.” I started to laugh. He looked at himself and gave a small snort. “I guess I do look a little odd. You should have seen my father’s face when she announced it. He swore in French for over an hour—my little sister clocked him.” I smiled at him and looked down at his foot; he’d walked over perfectly okay, but I still had to ask him. “How’s your ankle?” He’d been really new to PCU when he’d gotten tangled up with me, and he’d paid for his naivety. He’d gotten in the way of a fleeing goblin, called it ugly and felt the slice of its needle-like finger rip through the flesh of his ankle. “Touchy. I can walk just fine. But sometimes if I’ve been walking too long or too far it complains like a son of a bitch.” “I did apologize to you about that, didn’t I?” He flicked his hat up and arched a brow at me questioningly. “What for? It wasn’t your fault. You tried to warn me, and it could have been a whole lot worse if you’d not grabbed the freaky little thing.”

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I knew somewhere deep down that it wasn’t my fault and what he was saying was true, it could have been a whole lot worse. When provoked, those little things are vicious—I had scars to prove it—but once guilt latches onto you, it’s hard to shake off. “Would now be a good time to ask what I’ve agreed to here?” “Nothing but a meeting so far. Just come sit, meet them, and then we can take things from there.” “Who are they?” “That’s where meeting them comes in handy. Come sit. I’ll introduce you and even buy you a drink.” He took a step back and to the side, letting his arms spread out, one angling towards the table and the other scooping behind my shoulders to nudge me forward. I moved just so he wouldn’t end up giving me one of those one-armed guy hugs. I could honestly say that LeBron and I were not on hugging terms. Truth be told, we barely knew each other. Until he’d started talking about them, I hadn’t even known he had a family. Well, I knew he had parents—everyone has parents—but they were divorced, and I knew his father was French. Now I knew his father had a Texan-born girlfriend and he had a younger sister. I didn’t know if he knew anything about my family. Ben might have said the odd thing or two, but LeBron had never brought it up. I shook my head. It didn’t really matter; it wasn’t something I ever wanted to talk about. I slid into the booth first and then realized as LeBron sat down I was actually trapping myself in. I didn’t like it. I found myself twitching uncomfortably in my seat, almost missing the introductions. “This is Vernon and Sherry Baker,” LeBron said, indicating the couple with an open hand. I turned to them, plastering on my best businesslike smile, and took them in. Sherry’s hair was cut short, spiking in places and tinted with red all over her natural darker color. Her eyes were pale blue, washed lighter by unshed tears so that they appeared to have almost no color to them at all. Her deep pink lipstick was sloppy, applied in haste, and some had marked the under edge of her top front teeth. She has a simple chain around her neck, gold letters that spelled her name. The hand she had around the base of her drink was shaky even with her other clamped firmly on her wrist. Her husband Vernon was much taller than she, over six feet. His hair was peppered, showing that he was indeed older than his small quivering wife. He’d taken more care in his appearance, not a hair out of place or a crease in his clothes where there shouldn’t have been. He seemed like a man in control. The top button of his black shirt was undone, however, and it looked improper. It was the only thing about him that seemed misplaced. He reached along the table, prying his wife’s hand from where her nails were starting to dig into her own flesh, and held it tightly in his. Something bad was happening to this couple—it was in every line of their faces. I was their last hope, and God how I hated being anyone’s last hope. I shot a look at LeBron, asking him with my eyes what the fuck he’d gotten me into. “This is Cassandra...,” he started, but I interrupted him. “How about that drink now?” LeBron nodded, stood up and took a couple of paces forward, stopped and stepped back. “Um, what do you want?”

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I took another look at the couple; grief was becoming easier and easier to recognize. “Jack and coke!” I was going to need a little liquid courage. The edge of the awful nerve-tingling feeling in my stomach needed quelling, and it needed it fast. Then again, being left alone with them probably wasn’t the best way to help. “You’re the witch?” Vernon asked, his tongue clicking over the word “witch” very slowly. I leaned back against the booth back. “What were you expecting? Green skin? A broomstick? Or a wart on the end of the nose, perhaps?” I said with a tiny bit of bite behind my words. “I expected someone,” he said, his eyes firmly on my face, “more mature in years.” “A crone?” I asked, to which he gave a curt nod, and he had the humility to at least pretend to look embarrassed. It struck me then what was wrong with his collar; it should have been buttoned with a tiny piece of white over the top button. He watched me looking him over until I was finally sure enough to speak. “From the response to ‘crone,’ I’m guessing Roman Catholic?” He didn’t nod, he didn’t even look at me, but he squeezed his wife’s hand and it was enough to tell me I was right on the money. Sherry pulled her other hand away from her glass and gently stroked his knuckles, an action that seemed to be like a nervous habit. “I’m surprised,” I continued, “that a vicar and his wife would knowingly seek a practitioner of what God considers black arts.” His face boiled over with sudden rage, filling each muscle with scarlet-colored pain. “God does not exist!” he blasphemed. He practically shouted it at me, and I pressed myself tight against the booth, almost physically knocked back. I wanted to run away right then, but it was when he saw his own saliva spattered across the table that he recoiled from his outburst. His wife reached up and stroked his shoulder, ushering soothing sounds like those you’d hear if you put a shell to your ear to listen to the ocean. He started to calm down. “Forgive him, he doesn’t mean that,” Sherry pleaded. “It’s just with everything that’s happened he can’t believe that God would do this to us.” “Do what?” I knew it was a stupid question the minute I asked it. It was an invitation to open up a window into their pain, to look inside and see their hurt. I didn’t want to see it, not really, but I’d asked now, and I still didn’t know why I was here. Sherry took a deep breath before answering. “Our son, Adam, he’s eight, he went missing two weeks ago.” Shit! I thought. A missing kid. My head spun and my guts churned. My mind was whirling back to when I was lying on that cold floor a couple of months ago, the life draining out of me. I stood up rather abruptly. “Will you excuse me, please?”

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I headed away from the booth at high speed; I made it to the corner, where I bumped into LeBron as he was coming back. “Where are you going?” he asked, putting the drinks down to clear beer foam from where it had splashed on his shirt. “I’m leaving.” He nodded at first, like I’d said I was just going to the bathroom, and then he realized what I’d said. He grabbed my arm, stopping me. “What? Hang on a minute. What happened?” “I can’t help them,” I said flatly, staring at his hand and then at him. He let me go. “Why not?” “It’s a matter for the police to handle. I’ve already had the memo from Rourke that said it’d be best for me to stay out of police investigations. Which, if you don’t get it, in subtitle world reads as ‘this is a threat’!” “They’ve already gone to the police, missing kid and all. The cops wanted to help, but when they told them what happened they got bumped down to us. Rourke bumped them right back to Missing Persons. They need someone who will listen and actually help, which in my book means you.” I stared at him, a little shocked at first and then more than a little. I could feel myself blushing and couldn’t stop. I had no idea that he held me in such regard; we’d only sort of worked together just the once. “What? What gives you such confidence in me?” He laughed a little, running his hand back through his hair, forgetting it had beer foam on it, and then cringed. “Uck,” he said, flicking his hand and wiping it on his jeans. “Look, Cassandra,” he looked into my eyes, “I’ve seen what you can do. The length you go to, the damage you take and come back from and the results you get.” “What is the point of results if it nearly gets me killed again?” I fiddled with the waistband of my jeans and looked at my feet. “It scared you, didn’t it?” “Yes.” I found that my voice had gone very small and soft. “I don’t blame you, but there’s no certainty that this will even be something remotely of that magnitude. We both know there are far more human perpetrators for this sort of thing than there are monsters.” “Human or not, it’s always some kind of monster.”

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“Fine, either I’ve called at the wrong time, or you’re just not the get-back-on-the-horse kinda girl I thought you were.” I raised my head. I was a get-back-on-the-horse kind of girl; I just wasn’t sure I was ready for a jamboree my first trip back in the saddle. Missing children were always an especially difficult kind of case to take on because sometimes you’ve got to give the parents news they just don’t want to hear. When it comes to their child, innocent or not, parents will shoot the messenger. “You know, the likeliness of this kid being okay after twenty-four hours is pretty slim.” “Yes, I know.” His shoulders dropped sadly. “After two weeks, I’m pretty sure it’s just going to be bad news.” “I know, but they need to know for sure.” “Why has it got to be me to tell them though?” He didn’t answer me, but he passed me the drink he’d bought me. I downed it, giving him back the empty glass. “Another, and make it a double this time.” I headed back to the booth.

Chapter Five Not only did he go back and get me a double, but later when I downed my second glass, he refilled it a third time while I listened to the Bakers. Their son Adam was eight; he was a good boy, liked to keep to himself. When Sherry said “good boy,” she wasn’t the emotional mother angel-ifying her child because something bad had happened to him. She meant good, God fearing, eats all his vegetables, cleans his room, doesn’t talk back boy. The kind of son you’d expect from a devout Christian family. As she continued to describe their family life, I found myself thinking how lonely that kid had to be, as he was even home-schooled by Sherry herself. I was waiting for the weird part, and I wasn’t disappointed. A couple of days before he’d vanished, Adam had told his mother that he was hearing music. In densely populated towns, normally I wouldn’t think that too strange. It could have come from a radio, in someone’s house or a passing car. Sometimes if someone had their iPod up too loud you could hear exactly what they were listening to. So why was it odd for little eight-year-old Adam to be hearing music? Adam, due to pregnancy complications, had been born deaf. He’d never heard anything in his life. Sherry hadn’t taken him seriously and regretted it, because two days later he’d vanished from the garden looking for the music. Sherry held herself together right up till the end, and then the sobbing began. I hated to watch people cry and pretty much agreed to do my locating spell to just get her to stop. Vernon, who hadn’t spoken another word since his outburst, handed his wife a handkerchief, arranged a time and took her home.

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LeBron moved around to sit across from me and flicked his Stetson back as I swirled the ice around in what I was beginning to think was actually my fourth drink. “So what do you think?” I looked up at him and took a slow sip of my drink; it was beginning to leave a nasty aftertaste, which meant I’d probably had enough. “I don’t know at the moment. I’ve agreed to the spell, so we’ll see how that goes.” LeBron looked at me for a minute, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “What?” “Have you ever considered taking on some kind of representation?” I laughed. “You offering to be my manager there, Colonel?” He grinned at me. “Well, you’re no Elvis, but you could be big kid.” I scoffed and waved my hand at him like Virginia does to me; I missed his ear completely but knocked his hat off. I watched as it tumbled to the seat and felt a strange satisfaction fill me. It wasn’t what I’d meant to do, but it was good enough. “Well, on that note,” LeBron said, standing, “I’ll be taking my leave.” He started walking, but I quickly grabbed his arm. “Wait,” I said, scooting to the edge of the seat, “help me up first. You’ve got me more liquored up than I’m used to.” “Pfft. Lightweight,” he chuckled as he helped me. A few drinks in me and I was feeling good. I practically danced the short walk home. I used my hip to bash the controls as I passed the third floor in the elevator and rose to my apartment. I stopped as I saw faint light coming out from under the door. If I’d been stone cold sober I’d have really thought about what I was doing, but I just opened the door and went in. I was greeted by the fragrant smell of roses. A mixture of white roses and baby’s breath were sitting in a vase on my coffee table. I didn’t even register that I didn’t own a vase. My brain clicked over, and I smiled. “They’re lovely,” I said to the light in the bedroom. I knew it could only be one person. “Magnus, that key’s supposed to be for emergencies only, y’know. Put on some music or something. I’m just gonna change.” I headed for the bathroom. It had been Magnus’s idea to hide a spare key to my place under the fire extinguisher in the hall. It was supposed to be in case I found myself without my keys again or if Magnus was worried about me. I heard the stereo in the bedroom whirl on and the sound of soft, seductive, gentle music. Magnus must have chosen it to make a grand romantic gesture, and I was sort of in the mood for a little kiss and cuddle. I stripped down to just my panties and an oversized T-shirt from a pile I kept in the airing cupboard. It was toasty warm from being tucked in next to the boiler, which was such a nice feeling in winter. I started across the living room to my bedroom, slowly un-braiding my hair. I didn’t

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stop to think that Magnus hadn’t said a word since I’d come in or that me in a T-shirt might give off the wrong kind of vibe. I shut my eyes, hummed along to the music and kicked the bedroom door shut behind me. When I opened my eyes, it was not Magnus I found reclined on my bed. The sight of Aram stopped me in my tracks—the cascade of rich brown curls over his eyes, the frame of green silk around his pale chest, the lines of a delicate pedant around his neck and the almost clumsiness of his appearance. “What the bloody hell,” I started to shout but he raised up to his knees, scooting elegantly to the edge of the bed. He pressed his body into the post, clung to it, using it to spread his thighs slightly and accentuate his groin. “Please!” It was all he said, and I was quiet. There was something in the set of his shoulders, a deep sadness. He looked like he might cry, if a vampire could achieve such a thing. There is something about a man with the look of a kicked puppy that melts away that first outraged moment. I took a deep breath and tried not to see him that way. In the end I turned my head and looked at the floor. “What are you doing here?” My voice sounded calmer, although I was trying not to be embarrassed standing before him in a T-shirt, albeit a long one made for a man. I’d never have changed down to this, whether I thought it was Magnus or not, if it hadn’t been for the few drinks I’d had. I could blame the drink. Blame it for the fact I wasn’t running to cover myself and, in fact, even felt comfortable with this level of nakedness in front of Aram. “You wouldn’t return my calls.” I raised my head and forced myself to make eye contact with him; the hurt in his eyes was so raw. “That is my right.” He looked confused, and it was not a look one saw often on the face of a five-hundred-plus-year-old vampire. “What right is that?” “My right not to return your calls, to ignore them completely in fact, to not forgive you.” “What have I done?” I almost lost control of myself. I wanted to hit him, to hurt him so badly, but I knew if we touched I would not do him harm. I’d always felt a pull toward him, but God damn me if I was going to like it. I balled my hands into fists. “What have you done?” I sounded more surprised than I wanted to, and I couldn’t bear him looking at me. I turned my back to him, something I probably wouldn’t have done sober either, and placed my hands on the dresser. “In over a month, you couldn’t think of a single thing that had happened that would make me upset, make me not want to see you.” I looked in the mirror, and he stood so close to my back that I almost gasped. His hand came up slowly,

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hesitating slightly before he moved my hair away from my neck. He exposed the jagged scar there and traced his thin, cold fingers over it. I shivered. “This?” I turned sharply, flinging my arm out to strike him, but he was too fast, catching my small wrist in his hand.This?How could he use one word to trivialize my whole ordeal.This?One word, and it mocked my pain. “Do not hit me. I only did as you asked.” I only lashed out more, struggled to push away from him, to pull my wrist free. It didn’t matter that I’d asked him to, it didn’t matter that at the time it had helped me. All that mattered was he’d nearly killed me, he’d drank me almost to death and he’d just left me there. If Magnus hadn’t come back, would he have finished me? Would he have left me dying on that cold floor? In the end, was I nothing more than a meal to him? “Aram, I revo—” I started but didn’t get to finish as his hand clamped over my mouth. I was outraged and slammed my body into his, trying to force him off balance. We crashed onto the bed, the mattress whining with the weight. I had both hands free, but I only used one to try to pry his hand from my mouth. It was my mistake as he overpowered me, even from beneath me, and drove me down hard. We fought until we both lay still in my rumpled bedding. He placed his forehead to mine, hand still over my mouth. “Please, Cassandra, all I ask is that you listen to me!” Slowly he moved his hand from my mouth, I’d not acknowledged that I would listen; he was trusting me to be reasonable. The only problem with being trusted is that I tend to not want to let people down. I stayed quiet, staring up at him. “I didn’t realize what I was doing; I took too much. I worried frantically for you, but I could not have stayed. If I had been found with you, it wouldn’t have mattered that you’d asked me.” He moved back enough so I could see his sad, handsome face; he moved his weight so that his head lay on my chest. His fingers traced over the skin of my bare arms, down to caress my wrist. I took deep breaths as something low in my body contracted. “I’ve wanted so desperately to see you. When you drink so deeply from a person and they do not pass, a piece of you is exchanged with them. I was drawn to you before, but now I am irrevocably drawn to you. Can you not feel it?” He stroked my knuckles in small circles before sliding his fingers up my hips. “How calming, peaceful is it to be touching?” I swallowed hard. I was overwhelmed by him so that even when he cupped my ass in his hands, I could not find my voice to protest. He splayed his fingers on my buttocks, and the small movement parted me so he could lie between my legs. His fingers dragged up my sides, starting to take the T-shirt with them. Cold air whipped across my stomach, and I snapped back into my own mind. “Get off me, Aram.” I was having trouble controlling my breathing enough to speak. His head nuzzled against my flesh, and he rolled his face to look up at me.

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“Is that what you really want?” His voice was heavy with want but so seductive, his words spilling over the velvet waterfall that was his lips. I’d never thought about, or more accurately pondered, whether his kiss would be as refreshing as it looked. I knew then that no, I didn’t want him to get off me. I actually wanted him to push it, to kiss me and drown my senses in the taste of him. Perhaps what he’d said was true, that since the bite I’d been more drawn to him. I’d found myself thinking of him a lot, although I had never admitted it. I’d reasoned to myself that it was just because I was so angry at him. He was right, I didn’t want him to get off me—I needed him to get off me, or I would lose myself. He bent higher over my body and licked the scar on my neck. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I sent him tumbling off the bed. “I said get the fuck off me.” Aram peered at me from the floor. I was breathing hard and retreating up the bed. “But you were enjoying it?” I tried to shake my head as I pulled back against the pillows. When he’d licked the scar, his mark on me, it had thrilled me, and that frightened me. I was scared by how much I wanted him, and it made me angry. Anger was good for trying to deal with Aram. “Don’t ever do that again!” I was warning him. He smiled at me, the bastard smiled at me. “Lick your neck?” he asked innocently. I thought about it and shook my head. “Touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.” It was just safer to rule out all types of physical contact. “You cannot mean that, pet.” His voice was filled with such certainty. I only wished as I spoke I could have managed as much. “I meant it.” “You mean to tell me if I go from here tonight, you will not even think of touching me, you won’t crave it?” He crawled up to kneel on the edge of the bed. “It’s possible I might, but thought and action are not mutually exclusive. One does not always follow the other.” He chuckled, and it made me even more defensive. “No woman has ever challenged me as you have, Andra. I think if you had just fallen into bed with me I would not have come to the point where I loved you. You have my heart; why can I not have yours?” “Because you attempt to seduce my body, not my heart.” “Secure one and the other follows.” “What flipping century do you think you’re in? Look who I’m asking. This is the twenty-first century,

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Aram—body and heart are as separate as you and I.” “I bought you flowers.” “And that what? Gives you an instant all-access pass? Is this all just about getting in my pants? Is any of what you said actually true?” Aram looked panicked, he motioned like he was about to crawl up to my end of the bed. “Why is it with you that all my words come out wrong? That is not what I meant.” “Get out, Aram!” “Andra, please,” he begged. I turned my head to look at the wall. “Get out before I throw you out on a more permanent basis.” I waited for five minutes before I turned back around; my room was empty save for me. The balcony door blew gently in the wind. I walked over, shut it and pushed the new bolt into place. How did he keep getting in? Why hadn’t I revoked his invitation? As I slid down the door to sit on the floor, I knew exactly why: because I knew he had meant every word he’d said.

Chapter Six “Where the bloody hell is it?” I kept cursing as I searched through all the places I’d already searched at least twice, hoping this time I’d find it. Virginia had told me to wear my tiger’s eye for a little while when I did big magic. I trusted that she wouldn’t ask me to do something like that without good reason. I sat completely flummoxed on the floor. It wasn’t something I hid away; I wore it quite often and normally kept it on top of the chest of drawers next to my stereo. I examined the stereo again. Apart from the fact it could do with a good dusting, it was virtually brand new. I’d bought one with a multi-CD tray so I didn’t have to change music when I was studying on my bed. I pulled myself to my feet and just stared at it. I checked under the main bit and under the speakers, even behind it in case it had fallen down. As I stared I realized there was something different about it. There was a gap in the CD stand next to it and a case sitting on the left speaker. I picked it up, flicking it over in my hand so I could see the cover.One Hundred Greatest Love Songs. Jeez. I only ever put that in when I was feeling soppy or hormonal. I put it back on the speaker while my brain clicked over. I’d not put it on, Aram had. When I’d walked into my room, he’d been waiting on my bed and he’d had a pendant on. The more I focused on it, the clearer it became in my mind. Aram had been wearing my tiger’s eye. And I’d kicked him out still wearing it. My tiger’s eye was at Dante’s. Great, I thought, just what I bloody need. I picked up my phone and called LeBron, asking him to call the Bakers and tell them I was going to be about an hour late. I pulled a polo neck jumper over my T-shirt that spouted the slogan “49% Angel 51% Bitch” and got my bag together.

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Dante’s was about the only nightclub in town that people dared risk going out to after dark. It was practically a host club—after your basic cover, you could pay to have a seat next to your favorite vamp. They had a couple of bars, two dance floors and a lot of booths. I got there as the queue was beginning to form, people eager to get in while it was still early enough to get alone time with a vampire. If you got there early enough and could pay, you could feed the vampires; some even had fan clubs with card-carrying members. There was something I had to give to this particular group of vamps: they knew money made the world go round, and they knew how to get it. As I approached the line stretched to the corner, which was probably the shortest I’d seen it in a while. I politely crossed through it, several people giving me the evils like they thought I was going to push in. I was not a customer; Dante’s was not my idea of fun. I slid along the railings, more than a few eyes upon me as I approached a small wooden door that passed as a side entrance. I pushed the button on the speaker box and waited. I tapped my foot, and a hand came down on my shoulder. Looking back over my shoulder, I was greeted by a small bob-headed blonde in dark makeup. “We’ve all tried that one, honey; get in the queue like everyone else.” “Aww,” I said, peeling her hand off me, “but I’m special.” She gave me a look that was verging on patronizing. She didn’t like my sarcasm. Anyone who ever tells you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit just isn’t doing it right. The speaker box crackled to life. “Who is it?” I leaned forward, pressing the second button that allows you to speak, and used the name I was most popularly known by, even though it wasn’t my favorite shortening of my name. “Andra.” The speaker box was silent, and the blonde gave me an almost “I told you so” look until the speaker buzzed and the door latch released. I pushed the door open to her total astonishment and went inside. “If you’re going to use the side door, you really should do it when there is less of a crowd. People might get the wrong idea.” I looked into the darkness for the owner of the familiar voice but found no one at first. Then a Zippo lighter appeared, leaving behind the glowing end of a cigarette. I knew then who it was. “Vincent, you’re not supposed to smoke in the building.” He moved closer so I could see him as he exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Yes, but we both know I’m a bad, bad boy.” I waved the smoke away from me. Vincent took another long drag on his cigarette. “What are you doing down here?” “I don’t want to go outside and be pawed by those groupies, and this is the only place inside where Tarquin won’t find me.” He gave a wry chuckle, but I knew he loved his brother. Tarquin and Vincent were twins, identical in every way except their hair color—one was brown haired, the other blond. I’d

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eventually gotten around to asking which one of them dyed their hair only to be told they had been born that way. One light, one dark. Just a strange genetic hiccup as everything else about them was the same, except Vincent sported a number of tattoos, some of which I’d refused to let him show me. The twins were the live-in meals/companions of the vampire Sienna. I’d met them when Sienna had gone missing, but I had yet to meet their keeper when he was alive and kicking. Although the twins were identical looks wise, except the hair, their personalities were opposite ends of the spectrum. Vincent was a bad boy as he’d described it, a rebel without a cause, into almost anything and everything he could get his hands on. Next to him, Tarquin was a bit of a pop princess with a little too much attitude for my liking. “He just worries that these things,” I said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, “are going to kill you.” I twitched my fingers and the flame burst over the tip, consuming the whole thing including the filter. He arched an eyebrow at me in the darkness, pulled another from an open pack with his lips and lit it up. I watched him take a long drag and blow it out through his nose again. “What’s your point?” “Forget it.” I dismissed it with a wave of my hand and started towards where I knew the stairs were. “What? No goodbye kiss?” He chuckled as I spun around, walking backwards to finish our exchange. “Alas, although kissing you would be like kissing some divine ashtray, I’m very busy tonight.” He grinned. “You need to come by some night when you’re not very busy and in those cute little shorts of yours.” “In your dreams, Vinnie!” “Whenever I sleep, babe, whenever I sleep.” I placed my foot on the bottom of the step and clicked my fingers. The end of his cigarette flared so that he dropped it with a curse of “Jesus!” I smiled and continued up the stairs. The door at the top was slightly ajar so that a crease of light illuminated the top step. I pushed it farther open and peered around. The corridor was decorated in deep shades of red and chocolate brown and was thankfully empty. Most of the vampires at Dante’s did not like me, and I wasn’t exactly fond of them. I tried only to deal with Aram and Jareth, but lately I’d been trying to stay away from Aram. Staying away from Jareth just came part and parcel. Jareth was kiss leader, the name for a group of vampires, and he was also Aram’s older brother. There were about ten years between them, putting Jareth perhaps in his thirties when he’d become a vampire. He’d actually told me he’d waited five years for Aram to mature before turning him to join him. He probably should have waited longer. I walked out and headed for the second set of stairs that would take me up to the brothers’ bedrooms. Dante’s layout was weird—I had to go up in order to go down another set of stairs that would put me where I would have been if I’d just gone in the front and marched across the dance floor. A quiet, covert approach required going the long way around. The third set of stairs that took me back down ended with a drape hanging over the small arch hiding the

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stairs. There were little nooks like it all over the club so that some of the younger vampires could seamlessly appear from nowhere. Older vampires had the whole preternatural powers thing down; the younger ones were still learning. It kinda spoiled the image to walk down the stairs and come through a door like an ordinary person. The whole club was designed around the glitz and glam of vampires and had very little to do with the reality. I checked the corridor before sweeping the drape aside. If I could get in, get my pendant and get out without fuss I would be happy. Strangely, I never seem to get what I want. I walked to the end of the corridor and stood before Aram’s door. I hesitated to open it but reached out and yanked the handle down. I didn’t knock. I was half hoping he wouldn’t be in but that my pendant would just be sitting on the table or something. The room was dimly lit by candles; I could see a lump in the darkness on the bed, but I was not going to strain my eyes to see if it was Aram. I reached out and flicked on the overhead electric light. “Oh fuck!” I turned my back quickly. Aram was fang deep in some girl; blood seeped from where his lips were pressed over the vein in her neck. Her head was back, her eyes rolled into it and her long, dark hair sweeping the air behind her. Her arms were wrapped tight around him, the strap of her dress fallen down so far that one petite breast threatened to fall out any second. Aram rose up from his breakfast, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Andra?” He seemed a little flustered and started to speak several times but stopped. “Oh Ari, don’t stop, please...,” came the girl’s voice. I coughed and she opened her eyes, seeing me as I half turned around. “Excuse me, this is a private session.” “And you and ‘Ari’ can go right back to it once he gives me back my tiger’s eye.” “You have the eye of a tiger?” Aram asked. I snorted a laugh. “And I know the thrill of the fight, but I want the pendant you took from my room, last night.” I could have stopped my sentence at took; I don’t know why I added he’d been in my room or that it had only been last night. I wanted to see the look on the girl’s face, I suppose, which was a nice shade of pink with embarrassment. I wasn’t jealous! Aram could do what he wanted with whoever the hell he wanted, but I would not be talked to like that. I held my hand out for it. “What makes you think...,” Aram started, but I was quick to cut him off. “I am asking politely first. Then I’m just going to call for it, and if it’s still around your neck when I do, then it’s really going to hurt.” I watched him stand up and reach behind him. I turned to look at the door until I felt the touch of the cold stone on my palm. I closed my fingers around it and felt his cup mine from underneath. “I only meant to try it on,” he whispered. I pulled my hand free. “Please,” I said, grabbing the door, “as you were.” I slammed it behind me. I stopped with it shut to secure the tiger’s eye around my neck and started down the corridor when the door opened behind me. I stilled and looked back. Aram leaned against it, pulling it shut. He looked at me with an expression that was both suspicious and amused.

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“I did not mean to take it, and now you are angry at me again.” “No, I’ve not stopped being angry at you.” “We must remedy your misplaced anger.” I turned around to face him and stare him down. “It doesn’t feel misplaced to me. You broke into my apartment yet again, and you stole from me. In the human world that is a crime.” He pushed away from the door and started to walk towards me with swaying seductive hips. “We cannot live by the laws of the human world, you and I, because we would only die by them.” He came closer, and I wanted to run. I didn’t want to be alone in the corridor with him; I didn’t want to be alone anywhere with him. “I got what I came for, and now I’m leaving.” I found I could move my feet and started walking. He grabbed my wrist, tight, almost close to hurting. “We are in my house now, and I say you shall not leave yet. This is not resolved.” “You can’t make me stay.” I struggled with his grip and he tightened it, this time it really hurt. I knew he could crush my wrist and right now he might if it meant I would stay. “I believe I can.” “Aram,” I pleaded, my voice beginning to fill with anger, “let me go.” A little way up the corridor another door opened, and I realized my voice, although not as loud as I could get, carried well in a place filled with vampires. “Let go!” I pulled at his grip, hoping that as Jareth stepped out into the corridor Aram would reel himself in. He pulled my arm up against his shoulder, pulling me almost up onto my tiptoes. Now I was furious; not only was he detaining me against my will, but he was humiliating me. “Let me fucking go,” I screamed, and I felt something in me pop. A starburst of light flashed over my eyes, and Aram’s hand ignited in flames. He dropped me on the floor with a cry of utmost pain. Vampires burn fast, like dry wood. Jareth dived on his wailing brother, his cape over Aram’s hand patting down hard, smothering the flame. Jareth looked at me harshly, but his eyes grew wider with concern after a moment. I was breathing hard, holding my wrist, which had a perfect red imprint of Aram’s fingers in it, against my chest. I was scared, still angry but far more afraid then I had been. “He—” I stuttered. “He just wouldn’t let go. I didn’t mean to.” Jareth said nothing to me. He simply helped his brother to his feet and began to slowly walk towards his room. I twisted my body and wondered if I could crawl to my feet one handed. “Do not think to leave!”

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I turned my head back. Jareth had stopped in his doorway and was looking sideways at me. “You will get up and come in here, and we will discuss this immediately.” He stepped into his room, and I heard the sound of the bed creaking—he’d laid Aram down. I could have gotten up and just ran for it. I wasn’t one of Jareth’s peons; he didn’t have the right to command me anywhere, just as his brother did not. There was just something in his voice that said to disobey was not the best course of action. “Cassandra,” his voice boomed as I made it to my feet. I walked down to his room. He stood with his hand on the door, and I sheepishly walked past him like I was a schoolgirl being called for the first time into the headmaster’s office. Once I was inside he shut the door. Aram sat on the bed. I’d char-grilled his hand, but it appeared to be minimal damage. His hand looked like it was covered by a black glove; I’d ruined his shirt more. Every now and then a piece of flesh flaked off, revealing the fresher, healed skin underneath. Vampiric healing was amazing—twenty-four hours and there’d be no sign I’d injured him at all. I could not say the same for my wrist. Once we’d rolled my sleeve up to the elbow, the full extent of the damage could be seen. On the top of my wrist were four long lines of purple, underneath a small, thumb-shaped bruise and a shallow cut from his nail pressing in. Aram had sat on the bed looking very angry at me till he’d seen my arm, and then he refused to look at me at all. Jareth dipped some bandages in balm and slowly started to wrap my arm in them. I winced as he secured it with a makeshift cover made from what looked like a scarf. “Medic, cook, is there anything you don’t do?” I asked Jareth, trying to lighten the dark mood that had befallen the room. “Tolerate fighting in my home,” he replied, and the look in his eyes was hard. I looked down at my arm lying in my lap. He stood up between us, his eyes darting back and forth from his brother to me. “Which one of you shall tell me how this began?” I didn’t speak and neither did Aram. I heard Jareth take a deep breath and release it with an angry snarl through his nose. “Cassandra interrupted a feeding, and I didn’t want her to leave upset.” I raised my eyes to Aram. Either that sound Jareth made meant more than I understood, or Aram was weaker willed that I’d realized. “I was not upset, and I wouldn’t have interrupted if you’d not stolen my necklace.” I felt childish, but if he wanted to try to pass the buck for this fight on to me, I wasn’t going to let him. “I would not have left with the necklace if you had not forced me to leave your apartment.” I growled at him. If he wanted to hash this out in front of his brother, fine, we could do that. “I wouldn’t have chucked you out if you hadn’t let yourself in so that you could practically assault me.” “It would have merely been a seduction if you had not induced violence into it, and I was there because you would not return my calls.”

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I stood up straight, shocking both Aram and Jareth. I was so angry, and I almost shouted. “I had the right to after what you did to me.” I wanted to reach out and strangle him. Why did he not understand that he had hurt me? I’d made light of it to most, I knew I had, but I hadn’t wanted them to worry. It didn’t mean I was okay with it. Every time I raised my arm, felt my shoulder rise, the skin tightened and the twinge ran up my neck. It was a constant reminder of my near death experience. I felt the hideous deformity on my neck every day. A constant reminder that he’d betrayed my trust. Jareth put his arm out; I felt my waist bump against it, stopping me from going any closer to Aram. It was almost as if Jareth had sensed my desire to bring harm to his brother. He placed his hand on my chin, lifting it up to look into my face. “What sin is so grievous to bring such anger to boil in you?” I searched his face and felt surprise filling mine. His eyes showed his confusion. “You don’t know, do you? He didn’t tell you.” “Tell me what?” Jareth asked. He let go of my chin and looked at Aram. Aram was picking at his charred hand; he had gone very quiet and was keeping his eyes down. “Did he tell you I nearly died working the Missing Persons thing?” “No, but I read the papers,” Jareth said. “I was aggrieved to hear you were hurt, but the papers did not make it sound so serious. What has this to do with your first statement?” I grabbed the bottom of my polo neck and began pulling it up. My T-shirt caught itself, and my stomach was exposed. “Are you intending to strip?” Jareth asked. He looked amused as Aram raised his eyes to see if I was. I quickly yanked the T-shirt down. I finally got the jumper over my head and tossed it in the chair behind me. I pulled the collar of my T-shirt so that I could fully expose the ragged scar. My flesh had been torn more violently than a normal bite from Magnus’s effort to pull him away. “This! This is why I am mad at him.” Jareth’s eyes widened; he looked panicked, almost, and reached out to me. The cool touch of his fingers traced every ridge of the scar. He explored it to make sure it was really there and then turned sharply to his brother. “Aram. Did you do this?” Aram did not look up this time, and his words were very quiet. “Aram, you will look me in the eyes, and you will speak with the volume of a man.” Jareth’s voice held the weight of power behind it. It made me quiver; God only knew what it made Aram feel. Aram looked at his brother. “It was not intended,” he said, his voice choked by what sounded like remorse. “She asked me to drink

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and I did, but I could not stop myself.” “You nearly kill an ally, the woman you claim as your beloved, and do not see fit to tell me,” Jareth barked. Aram flexed his hand, and the remainder of the dark charred shell disintegrated. The flesh underneath was a soft pale pink like that of a baby’s. He’d focused all his strength on healing it; the rest of him was so pale, almost alabaster, that I knew he would probably need to feed again soon. “I knew what an offence would mean. I had hoped she would feel our bond and forgive me.” I took a step back towards my chair, feeling as if the brothers had forgotten my presence. “But you brought the fight into our home, and I cannot pretend to know not. To hide this implies your guilt. I must do what our laws command of me.” “Brother, wait, please; this can still be resolved privately,” Aram stuttered. But it became clear it was too late as two vampires, dressed in an armor of sorts, appeared from a now open door. “Escort my brother to the lower levels and confine him there.” Aram rose sadly to his feet and walked to stand between the two of them. Each took a wrist and began to walk him away. He looked back at me. I knew he wasn’t going to struggle—he would not lose dignity in front of me—but I still felt a cold sense of foreboding grip my stomach. I grabbed Jareth’s arm hard and didn’t understand why I felt so panicked. “Where are they taking him? What’s going on?” Jareth looked at me, and I think for that moment he wanted to hate me and nothing else, but he explained. “To drink from the unwilling to the point of death or near death is one of our greatest crimes. I will have to try my brother.” I exhaled sharply and my lungs hurt. My mind raced and ached from the weight of the thoughts. I looked at the floor. I felt ashamed, ashamed that my childish behavior had done this. Why could Aram and I never settle anything like grown-ups? I could not bear to look Jareth in the eyes. “And what are the possible outcomes of this trial?” “He can be banished from this group and city, banished from all our society or put to death.” I swallowed hard and let go of his arm. “I didn’t mean to,” I muttered sorrowfully. “That seems to be the statement of the night. I would like for you to leave now.” He turned his back to me, and so I left.

Chapter Seven

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There is a certain uniformity to suburbia, even on this side. Neat little rows of houses with perfectly manicured lawns and enough space between you and your neighbor that intimacy is a choice rather than a condition of buying into the white picket life. The directions LeBron had given me were bad and had in no way involved a church. I’d expected a church. Naturally, Vernon being a vicar, I thought his family would live in a vicarage, which is usually located close to their designated church. I’d not seen a church on the entire walk and was cussing madly at how untidy my own handwriting was. The cussing got worse the more lost I felt, and I was beginning to get angry—not that my temper hadn’t already been up after having to deal with Aram again. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to think about him. I had work to do; I could think about that mess later. I stood under a streetlight, the directions in my palm, trying to pin down some sort of landmark, anything to lead me in the right direction. I looked up at the scattered starlight and asked for a sign. I turned around in the dark and stared at the houses. Ahead of me a porch light turned on and Sherry Baker stepped out, carrying a trash bag to the curb where the bin was sitting. I sighed with relief and began to walk towards her. She looked nervous at the sound of my footsteps approaching and raised her head slowly. I gave her my best business smile. “Sorry I’m late. I got a little lost.” Sherry hurriedly shoved the black bag into the bin, wiping her hands on her jeans, and came towards me. I wasn’t prepared for the hug I received. She threw her arms around me like I was someone she hadn’t seen in years and it meant so much for me to suddenly be there appearing out of the darkness. When she pulled back from me I could see tears shining in her eyes, and I felt more than a little bit uncomfortable. “Come,” she said, beckoning me with a hand. “Come inside out of the cold.” I smiled politely. There was little doubt I would be right back outside again to do the spell. “Vernon is setting up the hibachi in the back garden. Michael left us instructions.” I followed her through the modestly decorated house to some French windows at the back of a dining room. I could see Vernon bent over a small travel stove. He was cursing and grumbling as he couldn’t seem to get the pilot to light. “Michael told us you’d need a pot?” I didn’t look at her, just nodded and watched her husband with interest, trying to judge whether I could intervene. “A cooking pot if you’ve got one.” I reached out, pulling the handle of the door so that it slid open. It hit the jam with a crash, making Vernon leap out of his skin as I stepped out. I closed it again behind me—no sense in letting the cold into the house. Vernon held an old box of matches that looked slightly damp. Several spent matches littered the ground. “Having trouble?” I asked, moving around to the other side of the garden table the camping stove sat on.

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“Matches keep going out before I can get the gas on, knob’s rusty as it’s been in the shed for years.” I was betting the matches had been next to it and that their shed leaked. In a country where it rained more often than not, it did not pay to have leaky sheds. “Turn on the gas.” Vernon obeyed readily. The knob ground and squealed with age until I could hear the soft hiss of escaping gas. I set the tip of my thumb on fire and shoved it into the pilot. The small blue flames roared to life, and I pulled my completely un-singed thumb out. Fire has never burnt me. Even magical fire can burn its creator if you’re not careful, but not me. I could put my hand into a roaring flame to retrieve a penny, and it would only be the heat of the metal penny that would burn me. Vernon recoiled on his side of the table as I blew my thumb out. “The guy on the British Gas ads has done it for years. I do it once and I’m the one who gets strange looks.” I put my hand in my jeans pocket, removing the offending appendage from sight, and Vernon visibly relaxed. “I’ve never seen magic up close; it’s a little daunting.” I watched his eyes and could tell that “daunting” was not the first word that came into his mind. I’d half expected him to yell “witch” and drag me to a pre-prepared ducking stool. I hated that in movies about witchcraft in the times of the Puritans and such—watching them build the device with which to test for witch-ness. If witchcraft was as rife as the movies suggested, surely each town would have one already made just in case. Whose idea had it been that witches wouldn’t drown? Magic does not make you superhuman. You can still drown to prove you’re innocent, which is of little comfort, seeing as you’d be dead and all. The preacher, who was usually only accusing the pretty young woman of witchcraft because she told him to keep his lecherous hands to himself, would always proclaim at least her soul was saved from the devil. I hated the idea that magic had anything to do with the devil or any demon at all. Magic was not good or bad—it was all about how the person used it. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Vernon when the French doors slid open again and Sherry appeared, carrying a huge stew pot with both hands. Vernon took the chance to take another step back and behind his wife. “Will this do?” she asked, dropping it down and almost unbalancing the table. I helped her steady it. “It’s fine. If you can get the item of your son’s, I can get started.” I pulled the strap of my bag over my head and balanced it on the edge of the table so I could unload what I’d brought with me. I had a bottle of oil mixed with green food coloring to make it look more like magic than a bad recipe. I only used oil on newcomers and one-off spells. I still got the vapors, but oil boiled, bubbled and sparked—it just looked better. Magic to my mind was a lot simpler than people would believe, so you had to dress it up with some homemade special effects. People wanted a little bang for their buck. Sherry emerged from the house again with a stuffed brown teddy bear cradled in her arms and against her body. I had two problems with the item she’d chosen. First was that I didn’t want to dip it into my

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pot, knowing very well what was going to be in it. It did not look machine washable. The second was the way she was holding it. When something happens to someone we love and we have access to their things, we often find an object to hold, to cuddle to help comfort us. When my mother had died, my comfort object had been her pillow. It had her smell on it but the more I held it, the more it had begun to smell like me. Mum hadn’t gone in for stuffed toys and I’d never been allowed them when I was younger, and as an adult I’d been too old to buy one for myself. The bear was Sherry’s comfort object—by now, if she’d hugged it like this at least once a day, it would be more covered by her energy than her son’s. “That’s no good,” I said, continuing to line up the ingredients. I’d brought ginger as my spice, a very distinctive smell. Sherry looked down at the bear then back to me. I uncapped the green oil and made a large gesture of pouring it into the pot. She hugged it tighter. “It’s his favorite though.” “More reason not to put it into the pot then, so that when he’s back you won’t have to explain how his favorite bear got ruined!” She nodded slowly, moved back inside and put the bear down on the table. It sat facing me, its little black eyes staring at me almost relieved. “What would you suggest?” she asked. I thought for a minute. Using spells like this on children was difficult, as they were in a constant state of growth, so their energy could change from moment to moment. “I would explain the difficulties here but it would take too long. A recent photo and some DNA would be your best bet.” “DNA?” asked Vernon, who’d been leaning against the outside wall for a good long time, quiet as a mouse. Quiet as a church mouse. I smiled a little to myself. “Hair would be good, preferably his, but a composite of both of your DNA might work.” “I understand DNA, just never thought to hear a witch use such a scientific word.” “Do you have many conversations with witches, Reverend Baker?” He shook his head, folded his arms and went back to leaning against the wall. He had a blue and white striped shirt on today; maybe he was seriously considering renouncing his faith. It often amazed me how people could believe God had a plan when it came to tragedies until the tragedy was their own. Sherry came into the garden for the third time as I rolled up the sleeves of my jumper. She had a photo held pensively between pouted lips and a small bowl with scissors and some hair in it. She passed me the photo. Adam was a fairly handsome boy; he looked a lot like his father but had Sherry’s dark brown hair and eyes. He had light freckling over the bridge of his nose like a fairy had danced across it. He was smiling, showing at the time of the photo he’d recently lost a tooth, but he seemed happy. Sherry turned to her husband, brandishing the scissors. Vernon cowered. “What are you doing, woman?” he asked with both fear and a tiny twinge of anger in his voice. “Hair, she said!” “I’ve not got much hair left.”

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“Then you won’t miss it, and this is for your son. Don’t be such a baby.” Sherry reached up with the scissors as I put the oil on the stove and sprinkled in the ginger. The smell that came up was sticky and sweet and spicy all at once. “Damn it! You nearly took my head off.” Would they take Aram’s head off? I promised myself I wouldn’t think about him, but that one sentence brought him barging into my thoughts. I knew the best way to kill a vampire was to take the head off, burn both it and the body and scatter the ashes into the wind or over water. Could they really do that to one of their own? Would Jareth be able to order that for his own brother, his only family left? I didn’t know Jareth well enough to know what he would or wouldn’t do, and that scared me. Would Jareth do it himself? Would he make me do it as the wronged party? I wouldn’t, couldn’t, I didn’t want to do that to Aram. Somewhere in these thoughts I was aware that Sherry had placed the bowl down next to me, and I found myself asking them questions without really thinking about them first. “You don’t have any other children, do you?” “No.” “None at all, dead or alive?” “None!” “Positive?” “We have no dead children, Miss Farbanks!” I could hear anger in their voices now and for some reason my brain clicked over it, didn’t understand it. “Sorry, I just don’t want to end up in a dead person again.” The Bakers recoiled. Jesus, Cassandra, I scolded myself, you’re scaring the clients. Concentrate—push Aram to the back of your mind and focus. “You may want to stand just inside the house.” They huddled together in the doorway, and I sprinkled the hair into the pot. I held my hands over it, feeling the rising heat on the palms of my hands. I started pushing power into the pot. It felt like I was swaying, and the more I tried not to think about Aram the more he was in my mind. I had a mental image of him being led to a guillotine, his eyes big and looking at me. His voice rang in my ears. Telling me again and again that it was my fault. I tried concentrating more, but I couldn’t shake his voice. I felt guilt creeping in under my skin and squeezing at my heart. Damn it! I was supposed to be a professional. I tried to think of anything else, calm myself, but I was angry and guilty and the power was flooding from me when I’d only meant it to trickle. I couldn’t control it. It took me only a minute to realize that this spell was going to go wrong. I was expecting a small puff of smoke and for it to fizzle out. I cursed Aram in my head and the spell flared, goingsnap, crackle, pop. Actually it was lesssnap, crackle, popand moresnap, crackle, boom.The gas exploded and things went

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into slow motion. I saw Vernon panic, pushing his wife back and gripping the sliding door, slamming it across. I put my arm up to protect my face as I was hit by the shockwave. As soon as it hit me everything was back in real time. I was propelled from my feet and went flying backwards at what felt like mach one. I hit something solid and kept going. I lay on my back while my ears rang and the scenery around me shook. My eyes felt like bouncy balls in my sockets, and I thought they would never stop shaking. It took me a while to figure out that I was in some kind of structure that was rocking from me being propelled into it. I felt around with my hand at my side, finding a bolt and padlock. I’d been thrust into the garden shed. I turned my head and wished I hadn’t as I stared at the lawnmower with a fire alarm ringing in my brain. I could hear muted voices, like a turned down television, just enough sound to know you’re being talked to. Craning my head up, I saw Sherry in the doorway, and through her legs I could see Vernon putting out small fires with an extinguisher. The shed wobbled as Sherry tried to take a step inside. I had just enough time to roll as a pair of secateurs unbalanced from against the wall and fell, landing blade end in the door. Pain roared through me as the blade caught my arm, ripping my jumper and flesh. Sound came back like a soap bubble bursting. “Jesus Christ!” I put my hand over the slash in my arm and brought it up in front of my face. My fingers were dappled with blood. “Are you all right? Miss Farbanks? Miss Farbanks?” I slowly and carefully rolled my weight forward so that I could use the door like a seesaw. I stumbled out the shed to several other crashes, and Sherry caught me with her hand on my injured arm. I seethed with pain. “Oh no. Vern, she’s hurt,” Sherry exclaimed, searching out her husband, who was talking to the disembodied head of a neighbor. I’m sure the person had more than a head, but the fence obscured it. “Let’s get you in and get that looked at.” Sherry put her hands on my shoulders and moved me into the house. I sat down on a floral print couch while she went to fetch first aid. I explored the hole in my jumper with my finger; it was pretty large. I pulled it over my head, holding it up in front of me, and sighed. “I really liked this jumper.” I turned my arm around and took a look at the cut. It didn’t look too deep, but the blood had dribbled down to my elbow. It was already clotting. Sherry sat down next to me, green first-aid kit on her lap, and dabbed something against the cut. I seethed. “What the hell is that?” “Disinfectant. I don’t know how long those clippers have been in that old shed.” She started to place a piece of gauze on my arm when she noticed the bandage on my wrist. “What happened there?” I looked away from her and put my arm behind my leg.

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“Another accident.” She looked concerned. I kept looking away. What the hell was wrong with me? My powers were out of my control. They were responding extremely to swings in my emotions. I’d set two people on fire and nearly blown myself up. It was becoming clear that I shouldn’t be doing magic for a little while. I’d not taken a job since that night. In fact, I had avoided places that I picked up work. Why had I answered LeBron’s request? This was too big for me to be attempting right now. “How long before we can try again?” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baker, but I’m not going to try again. I’m just—” I searched for the words, “a mess right now. I shouldn’t have even tried tonight, but I owed Michael a solid.” I brought my hands up to my face. God I wanted to cry. Thing was I didn’t even know why I wanted to, but it felt like the most natural course of action. “We...,” Sherry stuttered, sounding close to her own tears. “We can’t just give up. He’s our son.” I took a deep breath, lowered my hands and held the tears in. I would not, could not lose it here. “I’m not suggesting you give up.” I fished out my wallet and pulled out a card. “This man is a psychic investigator; he’s better than me, has more experience and won’t blow up your yard with dodgy magic.” She took the card, but her face looked so disappointed. “Michael believed you could help us, but you can’t, can you?” she asked. I didn’t know if she was still disappointed or if she was playing on my sympathies. “No, Mrs. Baker, I don’t think I can.” I stood up, holding my jumper under my arm. “Thank you for the bandage. Goodnight.” I let myself out.

Chapter Eight There was one thing I hated about bed, and that was being dragged out of it in the middle of the night. I was sorely tempted to ignore my phone. The ringtone let me know who was calling, although the people who would call me in the middle of the night made up a very selective list. I knew if I didn’t pick up, the next sound I’d be woken by would be banging on my door. I’d barely had any sleep and I was not in the mood for the call. “What?” I barked into the receiver. “Farbanks? Is that you?” I recognized the voice; it was D.I. Rourke herself, head of PCU, the hulk and Lady Penelope’s love

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child. We didn’t get along. “It’s my number, isn’t it, Rourke?” “No need to be snippy.” I looked at the clock. “It’s one thirty in the morning! You want pleasant? You call back at a reasonable hour.” Rourke sighed heavily into the phone. “Look, I need a favor.” My ears perked up slightly, but the part of me that was tired wrapped the duvet tighter. Although it would be good for Rourke to owe me one, I didn’t think I was going to enjoy doing what she wanted in order to achieve the favor in return. “If it means me getting out of bed, forget about it.” Rourke sighed again. “Farbanks, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to come.” “Then why the hell are you asking me? Don’t invite me to the party, Rourke, if your dance card is full. It’s a pretty lousy way to ask a favor.” “I’ll pay you.” I sat up a little more in bed. Now she had my interest. I’d blown one job tonight, quite literally, so I’d not felt right to ask them to pay me. They would need the money to repair the crater I had left in their backyard. It wasn’t like I was short of cash, but a little extra could never be bad. “How much?” I asked, moving back the covers and swinging one leg out from under them. If it wasn’t enough, I could simply swing it back in and go right back to sleeping. “Two hundred, cash, for an hour, one-off consultation and your promise that no matter what you see or hear you’ll butt out after.” I rolled my neck and thought about it. Two hundred pounds to give an opinion and walk away. Easy money, I thought. “Cassandra, are you there?” “Yeah,” I said and swung my other leg out of bed so I was now sitting on the edge of it. “All right, I’ll do it. You sending someone over here to pick me up?” She must have put her hand over the receiver, because her shouting was muffled enough so that all I heard was “LeBron” and “squad car.” “Someone’s on their way,” she said, coming back over the line.

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“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Nothing. Silence. “Rourke?” The dial tone sounded. “Bitch!” I closed my phone up, tossed it onto the covers and turned on the bedside lamp. The last thing I wanted was to go trailing over to PCU. It was supposed to be the police force’s answer to the growing number of crimes involving preternatural means. But they knew diddlysquat. The unit was mostly a joke. It was filled with bigots and people no one else would have. Well, almost. There were one or two who had the potential to push up the unit’s reputation. Michael LeBron was one of them. I started rummaging through my drawers for a shirt, finding a fairly new black tee with “I’m not a geek! I’m a Level 9 Warlord” written on it. Incarra had gotten it for me after I’d lied, saying I was into gaming, to cover up my other life. The life in this darker world. I’d managed to pull my jeans on—I’d already started to bruise from my flight to the land of shed—when a car horn honked outside. I was glad no one else lived in my building on this side; in fact it was pretty much abandoned. I left my hair down and put on a pair of mules. I was only going to be an hour in a well-heated building; what would I need proper shoes or a jacket for? I grabbed my phone off the bed as the horn sounded again, pocketed my keys and headed out the door.

Chapter Nine “Someone could have mentioned this was going to be outside.” I folded my arms in a huff as LeBron drove. “I thought Rourke told you on the phone.” “Rourke tries to tell me as little as possible. What can you tell me?” He tapped his hands on the steering wheel as we waited at the red light at the end of City Walls Road. “Not much—Rourke has kept me on perimeter for a while now. Guess she’s worried about who I’d tell things to.” I looked at him and the light turned green; he sped across and went straight up Edgar Street. “Where are we...?” I started the question but didn’t finish it. We drove under the old cathedral gate, and I could see the collection of police cars and an ambulance that didn’t look needed. We pulled up behind another squad car on which DS Benjamin Hodgeson was leaning. He and I used to date a little until we both discovered we couldn’t stand each other. I sighed. LeBron leaned his head against the wheel, looking at me sideways, and his sigh echoed my own. “So how did it go at the Bakers?” I smiled at him. I knew we were both stalling getting out of the car, but it would be better to just get it over and done with. Like a Band-Aid, you just had to rip it off in one go. “I blew up their yard,” I said with a sweet smile and got out of the car. He gaped at me as I slammed the door shut and moved around the car to the front. The November night air whipped around me and I visibly shivered, curling my toes.

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“Should have worn a coat, Farbanks,” Benjamin said, running his eyes up and down me. “No one said this was gonna be an outside event.” “Usually better to be safe than sorry, Farbanks—you should know that.” He chuckled, watching me shiver. “It’s two in the morning; I forgot.” “Look up ‘stupid’ in the dictionary and there’s a picture of you.” He laughed. He’d always thought himself very funny. Unfortunately for him, I had a natural comeback reflex. “Well, I’m not the one who had to look ‘stupid’ up in the dictionary,” I said, watching his laughter fade and his posture stiffen. “And mine doesn’t have pictures in it, moron.” He gave what humans pass as a growl and took a menacing step forward. Hands came down on either side of my shoulders, and LeBron moved me back. “Calm down, folks. Rourke wants her in one piece or it’s my ass.” I’d not even heard LeBron get out of the car, but it was probably a good thing that he had. I knew Benjamin had a temper, and it was only a matter of time till I teased too far and he took a swing at me. Yet I kept on pushing my luck every time I saw him. “Why do you think I’m over here? I’m here to bring her through. You’re to join the search down by the river perimeter.” LeBron gave a nod, one that showed just how happy he was with the duty, and I mouthed an “I’m Sorry.” He gave a weak smile and trundled off in the direction of the path down to the riverbank. I looked at Benjamin and wrapped my arms around myself. “So where to?” “Body is just round here.” He started walking ahead of me and I rubbed my temples. Just what I wanted, a body. I didn’t want to look at a body tonight. I wanted to be in my nice warm bed. Benjamin looked back at me, snuggled into his warm padded sports jacket to mock me, and I began to follow. We headed towards the gardens that were attached to what used to be the cathedral. It had been a beautiful sixteenth-century building; at least it was up until about 1983. In 1983 a huge explosion had blasted the roof off and taken out most of the southern and eastern walls, exposing the cloisters and the broken tile-strewn nave. The tower and the quire were largely intact along with the chapter house. There were many rumors about what had caused the explosion—from an old Second World War bomb, to a hinky magic spell, to something as lame as a ruptured gas pipe. After the explosion and some creepy happenings, people just left it alone. It wasn’t like it was something that could really be rebuilt as it had been. Nature had reclaimed a lot of the ground, and it was now an extremely potent magical hotspot. There was something quite spectacular about it; just looking at it filled me with awe. Most of the stained

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glass from the windows had shattered in the explosion. Larger pieces had imbedded in the ground and now lay with flowers growing twisted around them. In the tower that was almost perfectly intact, the bells had been removed years ago and donated to other churches. The main building was made of taupe gray-colored stones that looked precarious, as if some child had used them as toy building blocks. The quire roof was largely un-tiled due to early years of theft, which was where I could only assume most of the other features that were removable had disappeared to as well. A large elm blanketed by moss had grown extensively large that it lifted the foundation of the transitional Norman wall. Its foliage was deep olive green, nighttime green that under the sunlight would have been a dazzling jade. The area around the unsteady wall was roped off for safety and what looked like the beginnings of a plan of preservation. The rope looked old, beaten and frayed by the rain and cold, making me think it was a project that had been abandoned. I shuddered as a shadow crossed over mine and Benjamin jumped, looking around him like a startled attack dog. He had his gun unsnapped and his thumb caressed the handle. I looked around and up, but I saw nothing. “What was that?” “Me. Shivering.” He looked back at me and was angry at himself for jumping at nothing and at me for being the one to witness it. I couldn’t blame him. Ruins were meant to be creepy, especially at night, but to me they held a certain charm. I guess I just liked things that gave normal people the heebie-jeebies. It was probably why I’d clicked more with the alternative niche. They were more open-minded. “That’s your own fault for forgetting,” he started to snap at me but stopped abruptly. I felt the heavy weight of a long coat dropped delicately onto my shoulders and looked up. D.I. Paris Hamilton stood behind me; he wore a smart milk chocolate brown suit, the jacket of which he was buttoning as he was now coatless. He fixed his periwinkle tie and glared at Benjamin. “A true gentleman would have offered her his.” Benjamin stuttered. I said nothing for a moment and enjoyed the warmth of the coat. I pulled it around me, partly to bring it closer to me and partly because Hamilton was taller than me and it was dragging on the floor. It was so warm, smelling slightly of a cologne I was unfamiliar with. It wasn’t overbearing, but it had a strong alcohol smell that wrinkled my nose. Magnus wore a very light aftershave that had an herbal smell, but it had slowly gotten me used to the scent of having a man around. I huddled up in it, not daring to put my arms in the sleeves—they’d be too long, and I’d look like a kid playing dress-up. It already hung precariously on my tiny shoulders. Hamilton was broad shouldered, tall and flawlessly handsome. His golden blond hair was just long enough to be able to sweep a hand wistfully back through it, and when he smiled he had teeth that were so straight and white they should be exclaimed with a twinkle. If I remembered correctly, Hamilton worked Homicide, but still I had to ask. “What are you doing here, D.I. Hamilton? I thought this was Rourke’s case!” “Call me Paris, Cassandra.” He gave me what was no doubt his best award-winning smile. It didn’t work on me, and I was going to try my hardest not to breed familiarity or contempt. “Please answer my question, D.I. Hamilton.” He sighed and, thankfully, I think he decided to put his charm on hold. However, he didn’t answer me.

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“I’ll take her through; you can join the others on the riverbank.” Benjamin glared at me but gave a curt nod to Hamilton before racing off in the same direction LeBron had gone. It didn’t look like he’d relished the job either, but like LeBron before him, he couldn’t ignore the order of a commanding officer. Hamilton outranked him, so he obeyed. I took a sideways look at Hamilton, who’d moved round to my left. I was still waiting for an answer. “Shall we go through?” he offered, gesturing to escort me with his arm. I sighed and continued on the walk. We rounded the corner and went under the police tape into a small grassy area I’d describe as the monks’ garden. A few officers were scattered about. Some I recognized as being attached to PCU, while others were unfamiliar. I had to assume they were Hamilton’s homicide crew. Rourke was sitting at the top of some crumbling stone steps. She was taller than a lot of the men I knew, probably about six foot, and the only thing delicately feminine about her was her face. She was pretty even with her hair pulled back so sharply into a ponytail it looked like it might hurt. She had a black knee-length parka on, a cream polo neck and dark blue jeans. Everything about her screamed that she’d been busy when the call had come in. I wondered what she could have been doing so early in the morning that wasn’t to do with work. She held a cup of coffee in her hands. Where it’d come from, I didn’t know—no place would be open this time of morning. She pursed her lips and blew over the cup, the steam rising up and floating off into the night. I shot a quick look at Hamilton to find he was watching her too. Last time I’d seen these two together, I’d overheard that they’d been involved and that it’d not ended well. I had to wonder how it would affect a working relationship. I also had the feeling that if push came to shove, I didn’t want to get caught between them in a fight. Hamilton coughed, and Rourke raised only her eyes from her coffee. She took the briefest of sips before balancing the cup on the wall and standing to meet us. I walked carefully with the coat bunched in my hands on either side—I didn’t want to trip as I went up the steps. I looked up at Rourke’s face, but she was looking at Hamilton. “Your half, please,” she said with her hand outstretched. Hamilton reached into his suit jacket and brought out a small wadge of tens and twenties. He placed it in Rourke’s hand, and she brought her right hand down, placing another similar pile on top. She turned to me, offering me the combined piles. “Count it if you like,” she said and thrust it towards me. I reached up to take it, careful not to dislodge the coat on my shoulders, and struggled to take it all without knocking some to the ground. Rourke’s hands were still warm from where she’d held the coffee. Everyone seemed to be warmer than me. I flicked through the wadge, satisfied it added up to two hundred, and slipped it folded into my back pocket. “So?” I said, looking between the pair. “What can I do for you?” Rourke turned and, looking back over her shoulder, directed me to follow. “It’s over here.” “It?” I asked. “Ben said there was a body.” “Yup.” Rourke traced a line of footprints in the fresh wet mud from the rain. It must have rained again while I was asleep.

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“A person dead or alive isn’t an it, Rourke.” She sighed, coming to a stop, and took a dramatic sidestep so I could see. Under the shadow of the tree, between the roots was a petite pile of bones. They were stacked, almost as if they’d been folded like laundry. The small feet and legs were tucked under the ribcage, a rib of which had been snapped off and rested in the cradle of the pelvic bone. The arm bones rested in the gap so that it looked as if the skeleton had reached inside itself. The skull looked small and smooth balancing between the shoulder blades. I felt a brief wave of nausea wash over me and took some very deep breaths. It was the remains of a child, and looking at it disturbed me to no end. “You guys don’t need a witch, you need an anthropologist.” “An anthropologist can’t tell us what kind of monster did this,” Rourke said, and I caught her looking sharply at Hamilton. “I stand by my conclusion, Rourke. It’s a homicide and could have been committed by a human.” I looked at both of them. “Whether human or something else, it was most certainly a monster that did this.” “Can’t you just,” Rourke wriggled her fingers, “whammy it and find out for sure?” “Is that why you dragged me out here? To settle which one of you gets the case?” They both gave me a dangerous look that told me that was exactly why I was here. I didn’t understand Rourke. There was nothing around the bones to suggest in any way that the death, as sad as it was, was the result of anything supernatural. “Who took the call?” I asked. “We did,” Rourke barked, and she shot another unpleasant look at Hamilton. Ah, I said to myself. PCU had been called out first because of the location, and Homicide had obviously waltzed in after. Then no doubt the pissing contest had started. Rourke probably would have been happy to hand it over, but something Hamilton had done or said had clearly pissed her off. Now it was her case and she wasn’t going to let it go without a fight. It was up to me to see if I could rule it one way or the other. Hamilton must have agreed to accept my word on this, as his department was putting up half of the fee for an hour of my time. “All right,” I said, giving my temples a rub to try and ease my frustration. “I’ll take a look at it.” I cringed, realizing that I’d just done the very thing I had been scolding Rourke for. I could see why I had, though, and probably why Rourke had—with no flesh, it was too small, and I knew very little about bone structure to determine gender. I shrugged out of the coat and handed it back to Hamilton. It’d only get dirty if I had to bend down to take a closer look. I squatted, rocking on my heels until I centered my balance and was safe from falling over. I inhaled deeply and caught the scent of bleach. It stung and wrinkled my nose. The bones had been wiped down with it, and not a single bit of flesh was left. Would you like some gloves?

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I stuck my hand up in the air. “Yes, please.” When nothing happened, I looked up at Rourke, and Hamilton held a pack of latex gloves in his hand. “How did you do that?” he asked. I looked at him puzzled and plucked a pair of gloves from the box. “Do what?” I asked, struggling with the elastic of the gloves. There is an art to getting on a pair of latex gloves; unfortunately I’m not an artist. The elastic snapped and the glove went flying into the air. We all watched it flutter to the ground. I stood up, exasperated. Hamilton chuckled, putting the box between his legs, and took my left hand in his. Hamilton’s hands were large and also very warm; he got the glove on my hand, stroking the latex down my fingers. “How did you answer my question before I’d even asked it?” “What are you talking about? You asked me if I wanted some gloves; I heard you ask me.” He gave me a peculiar look and then reached for my other hand. He froze when he saw the bandage on my wrist. His fingers traced the bandage carefully. “What happened?” I looked at it and the spot where his hand was still cupping mine and tried to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Nothing, okay! Can you just glove me?” Hamilton smirked, a half-crooked smile, and helped get the glove on my second hand. I squatted down again and ran two gloved fingers over the skull. It was completely smooth. Whoever had done this had no qualms about what they had done. That said to me either monster or sociopath. “Can I move stuff?” I looked at Rourke rather than Hamilton; I was hoping it would gain me some brownie points. I wasn’t a suck-up, but it paid to be nice to people you might end up working with again. “Yes, it’s been photographed extensively,” she said, drawing out the syllables of “extensively” while throwing a daggered look at Hamilton. He’d probably insisted on his own set of shots. I reached out, carefully lifting the skull off the top so I could reach under the ribcage to the rib bones. They had tiny dents and scrapes on them that were odd. I was betting the huge gash in one of them was from a knife wound. Poor kid, I thought, picking up the skull again and look at it dead on. Who were you? I asked myself quietly. Where are your parents? Someone must have noticed you were gone. Who would be the ones to grieve for your loss? I placed the skull back on the ground, drawing attention from anyone in visual range. I started to lay the bones out. “What are you doing? Farbanks?” I looked up at Rourke after a minute. “I’m laying the body out properly, Rourke, with respect.”

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I started lining up the bones of the arm and hands, getting confused between the little finger and toe bones. I wondered, if I started hummingThem Bonesto help remind me, if Rourke and Hamilton would think me rather macabre. I got the body laid out and examined the markings on the rib bones again. I shook, suddenly grossed out, and almost brought up what little I’d eaten for dinner. “What is it?” Hamilton asked, reading my face. I placed the back of my hand to my mouth, feeling another wave of nausea about to crash; the smell and feel of the latex against my lips didn’t help. I pointed to the ribs while taking deep breaths. “Those are teeth marks.” I couldn’t hold it in; I turned, quickly launching away from the body, and threw up behind a shrub. Sometimes it did not pay to have a good imagination. It was the mental images my brain had bombarded me with that had made me sick. “That proves it,” Rourke said, glowing with victory, “it’s a monster. A non-human one.” “Not necessarily—there’s cannibalism to consider,” Hamilton barked. I stood up and, holding my stomach, walked back to them. “I can’t decide this for you; you two are either going to have to work together or go three rounds till one of you KO’s the other.” I bent slightly, snatching another pair of gloves from the box still between Hamilton’s knees. They wobbled, and the box fell to the ground between his feet. He looked at me, gaping. I tied knots in all the fingers and stalked towards where I’d seen the preservation work from the road. “Farbanks? Are you done?” Rourke called after me. “No,” I called back. “I’ll be back in a minute.” I dug around the preservation area until I found what I wanted, a half-empty bag of builders’ sand. The top layer had become quite hard, but with a few swift angry kicks, fueled by my embarrassment for throwing up, it cracked and fell aside. I piled as much of the looser dirty yellow sand into the plastic glove as I could and carried it back to the skeleton. I dropped to my knees next to the head and turned it to face me. Pouring slowly, I encircled the skull with a wall of sand and went back for more. It took three trips to get enough, by which time Rourke and Hamilton were looking puzzled. “This isn’t the place to be building sand castles, Farbanks,” Rourke barked, and the wind howled behind her. “Neither is it the time of year,” I said, shivering and rubbing my arms as goose bumps rippled across my skin. “But that’s not what I’m doing.” I sat back on my heels and cleared my mind, focused my thoughts. It was little less than five hours ago I’d promised myself I’d lay off the magic for a while. But I needed to do this. I raised my hand towards the skull still on my knees and felt the warm whip of power whirl around me. My loose hair whipped around my face. “I call upon the goddess of memory, Mnemosyne,” I chanted. “Remember from the echoes and show me in the sand. Make a mask to show me the true face of the victim.”

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The sand began to swirl around the skull, lifting it into the air. I stood slowly, the sand wrapped over the smooth surface of the skull giving it definition. A button nose rose up between the eyes that were still so cold and empty. The lips came out fat and pouting, bringing out the deepness of the dimples on either side. A mass of curls sprouted from the top, falling wildly around the face, and a messy angelic-ness took hold. It was a girl, and she could have been no more than six. I felt my gut wrench as I pulled myself further upright and held the reconstructed face out to Rourke and Hamilton. My arm began to stiffen. My elbow ached with a raw pain I’d never felt, and I blinked rapidly, trying to stay focused. Something was wrong with me. Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have been doing magic and now I was going to pay for it, for ignoring my gut instinct. The skull started to spin, the sand flying off in every direction. I tried to let it go, to drop it safely back to the ground, but I couldn’t release it. I started to feel dizzy and I swayed on the spot. “Farbanks? Are you all right? Stop it.” I tried to answer but found I had no voice, and I went unwillingly spinning into the black.

Chapter Ten I thought I was dreaming, but it was a strange dream. It was like staring at an oval mirror, horizontal and framed by blinding white light. It was a fuzzy light, like when you stare into a lamp and then close your eyes too tight. In the mirror was the dream, my hand outstretched before me, like I was plucking a poster from a wall. It was almost like I could feel it in my hand. The angelic, pouty lipped girl stared back at me, her curls golden and her button nose tinged lightly with pink. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, as if she could see me looking at her, and there was a shiny green barrette in her hair that matched her eyes. It’s this one. I heard my own voice ring clear in my head, but it echoed as if I had spoken into an empty cavern. The light began to consume the picture, and I found one of my eyes had opened. Was I awake? My head felt groggy. I was definitely awake now, as pain rocked through me from the back of my skull. The light burned as it hovered over my eye, making the pain somehow worse. I coughed, trying to clear my throat. “Will you get the light out of my eyes?” I pushed my second eye open and looked at the paramedic who was hanging over me. I started to sit up but shuddered a bit, so he had to help me. Hamilton, Rourke and Benjamin were crowded just outside the ambulance door. I guess they had found a use for it after all. I was on the gurney in the back and had no idea how I had gotten there. It certainly hadn’t been under my own power. “You pass out like that a lot?” Hamilton asked. He was the only one who seemed to look terribly concerned. Rourke was trying to look blank while Benjamin just appeared bored. “I’m fine,” I said, my eyes directed at the paramedic fussing over me. He moved back, giving me some space to breathe, giving me air, and it flowed over me so bitterly cold that I shivered.

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“Do you feel dizzy?” he asked, moving back in. I put my hand on his chest to stop him. When he stopped, I pushed him back so that I could sit up properly. “I’m not dizzy, I’m fine.” “Really?” came Benjamin’s scoffing voice, and I rolled my eyes to him. “How many fingers do you see?” He held his index, middle and ring fingers up, waving them back and forth. I held my hand up and flipped him the bird. “How many do you see?” I asked. “She’s fine.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stalked off. I batted at the paramedic as he tried to put a thermometer in my mouth. “I’m fine,” I repeated. How many times was I going to have to say it? “No,” he contradicted, “you’re a little hot.” “Thank you, and you’re a little forward.” The paramedic recoiled, and I could see a line of crimson starting up his pale neck. “I meant you’re running a little hot—you might have a fever.” “I don’t. I’ve never been sick a day in my life.” I started to pull the band off my arm that was measuring my heart rate. I got it off, and the monitor flat-lined. “I didn’t say sick, I said fever. Those wounds on your arm could be infected. Let me change the dressings.” I gave him a low, unappreciative growl and scooted to the end of the gurney. Rourke had her arms folded over her chest, but she was looking over my bandages. I was so busy looking at her looking at me that I tripped on the ambulance steps and fell into Hamilton’s arms. He was strong and held me up safely with such ease. “Falling for me already, Cassandra?” he asked, oozing charm. I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t ask you to catch me.” I pushed at him, more than a little embarrassed, as he’d probably been the one who’d brought me over to the ambulance as well. It attacked my feminine pride that I was so easily carried. “If I hadn’t you might have hit your head again.” “Right now I’d take the concussion. I just want to go home.” I broke out of his embrace and marched around the door of the ambulance. “You can’t go yet!” I stopped and turned around to face Rourke. She had her hands on her hips now, but she was smiling slightly. I think she liked that I rejected Hamilton with such fervor. “And why the hell can’t I?”

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“I’ve got to fill out a report, and I need you to go over the details of what you did back there.” She gestured towards where the bones were. “How long is that gonna take?” “As long as it takes.” I grumbled and leaned against the van, folding my arms. I had very little choice, and I could feel mud and leaves drying into my hair. “Let’s hurry it up then.” It took another half an hour before Rourke and Hamilton could agree to call the scene all clear. I’d done my best to pick the leaves out of my hair as I was forced to wait. Then it was a choice of who to ride in with. I figured, although we didn’t like each other, riding in Rourke’s car would be slightly more comfortable than being trapped with Hamilton. It started off as a fairly quiet car journey. Some silences can be comfortable; some can be stand-able, but not this one. Every so often Rourke would take her eyes off the road to look at me. Her eyes kept twitching between the two bandages. Her mouth would open silently, then slam shut, and her eyes would go back to the road. I finally got sick of it as we pulled into the police yard. “If you want to know, just ask!” I sounded a little angry and I guess I was; I didn’t like being treated like some sideshow spectacle. Her jaw clicked. “Well, what happened?” “I was careless at work,” I said, touching the bandage that hid the cut and then looking at my wrist. “And your wrist?” she prodded. I placed it over my waist and snapped the seatbelt off. “Personal.” I reached for the handle and heard the release snap open. Rourke put a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were concerned. It was a strange look coming from Rourke’s face. “It’s not your boyfriend, is it? He’s not...” I gaped at her and she pulled her hand back, studying the shock in my eyes. “Magnus couldn’t hurt a fly,” I said, automatically filled with the urge to defend my boyfriend’s honor. I was quite sure he could have hurt a fly if he’d wanted to what he lacked was the inclination to. “It’s my fault. I got into a fight with a vampire and I had to be restrained.” I got out of the car. Rourke followed me. “Why would you do something so reckless? It could have crushed your wrist.” “I was pissed off. I find it very easy to get angry at vampires these days,” I said, rubbing my neck for emphasis, “even the good ones.” “That’s where you’re going wrong, Farbanks; you believe there are ‘good’ vampires.” She glared at me, and I shrugged.

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“I should have known you would react like that. I should have just stuck to calling it personal; or would you prefer if I looked sad and let you think it was my boyfriend knocking me around?” “He’s not, is he?” She looked very concerned again, and I snorted a derisive laugh. “If you knew Magnus you’d realize how stupid that sounds. Let’s just get your report done so I can go home. I’m cold, and I’m gonna need a shower before I can even think about bed again.” Rourke rounded the car, and as we started walking for the entrance, I almost naturally fell in step with her. “You would tell someone, though, if he ever got rough with you?” she asked very quietly. I knew Rourke didn’t hate men, and the fact that Magnus was a man was not why she was so concerned; her concern stemmed from the fact that she knew Magnus was part preternatural, part elf. “Rourke, do I look like the kind of a girl who would allow a man to abuse me? He’d be out the door and hexed before you could...” “Hexed?” Hamilton said, popping up behind us and making us both jump. “Who are you hexing?” “You, if you’re not bloody careful,” I growled while Rourke gave him a silent but menacing glare. He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Ladies, that’s not nice.” He moved ahead of us, pushing both doors, creating a double door entrance for himself and holding one back so we could follow in behind. Always, at least publically, a gentleman. Rourke fell into step with Hamilton now, so I dawdled behind. They marched down the main corridor, talking very quietly between themselves. Hamilton was laughing and joking, which only seemed to make Rourke’s posture stiffen. I cast my eyes from left to right and looked in the rooms as I passed, stopping dead at the one near the end before you either had to go upstairs for Larceny/Homicide or down to Forensics and PCU. Hamilton and Rourke stopped at the end. “I’ve got to pop up to my office. I’ll be down to join you ladies in a...” he paused “...in a minute. Is she okay?” I could only assume he meant me, as I’d stopped dead in the doorway to Missing Persons. I was starring at a cork notice board at the back of the room. I must have walked past this room more than twenty times and I’d never noticed it. It covered almost one whole wall, and it was consumed by“Have you seen this person?”posters. There was something very strangely familiar about it. “Farbanks?” Rourke barked, but I ignored her and walked into the room, heading directly for the board. I was aware that there were eyes on me, but I didn’t care. I stood before the board, scanning it with my eyes, and then I saw it. I ripped it from the board; the pin holding it fell to the ground with an audible tinkle. I was aware all noise had stopped in the room. I stared at the picture of the pouty lipped, golden-haired, button-nosed girl. My gaze darted around the picture till it found the green barrette, and I gasped. Footsteps came up to my side; I glanced quickly across to register Hamilton was now beside me.

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“What is it?” He looked at me with caution—he was aware of all the eyes too. “It’s this one,” I said, and was smashed hard by a feeling ofdéjà vu. “What is?” “The bones tonight—they’re this girl’s.” I handed him the flyer and turned, as I could hear muttering from behind me. The minute my eyes fell upon the occupants of the room, the regular sounds returned, and everyone tried to pretend they’d not been staring. Hamilton put his hand on my arm. “Let’s go where it’s more private, and then you can tell me how the hell you’re so sure about this.” I said nothing and let him lead me out. I nodded along sleepily as Rourke read the report to me. I’d filled her in on the spell I’d done and Hamilton on how that connected to the poster I’d pulled off the wall in Missing Persons. Once I had him convinced that it was the same girl, not mentioning that I had dreamt about the poster, he’d gone to negotiate with MP (Missing Persons) for the file on the little girl. It was now closer to four a.m. than three, and I was once again desperately pining for my bed. Rourke continued on, reading the report back to me. I added the occasional “uh huh” and “that’s right” with my nods, but I’d stopped paying attention a while ago. “And then the moon exploded and it rained cheese.” “Uh huh,” I said before I could stop myself and stopped nodding to look sheepishly across at Rourke. Her eyes were narrowed, and she wasn’t even holding the report anymore. “Farbanks, you’re not even listening to me!” she growled at me. “It’s the same as the first two times we went over it. I agree to it, just sign it, file it, you stamp my hand and send me home.” She sighed heavily and scratched her name across the bottom of the page. I stood up, thankful to have it finally over, when Hamilton came bristling back through the door. “Talk about difficult to get; those MP detectives just did not want to give it up.” He waved a file in the air and slapped it down in front of Rourke. “The girl is Jessica Cairns, six, disappeared about four weeks ago from just outside the Sainsbury supermarket. Mother said she only took her eyes off her for a minute. Jessica said something about a pretty tune, and when the mother looked up a moment later, no kid. It’s sort of sad really. One minute you’re just putting the shopping in the boot, listening to the radio, and the next some sicko has snatched your baby up.” He made a sad face and leaned against the filing cabinet. I reached for the file, pulling it slowly across to me, sat back down, flipped it open and started reading. “And?” Rourke asked. “And what?” Hamilton said, obviously grumpy at being distracted from his broody thoughts. “Did you call the parents? So we can do a DNA match.”

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“With what? Those bones were clean as a whistle. No flesh, no fibers and no fingerprints.” “Forensics said there was enough bone marrow to do a comparison. Call the family.” I looked up from the file to watch Hamilton pull a face. “I got the file; I don’t want to call the damn family too. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. You do it.” “Hamilton!” Rourke growled, and I could hear her teeth grinding. “Rock, paper, scissors?” “Hamilton!” “Fine, I’ll call first thing in the morning. Let them have one more night before they’ve got to face this grim reality.” Neither Rourke nor I pointed out it was already morning. I finished reading the report. “The radio wasn’t on...” I looked up to find both Rourke and Hamilton staring at me. Rourke snatched the file, glaring at me like I’d just been caught reading her diary. “What?” Hamilton asked, standing upright. “You said she was listening to the radio, but nowhere does it say that. The car was parked. Without the engine running, there’s no way the radio could have been on.” “If that were right, she would have heard someone approach,” Hamilton said, prepared to argue it out. Rourke shot him a dirty look for humoring me. “Most definitely, but what if no one approached—what if the child walked away from her?” “Then she wouldn’t have been so quick to notice—small feet, less noise. But what could possibly make her leave her mum?” “Music! Music only the child could hear!” I smacked my hand down on the desk as a “eureka” moment hit me and I regretted it almost instantly, cradling my hand. “Ow!” I swore a couple of times under my breath and realized they were watching me again. They must have seen I’d connected some dots and were waiting for me to explain. “Rourke, do you remember the Bakers kid, missing two weeks, whom you bounced back to Missing Persons?” “How the hell do you know about that?” she snarled. I shifted slightly in my chair and thought carefully to myself: don’t mention LeBron. “Well, when Missing Persons tried to bump them back to you, they gave up on the police and through a contact I got tapped. I tried to find the kid, but”—I touched my arm as it twinged a little—“I lost control of my emotions during the spell and practically Chernobyl-ed their back garden.” “How does that connect?” Hamilton asked, blocking off any comment from Rourke. “Adam, that’s the kid, heard music before he disappeared. It was bounced down to Rourke ‘cause

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Adam was born deaf. He couldn’t actually have heard anything.” “So how can you hear music without actually hearing it?” “There are numerous spells and objects that deal with mind to mind transfer. I don’t see why it couldn’t be used to beam something like a song directly into the child’s head.” “And a kid, being curious, might try to follow the music to see where it was coming from.” “If not already conditioned to enter a trance-like state upon hearing it. You’ve got to admit it’s a pretty devious way to lure prey to you.” I rolled my shoulders as they were beginning to ache and looked at the clock. It was getting later and later. Sunrise was roughly at seven a.m. during the winter; I wanted to be out of here before then, but we were on to something. “So a witch or a wizard?” Hamilton asked. Then his eyes narrowed as he added, “A perv.” “I wouldn’t rule non-human out,” I said. “The teeth marks scare me too much to think a person did that, and I can see no mystical benefit to any witch or wizard. Then again, I don’t traverse that far into the realm of the dark arts.” Hamilton nodded thoughtfully. I couldn’t rule out a human perpetrator, so I was stuck sitting on the proverbial fence, although I was strongly leaning towards monster. “I’d go back to Missing Persons, pick up the file on Adam Baker and any other child disappearance in the last half a year, looking for the music connection.” “Yes, that’s a good idea...,” Hamilton started, but he was silenced by Rourke standing and slamming her palms on the desk. The desk shook and a pile of paperwork cascaded. “No! Two hundred for an hour and you to butt out after. That was the agreement.” I scowled at her; I’d already been wrapped up in this longer than an hour, but she was deathly serious. She balled her hand into a fist until the knuckles were white. “So you’re not going to look at the music connection?” I asked. Hamilton looked uneasy, like he thought we were going to fight. There was also this weird glint in his eye that hoped we would wrestle around there right in front of him. Or it could all have been my imagination. I looked at his wry smile. Okay, maybe not just my imagination. I did my best to just tune him into background noise. “We’ll look into it,” Rourke said, gesturing to herself and Hamilton. Cops only club. Pfft! What was so great about being a cop anyway? Nobody liked them. “Although ‘cause it came out of your mouth, it’ll probably hit a spooky dead end and we’ll rile up a bunch of families for nothing.” “Spooky dead end?” I chided. “Spooky is supposed to be your business. I mean you’re practically the freaking Ghostbusters, except they were cool.” Hamilton choked on a laugh, trying to hide it from Rourke as her glaring eyes swept the room. “Go home, Farbanks.” She’d said what I wanted her to for the last couple of hours, but I was now quite adamant it wasn’t

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where I needed to be. “I could help,” I started but was cut off sharply. “No! Farbanks, you’re not an officially registered Paranormal Investigator, you’re a busybody, and you promised to stay out of this. I can’t have a civilian running about, especially not one with your penchant for getting into trouble. I am not explaining to my bosses how I nearly got a civilian killed again.” I let my mouth drop a little. Rourke hadn’t let me do anything; it had been my plan, my work. It wouldn’t have worked out if I’d not been involved; but then again, I wouldn’t have got bitten by what she thought was an unknown vampire. “You didn’t nearly do anything, Rourke.” I didn’t know whether I was about to start another argument or try to comfort her, but she stopped me dead. “No chance in hell, Farbanks,” she said, rounding the desk, striding to the door and yanking it open. “LeBron!” she yelled into the squad room and turned back to Hamilton and me. “You go home,” she looked directly at Hamilton, “and you go back to MP for those files.” LeBron appeared in the doorway. He was holding himself like I pictured a man afraid of his boss would—all timid and cowering. She looked down at him, but there were very few people she didn’t have to look down to. “LeBron, take Miss Farbanks here home.” I rose slowly out of the chair, shoving my hands into my pockets like a petulant child. Where the hell did she get off holding me to what I’d agreed to? Fine! She could do it without my help and my knowhow, and we’d just see how bloody far she’d get. LeBron took my arm, escorting me from the room looking very serious. The minute we were out of sight of PCU and up the stairs, he released me and fell into a very casual step beside me. “So you got in trouble? We could all hear Rourke yelling no, a lot towards the end there. What happened?” “She’s refused to let me help.” “I didn’t think you’d want to. I had a bit of an upset message on my mobile from Sherry. I was going to ask you to consider trying again. They don’t want the psychic, they want you.” “If you’ll do something for me I will.” He looked at me, hopeful, and I smiled back, which made his eyebrows pull together and thick creases appear in his forehead. “What do you want?” “Rourke and Hamilton are about to get some files from MP. I want copies of the statements. You get those to me and not only will I go back to the Bakers’ place, I won’t charge them a penny!”

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Chapter Eleven By the time I was showered and my hair dry it was quarter to six. I climbed into bed, my eyes and limbs already so heavy I was like an anchor hitting the seabed. All stop. Everything just stopped and I was still. I would with luck manage about two hours sleep before I had to get up for my nine a.m. psychology class. I’d been floundering in college a bit recently, as I’d ended up being more of a part-time student than a part-time student should be. I had to miss some of my late afternoon classes at the moment because they wouldn’t finish until after the sun went down and I couldn’t think of excuses to leave class early. I certainly didn’t want to vanish right in the middle of a class. I was so tired that I didn’t think I would dream, but I did. I was running. Running through a mass of dark, maze-like tunnels of muddy brown rock. They were twisted and turned without any kind of reason. I was somewhere deep underground; there was no natural light, only the occasional flicker of torches. I could hear crunching noises pervading the air along with the smell of cooking meat. I ran upwards, through thickets of brambles and the dark denseness of trees. Creatures appeared before me, in a room, huddled over with long stringy hair, but all color melted into the darkness around them, obscuring them. There were three of them, and nestled between their ugly gnarled feet was a small child’s shoe. It was pink and sparkly with rainbow Velcro straps instead of laces. A terrible shriek made me whirl in the darkness, and I faced the direction I had come from. Flying towards me was a large red bird. It glowed as if on fire, so elegant in shape with long, beautifully curved tail feathers. I was terrified, more so than I had ever been, and I heard its deafening shriek again. I sat bolt upright in bed, my hands flying instinctively up to cover my ears as my bedside alarm rang with fury. I shook the dream away as best I could and slapped my hand down on snooze. I was not ready for it to be time to get up. I snuggled back under the covers and closed my eyes. Five minutes later I hit snooze again, and again five minutes after that, and five minutes after that I finally hit the off button but rolled back over. Slowly I felt time tick away as I drifted somewhere on the fringe of sleep until I opened my eyes, catching sight of the clock on the dresser, and rolled over to check the closer one on my alarm. Nine a.m. I screamed, bolting out of bed, and raced around the flat pulling on clothes. I stuffed things into my bag whilst forcing my shoes and jacket on. I batted at my hair as it got in the way of everything—today was not a day for having hair the complete length of your upper body. If I flat out ran, maybe I could make it only twenty minutes late. **** I was so embarrassed opening the door into my lesson. Everything stopped as I did and people stared. They had a right to stare—I was a disheveled mess. I’d barely managed to tame my hair into a ponytail as I’d marched down the corridor. My tutor looked at me, at his watch and then back at me before, slightly annoyed, he waved me to the only empty seat. I had to cross the room with my entire face fighting not to turn scarlet. Once I was seated, he went back to talking about the essay he was setting. “This is going to be twenty-five percent of your grade, so pay close attention. I want it in Wednesday.” There was an audible groan from the entire class and one yawn. The yawn was me—I was still so very tired, and having run all the way here, my energy level was not improving. No coffee, no breakfast, no nothing. I was running on whatever remained in my stomach from last night’s dinner of char-grilled chicken and potato salad.

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“Don’t groan. You should have almost everything you need for this from the textbooks and the handouts from the last three months. I have practically written it for you.” He turned away from the white board, rooted about on his desk for some sheets that were colored a light blue and passed them to the guy at the end of my row. “Each of you take a list of headings—there are five for you to choose from. I want to see a good two thousand to five thousand words from each of you. As usual I will allow a two hundred and fifty word dif either side.” I took a copy of the sheet and passed it to the next person, I gave it a quick onceover, folded it neatly in half and rested it on the desk in front of me. I was quite pleased with my construct and listened blankly, slightly nodding off as he droned on, recapping everything we’d gone through recently. His voice began to take on the same pitch to me as the light above that was humming and flickering. Soon the class was over and I had barely even noticed. I started gathering my bits together. “Miss Farbanks, could you stay behind for a moment?” I looked at the tutor, who leaned against the table that passed for his desk and wiped his glasses with a cloth. I dropped back into my seat, my bag crashing on the desk, and waited, watching the others look back at me as they filed out. Some giggled as they departed, both they and I figuring I was going to get yelled at. “Care to tell me why you were late?” he said, putting his glasses back on and staring at me over the opaque rims. I rubbed my temples. “I got to bed at six a.m. and overslept. It happens,” I said dryly. I didn’t expect him to understand. I didn’t even expect him to care. “It seems to happen to you a lot, and I’ve not seen you finish the Wednesday afternoon session since we came back from the term break.” Not since the sun started to set earlier, I thought to myself, but I couldn’t explain that to him either. It was a double lecture, with an afternoon break; I always stayed till after the break. Didn’t that count as attending? “I had to pick up some more hours at work.” This was true in a way. Well, at least it was true about last night—I had been working. “I understand,” he said, taking a deep breath, like this conversation was going to be difficult for him, “that your situation is tough, and I am all for this attempt at bettering yourself, but I wonder if you can keep up. This course is made up in quarters of twenty-five percent, one of those being attendance. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “Yes, I understand. May I be excused? I’ve not eaten.” He looked at me, stumbled his response a little and allowed me out. I pulled my bag onto my shoulder and walked wearily down the hall. We had an exam at the end of the year, which I had little doubt in my mind I could walk into and ace. We had two assigned essays, and as he said the last quarter was attendance. To spell it out in big letters, if I flunked this essay that was fifty percent out the window, as would be my entire year. I had to make sure this essay was not only done but that it was damn good.

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I turned instead of going into the canteen and hit the row of vending machines; I stocked up, stuffing things into my bag, and curtailed it towards the library. I could set myself up in the psychology books and just work until about half an hour before sundown. That was a good plan. Only thing about making a plan is that one way or another, it can go awry. My plans go awry because I have nosy friends. I didn’t even manage to get settled with the questions and outlines out before Incarra found me. I had the books piled up, and I could have ducked behind them to avoid being seen, but that might have made me look guilty. What did I have to be guilty about? Well, today anyway. Today I was pretty sure I was innocent of any wrongdoing. I looked at Incarra as she approached. I made sure it wasn’t a friendly look. “If the Spanish Inquisition is going to continue, I’m going to call a raincheck. I’ve got a lot to do.” Incarra looked a little sheepishly at me and sat down. As she descended to the seat, I got to read what was on her T-shirt, and I almost burst out laughing. In dark pink it read “I like you. That’s why I am going to kill you last.” “I’m sorry.” It was completely the opposite of what I had been expecting. She was apologizing. I gave her the suspicious look she deserved. She gave me a weak smile and sighed. “I am. I shouldn’t have gone all good cop bad cop on you with Anton. He said it was a bad idea, but I didn’t listen to him. But in my defense, I wouldn’t be any kind of friend if I didn’t worry about you.” “I’m really glad that you worry about me, sometimes it’s nice, but you’re too suspicious for your own good. You’re convinced that everything is some elaborate conspiracy. You have to get control of your paranoia.” “Just ’cause I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t all out to get me.” I smiled at her and her face brightened. I wasn’t going to be mad at her; I was too washed out after last night to even attempt anything that resembled a bad mood. They require way too much thinking. “And who are they—the Gestapo, the government, a major cosmetics consortium?” She laughed and gave a shrug that meant everything and nothing at all at the same time. She settled into the seat, and an uncomfortable feeling rolled up my spine. I had the feeling that although she was sorry about the conversation we’d had the other day, it wasn’t over. “What?” I said, drawing the word out to make it sound as suspicious as I felt. She looked me dead in my eyes over the rims of her glasses, breathing out so slowly that her piercing popped out of her nose a little as her nostril flared. “It’s just…I still get the feeling that you’re hiding something from me. I know you said you don’t remember what happened, but I get this gut feeling that you’re covering something up. Something bad, that you feel you can’t share with anyone, even me.” I leaned back and took a minute to digest her words, mull them over. Damn it. She was far too perceptive sometimes. It was the curse of having someone know you as well as Incarra knew me.

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“Incarra—” As I said her name, I knew immediately that I was about to lie to her again, although it was something that would sound so honest and heartfelt. “There is nothing in this world I would not tell you.” “Really?” she asked, and there was something in that smile, something ebil. “Yes...” “Tell me who the guy on the answering machine was. I want a name, basic description and occupation.” I smacked my hand to my forehead and dragged my fingers down my face. Was there any way to get out of this? I certainly couldn’t find a way. I gave her the look she deserved. Elephants never forgot, and neither did Incarra. “All right.” She brightened up and leaned in with interest. I looked longingly at my essay questions that were still stuck in the top of my bag. I would take Freud with his maternal obsessions over having to talk about Aram right now. “His name is Aram Trelawny. He’s twenty-five,” I said, and he was, I just wasn’t going to mention he had been twenty-five for over five hundred years. “He has hazel eyes and brown curly hair with red highlights.” “And what does he do?” I’d thought very carefully about how to describe what Aram did for a living. He sold his company; he took money from people for the novelty of being in the presence of a good-looking vampire. Was there a human equivalent of that? Yeah, but it sounded very seedy. Seedy or not, it was all I had. “He’s a host at a club,” I said and fought not to blush. I didn’t know why I was blushing; it was a job like any other. It wasn’t like he was sleeping with them as well or anything. Okay, I didn’t know that for sure—the way that woman had been all over him just for a blood donation did make me wonder a little. Not that it was any of my business, I reasoned to myself; not as if I cared. “He’s a host, as in paid to entertain lonely women?” I nodded, and then Incarra made a connection I hadn’t in my head. “Wait a minute, you said you worked with him,” she said, her eyes widening. “Are you a female host?” I waved my hands in front of my face and furiously shook my head. I could feel heat crawling up my neck into my face, and I couldn’t stop it. “Waitress,” I blurted out, forming the best lie I could think of. I hated that I had become so good at it. “Bartender, dogsbody.” “I thought you granny sat?” she asked. It was almost as if she could smell the lie. “Not all the time. It doesn’t pay a lot, so I do this as well. I’m not supposed to talk about it; it’s an underground club, y’know, very specific market of clientele.” “From what I know of these sort of clubs, and I am only going on what I read on the web—by the by,

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you can Google anything these days—but don’t they have to, well, sort of keep themselves looking available and stuff? Why does Aram”—she said his name, and it sounded so weird coming from her lips—“call you at home?” “Be...” I stuttered and didn’t know why, “...be-because he likes me.” Incarra made a little “O” with her mouth and flicked the end of one of her bunches back over her shoulder. “Do you like him?” “Incarra, I have a boyfriend.” She practically threw herself across the table and grabbed my T-shirt collar. I swore under my breath. I was sure I had told her, but her reaction alone told me that I might have forgotten to mention it. “Who? When? Why haven’t I met him?” “His name is Magnus,” I said and started prying her fingers off my collar. She let me and started back towards her seat. “He and I met a couple of months ago, and I was waiting to see how serious it was going to get before introducing him to the important people in my life.” Incarra settled back into her chair. “Does Aram know you have a boyfriend?” I just nodded for a moment, without going into too much detail; this was an all right conversation to be having. It was almost completely normal to be talking about guys with my best friend. That was what you did with best friends, after all. I gave one last nod and added, “They don’t like each other.” “How’s Magnus looks wise? As nice or nicer than Aram?” I thought about it. I’d never been very picky when it came to the way men looked. It was all about personality for me and on some base level, I supposed, reaction. How I reacted to a man when I first met him sort of dictated what would happen in the future. When I had met both of them, part of me, the primal part that I suppose we all have, went,wow. The only real difference was with Aram, another part of me had pulled away, like it knew he would hurt me. “They are complete opposites almost, but they’re both above average, I suppose, looks wise. But Aram is trouble with a capital ‘T,’” I said. Thinking about my latest dilemma, I quickly added, “He might be about to lose his job.” “Oh, what happened?” If I kept the details out of it, vagued a few of the facts up, I could talk to Incarra about this. And what a relief it would be to talk to someone about it. “He broke some of the club’s rules; he’s chased me to a point where they feel they need to discipline him.” “Do you mind that he, what, flirts with you? Surely you could just say you don’t mind.” “I do mind, and don’t call me ‘surely.’”

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She gave me a big grin and clapped her hands together. “Very quick. But I’m serious; you can’t let him lose his job over a little flirting. I am sure he has learnt his lesson and would behave himself better now.” I doubted this experience would in any way deter Aram from his constant bothering of me. He didn’t seem to want to respect that I had chosen to go out with Magnus. He didn’t like Magnus, and Magnus had made it very clear how much he hated the vampire. But for once Incarra was right—I couldn’t just let something bad happen to him. I was going to have to try to find a way to get Jareth to let him off the hook. I knew the solution had to come from me because the original complaint had come from me. Things had gone downhill really fast, and it was my job to get both Aram and myself out of the ditch we had gotten into. I sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just don’t know how I’m going to fix it. But I will think of something; I’ve got some time before anything gets decided.” “Let’s go catch an afternoon movie,” Incarra said bouncily, changing the subject. “I am dying to ditch key skills, and if you say no and make me go, then I’m revoking your friendship privileges for when I go completely outta my gourd and get stab happy.” I took a quick look at my essay questions and the pile of books on the table. I really only needed two of the books; the others would probably just back up everything they said. I could check them out and take them home with me. I smiled at Incarra. “You’re not homicidal. I think I would have noticed by now if you were.” “Maybe, but maybe I just hide it really well.” I pulled the two books out of the pile and stuffed everything back down into my bag. I convinced myself I could do the essay when I got home. A movie was beginning to sound better and better. It might also convince Incarra that I was in fact normal and nothing suspicious was going on with me. “Like you’d be hard to catch,” I said with a laugh, standing and pulling my library card out of my wallet “All they’d need to do is lay a cookie trail right to the jail cell, and wham, they’d have you.” Incarra got up to join me and made an “aww shucks” face, swinging her arm across her body and clicking her fingers. “Damn, foiled by my one weakness.” I shook my head as we headed towards the library desk. Incarra had more than one weakness, but then again, didn’t we all.

Chapter Twelve The film was good. Hanging out with Incarra was a nice change of pace except that I had to rush off afterwards because I wanted to be close to home when the sun went down. I felt the quiver of the switch

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rise up from the soles of my feet, racing up my spine till it became darker and I was stepping into the building and into my world of night. The elevator rattled on its way up to my floor. I’d thought about getting someone in to fix it, but in the end it might end up bringing more questions than answers. I liked most people not knowing where I lived. It gave me a certain amount of security. Only the police, the vampires and Magnus knew where to find me, and two of those couldn’t get in without me letting them. When the elevator stopped at my floor, there was something odd about my front door. I pulled back the cage door; it rattled like old bones and locked into place. There was an A4 manila envelope taped to my door. Reaching up, I pulled it down, and my name was scrawled across it in tight neat handwriting. The envelope was thick with the photocopied reports, and a small note clipped to them made me smile. “You owe me big. Call the Bakers when you get in.” LeBron hadn’t signed his name to the note. Smart boy. If Rourke ever found me with these, there would be nothing to tie it to him. She would have no way to pin the photocopies on him even if she suspected him. I pulled out my keys and let myself into my apartment. I let the keys drop into the little dish on the kitchen counter and shrugged out of my jacket. I hung it up on the hook, then settled down on the couch with the cordless phone. I’d had a normal attached-to-its-base phone until about a month ago, but I kept getting pissed off with it because I like to walk while I talk sometimes and because standing in the kitchen for long conversations made me tired. I had another phone socket in the bedroom, but I’d used it solely for Internet access for years now. I had a laptop that lived under the edge of my bed for when I needed it, which wasn’t very often. I tended to do a lot of my thinking on my feet. I laid the reports out on the table. There were ten in all, each with a grainy photocopied photo of the child in question. The earliest case was the young girl from earlier who looked like Shirley Temple. She’d been the first to disappear like this, vanishing on Halloween of all days. I thought about her mother for a moment, grief stricken, hugging that Halloween costume that her daughter never got to wear, and I shuddered. I made a yipping sound as the phone going off in my lap scared me. I wasn’t expecting a call and I wondered if anyone knew I was home yet. I looked at the caller ID; my new cordless beauty had a little screen that brought up the numbers so it was much easier for me to screen my calls. I knew the number and didn’t really want to answer it, but I did. I didn’t like to be a chicken. “Hello, Farbanks residence.” I always answered the apartment phone formally; it was just the way I had learned to answer it. Some people learned to repeat the number, others simply said hello. I did sometimes, but only if I was in a rush to answer it. Tonight I’d taken just a small amount of time to compose myself, and that meant I did things properly. “Good evening, Miss Farbanks, my name is Lance Freeman. I’m calling on behalf of my masters.” I was a little miffed at being delegated to a third party. It was after dark—it wasn’t like the vampires weren’t up. “Why couldn’t Jareth just be a big boy and call me himself?” He was silent at that. I knew he was still there, though, because I could hear him breathing. He swallowed, and I could hear that too.

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“He could have, but he did not wish to.” That sounded like the truth. Jareth was still pissed at me. I had to say I didn’t blame him for being pissed at me; I was sort of pissed at myself. I’d let things get out of hand and go too far—there was a lot to be pissed at. “All right, fair enough, that’s his right I suppose. What can I do for you, Mr. Freeman?” “Lance,” he corrected me. “My name is Lance.” I gave a sigh. Why was it that people could be formal with you, but try to return the same courtesy and they came out with, oh, please call me by my first name. It was a devious way of getting permission to call you by your first name as well. I wasn’t falling for it. “What do you want, Lance?” “Your presence is formally requested on Thursday night at Dante’s just after sunset.” “What for?” “The trial, of course.” And he sounded a little stunned as he said it. I hadn’t forgotten that I’d gotten Aram into trouble, but the fact they were doing things so officially, with a prominent trial and everything, made me feel nervous. “Oh!” I said, and even to me it sounded a little pathetic. I hated it when someone slammed you with something, which part of you was expecting but another larger part of you wasn’t, and you just didn’t know what to say. Saying something like “Oh” was usually safe and almost guaranteed not to make anyone angry. “Will you be able to make it then?” “Would they put it off if I said no?” “No.” “Then I’ll be able to make it.” “That is most excellent,” he said, and I was beginning to put Lance at a far older age then his name had first suggested. “I will inform the masters, and I am also to tell you that Master Jareth does not want to see you step foot inside Dante’s until then.” “He’s banning me from the club?” I was a little shocked. I couldn’t make things better if I couldn’t get in there to talk to either of them. “Yes, Miss Farbanks, I’m afraid he is. To directly quote, ma’am, he claims you have caused enough trouble.” “I may have, but banning me only means that I cannot now help to fix it.” Lance paused, and that one pause let me know Jareth was there, that I was probably on a speaker phone and he was listening in. I didn’t know for sure—I was still in the dark—but I took a stab into that

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dark. “I’m on speaker phone, aren’t I? The one in the club manager’s office, and Jareth is there, isn’t he?” Again I got silence, which made me believe I was right. “Lance?” “You are correct, miss.” “Good, then he can hear what I think of his oh-so-subtle threat.” I hung up the phone and felt satisfied that the dial tone was resonating around Jareth’s small office at Dante’s. He didn’t frighten me. Not only was I now determined to find a way out of the mess Aram and I had dug ourselves into, but I was going to sneak into Dante’s right under Jareth’s nose. The feeling that I would and could do it filled me with an immense satisfaction. I liked it when a plan came together. I looked back to the coffee table and remembered why I had had the phone in my lap in the first place. I was going to call Sherry and Vernon Baker and arrange to redo the spell to find their son. I dialed the number and wondered how they would take my sudden desire to be back on the case. I wondered if they would guess that my motives were no longer as pure as they had been, but impure or not, I would find their son if I could. While the phone rang, I picked up and read through the report they had filed. He was almost the last kid to go missing. Another had vanished only this week, and a pattern was beginning to emerge—a pattern I’d found, one that had nearly gotten pissed on just because I wasn’t a cop, because I didn’t have a badge. Just because you had a badge, didn’t mean you were any good at the work. Sometimes you were an important member of the team, other times you were just cannon fodder. The phone picked up on the twelfth ring. Sherry answered; her voice was choked and a little breathy. She sounded like she had been crying. Shit, I thought and almost wanted to hang up when she managed to squeeze out a greeting. “Hello?” I swallowed hard and fought the urge to click the little red phone to disconnect the call. “Mrs. Baker, it’s Cassandra Farbanks.” She took a sharp intake of breath, and then there were sounds of cloth close to the receiver, like she was scrubbing at her eyes to dry them. She didn’t speak again. “Mrs. Baker?” I tried again, and this time her voice replied, but it was small and wary. “I’m here. I just...I don’t know why you’re calling.” “LeBron talked to me last night. There was a homicide involving a child...” She gasped, and I realized too late that it had probably been the wrong thing to say to her. She started sobbing into the phone. I rubbed my temple and tried my best to calm her down, get her to stop crying long enough to hear me. “It’s not Adam. Adam is still just missing, but LeBron has convinced me that I should try the spell again. Convinced me that I should do all I can to make sure nothing like it happens to your son.”

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“You’re going to try again?” Her voice sounded hopeful. “Yes, at no charge.” She didn’t brighten at the thought of not having to pay me; in fact she argued for a few minutes that I really should accept their money. I’d not taken it the first time, even though I was out on ingredients and time. I couldn’t tell her I wasn’t doing it because I felt guilty, or because LeBron had begged me to reconsider. I was doing it because if I found out what happened to these missing kids before Rourke did, it would shove my foot so far up her ass, she’d be walking funny even though I hadn’t really touched her. Was I petty? Sometimes. Sherry and I agreed I would come over in an hour. I knew where her house was now, so I wouldn’t spend so much time blundering around in the dark looking for it. I went into the bedroom to change. I’d decided earlier that dinner was going to be a hotdog at the cinema heavily coated in ketchup and mustard, which I then proceeded to dump down my shirt. Incarra thought it was hilarious, until I wiped some on her. She’d nearly launched out of her seat and throttled me, but of course I was laughing too hard for her to get a grip. Eventually laughter won over everything, especially when someone yelled at us for being noisy. It was the adverts—who needed quiet while the adverts were playing—in unison we’d turned on them. They’d know better next time. I decided to change completely into my skinny black jeans, my comfortable boots that came halfway up my legs and a long-sleeved, slightly low-neck red top. I also dug out my short black Mac, the one that belted at the waist; the weather had been getting worse and worse, rainy and cold. It would help keep the worst of it at bay. I packed up everything I needed, including a bag of Elvin healing salve Bethany had given me as a present, and headed out towards the other edge of town where the Bakers lived. Sherry was waiting for me on the porch of their house when I got there; a line was worn into the dust where it looked like she had been pacing. She brightened a little when she saw me, and something in her seemed to relax a bit. I had only started to notice it recently but with certain people, my presence seemed to feed them with some feeling; they felt safe with me there. It was a very odd sensation, especially the first time. I’d walked into a room that was busy, lots of people stressing, and I noticed about half the room was suddenly still at my arrival. It was a recent development that I could do without. Sherry rushed for me and took my hands in hers; I fought myself not to pull away from her. I was always uncomfortable with displays of affection from people I didn’t know very well and who hadn’t earned the right. “I’m so glad you decided to come back. I have everything you need prepared; please come through. Would you like a tea or coffee before you start?” I eased my hands out of hers and gave a small polite nod. “Coffee would be great.” She buzzed off ahead of me. I didn’t really need the coffee but it would keep her busy, give her something to do. I wiped my feet on the mat, shut the door behind me and felt like I was sealing myself in. I walked into where I remembered the living room was and the room was empty; I couldn’t see Sherry’s husband Vernon anywhere. I moved through to the dining room and looked out the French doors into the garden. The wooden picnic table had been removed from sight; it probably had a huge burn mark in the center and had been replaced by a metal table in the middle of the yard. On top of it sat

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a brand new hibachi travel stove with the big stew pot on it, looking a little worse for wear with a sizeable disfiguration; it looked like it had been dented badly but poorly beaten back to resemble the shape it should have had. It was very wise of them to salvage it for my reuse—that way, if this did blow up again, then at least they wouldn’t ruin two pots. “Do you take sugar? Milk?” “Three sugars and cream if you have it, but milk will be fine.” I was very particular about how I drank coffee. I preferred never to drink it black. I had to make it sweet. If I wasn’t with Incarra, the most serious coffee drinker I have ever known, then I had lots and lots of sugar. If I asked for more than one in her company, she’d call me a wussy. Incarra’s first morning instinct was,Is there coffee?Second was always,Is it good coffee? She came in from the kitchen carrying a mug with ladybugs on it and held it out so I could take it. The cup radiated warmth as I took it. Holding it warmed my hands and sipping it made me smile. “You had cream. Thank you.” “We had apple pie for dessert last night,” she said as if it would explain everything. I smiled and continued to sip it, steeling myself for going back outside into the cold. I was still expecting her husband to appear from somewhere, that sour lost look on his face. “Where is Mr. Baker this evening?” I asked finally. “He went out. He didn’t want to be here this time—he decided it unnerved him too much—but he showed me how to work the fire extinguisher before he left.” She gave me a little smile. I smiled back; it was so nice of her husband to think that I would mess up that badly, twice. I was a little insulted but pushed it aside. He was right to be cautious. “Can’t blame him. Magic can freak out a true believer.” Sherry nodded as if she had heard the term before. True believers were people who believed so strongly in God’s power that they could make crucifixes they wore glow to protect them when power was tried on them or when a vampire entered the room. Despite Vernon’s little outburst in the pub, I knew he had been and probably still was a true believer. The cross trick might not work for him right now, but once his crisis was over, well, it might be back to full power. That was all banking on whether or not the Bakers were going to have to bury their only child. I drank the coffee down to about halfway to be polite and put it down on the table behind me before heading outside. I rubbed my arms a little through the sleeves; I’d stayed inside the nice heated house too long and had to readjust to the cold. Sherry stood behind the French door glass watching in safety. She was being careful too. I set my bag up next to the table and started pulling out my oil mixed with spice this time because I’d run out of green food coloring and red would have been too morbid for suburbia. I poured it into the pot, turned on the gas lighting it with my thumb again and waited for it to start boiling. Sitting on the table, obscured from the dining room, was a little Tupperware box. I took the lid off and found inside a small photo of Adam, and another collection of hair from both of the Bakers’ heads. The oil bubbled, and the rich sandalwood scent of it filled my nose. I called on my power and felt it pushing around the mix in the pot. I threw in the hair and let the picture float face up on top of the mix.

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“I call to thee, Aradia, Goddess of the Lost, through the woods of murk, through the darkest night. I call thee. Lead me along the path, to find whom I have lost. Aradia, guide me.” I placed my hands over the mixture, blowing it up towards me so that the scent grew stronger. “Let me see sight beyond sight.” I raised my head skywards, and as I felt myself shoot towards the stars, the oil shot up, spilling over the sides. I felt him. He was alive and breathing, but God he was so afraid. He could see but he couldn’t hear anything of what was going on. He sat in the corner of what looked like a giant chicken coop, and there were other children around him. All of them were eating, but he refused to touch the food in front of him. He’d seen them take a girl away; she’d been eating, and she hadn’t come back. They’d done something to her, something awful. I thought very carefully into his head, trying not to alarm him too much. Who are they? He turned his head and looked out through the bars. Something sloped past, draped in heavy fabric. I tried to get him to look up, but he was too afraid. Then he started to fight me. He was scared of me too—he didn’t know who I was, and he had gotten into this trouble trusting something that started in his head. I let him go but as I drew back from him, I could taste something, something on the air, like a trail that linked me to him, and I knew I could follow that to him. It filled me with a feeling of warmth, and in a night this cold it would lead me. I felt my head drop, and I was back in the garden. I turned off the gas, grabbed my bag and headed for the side gate. Sherry met me at the front of the house and grabbed my arm. “What happened? Did it fail again? Please, where are you going?” I turned to look at her and she released me, stepping back. Her hands flew to her mouth, barely able to hide her gasp. Her reaction was the only thing that made me pause. “Your eyes. They look like they’re on fire.” I was about to ask her what she meant, but I felt that gentle warmth tugging at my senses, starting to weaken and fade. I turned from her and ran off into the night.

Chapter Thirteen Standing by the river, I began to lose the warm thread of energy I had been following. I looked up to find the towering form of the cathedral looming over me. I took a step towards it, then two steps away. The energy was stronger towards the cathedral. I sighed, rooting around in my bag for a torch. I’d learned a long time ago not to use magic to light the way when you’ll have to turn corners and can get ambushed. As I thought about the possibility, the claw scars on my ribs hurt. I’d walked right into a goblin nest, and thanks to the magic I was using, they’d had plenty of warning I was coming. One of them had almost scooped out my stomach. Usually goblins will keep to killing the odd cat or dog for the fresh meat, but if something larger wanders their way and there are lots of them, they tend to thinklucky day, all you can eat.

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I shuddered, pulling the torch out. I’d all too recently seen what a group of goblins could do to a human body if left to feast. I checked the batteries were in, smacked the bottom and clicked the on button. A small beam of light traced along the walls in front of me. I balanced it in my mouth, watching the circle dart across the floor as I stuffed things in my bag back into place. The cathedral contained a small passage that led round and up to the gardens, securable by a portcullis, a portcullis that never seemed to be down. The way was secured instead by police tape and no entry notices. I ducked under the yellow tape. The police barriers held no real power to keep you out. They revolved around the principle of a moral center; it just happens that my moral center is alittleaskew. Not enough for me to consider myself a bad person, but enough so that little voice that tells you you’re disobeying the rules is just that, a little voice. I went up the steps with my back to the wall so as to stay out of sight until I could peer around the top to see if it was clear. There was a single squad car left; its engine was on, no doubt to keep the only occupant warm. The radio played out of the half-open front window, accentuated by the sound of snoring. The cop was asleep. I crept up and under the second lot of tape. I didn’t want to check on him to see that he was definitely out; I’d have risked the chance that I’d have woken him instead. I followed the light of the torch’s beam up to where the first remains had lain and for the first time realized that a chunk of the tree had been cut out. I wondered what markings they’d found that they didn’t want to share with me. Then again, Rourke didn’t want to share anything with me—hence why I was sneaking around a crime scene. The warm buzz of energy fell away around me. The spell had dissipated, but I knew I had followed it to the right place. I’d half hoped that maybe Adam Baker wouldn’t be connected to this mess, but that was the stupid part of me that couldn’t weigh the facts and connect the dots. I circled around towards the building equipment and could see the squad car again across the lawn. I kept my torch down towards the ground. Pick me up! Pick me up! It’s your phone, I’m ringing. Pick me up! I let out a girly scream, grabbing at my coat pocket in an attempt to muffle the sound, and darted behind a JCB. I pulled the phone out, staring at the screen. LeBron was calling me on his mobile. Magnus had personalized his number with the most annoying tone. It was the last time I left him alone while I was in the shower. He’d changed it so that his tune was something sweet and romantic. “Jesus, LeBron. What is it?” I answered, keeping my voice down and trying to listen above the sound of the squad car’s radio for sign of a door opening or feet approaching. “What’s going on, Cassandra? Sherry called and said you’d gone running off into the night. Where are you?” “Do you really want to know, or do you want deniability later?” “Cassandra?” I sighed, covering the receiver, and peered around the JCB. There still appeared to be a shape slumped in the driver’s seat. “I’m at the cathedral,” I said, removing my hand. “I’m following the spell.” I didn’t tell him that I had felt Adam alive. LeBron would tell the Bakers, and that would fill them with too much certainty that they would get him back. I didn’t know that they would—there was still a lot of

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time for something awful to happen. “The crime scene? Jesus! If Rourke finds out...” “Then don’t tell her.” I circled around the machinery, drawing closer to where there was a gap in the wall of the cloister. I could squeeze inside there. “Damn! Do you think I would be stupid enough to bring her down on both of us? Don’t answer that. You don’t think Adam is messed up with whatever ate...” “Did you say ate? Have they confirmed that?” “Yeah, sickens me. I caught a glimpse of the forensic report on DS Hodgeson’s desk. You were right about the teeth marks.” I shuddered. “I didn’t want to be.” “Doesn’t change the facts. What are you looking for?” I walked towards the gap, wondering if I could really fit through it. I might just about make it. It’d be a tight squeeze. A very tight squeeze. “Clues!” I said and started to push my body sideways through the gap, sucking everything I had in. “Like what? A footprint, bloody cutlery, a self-addressed envelope?” “That last one would be handy. Hold on!” I put the top of the phone in my mouth and pushed at the gap, forcing it to let me through. A shadow flashed above me and I looked up. I couldn’t see anything. It was a painfully clear night, and there were no birds and no sounds. I popped out on the other side of the wall, stumbling on a loose stone; I dropped the torch and spat my phone out, catching it with my hands. I wiped it a little and put it back to my ear. “Cassandra?” “I’m still here, but I’ve dropped my torch. This place is way too creepy with no light.” I started towards where the beam of light let me know my torch had come to rest. “Woooooooooo...” “Quit that, LeBron!” He laughed quietly as I bent down, fumbling for the torch whilst keeping my eyes on the empty cloister. I heard a scuttering sound, snatched up the light and spun, flashing it into the dark. Nothing. I turned back and screamed, falling over.

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“Cassandra?” LeBron’s voice was filled with concern. “Fucking stupid...” I cursed and kicked the stone statue of the Virgin Mary that was missing half a face. “It’s just a statue. One of the ones too heavy to nick.” “You frightened me.” “Frightened you? I frightened my damn self. I swear this place wasn’t so creepy when all the red and blue lights were here.” I reached out to my side and picked the torch up again. I shined it on the ruined face of the statue. Once virtuous, she now looked like a fallen angel, still partly beautiful but ruined forever by the fall from grace. “Did anyone check in the ruins for clues?” “I don’t think so; we were all foraging down by the river. Plus that place is dark and creepy.” “That’s why monsters like places like this. They can hide.” He shuffled, and I think he changed ears. “You’re leaning towards monster then.” “Mmm. What little I’ve read on serial killers, they usually have a type of victim. In this case all the kids are different, different ages, sex, coloring. And the way they’ve been taken makes me think mystical, not methodical.” “Rourke has to be mad not to let you help. You’re better at this than half the people on the squad.” “You know Rourke. She’s like a spoilt kid—she doesn’t like to share her toys. Speaking of sharing…” “What do you want now?” “Just info. I promise in no way is a photocopier involved.” He let out a deep breath into the phone, and I started walking carefully through the stone arches of the cloister, avoiding big chucks of rubble on the ground. I tried to keep the torch steady, which was hard when clambering over things. “All right, what do you need to know?” “Before I arrived, something was removed from a tree near the body. I need to know what it is!” “That will mean going back inside and looking at the report on Hodgeson’s desk.” I half wondered what he was doing outside, but I let it go. “Can you do it?” “I think so, let me call you back.” “All right!”

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He hung up and I put my phone back in my pocket, then fished it out to put it on vibrate so the ringtone wouldn’t spook me again. I walked towards the doorway of another room; it was a little higher than my knees and the steps had all but crumbled away. I put the torch in my mouth and used a two-handed grip on the column to hike one leg up. I rolled my body till I was on one knee and pulled my other leg up. I shuffled inside a bit before trying to stand. My knees got covered in the gray powder you get when you touch stone, especially old stone. I slapped it off, coughing and trying to keep a hold of my torch in my mouth as the dust flew up. With the torch firmly back in my hand and my coughing under control, I continued in. Everything that hadn’t been nailed down was gone; it was just a large, cold empty space with a curtain of night pulled over the top. The most intact piece was the tower; it loomed tall over me, casting an even darker shadow across the floor. The section under it was precarious, with the roof largely untouched, it was pitch black. I saw the flutter of something out of the corner of my eye and turned with the torch to look, but it was gone. Whatever had made the flutter—of wings, I thought—had gone again. There were no birds in sight, but it hadn’t sounded like feathers, more like wind blowing against skin. Maybe it was a bat. I hoped not; I really hated bats. I hated that bit in horror movies where you look up and there are hundreds of them, and they choose that moment to fly at you, screeching. I shuddered and tried to soothe the goose bumps on my arms. My coat pocket started to jiggle. I picked out my phone and answered it. The phone crackled. “Are you there?” came LeBron’s voice between fuzz. “Yeah. I’m further in, reception is getting worse.” I took a few steps to the right until there was an opening in the ceiling above me. “How’s that?” “Bit better.” “Did you look at the report?” “Yeah, yeah I did. The tree chunk had deep marks, five of them.” “Claws?” “There was trace in the wood, but they haven’t identified it yet. It’s not like anything they’ve seen before.” “Could it be a knife maybe?” “Doesn’t look like it! It’s definitely not metallic.” “You can make knives out of things other than metal, you know.” “I know, but what kind of monster uses knives?” Before I could answer him, he was muffled and I could hear another voice over his. “Who you talking to LeBron?” “Just my mother, DS Hodgeson. I’m still on my break.”

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I took a sharp intake of breath. Silence. Were we busted? “Sorry, Mum, what was that?” I let all my air out and wiped my forehead. “That sounded close.” “Yeah. Look, I can’t stay on much longer.” “How long have you got?” “About ten minutes. Then I have to get back to work.” “Just stay on with me till then. It’s beginning to get really creepy here. I feel like I’m being watched.” I started forward and the phone crackled again. “Can you still hear me?” “Yeah, but you’re real quiet. Where are you going?” “The tombs underneath. They’re dank, they’re dark, down there would be a great place to hide. No one would think to check the underground.” “That’s how that market operated for so long—because it was someplace normal people wouldn’t look.” “You saying I’m not normal?” I laughed, swinging the torch around. “Damn!” “What is it?” “This side is blocked off by rubble. I’ll have to go over to the other side, but I’ll definitely lose reception if I do.” I swung the light across to catch a flicker of the opposite entrance. It looked clear, at least as far down as I could see. I slowly brought the light back towards me and stopped as it reflected off something. “Shit,” I exclaimed and started to move closer. “What?” “I think it’s more bones.” I stepped up to the shining white pile and bent down in front of it. It wasn’t as neat as the child’s remains but it was very compact. I pulled at a bone. It was nondescript. It looked like it could be from anything. “Human?” “I can’t tell. It’s dark, and well, it just looks like a bone to me.” I shined the light on it, balancing the phone precariously on my shoulder. “It’s got some markings, like teeth, too, but I’m no scientist.” All of a sudden, I screamed. Something had wrapped around my braid and yanked hard. I scrambled backwards to relieve the pressure and fought to keep hold of both the phone and the light. I lost the light

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but kept the phone close to my ear. LeBron was panicking. “Cassandra. Are you okay? Cassandra?” I heard a gruff “your mother my ass” in the background of the phone but was watching the light rolling along the floor. I tried to pull my hair free but stopped when I saw the taloned foot just inches from me. I looked up at what was holding my hair. It was big all over, wide as well as tall, but I couldn’t really see any more than that. Its eyes burned bright in the darkness, pupils a deep purple, and it was speaking fast and angry. The voice sounded growly and male, but the words made no sense to me. I caught enough to realize it wasn’t English, and then it dawned on me that it was French. I turned my face to the phone. “LeBron, how do you say ‘don’t eat me’ in French?” “Cassandra. What’s happened?” “Michael, please!” A taloned hand started to reach towards my face. Looking at the talons’ points, my eyes widened, and my fear skyrocketed.

Chapter Fourteen Although I was pretty sure my accent was bad, “ne mangent pas de moi” was a conversation stopper. The taloned hand stopped moving towards me the minute the words were past my lips. It recoiled as if I had said something almost offensive. I was afraid; I didn’t really care if its feeling had been hurt. Then my phone died. Low battery. Damn it! I moved my arm slowly to put the phone in my pocket while the thing that had a fistful of my hair pondered its next move. Its grip slackened and I saw my chance. I pulled free, dived on the torch and shined it straight into its beady eyes. It growled at me, knocking it from my hands, but I’d gotten a better look at it. It was a gargoyle, a humanoid gargoyle. I’d never heard of anyone meeting one for real. They’d always been mythological creatures as far as I knew. I’d seen pictures of smaller ones; the ones that reached about the height of a human waist and were pretty much vultures with just about as much intelligence. They’d never been noted as capable of speaking a human language. I crawled back from it till my back was against a wall and it was still coming towards me, trapping me. I panicked; without LeBron’s help, my French was limited to “where is the library?” and “I would like a cheese and ham baguette.” I started warming up my magic. One more menacing step and I was going to blast the damn thing to the moon, no matter how wondrous and rare it was. It took another step and I sent it flying away from me. I managed to skid to my feet, scoop up the bone and my torch before heading back into the lighter area to see the creature picking himself up. He looked pissed off. Being trashed by a woman often did that to the male ego, human or not. I ducked and rolled out of the way as he leapt at me. He hit the floor rolling head over feet and was stunned for barely a minute before he got back up into a low crouch. He was going to attack again. “Can’t we talk about this? I’m really okay once you get to know me.”

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He lunged at me, and I put a little power down my legs so that I leapfrogged over him. His claws plowed into the stone, making five nice little holes. Jesus, I thought, he could rip me apart without trying. “This is getting us nowhere.” He struggled to pull his hand out of the stone using his second hand on his wrist for support. I sat down cross-legged, took chalk from my bag and drew a circle around me. He pulled free. “Shield,” I called and felt the energy rise, crackling around me. He charged and fell back as he hit the bubble of my power. He shook his head, like shaking off an unpleasant feeling, and stood next to me, pounding his fists against my power like it was a solid shell he could crack. “Can we talk about this?Parlez vous Anglais?” “He does not,” came another masculine voice, heavily accented but speaking English. I looked up, and crouched on the edge of the roof was another one. “Two against one so isn’t fair,” I whined. “I would keep looking, mademoiselle.” I felt a coldness deep in my stomach and scanned along the entire roof. A single female sat on the base of the tower; there was a couple to my left and another pair behind. They were all dressed to the bare minimum for modesty but the clothes looked scrappy, like they only had the one outfit and even that had not been made for them. The clothes were torn to fit. “Seven is just plain cheating. Will you call him off?” The second one spoke quickly and sharply to my attacker. He didn’t look happy, but he stepped away from me. “Thank you.” “Do not thank me yet,” he said and leapt off the roof. He hit the floor on his feet, and the whole room seemed to shake. He was taller, thinner than the first. His wings were wrapped over his body like a cloak, like those Draculas from the movies where he could turn into a bat. He seemed lighter in color than his comrade too, almost a sandy brown that was close to the shade of tanned skin. They spoke to each other in quick French. “If I don’t thank you,” I said, interrupting them, “can I ask why he attacked me, instead?” The lean one looked at me and covered his mouth as he cleared his throat. It was a very human gesture. “He wants to know why it was that you were pilfering the bones from our kill?” “Trying to see if they were human.” I was blunt, and it showed on his face. He blinked startled eyes at me and spoke low to his friends from the corner of his mouth, like he was worried that I could read his lips. “Is that why you asked him not to eat you?” he asked and he seemed almost amused, which was a

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strange emotion considering the situation. “Yeah. Big thing like that grabs me in the dark in front of a large pile of bones, when it’s got claws and teeth that I don’t; it seemed like a sensible request.” He laughed deep and throaty, head back, and I could see that he had hair—it was hidden by the horns that arched out and back over his head. It was thick, brown and tied by a piece of silvery ribbon. His laugh did not make me feel safe enough to give up my bubble. “So anyway I was just looking at them. No harm, no foul.” “We cannot be so sure of that. My friend has quite correctly indentified you as a sorceress. We do not like sorceresses, having run afoul of them before.” “If I’d not used magic right now, you mean, you’d just happily let me go?” “Not happily, no, but magic makes you harder to kill.” “I suppose snatching children has got to be easier for you.” The tall one looked at me, stunned. “What kind of monsters do you think we are?” he asked, and he sounded indignant. “I’m putting what I’ve got together here. Pile of bones found nearby belonging to a child, another pile of bones over there, and you want to kill me now for finding them.” “Oh no, you mistake us,” he said with a twitching but dark smile, “we wish to kill you simply because you are a sorceress.” “Charming!” I sulked in my bubble. I couldn’t fight my way out if all seven of them decided to go for me. I could sit in the safety of my bubble, but that was only a temporary measure. I’d get hungry or tired and it would collapse. My only real option was to try to talk my way out. I suddenly wished my people skills were better. “Look,” I said and watched his eyes dart around. “We seem to have started this conversation with a low opinion of each other. How about we start over?” “Start over?” He made it a question. “What are your names?” I illustrated by pointing at them that I only meant the two in front of me. “There is a lot of power in having someone’s name.” I sighed and remembered something Jareth had said to me once:Trust must start somewhere, Cassandra. I pushed at the shield and stood up; slowly I wiped a patch of the circle away. The large one grinned at me and looked ready to charge again. The tall one put his hand on his shoulder, bidding him to wait.

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“My name’s Cassandra,” I said, and then I extended my hand. He stared at it a while before recognizing the gesture. He carefully wrapped his clawed hand over mine, dwarfing it. “Leantes, I am Leantes.” “It’s nice to meet you, Leantes; your English is excellent by the way.” I smiled at him; it never hurt to compliment someone who could probably kill you. “Thank you.” He pulled his hand back from me and stood up very straight, very businesslike. “Now,” he continued. “Will you explain why you took that?” Leantes nodded towards the bone that was poking out of the flap of my bag where I had hurriedly shoved it in. “Last night the remains of a child were found just outside in the grounds. The bones had teeth marks,” I said and I watched him recoil. “We can assure you that we don’t eat children.” “And I might have taken that on faith if Gruesome hadn’t attacked me.” “So you will take the bone to confirm that it is merely bovine remnants.” I looked at the end of the bone; it could be cow, but I didn’t know enough about dead anything to tell the difference. “You’ve got to admit, though, that your arrival in town is rather poorly timed.” “Perhaps, but we came to this country as it seemed they had greater tolerance for non-human life forms.” “Generally we do, better than most of Europe anyway, but you can understand why people would get very gung-ho about new monsters in town coinciding with vanished children.” “Most species are protective of their children.” He looked sad for a moment, and I found myself wondering if he’d lost a child. It was a horrible thing for a parent to have to go through. “I’m helping the police,” I said, adding quietly in my own head,whether they want it or not.“I was here last night.” “No one investigated inside the church then. You do not look like a policeman; you look as you are, a witch.” “She’s telling the truth,” came a younger male voice, and feet crashed to the floor behind me. I turned my body to both keep Leantes in sight and see who the newcomer was. “Jacque,” he said before he could stop himself, remembering he’d been trying not to give me their names. Jacque was tall, almost leaf green in color and had a short tuff of black hair. He was clad in cut-off jeans to his knees and a T-shirt that would probably have hung loosely on a man stretched across his chest. “I saw lights last night and wanted to see what was going on. She arrived in one of their wagons and was escorted by the tall man in charge.”

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“That would have been D.I. Hamilton. How come I didn’t see you?” “Actually, you almost did,” he said, rubbing the back of his head like he was embarrassed, but his eyes held something else. He was impressed. “What did I do that gives you that look?” “Most humans look side to side or behind them when they think they see something. They never look up. You looked up.” I grinned at him. I knew more than most that attack can come just as easily from above as anything else. “I like to think I’m not like most humans.” He smiled back, and I felt satisfied that maybe I had won one of them over. Six against one was still bad but a hell of a lot better than seven. We all froze as a torch beam danced on one of the outer walls that we could all see. There was the sound of a low voice. “You sure DS Hodgeson said she was out here? I didn’t see anything.” The radio squawked, but the reply was too low to hear. “Okay. I think I have an elsewhere to be,” I said, starting to try to move away from them. The others still on the roof started to draw back, vanishing. “If you are working with these people, why hide from them?” Leantes asked, turning to leave. “Why are you leaving if you are innocent and aren’t afraid of humans?” He gave an amused snort and started to climb up the wall. I looked around and tried to find a dark place to hide. A scream tore through the air, and if that didn’t just make everything worse. The approaching footsteps were running now, the light beam bouncing, growing larger the closer it got, and I felt panic rise in me. I was going to get caught and Rourke would have my head on a platter. An arm shot around my waist, and I was lifted up like I was some kind of human tote bag. I looked at the young gargoyle named Jacque. He had picked me up and then, using the muscles in his strange, almost kangaroo-shaped legs, leapt, landing claws in on the tower wall. He started climbing up. I looked down and really wished I hadn’t. I didn’t do quite so well with heights. I may have lived on the top floor of my building, but I didn’t tend to go out on the balcony or look down. The light below swished from side to side, and behind it the person was now in the empty chamber below us. Jacque was right. Humans really didn’t look up. He pulled us into the arch of the old belfry and dropped me onto the hard wooden floor. I coughed as dust flew up and I was forced to breathe it in. I slowly pulled back on my haunches just in time to see Leantes grab Jacque roughly by the arm and thrust him against the wall. “Why did you bring her up here?”

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Jacque shrugged. I looked around the two of them. In one corner, lying on what looked like old sacks and other cloth remnants, was a female gargoyle. She was holding her side and her face was contorted with pain, her forehead sweating. I started to crawl towards her. Gruesome stepped towards me, but I ignored him. I stopped when I reached the side she was holding and slowly peeled the hand back. She whimpered, and Leantes turned to look at me. He growled, but I ignored that too. The wound under her hand was gross. It wasn’t clean and it wasn’t neat and it wasn’t bandaged. “This looks infected, and from the look of her forehead she has a pretty bad fever.” “My mate is not your concern, witch,” Leantes said, and all his good humor and diplomacy had gone out of the window. I traced my fingers over the edge of the wound and it oozed. “Did you even bother to dress this?” I opened up my bag, and the tension in the room suddenly rocketed. I watched Gruesome’s expression; he didn’t trust me and was probably thinking about taking off my head. I could read it in his face. I pulled out a bottle of water and some tissues. The water was probably a few days old, but it was better than nothing. I soaked a tissue and started dabbing at the wound. The gunk just inside the wound started to come away and already it looked cleaner, but she whimpered with the discomfort. Gruesome made to move towards me. I put my hand up. “I can help her, but if Gruesome there so much as lays one talon on me, I will just let her get worse and drag my ass merrily home. Understand me?” I turned my head to look at Leantes; he was looking between his mate and me. He made a movement with his hand, and the gruesome one stepped back. “His name is Laverne.” I snorted a little laugh. “I prefer Gruesome; Laverne doesn’t suit him.” I set about cleaning the wound. I used the entire pack of tissues, but I got it so that the deep wound looked vaguely more wound like and not like a bacteria buffet. I reached into my bag again and pulled out the medicine Bethany had given me. I was definitely glad I had packed it now. Leantes’ clawed hand wrapped around the wrist holding the pouch of medicine and pulled it up above my head. He scrutinized it. “What is that?” “It’s Elfish medicine.” He dropped my wrist and I caught the look on his face. He was surprised. I made my eyes pose the question to him; he could see that I was studying his expression. “We have met Elves before now. They are trustworthy, and I would have not pictured them as creatures who would be your friend.” “My boyfriend is an Elf,” I said and watched the reaction on his face with delight. I didn’t mention that he was technically only half Elf, and it wasn’t a Light Court half. “And I really would like it if you would stop judging me when you don’t know me. Stereotyping isn’t just something humans do, obviously.”

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I opened up the medicine pouch and scooped out what remained of the contents. I’d gone through it pretty quickly. I rolled it in my hands; it was a bit like dark green and gray paste. I started to smear it over the wound. It was thick and stunk badly, but as it started to dry it would form a layer over the wound, keeping out extra infection and tackling the one that was already raging over her. I pulled a gauze pad and tape from my bag. “Do you have an entire hospital in there?” Jacque asked with an impish grin on his face. I raised my right arm up without giving him another look; the coat sleeve slipped back to reveal the bandage wrapped around my wrist. “I get hurt a lot taking risks that other people won’t.” I lowered my hand and taped the gauze over the wound. I checked her pulse—it was thready, but it was falling into a better rhythm. Just cleaning out the wound had helped. I stood slowly and turned to look at the three around me. “That should help with the healing, and I can get you some more of the medicine if you want.” I was hoping that the offer would at least convince them to let me leave unharmed. Leantes moved around my back to his mate. Bending down on his knees, he took her hand. I looked at Jacque; he wrapped his arm around my waist, lifting me up against his side, and we climbed into the window. I looked down, swallowing hard. He increased his grip and pushed off from the ledge. I bit down on my lip to keep a scream in. His wings extended, caught the wind and he glided down over the outer wall, landing under the trees on the other side near the street. He let me go and I stumbled, bending over, hands on my knees unsure if I was going to throw up or not. He chuckled. “Sorry, not used to passengers,” he said. “I guess I don’t get a thank you?” I asked. I pulled myself up, and he shrugged those big shoulders of his. The more I watched the body language, the more I thought he seemed very young. “He turned his back and let you leave. That’s about all the thanks you’re gonna get from someone like Leantes.” “You don’t speak with a French accent.” “No ma’am. My sister and I are new additions to Leantes’ clan—we met them in Kent. It was just us, and we decided it would be safer if we joined up with them.” I looked up at the tower. They were two groups united into one. No wonder Jacque felt he could stand up to Leantes, who by his mere demeanor looked to be the leader. “You have a French name.” “Leantes gave names to my sister and me; we just sort of referred to each other as brother or sister before. Humans had names, we didn’t. It had always been just us.” “How did you learn our language then?” “Listening, you pick it up.” “Why?” “To be able to telephone for pizza of course,” he said with a grin spreading over his face. Again looking

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at him, I thought young. “How old are you?” “I was seventeen last spring.” “You’re a kid,” I said and started heading towards the street. “A kid who can bench press a small truck, remember that!” His chuckle followed me eerily down the street.

Chapter Fifteen I took the bone to the only person I knew who knew anything about dead things. The morgue was very quiet, but then again in the evening they went down to a skeleton crew. No pun attended. The corridors were cold as I walked slowly, watching one of the lights above as it flickered. I stopped below it, reached up and laid the barest of touches on it. The light came on bright and stayed on. As I fell back down onto my heels, they clicked on the hard floor and echoed around the walls. I got a feeling I wasn’t alone in the corridor as I had been a second ago. Something cold rolled up my back, and I turned. Standing just inside the doors I had come through to enter the corridor that connected to Doc Cameron’s office was a vampire. A vampire I had seen before. When I had last seen Sienna he was lying in a coffin in the middle of some sort of waiting room under Dante’s. Vincent had told me it was a room in which those who would help guide a new vampire waited with him for him to rise the first time. Sienna looked a lot more alive now. He smiled at me. Standing his full height, Sienna had to be about six foot two. He bowed at the middle, keeping his eyes on my face, then walked slowly along the corridor towards me, almost like he was on a catwalk, one foot in front of the other, his hips swaying. I looked at Sienna as he strutted; he was wearing a white shirt that glittered with silver-colored flecks, high necked with long ruffled sleeves. His leather trousers were generic black; they were the same as the pair I’d seen him in before, but he probably owned several similar pairs. His hair was the color of blood and spilled over his shoulders almost to his waist. Sienna circled me; a single finger ran across the flesh at the back of my neck, and I tried to control the quiver it sent down my spine. He stopped in front of me and took hold of my hand, bringing my knuckles up to his lips. “Miss Farbanks, it is the greatest pleasure to meet you. After all, I seem to owe you my life.” He dropped his eyes from my face and laid a light kiss on my knuckles. I felt my face explode in a wash of crimson. I pulled my hand back rather sharply. He stood up and looked at me. I could almost match his height in my boots. “Did I do something wrong?” “I am not comfortable with vampires with old-fashioned manners; it’s not something I’m used to.” Sienna laughed and his laughter was strange, like raindrops on a window. You felt it more than you heard it. “You have had the attention of young Aram for many years, and you are not used to vampires?” He

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straightened his cuffs but his face was still amused. “Aram said you were a very funny woman.” I grumbled. I didn’t really want to think about Aram. I still had no idea how I was going to help him. I took a deep breath and mentally tried to shove him back into his box. “The mention of his name makes you uncomfortable,” Sienna said, reaching out. I tried to avoid his hand, but he was fast. He grabbed my arm with his other hand, holding me still so he could flick the collar of my coat away from my neck. He reached under it and stroked his fingers over my bite mark. I seethed and pulled back from him. “He did bite you, but it is unlike Aram to do something like that without permission. But are you the kind of woman, I fear, who would agree but call foul later?” He studied my face and let me go. “It would be a shame if you were. Tarquin spoke quite highly of you, and he does not speak highly of many women.” “I don’t imagine he does. Please let me go.” His fingers flexed and he relaxed the grip on my arm. I took another step back from him. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like Sienna—well, not enough to feel delighted to have saved his life. I turned my head to look down the corridor where the doc’s office was, hoping that he would pop his little balding head out and interrupt us. Sienna’s fingers on my chin turned my face back to him and he was very close. “Aram is in a lot of trouble for falling so hard for such a pretty face. You must taste fantastic for him to risk himself for just a taste,” he said and licked his lips. I gave him good eye contact, which you’re not meant to do with a vampire, and showed him how little I was afraid of his candied snippery. “I’m not your type. I won’t ask you again to let me go.” “I like a girl on the odd occasion,” he said, smiling and flashing fangs at me. “Oh my, Tarquin will get jealous,” I said and tried to yank my arm from his grip, but he held tight. His face grew studious. “Your eyes, they burn.” “Let me go.” I practically yelled it. A flash sparked over my eyes, I was momentarily blinded by it and Sienna drew back. I saw the fire on his hand and watched slowly, feeling the power rise inside him as the fire turned to ice. It was almost like he held a glass ball in his hand. I stammered looking at it. “How did you do that?” He tossed the ball up and down in the air, examining it as it rose and fell, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “All vampires over about three hundred have a special talent. I take it Aram has never shown you his.” He was smiling again, but not in a friendly, comforting way. “It’s never come up.” I stared at him and it felt like my body was turning to ice. I shuddered and tried to shake the feeling off. Sienna tossed the ball over and over again, his eyes now on me instead, judging me again. The cold feeling was his gaze on me, so I stabbed out at him with my power, something warm to knock him off

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balance. The ball dropped to the floor and shattered into tiny pieces. The door to the office opened, and the podgy little balding head I had been hoping for poked out. Doc Cameron’s bushy little beard was as unkempt as ever, and his rounded spectacles were sitting on the end of his nose. He saw us and stepped out into the corridor, walking up to join us. He looked at the shattered pile of ice in the middle of the floor between us; it was starting to melt into a little puddle. “Oh dear, what happened here?” He raised his eyes to look at me, and I shrugged. He turned to look at Sienna, and his eyes got all sparkly. “You’re...you’re…” he stammered. “I am here for your interview,” Sienna said and he gave the low bow again, his arm tucked against his stomach. Doc Cameron, a little flustered, copied the gesture, and it looked completely unnatural on him. He turned his eyes back to me. “Not that it’s not a pleasure to see you, Cassandra, as always,” he said, but he made a giddy twitch of his head, signaling Sienna behind him, “but I have a previous appointment that I have been waiting months for.” “And I wouldn’t dream of interrupting, but I need just a minute of your time before you begin, and I am sure a gentleman like Sienna won’t mind the delay.” Sienna gave another long bow at the waist, and I pulled Doc Cameron back into his office. He went, but like a reluctant child. “You know about the case with the child bones, right?” The minute I pulled the bone out of my bag and held it up, I suddenly had his attention. He looked at it, examining it thoroughly. “It’s a bovine metacarpus, a cow’s leg bone.” He handed it back to me and I sighed, placing it down on his desk. “That puts me right back at square one.” Doc Cameron bobbed and looked out through his blinds where Sienna was waiting. He looked back at me with big eyes. “Yes, we’re done,” I said and straightened my coat. He giggled. Honest to God giggled—it was high pitched, and he ended up sounding and looking like an over-pleased hamster. I opened the door and strolled out. Sienna’s hand clamped around my wrist, and he twirled me so that I landed in a seat just outside the office. I looked at him and let the displeasure show in my face. “I wish you to wait for me; I will not be long.” I harrumphed and was surprised when I didn’t get up once he was safely inside the office door. I guess curiosity got the better of me. I was glad I was not a cat, otherwise curiosity might be hazardous to my

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health.

Chapter Sixteen I ended up lying over the chair, hanging down so that my hair pooled in a circle on the floor and I stared up at the ceiling, counting the number of tiles above me. I’d only made one trip to the payphone at the end of the corridor. I’d called LeBron to let him know I was fine and Bethany about getting some more of the medicine she’d supplied me with; she had assured me Magnus would swing by with some. I swung my legs back and forth, back and forth wondering why the hell I was still there almost an hour later. The door opened, so I turned my head and found Sienna looking down at me with his head tilted to one side. I looked behind him; Doc Cameron was giddily flipping through his notes. I up righted myself. “So what did you want me to wait for?” He bent his arm and extended it out towards me, all old-fashioned and gentlemanly. I looked between his face and his arm. Did he expect me to take it? “Let me escort you,” he said, taking my hand and using it to wrap my arm around his. He started to walk, the motion of it pulling me up to my feet and keeping me in time with him. I adjusted the strap of my bag and looked at where his hand was still on mine, holding it in place. “Where are we going?” “Where is it you think you need to be the most?” I thought about it. I could do with finding out some more about monsters that liked children in an eating way. Maybe cross-referencing with knives, but I didn’t really have the tomes that would deal with that kind of thing, although the restricted section at the city library on this side would have. Only problem was it closed at six, and it was nearing eight p.m. Sienna didn’t say anything the entire time I was thinking about it, but we kept walking—he was leading the way to somewhere. I looked up and found that we stood in front of Dante’s. I turned to him. “I am pretty sure this is the one place I shouldn’t be.” I stopped dead and looked up at the bright sign and the diminishing queue of people outside. The sign was red and yellow, with live flames burning on either side. Banners hung from the stone porch advertising live musical acts. Vampire clubs were in at the moment—if you could get booked at one, your popularity would go through the roof. Clubs like Dante’s had a waiting list for live acts. “I know you are not the kind of person to just let Aram sit in jail for this,” he said and he reached around, pressing his fingers over the bite again. “Not when it could cost him so much.” I growled at him and slapped his hand away from the bite mark. “I really wish you people would stop doing that.” “Doing what?”

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“Stroking the bite like it’s something wondrous. It’s not. It a reminder of one of the worst nights of my life, and he should feel bad for what he did.” “Feel bad, yes, but should he hang for it, for your moral outrage or whatever this is? Jareth must try him for trying to hush it up, but you can save him.” “How the hell am I meant to save him? Nobody will tell me the bloody rules to whatever game you all seem to be playing with each other. I’ve always hated games.” Sienna smiled at me and let go of my hand. “Then you will need to borrow Aram’s rule book. Ask him where he keeps it?” He started to walk towards the club, but I stayed standing still; he stopped just across from the crowd who were beginning to look at him, some recognizing him. “You know I won’t be able to get inside.” “I know Jareth has told all of us and front door security that you are not allowed into the club until the trial, but he cannot watch all entrances, and Vincent does like what he thinks is his new secret place for smoking.” He gave me a large smile, flashing fang, and walked into the crowd. He stroked his hand over a few heads, linked arms with one man and one woman before disappearing inside the club. I gave a wry smile and headed for the side door with the buzzer. As Sienna had said, Vincent was there having what he thought was another crafty cigarette. It took a minute before I convinced him to let me in. “Sienna said to let you in?” he said skeptically, taking a deep drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke at the ceiling. “He walked me here and, to paraphrase, told me to fix this mess, which I pretty much already knew I had to do.” “Jareth won’t like this.” I put my finger to his lips before he could place the cigarette back at it. “Then don’t tell him. And I’d find a new place to have a sneaky one. Sienna knew you were going to be here—it’s only a matter of time before Tarquin does too.” He nodded, making a face, and pointed towards the stairs that led down. I took them down, down into the darkness of the underground of the club. Torches burned on the walls and there was a door at the end of a long corridor, one guy sitting on a chair outside. I walked towards him, my footsteps loud on the stone, making him look up. “Miss, you shouldn’t be down here. Are you lost?” “No, I’m here to see Aram.” He looked at me, a little puzzled, and searched himself like he would find the answer to what he was thinking somewhere on his clothes. “I wasn’t aware he was allowed visitors.”

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I was now just outside the door, which was open just a crack. “I’m a special case.” “Cassandra?” Aram’s voice came from the other side of the door. I tried to look around it, but I couldn’t see him. I looked at the guard; he stood as if he understood something was going on above his understanding and he pushed the door open. Aram stood at the back of a cell. The bars were entirely made of silver, and a single holy item hung on a hook above the door. It was an impressive cell to say the least; the moonlight glinted off the silver from the one small window at street level that, all in all, didn’t let all that much light into the room. I guess that was why they had the torches. Old gothic torches made of stone, where the top was hollowed out and stuffed with an oily rag that burned to create the dim light that belonged in a dungeon. The look in Aram’s eyes when I walked in from the hallway, the guard at my back, was not a friendly one. He looked like he thought I might reach out and strike him. “Can I go in there?” I asked, turning to the guard. He felt for the keys on his belt. I’d half expected him to say no or to ask me why or if I really wanted to go into that cage alone with Aram, but he didn’t. He just politely unlocked it, held the door while I walked inside, his eyes on Aram the whole time, and then locked it behind me. I had wanted to be inside with him; I wasn’t sure I was as comfortable beinglocked in. Then the guard said something I’d really not expected. “I’ll give you two some time alone.” And he walked out the door, shutting it so that only a crack of light from the hallway shone in, not enough so he could listen to our conversation but enough so that if I screamed for help he would hear me. I didn’t think Aram was going to hurt me, but obviously the guard did. “Why are you here, Cassandra?” he asked after we’d stood there for the longest of moments in complete silence. I looked at my feet. Should I tell him how bad I felt, or was he reading it all in my body language right then? I really only wanted to ask him if I could go into his room and rummage through it, find what I needed to help save him, but I didn’t really want him to know that I was trying. If I tried and I failed, it wouldn’t be such a hard blow if he’d thought I hadn’t been trying, right? I asked myself that over and over again for a minute and couldn’t make it make sense, couldn’t find an answer that didn’t sound bad. I hadn’t looked up for some time, and I felt his hand on my chin. He stepped closer and used just the light brush of his fingers to lift my face so he could see it. “Tell me why you have come, Andra,” he said and his voice was softer now, more himself, more the Aram I knew and... I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to say loved. I didn’t love him. I couldn’t have loved him. He was a vampire, and you just couldn’t love them. I liked him and made my mind settle for that. I liked him too much to let him die. “I need your permission for something—” I started. But I stopped, looking into his eyes, and there was something in them that brought other questions to my mind. “Are you scared about what’s going to happen?” “Are not all living creatures scared to die?” he said, and the word “die” held such a bitter note to it. But he had also reminded me that he considered himself alive, a person, and that death was something that was very real to him, as real as it was to me.

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“Jareth won’t kill you. He’s your brother, and he just won’t. He might have to send you away, but that won’t be too bad, will it? You could live just outside the city limits and still be within the rules.” He pulled a face I could only read as disgust at the idea, and I found myself getting a little angry at him. If the police had known it was him, he would be dead already, and he seemed to think that it was preferable. “Being banished is better than losing your head!” He turned, stepping farther into the moonlight so that the sparkles from where it hit the silver bars played on his skin and made me watch him intently. He turned to me and sadly began to speak. “’Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, where Juliet lives; every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing, live here in heaven, and may look on her, but Romeo may not: more validity, more honourable state, more courtship lives, in carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize on the white wonder of dear Juliet’s skin, and steal immortal kisses from her lips, who, even in pure and vestal modesty, still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; but Romeo may not; he is banished: This may flies do, but from this I must fly; they are free men, but I am banished: and say’st thou yet, that exile is not death?” I felt myself grow very angry with him. Did he really think us like that? Did he really believe me Juliet, himself Romeo and that I was some divine presence worth risking death to be with? How could anyone think they loved me that much? Did he have no sense of self-preservation? Or did he really think that if he died I would be happy about it? “Piss off. Do not go quoting some poetic shit to me to try and justify that you think your death is a good idea. Don’t ever.” “You are most unromantic, pet,” he said, and his eyes narrowed with what looked like frustration. “Bullshit! I am very romantic. I just don’t want to have to hear you talk like that.” He sighed and took a seat on the edge of the coffin that was in the cage with us. I’d barely noticed it, or at least I’d tried to see it as some sort of bench rather than what it was. There was something about an open coffin, a basement and poor lighting that just irked me. “Love is such a hard thing to be in.” “I amnotin love with you.” I seemed to shout the not at him. I was protesting too much—he and I both seemed to know it in that moment—but now he was angry too. “No, pet, I am in love with you,” he said with a voice full of strength, and his eyes never left my face. I wasn’t sure he had ever directly confessed like that to me before. I felt a blush creep up my face. “And you only seem to use it to cut me, like it is your blade of choice. You cut little pieces of me away and make them yours every day I see you. I would do anything for you, say what you want, do what you ask; we both know this.” “I’ve never asked anything of you.” And even to me it sounded like a weak argument. I was fast losing my anger over the heat and press of his. Love and hate, passion and anger; there was so fine a line between the two that I was surprised it didn’t blur more often. “Not true. You asked me to drink, I did and then you had, what is it called, buyer’s remorse. I swore to

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you that you could always trust me, and you can.” “I did trust you and you ended up snacking on my neck. I nearly died.” “You did not.” “Yes I did. You don’t know what happened. If Magnus hadn’t have been with me I would have passed out and probably not woken back up. I had to have blood pumped back into me because you took so much and you just left me there. You left me and ran to save your own skin.” Aram looked like I had slapped him. My shoulders hunched, and I bit my lip. I was not going to cry. I was not going to let a single tear drop in front of him. I sniffled, trying to pull it back inside me and keep it locked there. “You’ve not even told me you are sorry. Not once. The only three little words I wanted were ‘I am sorry.’ Sorry that you hurt me, sorry that you left me.” Aram pulled me suddenly against his body, so that the front of me was molded against him, pressed up close and as personal as could be. I looked up into his eyes, blinking back my tears, and they looked so dark, like the brown had blotted out the tiny flecks of green that I usually saw in them. As I stared into them, he kissed me. I felt my eyes go wide. I tried to push him away with my hand on his shoulder, but he was like an immovable force. His lips were velveteen, soft but oh so very cold; he’d not fed. I smashed my fist on his chest and he moved, but only to push me so that my back was shoved against the bars, so hard that it hurt. I gripped them, balancing my elbows on the central bar as my eyes fluttered shut with the demanding sensation. His fang sliced the edge of my lip as I brought my legs up and gave him an almighty kick across the room. He could have held on but he didn’t. He hit the coffin that crashed off its stand to the floor and he wobbled to gain his balance, his eyes on my lips as I licked the blood away. “Guard!” It was Aram who called it first. His knuckles clenched, and he took a tentative step backwards. The guard appeared and let me out. Once I was safely on the other side, the fear subsiding, I was angry at him again. I turned around. Aram was desperately trying to compose himself. “What the hell was that?” His gaze darted up to me. From the way he held himself, if he’d been human he’d have been panting to catch his breath. My own heart was pounding so loud I’m sure he could hear it. “If this is perhaps to be that last time I ever see you, if I am to die, I did not want to go not knowing what that felt like.” “You are not going to die.” “You cannot be sure. Please, pet—you are still bleeding, and I remember that taste with such fondness. I have never felt warmer, more alive than with your blood inside me.” He turned his back on me; he was trying to be a good little vampire. “I never got to ask what I needed. I need your permission to go into your room.”

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Aram looked at me like that was the last thing he had ever expected me to say. “What for?” “If I’m going to play this game, then I’m going to need to know the rules. Someone said you would have a copy of the rule book?” “I do,” he said, and he was looking at me with more suspicion then I’d ever thought to see in his face, at least directed at me. “What are you up to, pet?” “Nothing at the moment. Where is it?” “Next to the Wordsworth.” I turned my back on him and started for the door. “I am sorry, pet.” “Thank you.” I ran up the stairs. I could feel the tears just behind my eyes. I was not going to cry. It was stupid, all of it. I marched through the door, and I was so busy trying not to drop to my knees and weep like a child that I didn’t check the corridor for vampires. If anyone saw me, I just didn’t care. I took the second set of stairs, cut across and headed down, swishing the drape out of my way angrily. This time I stopped and looked up and down the corridor. It was empty. I headed for Aram’s room, opened the door carefully and slipped inside. I hit the light and was thankful this time that the room was completely empty. This time maybe I could just get in and out. I beelined past the bed for the bookshelves built into the wall on the other side. There were rows and rows of books, old leather-bound editions. I ran my fingers over the spines. “These are all first editions,” I murmured to myself. But then again, what did I expect from a vampire’s room—modern printed version with the bad pictures on the covers like normal people would have? I scanned the titles; Aram enjoyed a lot of the books I had read, classics which to him had been brand new pieces of fiction created around times he himself was either living in or had lived through. He had Pride and Prejudice, an 1813 edition. I wondered if he would let me read it, if I promised to be careful. I froze and remembered why I was here in the first place. I scanned along the shelf for Wordsworth and found a small, black bound book next to it. It looked not too unlike an old Bible. I flicked through it; the pages were stained brown from age and the print strangely artful. The pages were nestled between slices of thin red velvet on the inside of the covers, and a strand of silken ribbon tucked into the spine was like a bookmark. I was careful getting it into my bag and then rushed to get out of the room. I tripped on the stone edge of the raised platform the bed sat on and fell onto the edge of the bed. I laid my face down on the coverlet, the same deep forest green the bed was always draped in. Aram always looked best surrounded by green. I took in a deep breath and took in a mixture of scents, masculine and sweet perfume. No doubt the spray of whatever woman he fed from—and did other things to—on this bed. I gripped the cover tight in my hands, I felt a strange stir of anger at the thought that other women had been in his bed. I looked up the bed; one of the pillows was at a strange angle. I crawled up to it; I was compelled to straighten it. I stopped when I caught the familiar whiff of my own perfume. It was faint but still there, even all these months after the one night I had stayed in this bed. I’d just slept while Aram spent the day in his coffin, tucked deep in the bowels of the club. I got an image so

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strong, of Aram lying with his face pressed against that pillow as he died for the day. I fell back against the covers and curled into a little ball, I wanted to cry again. The door opened. I barely managed to roll my eyes up to see who was walking in on me. Jareth stood with his hand on the door and looked at me. Many emotions crossed over his face, but none stayed as he looked down into my emptying eyes. He closed the door and took another step into the room. “Of all the people I’d expect to find lying on Aram’s bed, I did not expect it to be you. Who let you in?” “No one,” I said, shuffling to try and sit up a bit more. “I let myself in.” “Why are you here?” “If I told you torturing myself with my own guilt, would it make you happy? But it’s so strange—I feel so comfortable here.” I stroked the covers under my hands, gripping the fabric in my fingers and closing my eyes to concentrate on the feel of it. He seemed to consider my words very carefully for a moment. “It’s almost as if you are having all the symptoms...” he said, and his words betrayed how careless his sentence was. I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I’m not sure what you mean. I feel bad, and although you will hate me for saying this again, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “I know you mean that, but it is very little consolation. You forced my hand and now it cannot be unforced.” “But it can be fixed,” I said, swinging my legs around so that I now sat on the edge of the bed; I planted my feet firmly as if searching for my strength. “And I will fix this. My trouble with my temper should be my own problem, not everyone else’s. I hated to see him like that.” “You went down to see my brother?” I nodded. “What did he say that made you not want to see him punished?” “I didn’t want—” I started to protest, but he raised his hand and I stopped. “Yes you did—it was there in your eyes. You wanted him brought to heel, you just had no idea the right way to go about it.” “Safe way,” I corrected him. He conceded it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Very well, but you have not answered my question.” I touched my lips with two fingers; they were still cold and wet from his mouth. “He kissed me.” Jareth looked suspicious.

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“And merely that changed your mind? I did not think you a woman so easily swayed.” “I’m not, but even during some of his more aggressive attempts at seduction he never forced a kiss on me. He wanted to feel it, just once. He said that if you don’t kill him he might as well be dead. He truly believes that you might kill him. No,” I said, shaking my head, “not that you might—that you might be forced into it.” “There are many in our Kiss who do not like that my brother is second in command.” I blinked big watery eyes at him. “Why?” “If something were to happen to me, he would take over, and many fear that he would run our Kiss into the ground. They do not know him as I do; they have not seen the serious, calculating side of him. I know he would find his feet and do well.” “Then why has he not shown this side of himself to them?” “The opportunity does not arise much. The last time it did, you were involved, so he”—he waved his hand about as if trying to pluck his thought from the air—“goofed around and didn’t increase his standing amongst our group.” “You’re saying I distract him.” “No, not entirely. His feelings for you distract him, and your reluctance to be distracted by him deepens them and fascinates him to a point where distraction is no longer a suitable word.” “Obsessed?” I offered. “Not true obsession, not in an entirely bad way, but almost as fanatical.” “Well gee, lucky me.” “Do you not return his feelings at all?” I gave him a look that would have told most people it was a silly question to ask considering all the information available, but Jareth’s gaze lost no power. “I’m dating Magnus.” “Entirely irrelevant—you can be with one man but love another.” I looked down at the floor. It was true, or at least you saw it in enough romantic movies to feel like it was true. “I don’t know how to feel about Aram. He’s a vampire, no offence, he’s already dead, but I don’t want him to die. Does that make sense to you? Because it sure as hell doesn’t to me.” Jareth didn’t say anything. I pulled up from the bed and started towards the door. I had the feeling the conversation was over unless I wanted to rake up more emotional crap. I was almost past him when he grabbed my arm. He pulled me back so he could look into my face; I gave him an unpleasant look. What was it with people grabbing me? His eyes were a deep, dark blue, completely different from his

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brother’s; they were wide open, looking into me. “Your eyes...” “What?” He raised his hand up to my face and came away with one shining tear glistening on the tip of his thumb. I saw it and broke. The next few moments became a blur; we ended up on the floor, his arms wrapped around me as I wept into his shirt. “I have all these thoughts that I don’t know how to say, and it leaves so many things unsaid. I feel so frustrated, and when I feel frustrated I either cry or get angry and it doesn’t help, nothing I can think of helps. I just don’t know what to do.” Jareth stroked my hair. His body was tense with mine against it, and it took me a while to get that he might not be comfortable with me clinging to him. I was, after all, the reason he had locked his brother up. I pulled back, and at first he didn’t let me draw away from him. I wiped my eyes and slowly raised my head. “I have some work to do.” He let me stand and I moved around him, scrubbing at my eyes that looked sore and red. “Thank you.”

Chapter Seventeen I sat Indian style in the middle of my bed, with the book between my knees, just staring at the cover. It had an embossed red heart with gold leaf flaking off a crown that encircled it. It contained the secrets of the vampires, all the rules and punishments they had to know about and that humans were never ever supposed to see. It felt sacred, felt like I shouldn’t be reading it. Tenderly I opened the front cover and started flicking through the pages, scanning the sections for the relevant pages. There was a mass of complex rituals and contradictory rules that would have made any bureaucrat proud. Every possible situation they could possibly have thought of was covered. What to do if you were invited to feed off someone of noble birth. The polite way to decline an offer of food. How to diplomatically deal with a member of the shadow clan. I was gaping at the fact that there was a way to diplomatically deal with the shadow clan—I’d thought the sovereign clan would have quite happily killed them on sight. They gave vampires a bad name. No one in a shadow clan had ever lived to be more than a hundred years old—they lived too dangerously. I could imagine diplomatically dealing with the brotherhood of man, but no, they were considered unwelcome in most circles. They denied what they were, and apparently that made them extremely unpleasant to deal with. I suppose it would be awful to deal with someone who hated who you were, even though they themselves were the same, and held such self-hatred that it colored everything else. The more I read the more complex their world seemed to become, their civilization was more civilized than even I had realized. I was too much a child of a generation of vampire movies, where they were sexy, strong, fast but ultimately devious, underhanded and evil. In the movies, all they wanted was power and blood. Reading this book of theirs felt more and more like an invasion of privacy, like I was reading

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someone’s diary, but it gave such insight. They were really just a different kind of people. I would have thought, knowing so many of them , that I would have realized before now that although they played to their Hollywood image, they were ultimately not a thing like that. I also found that the sovereign clan loved and believed in their rules. I found whole sections on trials, what you could be tried for and the procedures for each one. I cursed as I flicked through it page after page and it gave me nothing. “Come on,” I said, cursing, “give me a fucking clue. Sienna wouldn’t have said to read you if there wasn’t something helpful in here.” Infuriated, I closed the book and threw it towards the balcony door. It hit the wall and landed sprawled on the floor. I slapped my hand to my face and slowly dragged my fingers across my face. Idiot! How old was that book? And you just throw it across the room.I scolded myself as I got up off the bed. I retrieved the book from the floor, carefully un-creasing the corners of the pages, and found myself on a page I had missed. It looked like hurling the book had unstuck two pages that had long been pressed together. I moved around to sit on the small dark blue French couch that fitted into this corner of my room and settled against the solitary pillow. I scanned down the page and found an interesting paragraph. I read it aloud to myself. “In matters regarding the overtaking of blood, one of our greatest crimes, the trial can proceed as normal unless by intervention of the donor in question. If this is the vampire’s first blood offence, the donor can choose to acknowledge the bond created with that vampire, they have the right to call the process to an end by invoking the right ofNovia.” Noviawas not a word I recognized; it was not English, although I was honestly surprised that the book in almost its entirety was in the English language. I was positive there had to be Sovereign Kisses on other continents, and I had no idea on which one the original rules were set down. I don’t know why, but I’d always pictured it as being European. Much more so than Britain was.Noviaseemed like a Spanish word. I continued reading. “Once the right is invoked, the proceedings are halted. If the vampire agrees to the right, which is usually the wisest course of action, then the trial will be dissolved and further arrangements will be between the two parties and the kiss leader.” I found myself smiling. I might not stop Jareth from punishing him, but I could prevent an official trial so that the matter had to be dealt with in private. Jareth could be more lenient in private. I smiled even wider. It was so perfect that I began to believe there had to be a catch. I scanned the rest of the page, flipping it over, and found nothing to discourage me from making this my plan. I probably didn’t even have to wait until the trial; I could probably walk right back in there, tell Jareth the plan and stop the whole mess before it got started. I closed the book in one hand in triumph, then nearly jumped out of my skin as there was a loud knock on the balcony door behind me. I put the book down on the couch and walked over to it. Only Aram ever came to my balcony door. I opened it carefully and peeked around the corner of the door. Large claws delicately gripped the thin metal of the balcony railing and made my eyes lift up till I found cut-off jeans and then a masculine leaf-green chest. I kept rolling my eyes up till I came to a vaguely familiar face. “Jacque? What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?” He gave me a fairly impish grin that looked rather at home on his inhuman face. I’d also half wondered

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what had happened to his shirt, but I was too polite to ask. “I’ve been following you from the rooftops.” “Why?” I eyed him curiously and pushed the door open a little further so that I could stand partially out on the balcony. He let one foot fall down so it was propped on the stone of the balcony floor. “Honestly? Just curious.” “Really?” “And to get some more of that medicine. It seems to be working for Belle, she’s been conscious for the first time in days.” I gave him a brief and gentle smile. “I’m glad she is doing better, but I don’t have any more of it here. I’m waiting on some more to be dropped off.” Bethany had promised that Magnus would bring me a fresh bundle around; she hadn’t said when, so I couldn’t even give him a rough time frame. He eyed me speculatively as I kept my body in the doorway, and I realized he was trying to see past me and inside. I pulled the door into my body so the gap got smaller and let him know I’d seen what he was doing. “Is there something else?” “The rest of this building is dark; the only light is coming from this top corner. I was wondering what’s behind the door.” “If you must know, it’s my bedroom, and it’s not in the tidiest of conditions right now. I wasn’t expecting company.” “Don’t worry,” he said, waving his hands across his chest, “I won’t ask to be invited in.” “You wouldn’t get invited in anyway.” He chuckled, dropping his other leg so he was sitting properly on the balcony, and I wondered how it held his weight. “How long do you think before you’ll get more of the medicine?” The one question I was dreading, the one I did not have the answer to. “I can’t say; but if you’re going to be checking up on me, I’ll leave it out here on the balcony and you can just swoop by and pick it up.” “That’s very generous of you. We have little to offer in exchange.” “Forget it. I get it for nothing; no reason you can’t have it for the same.” I smiled at him, and it seemed to reassure him. He smiled back at me, leaned one elbow on his knee and rested his face against his fist. “There must be something we can do for you.”

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“I wouldn’t speak for your whole group like that,” I said, but something popped into my head and I quickly changed my mind. “But if you want to do something for me, you could consider moving out of the cathedral ruins. It’s not the safest place for you to be right now.” “We might have already if it wasn’t for Belle being injured—she couldn’t be moved in her condition. It was dangerous to stay there at all after that thing attacked her, but we had no choice.” “What thing?” “Don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “She just said it was dark and it cut her. She meant it no harm, but it lashed out and attacked her. We all heard the scream, but it was gone when we got to her.” I rubbed my chin and looked thoughtful. He studied my face with curiosity. “What? What is it?” “I think she may have come into contact with my monster.” The police report LeBron had looked at for me said the chunk of tree had marks on it, nothing that they had ever seen before. It could have been some sort of blade. Gargoyles had to be pretty damn tough—their skin seemed sort of leathery and packed out with tough muscles—so for something to be able to slice one open like a cantaloupe, it had to be a pretty strong or an unusual blade. I needed to do that research, and I had to do it soon. If I put it off another child could die, and I did not need that on my conscience. I didn’t want to let that happen, not if I could do something to stop it. “Look, I’ve got an elsewhere to be. As soon as I get some more medicine I’ll drop it out here for you to pick up. You should really think about that church. You could probably move out there and be safe.” He gave a curt nod and fell backwards off the balcony. I smashed the door against the wall as I burst out, looking over the side. His massive wings spread and he shot up past me; the air blew around my body as I spun to watch him soar off into the sky. I swore I could hear him chuckling as I stared after him. I wanted to yell after him that he was a stupid kid, but I controlled myself; I had other things to be getting on with. I shut the balcony and flipped the latch into place—not that I thought I would be having any more visitors who’d use that door tonight, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I unpacked and repacked my bag with the new things I was going to need: torch, gloves, pad and pen. The library was closed, but I couldn’t wait for it to open again. I wouldn’t be here in the morning, not on this side anyway, and I didn’t need to take the detour to Virginia’s to try and get another grounding spell. I still didn’t know what had happened to the first one. They’d taken the locket off me at the hospital to deal with my neck wound, but I’d left in such a hurry that I hadn’t bothered to find out what they’d done with it. It hadn’t been with my clothes. I also thought that Virginia might be a little ticked off with me for losing it. I grabbed my coat and keys from where they hung by the door and pulled it sharply open, stopping dead in the doorway. Magnus stood right in front of me, his fist poised as if he had been about to knock. I gaped and looked at him. “Magnus, honey, what are you doing here?” He looked at his watch.

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“Eight thirty, right? We’re supposed to be going out. Oh, and I brought you the medicine from my sister. What have you done to yourself now?” He chuckled, and I snatched the parcel of medicine as he held it up to me. He got a quick flash of the bandage around my wrist, but I didn’t give him time to say anything. I marched back through my bedroom and chucked the medicine out on the balcony, relocking it behind me. I turned around and Magnus was right behind me. He’d followed me into my room, and as I looked at him, shocked, he took hold of my arm by the elbow and raised the bandaged wrist up to his face. “What happened? That little spell you were supposed to be doing wouldn’t have caused this.” I snatched it back from him. I wasn’t sure telling him about it was a good idea but if I didn’t he wouldn’t stop bugging me until I did. “Aram tried to stop me from walking out.” I headed back for the front door. Magnus just stood there gaping at me. I rolled my eyes and smacked my head. I’d completely forgotten to tell him that I had seen Aram again. He’d stayed away for so long, Magnus had thought we’d never see the vampire again. I sighed. I didn’t have time for a lengthy dramatic episode right now—time was of the essence. “Look, I’ll tell you all about it on the way, but if we’re going out, we need to go now because I have something to do first.”

Chapter Eighteen I tried to explain to Magnus about the other night, coming home to find Aram in my bedroom and how I had thought it was him. I told Magnus how I’d chucked the flowers he’d given me into the bin in my anger, and then when I came to want my tiger’s eye how I’d found it missing. Then I’d gone to Dante’s to get it back, and Aram had decided we were going to talk whether I wanted to or not. Magnus was fuming by the end of the story. “That arrogant blood drunk,” he started, but I put my fingers to his lips. “Cussing him isn’t going to do any good, and I’d like you to keep as quiet as possible.” We were moving around the back of the library building—the restricted section was located to the back of the building and below ground. The street-level windows were too small to get through, so we’d have to go through the ground floor and find the way down. Once Magnus was quieted, he started looking around and he began to look confused. I sighed, pulling the gloves out of my bag and pulling them over my hands. “Cassandra? What are we doing here? This building is closed.” “Breaking in.” “Oh,” he said, and a few seconds later it registered with his brain what I had actually said. “Cassandra. No.” He grabbed me by my upper arm and yanked me roughly toward his body.

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“Magnus,” I said, pulling at his grip. “Whatever you need we can get in the morning, during business hours.” I sighed. “I don’t have a library card,” I said sarcastically. He looked at me, cocking an eyebrow. “It won’t take five minutes to fill out the form and get one, or you can just use mine, but this isn’t the way.” I sighed again. Sometimes Magnus was so very clean cut. I liked him, I really did, but he was not going to stay on my good side if he was going to get in my way like this. I broke his grip on my arm. “The books I need require special permissions to be looked at, and I don’t think it will only take five minutes to fill out those forms. I don’t have the time to do this the proper way, in which there is no guarantee of the outcome I want. I’m going to do this. You don’t have to be here.” I started to walk away from him, heading for the ground-floor window. I started feeling the inside of the frame, looking for wiring that would indicate an alarm system. I looked in through the glass and saw Magnus’s reflection grow closer. He bent over my back and whispered into my ear. “I’m coming with; someone needs to watch your back.” I looked back at him and smiled. He’d admired my back as he’d said it. “Try not to touch anything—you’re not wearing gloves.” I went back to messing with the window, trying to decide which would be the best way to deal with it. I didn’t want to break the glass because that would clue them into the fact that I had been there at all. I was tempted to use magic, and if they didn’t have an alarm system, your very basic human security technology, it was highly unlikely the place was spell proofed. Magnus paced a little behind me. I focused on the lock and, using my fingers to direct my power, tried to twist the catch around to the released position. “We’re going to get in trouble. I just know it. I can smell it; it’s like a sixth sense.” I popped the lock and raised the window up. I smiled back at him. “Actually, that would be one of the five.” I raised my leg up and over the windowsill, climbing inside. Magnus stepped up next to the window as I pulled myself in. He bent his head down, looking through the gap at me. “Not funny, Cassandra.” He climbed in after me. The library was dark so I fished out my torch, turning the beam on full and scanning the shelves around me. We were in the newspaper archive with the microfilm machines. I smiled; we were really close to the stairs. A sound came from behind me, and I spun, flashing the light into Magnus’s face. He put his arms up to cover his eyes. “What was that?” I said, lowering the beam. “Stubbed my toe.” He gave a little hop to show that it had hurt. I chuckled, turning the beam back on the floor ahead of me.

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“Really,” I scoffed, “I can’t take you anywhere.” We walked carefully to the door; I gave Magnus the torch while I carefully used both hands to get the door open just a crack so I could peer out into the corridor. I saw the flash of another light bouncing off the walls in the main part of the library. It was coming closer. I shut the door. “Kill the light,” I hissed and pushed him back behind a row of shelving. He fumbled with the torch, managing to get it off but dropping it at the same time. He started to apologize, but I clamped my hand over his mouth. The door opened and the second beam of light scanned the room; the door closed again a few seconds later. I pulled my hand away from Magnus’s mouth. “What was that?” he said in a low whisper. “A night guard. The private collections below include some very powerful, very old books of magic. It’s silly, really, to have a guard but no damn alarm system on the windows. If I weren’t the one breaking in here I might bring it up with them.” I crept back to the door and peeked out into the corridor. The light was bouncing back on the wall, moving towards the other side of the library. The torch came on over my shoulder, and I signaled for Magnus to follow me out the door quickly. We ran to the end of the corridor where the stairs led down to the basement level; I let Magnus go first as he was holding the light, which would help us get down them without breaking our necks. I was careful going down—I made a lot of noise on stairs in heels, if I wasn’t consciously trying not to. The Special Collections annex had to be one of the basement rooms off the corridor at the end of the stairs. The walls were lined with pipes at the top that rattled and almost moaned. I reached back, taking Magnus’s hand, and brought him in against my side. The gray walls were creepy and wet looking, so I wanted the light as close to me as possible. Magnus locked his fingers through mine and gave my hand a little squeeze. “You know, breaking and entering was not what I imagined we’d do for our date tonight.” I reached across his body and took the torch from him. I shined it on the glass of the first door. It readJanitor. I doubted there would be any books in there—maybe some magazines, but nothing I would consider reading material. “And what did you imagine?” I continued down the corridor but stopped when my arm snapped straight and I was pulled back into the embrace of his arms. He smiled down at me. His arms wrapped slowly around my waist, and I craned my head back to look into his eyes. “Well, I was going to cook you this amazing dinner,” he crooned, “open a bottle of Chianti. I rented Sleepless in Seattle.” He leaned down and lightly his mouth brushed my ear; I felt my face warming up as he did. I wriggled my hand under his arm, shining the torchlight on a door down the corridor on the right. This door saidSpecial Collections. Magnus’s breath was hot on my neck and his hands flexed against my backside. “Magnus,” I said, trying to pull out of his arms. His lips met my skin and it sent a shiver rolling down my spine. I pushed at him. “Magnus.”

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“Mmm,” he said, finally acknowledging I was talking to him. His hand squeezed a little tighter. Not that I minded him taking little liberties with his hands, but now was neither the time nor the place for it. “We’re breaking and entering here.” He pulled back from me, looking a tiny bit embarrassed. He scratched the back of his head and gave me a wry smile. I turned and shined the torch on the door. “Sorry, my mind must have been...elsewhere.” “The gutter, perhaps?” His cheeks flushed, and I walked over to the door I had the torch trained on. It wasn’t locked. I pushed the door inwards and shined the light around the room. Rows upon rows of dusty old books. Tomes filled with ancient knowledge, old magics, forgotten lore and monsters logged as far back as the Middle Ages. I held the door open, motioning Magnus inside with the torch. “So,” he said, “how do find what it is you need?” His gaze ran over the stacks of shelves that stretched back into gray darkness. I scanned the wall next to the door. There stood a long, dark wooden cabinet. The cabinet was split into twenty-six little drawers, each with a letter of the alphabet on the front. “We’ll start with the card catalog. I’ll take C for creatures, and you take M for monsters.” He joined me in front of the catalog and bent down to begin rooting through the M drawer. I took a small notepad and pen I’d taken to keeping in the inside pocket of my coat and laid it down on the top. Magnus flipped through the first few cards in his drawer, snorted and looked up at me. “I have no idea what I’m looking for.” “Books with “Monster” in the title. Just read it out to me and if I think it worth a look, I’ll make a note of the ref number and we’ll go find them.” “Sounds simple enough.” We ended up dredging up about seven books that sounded like they might have anything interesting in them; then the only thing was finding them in the huge dark rows. Magnus took the torch from me and used his other hand to support me, as some of the books were higher up than I could reach on my own. Some of the shelves were so tall I was practically climbing them, but leaping down into Magnus’s arms definitely had its benefits. Soon we had all seven books and were laying them out on top of some light boxes. Magnus flicked one on so we could use its dim light instead of the torch. We split the pile between us. He was careful with the pages as they looked so battered and old, flicking between several images that were what I would call grotesque. “Uck! Are you telling me that these things actually existed at one point?” “They might still. I don’t know, and I know this is going to sound gross, but you need to scan read for a preference for the eating of children.” He looked at me, pulling a face; then his expression changed, and he asked if I was serious with just his eyes. I let chagrin wash over my own face and nodded solemnly. His eyes focused, and he was into the research then. Magnus liked children; he hated to see anything happen to them. Magnus wanted children;

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he’d mentioned it once or twice. It was way too early in our relationship to even consider it, and I wasn’t sure I would be a good mother. I didn’t mind babysitting for the Urquharts, but I got to give the kid back at the end of the evening. Sometimes, though, looking at Magnus, I thought having kids wouldn’t be so bad. I buried my nose in my own books and tried not to think about that again. There was any number of monsters, most of which I had never heard of. There was the Buggane, which were described as being covered in black hair, with claws and tusks and large red mouths. A picture, a sketch, was included next to the text; they looked like giant moles. They were supposed to be intelligent and able to speak to people. They moved about in tunnels and dark places; they could probably navigate sewers with no problems, snatch a kid without being seen. But nothing in the literature said anything about them liking children or indeed having any inclination to go anywhere near human populations. I shut that book and tried another. An article on the Grindylows looked promising. They liked to grab little children with their long arms and fingers and devour them, but the hitch was that they only did so when they were close to the edge of pools of water or marshes where they lived. I could believe that a Grindylow would be similar enough to a mermaid to perhaps have the same ability to sing to attract victims closer, but there were no marshes in Worcester, and the cathedral was near the river but it wasn’t close enough. From sketches of the creatures, they didn’t look like they could survive on land or even stand up right. Also there was no mention of a fondness for blades. “Hey, check this out,” Magnus said, pushing a book across to me. I made some space as he slid it across the top, and then I peered over at the small paragraph. “Black Annis is a bogeyman figure in English folklore. She is imagined as a blue-faced crone or witch with iron claws and a taste for human, especially child, flesh.” He gave me a big smile. I mussed his hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He pointed to a small footnote at the bottom of the page and his smile grew wider, like he was hoping it would gain him extra brownie points. The footnote cited another book for more in-depth reading. “Well, it’s the best we’ve got. Go back and see if you can find the title in the card catalog,” I said, sifting through the ones on the table. “I don’t think we pulled that one out before.” He jotted the name down, diving back into the catalog drawers while I got the other books together and took them back to their places. I had to climb the shelves to get the last book back. Without Magnus supporting me, it was a little perilous. I almost had it back in place when my foot slipped and I gave a little scream, catching myself on the shelves; my feet dangled about a foot off the ground. I kicked my legs, trying to get one of my feet back onto a shelf so I could lower my leg to the floor. I couldn’t get purchase. I squealed when Magnus’s arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me down. He held me effortlessly with only the tips of my toes able to brush the floor. His lips were so close to my ear. “It’s been loaned out. To an Enforcer V Toogood.” I tried to turn my head to look back at him. “Virginia has it?” “Looks like.” I grumbled. I could have been saved all this trouble by just going over to hers and rummaging through her books. Magnus’s ear twitched next to my head.

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“Someone’s coming.” He ran with me tucked into his side and jabbed the light box off where we had been. A torchlight bounced off the glass, coming down the corridor towards us. “It’s the guard,” I hissed under my breath, and I realized that my feet still were not touching the floor. I looked from side to side. The shelves were rows upon rows of open ends; there was no way to hide between them if the guard should come into the room and check around it in its entirety. The corners held the same problem; the simple illumination from the torch that grew ever closer would reveal us. It was then that Jacque’s words came back to me. Most humans don’t look up. I concentrated my power, and Magnus groaned as his back hit the ceiling. His arms tightened around me automatically. “Stay still—I have to concentrate.” The door opened, and the guard came in and started sweeping the beam over the room. I had to close my eyes to concentrate; keeping us both up was making every inch of my body twitch with power. The guard took his time, and my body began to cramp with the effort. I felt my eyes go wide, and I could hear the crying shriek from my dreams ringing in my ears. I fought against it. Why couldn’t that sound just leave me alone? My feet dropped, and I bit my lip to keep the scream I felt rumbling up inside me quiet. I could feel Magnus behind me like a great weight pushing me to the floor. The guard swept the room one more time and went out the door. I lost control and plummeted towards the floor.

Chapter Nineteen The last thing I could remember clearly was the sound of the guard’s footsteps starting to head back down the corridor, and after that it began to blur until it became confusing nothingness. I woke feeling a stream of sunlight warm across my face. I didn’t open my eyes; I felt it was some time in the late morning, and I really didn’t want to get up. The bed was so comfortable, and I ached. I ached like someone had taken a rubber mallet to my body. I groaned and rolled deeper into the warm arms that were wrapped around me. They squeezed me and my eyes shot open, blinded by the light I closed them again automatically. I was careful the second time to open them just enough that I could look up through my lashes and the sunlight haze. The muscles of a man’s chest were just inches from my nose. I could faintly smell cologne, bittersweet and day old. I couldn’t make my brain work. I raised my hand from under the duvet, feeling cold brush my knuckles, and touched the rising flesh. The tiniest hairs tickled my fingertips, fine and blond. The skin under them was tanned and warm. My brain started to register I was touching another person, and after a while that I was in bed with that person. My face flushed with heat. Whoever I was in bed with was naked, or at least from the waist up he was. Sheepishly I pulled the covers up and peered down. I was fully clothed; he was wearing jeans, and an amused snort blasted against my hair. “No advantage was taken, no matter how much you molested me in your sleep.” The voice was amused. I slowly rolled my eyes up. My head hurt like I had been drinking for a week, but I managed a weak smile for Magnus.

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“Good morning.” I said, assuming that would be an appropriate thing to say. He smiled at me. “Good afternoon.” He grinned at me, that dazzling white toothpaste commercial smile, and my brain almost forgot to register what he had said. “Afternoon!” I shot up out of his arms and looked around. We were in my bed in my apartment, and the amulets, the ones that allowed all my possessions to transpose worlds—I knew to look to them now but Magnus had never noticed. They were glowing and almost sweating with the visible strain. I cursed and threw back the covers. I ran for the balcony door, threw it open and bashed my stomach on the iron railing. The traffic was streaming; people were walking up and down both sides of the street. People stood waiting for a bus, and a man in a business-cut suit was yelling angrily into his mobile. This was my world. I cursed again. I had rules: I’d never let Magnus stay over, and I’d not stayed over at his. I was in trouble. Magnus came to stand behind me, stretching and yawning. I didn’t know what would happen if he came out onto the balcony to join me. I spun around and, as if in answer to my silent question, Magnus put his foot outside. “Stop!” I yelled warningly, and he halted his movement as if we were kids in a game of statues. He stood rigidly still, his eyes flickering to my face in puzzlement. I looked at his leg. The leg wasn’t there; his body up to his knee was completely transparent. His eyes followed mine down and I pushed him in the chest, hissing. “Get inside.” He stumbled backwards as I shoved him inside and slammed the door. He fell onto his backside and his hands flew to his leg. My gaze followed instinctively. It was fully attached and visible. I let out a relieved breath. “What the hell was that about?” “You broke my only rule,” I said through my teeth, trying to bite back my anger. “You passed out. I couldn’t have just left you here. What if you stopped breathing or something?” He stayed over with me because he was worried about me. I’d passed out again. I really had to do something about that. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself to a point where I would be a rational human being. “What just happened? I could feel my leg, feel the ground under my foot, but I couldn’t see it. That is the freakiest...” He stopped when he realized I was slowly sinking to my knees. How the hell was I going to explain this? If I didn’t go through it day after day, I wouldn’t believe it. He caught me in his arms before I fainted completely. I could feel that Pandora’s box starting to open. “Cassandra?” He shook me gently. “Cass, come on.” I gave a great hiccupping sob, and with no warning I started to cry. He held me tight, drying my tears with his thumb and patting my hair soothingly. What was I crying for? He wasn’t hurt and I wasn’t either. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and searched inside myself. I was relieved. I was almost thankful for this, to finally be able to share this with him, to feel the cloud over a near perfect relationship evaporate. When I opened my eyes again, Magnus had rocked back on his heels to look over me.

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“You might want to sit down.” He sat back on the floor and stared at me, waiting. I began an explanation. I didn’t make up an excuse. I didn’t lie. I told the whole truth and nothing but; it was such a refreshing change that I almost found myself smiling as I explained about alternate realities, about my mother and about my switching in more detail then I ever had with Virginia and Nancy. At first he just listened to me, and he looked like he really believed every word. It had to explain a lot to him. It wasn’t until he started to ask me questions that my stomach lurched. “So what would have happened to me if I’d stepped outside?” “I don’t know. I hope you would just end up back on the other side, but I have no way to know for sure. You could have just blipped out of existence.” “But I’m still half human.” “So what? You expect only half of you would disappear. You don’t get it. Here, in this place, you are a genetic impossibility. Elves are entirely fictional. The only way to be an Elf is with prosthetics and a lot of makeup.” He looked at me blankly for a long minute. I stood up, clutching my rumbling stomach. It was early afternoon and I guessed I was hungry. I walked slowly to the kitchen, giving him time to get up and follow me if he wanted. He did. We stood in the kitchen as I waited for the coffee pot to brew and I only half rummaged through the cupboards looking for something solid to eat. Magnus kept his eyes on me and continued questioning me. “So if your mom could stay on this side, why can’t you pick a side?” I looked at him and shrugged. I picked up the hint in his voice that he hoped I would pick the side he came from, but I ignored it. “I don’t know. It’s certainly not a matter of just making the choice, because I already tried that. I’ve tried to reason it out, and all I could bring it down to was metaphysical genetics. A parent from each reality.” “Your dad was from this side.” I shrugged again. “I assume so. Mom’s stories about him were always sort of vague. They met, had me together and brought this apartment. He died too young for me to really remember him, and even now I don’t know even the simplest things about him. For instance if my last name was his, or if it was Mom’s maiden name that she went back to when she was widowed. She left everything behind to come here, details, records. I could have family, grandparents I don’t even know about.” He pointed to one of the amulets in the corners. “And those are shaking because I’m here?” “Yes. You’re not inanimate; you are a living, breathing entity who should not exist in this reality. They are

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making you exist here and they aren’t prepared to. It’s putting a great magical strain on them.” “They don’t make me exist,” he growled, poking his chest emphatically. “I make me exist.” I opened the fridge, finding most of the shelves bare. There was no point in arguing with him, but I began theorizing as I eyed dubious looking pieces of food. “If I added your blood to the nexus inside the charms, it might make them strong enough to allow you to cross with me during the day. Of course you would probably still have to stay in the apartment, unless you were holding onto me. It’d be silly to make you go everywhere holding onto me. I suppose it wouldn’t look too suspicious if we could get away with the contact just being hand in hand, but it could be risky if one of us was to forget and let go or, God help us, needed the bathroom.” I realized I was beginning to rant, so I bit my lip and stole a glance at Magnus. He was taking big fistfuls of his hair in his hands. I quickly stuck my head back in the fridge, rooting through the vegetable drawer. “This is all so...I’m confused. say something non-confusing.” I picked up a sealed cellophane packet and looked at the contents. “Asparagus?” “I said NON-confusing.” “What’s confusing about asparagus?” I pulled back and flashed him the packet. I stared at them hard, trying to remember why I had purchased them. “Don’t look at that; look at me.” I looked at him. “Do you know why I bought these?” “Virginia gave you a recipe for soup, but that’s beside the point. I’m freaking out, and you’re trying to find something to eat like nothing is wrong.” “I’m hungry, and to tell you the truth I’m still kinda buzzed to be able to talk to you about this. My friends this side can never know, and only two people on the other side do; but Virginia will never talk about all this with me and, well, Nancy is a cat.” “It’s just”—he backed up to the chair and flopped into it over the arm—“a lot to take in.” “You’d probably love to just go right now, walk it off, take time to think, and ordinarily I would let you, but if you go out that door I don’t know what will happen.” I looked at the door, then my empty fridge and made my decision. “I can, however, make it a little easier for you. I’ll go out, pick up some things for lunch and come back. It should give you some time to think.” I picked up my coat and jiggled the pockets, checking for my wallet, phone and keys before leaning

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over the back of the chair to kiss him. His lips stayed in a hard, tight line, and he didn’t kiss me back. I sighed and went out the door. I took a deep breath. This term, Tuesday was the day I had no classes. I stretched my arms out above my head as I stepped out. I realized I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and cringed. I wanted to go back inside, shower, change and smell good, but Magnus needed some time. I took a deep breath, sighed like I had a lot since I’d woken up and headed into town. The sun was out but it wasn’t warm; I soon found myself wrapping up in my coat and tying the belt loose in place. People milled about from street to street. It wasn’t busy on a weekday—there were enough people to make the town looked lived in, but not so many that you were jostling from one person’s elbow to another. I was drawn to the smell emanating from the black catering van next to Debenhams. The sun glinted off the black sheen and gold lettering, whilst onions sizzled on a griddle and my stomach growled in response. I almost gave in, forgetting that Magnus was probably going to get hungry while I was gone, but I pushed the smell away, telling my stomach to be quiet. I headed towards the supermarket. I had to pass another of the sleek black vans and decided I could at least have a cup of coffee, as I’d left without even having a cup. I rounded the side to face the little window and was greeted by the unsatisfied half smile of a crop-haired blonde. “What will it be?” she asked, her voice croaking, making her sound older than she looked. I tried my best to give her a genuine smile but ended up returning her less than bright grimace. “Just a coffee, please.” She turned from me, and I caught sight of the pack of cigarettes sticking out of her back pocket and pretty much knew why her voice was so ragged. I thought of Vincent and his penchant for that same particular stimulant. His voice was nowhere near that bad yet—that was probably thanks to his brother stepping in. “You know that stuff is swill, right?” I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. I placed money down on the counter. “Just because you’re a complete coffee snob.” I accepted the cup from the woman behind the counter along with my change. Then, turning, I grinned at Incarra. Her hair was back in a single ponytail, the red-colored ends dangling between her shoulder blades. Her glasses were a little lopsided, and she had a streak of paint across her right cheek. I raised my thumb, licked it and rubbed at the paint. “Been in the studio this morning?” Her nose wrinkled, she glared at me and batted my hands away. I gave her a big broad smile, and she harrumphed. “Yes, and where have you been this morning?” She ran her eyes up and down me, recognizing that I hadn’t changed since we had been at the movies yesterday afternoon. I grimaced and was quick to cover it up.

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“Sleeping, mostly. Got up and found I had nothing to eat in the place.” She spun and pointed in the direction of the supermarket. “Food Ho?” I laughed and nodded. I took a sip of the coffee, and Incarra fell into step beside me. Usually she liked to walk in front, and I would slow my pace to let her do it. With her at my side I still had to walk fairly short paces, but it was closer to my normal speed. She talked and I drank the coffee, which wasn’t as bad as she’d alleged. She started to talk about her latest work in detail. She’d stopped with the metal sculpture at the beginning of the last term break and was now on to painting. They’d had a nude model in, which of course meant a lengthy description of his hotness. She was just finishing off with how unfair it was that the cloth was draped so his modesty was kept intact as I grabbed one of those half trolleys for the supermarket. Incarra followed me around as I put things into the trolley; she was eying each new item with speculation. It wasn’t until we were partway round that I realized I was putting in some of Magnus’s favorites, things Incarra knew I didn’t like. Then she started throwing in things when she thought I wasn’t looking, tortillas and chunky chicken. I caught her throwing peppers in; putting it all together, I realized it was the ingredients for quesadillas. I cocked my eyebrow at her, and she gave me a huge grin. “We’re going to have lunch together, aren’t we?” She made it a question, but she was already pretty much decided on it. I smiled at her, shaking my head, not in a disagreeing with her way but in that disapproving you’re-my-insane-friend way. I agreed to make quesadillas for lunch. She clapped gleefully and skipped ahead of me to the checkout. It was only as we were walking back to mine carrying the bags that I remembered Magnus was stuck in my flat. I shuffled to a stop outside my apartment and pretended to be checking myself for my keys. Incarra had never met Magnus; I’d never thought it would be possible, and I was completely unprepared for it. I could call my phone and—what, I thought? Warn him, tell him to hide? I couldn’t do that to him. Incarra would meet him and immediately be able to tell there was something odd about him. It was his ears; they would be a dead giveaway. I pulled my keys out. I was out of time to find a way out of this; I had no choice but to take her up with me. We rode the elevator up, and I jangled my keys subtly as I pushed them in the door. I pushed it open, and we walked inside. The living room was empty. I didn’t call out; I dumped the bags on the side and watched Incarra through my peripheral vision as she came in, kicking the door shut with her foot. Magnus walked in from the spare room, eyes closed, and Incarra’s mouth dropped open. I turned to look too. Magnus was pretty damn impressive with his shirt off. He didn’t work out a lot, but he had enough definition to make a girl say “wow.” He wiped sweat from his brow, and his ears were neatly tucked behind his hair and squashed against his skull by an old scarf he’d turned into a bandana. I followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his chest, caressing his skin; I tilted my head as it tangled in the fine hairs around his belly button, his boxers showing under the top of his jeans. I looked to the other side of me, and Incarra’s head was tilted—she’d been watching it too. “I’ve been thinking, and, well, I need to do something while I think, so I stripped some of the rest of that wallpaper off in the spare room there and...” He stopped as he opened his storm gray eyes and saw two women watching him. His cheeks flushed. I smiled at him and stroked his arm. “Incarra, this is Magnus,” I said, stepping closer to him. I took his hand, pushing my fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Nice to meet you,” he stammered. He looked down at me; his eyes clearly said he was uncomfortable.

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I gave a little apologetic shrug of my shoulders. Incarra shook her head, snapping out of a daydream. She grabbed my arm, pulling me off to the side, although I managed to keep my hand in Magnus’s. “You didn’t say you already had company,” she hissed under her breath. I gave her a weak smile. She stole another look at Magnus. “He’s your boyfriend. Where did you find him, and can I get me one?” I laughed. Magnus’s hearing was exceptional. His face flushed crimson again. Incarra took a step back towards the door. “Well, I will, um, leave you two alone,” she said, giving me a suggestive wink. “We can have lunch some other time.” I smiled at her, quickly rooting through the shopping bag, and threw her the bag of big fresh baked cookies that had magically appeared in my trolley. She gave me a huge grin and ran out of the door before I could change my mind about giving her the cookies. I started putting the shopping away while Magnus stood frozen. “Well, that’s given her enough to gossip about with Anton for the next couple of weeks. I’ve been meaning to get around to doing the rest of that room; you really didn’t have to.” “Well,” he said, becoming animated again. “You had all the stuff there, and it gave me something to focus on while I thought through everything you told me.” “Anything to get you all sweaty and walking around half naked in my apartment.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned down to gently place a kiss on my neck. I craned my head back to look at his face. “You seem to be feeling better.” “Well, I was thinking, and I decided that it doesn’t really matter. You are still you and I am still me. There is only one thing left that is bothering me.” I reached up, putting things from the bags into the cupboards; his fingers stroked the flesh under my gaping T-shirt. “What’s that?” I asked, slightly more interested in what his hand was up to. “You were here, in the day, over the weekend before. How did you do that?” I turned to him, pressing my back against the counter; I looked up into his eyes and stroked my finger along his ear. He shuddered slightly. Elves’ ears are incredibly sensitive. “I had a locket,” I said, stroking my neck; “a grounding spell, but I lost it at the hospital.” He spread his hands across my hips and lifted so that I sat on the counter. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “So it really doesn’t matter? You’re done being weirded out? And stripping?” He grinned at me. “Not sure on that last one. Someone is still wearing yesterday’s clothes,” he said, pinching my T-shirt between his fingers and pulling it up away from my body. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he leaned down to kiss me. He definitely made up for not kissing me back when I’d left. I pulled back from him when his stomach grumbled. “I think it’s lunchtime.”

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Chapter Twenty Magnus drove me round to Virginia’s when the sun had gone down. He turned off the engine of his car and walked me to the door like he was returning me to my parents’ house at the end of a first date. The Halloween decorations still hung limply from the porch, and the pumpkin was an even sadder sight. Virginia was at the door before Magnus could even give me a kiss goodbye. She grinned widely at him. “Magnus, so nice to see you. Come in, come in—I was just about to put a pot of tea on to brew.” Virginia turned and started heading into the house, Magnus and I exchanged a look. I shrugged. He could run, but he’d only feel guilty about it later—we both knew that. I led him through to the kitchen. The old copper kettle was growing hot over the fireplace; she lined up three china cups on the side and took a seat in her rocking chair, folding a blanket over her legs. Magnus stood against the sink, allowing me to take the other chair. “So what can I do for you this evening?” “I was doing some research in the Special Collections annex...” Virginia raised a withered eyebrow at me. “They let you into the Special Collections?” I looked to Magnus and with my eyes told him not to say anything; I looked back at her and gave her a quick nod. She relaxed into her chair but kept suspicion on her face. “I was looking in a book about monsters and there was a footnote referencing a second source, but it was booked out by you.” “I can’t remember everything I borrow. They don’t enforce things like late fees for me. If you want to look for it, it’ll be in the second floor parlor. I’ll make that tea.” I gave her a small smile. Tea was always the beverage of choice at Virginia’s, as in it was the only choice, whether you cared for it or not. I only liked the way she brewed it—the old copper kettle over the fiery hearth to make the water hot. You didn’t want to dare suggest to someone like Virginia that she might like to modernize by getting an electric kettle. Magnus motioned to follow behind me, be my search buddy. Virginia cut off his escape quickly. “Magnus,” Virginia said, and she made her voice deliberately sound old, wizened and frail. I bit my lip to avoid chuckling as he froze on the spot. “If Cassandra is all right looking for one little book on her own, would you be a dear and look at the garbage disposal? I think it’s clogged.” I tittered, heading out of the kitchen before I broke out into a full-on laugh. I’d once asked why she had a garbage disposal when she didn’t like modern technology. She’d had this one, apparently, since the sixties—her husband had had it put in without checking with her first, and it was one of the few things of his that she had left. It was as cantankerous as he had been. Until she had told me that story, I’d had no idea that she had even been married. She kept no photographs around the house.

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The second floor parlor of Virginia’s house was much the same as the rest. Hard darkwood floors, paneled walls in this instance concealed by massive bookcases crammed with the books she had collected in her lifetime. Virginia did not believe in getting rid of a good book, fictional or otherwise. The couch was old too, Victorian and uncomfortable from what I remembered from waking up on it. Two tall chairs, with high brown backs, looked more comfortable where they sat on either side of the fireplace. The fireplace itself was not in use but cleaned and the wood stacked neatly nearby so it could be used and covered over by a pretty screen. The screen depicted a peacock, with real peacock feathers making up its tail. There was a small white female peahen in one corner, made up of tiny shimmering facets of mother of pearl. That kind of artistry was far and few between these days. It was tasteful, the sort of thing I imagined I would have in front of my fireplace if indeed I had one. Across from the couch was another, vaguely the same, slightly less worn like the less favorite of any matching pieces of furniture. I chose to sit on this one. Virginia must like to read facing the window. It creaked under my weight, and dust flew up as the fabric reacted to my presence. I coughed in a lungful of it. A small coffee table stood in between the two couches on a small, frayed patterned rug. It was piled with books of all sizes and ages. Virginia liked to read in her spare time, and now that most of her time was spare, she went through a lot of books. It was probably why she couldn’t remember what she had or had not booked out of the Special Collection at the library. I thought they would have been tighter on lending times for those books, but I suppose Virginia being who she was—you never truly stopped being an enforcer—and it being a non-magical tome, it wasn’t dangerous for it to be outside of the library walls and in her hands. It was practically safe in anyone’s hands, unless it was weighty and you could club someone with it. I started to sift through the piles, trying not to dislodge anything, like I was playing a demented game of Jenga. I was going to have to try to teach Virginia a system, but you know the saying about old dogs and new tricks. I sighed. I supposed I could call for the book. I wasn’t very good at calling for objects, and with my magic having tiny spasms and outages, it might fly towards me and hit me in the head. I sighed again; I really hoped it wasn’t a hefty volume. I decided my head was hard—I could risk it. I closed my eyes and placed my hands palm up in front of me. I concentrated on what I wanted. I wanted a book. I chided myself to be more specific or I could be hit by every book in the room. I wantedLegends of Lancashire. I knew it was in this room so I concentrated on keeping my thoughts only in this room. I called for the object. I called its name in my mind and beckoned it to find me, like standing at the back door and calling the family dog inside. It would come, it wanted to come, you were calling it to you, calling it home. The wind was knocked out of me as I was smacked in the gut. I opened my eyes, gasping, and grabbed the edges of my knees, feeling the book slide down my lap against them. I took a minute to just sit there and relearn how to breathe. “Cassandra? Are you okay?” Magnus shouted from downstairs. His ears didn’t miss much. I swallowed and managed a raspy, “I’m fine.” “You sure?” “I’m fine,” I repeated and tried to sound less breathless. I listened for his footsteps on the stairs, for him to come up the stairs to check on me, but all was quiet. He must have gone back into the kitchen, trusting my word on my own condition. I opened the book on my lap and flicked through to the legend I was most interested in, that of the Black Annis or Black Annie.

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Annis has borne many names over the years—Black Anna, Black Anny, Black Agnes as well as Cat Anna. Her dwelling was a cave (called Black Anna’s, or Black Annis’s Bower) in the low-lying Dane Hills on the outskirts of Leicester. Annis is supposed to have clawed the cave out of the sandstone rock using naught but her long, and very sharp, nails. At its mouth grew a pollarded oak in which Black Annis crouched in order to pounce on unsuspecting children. These she carried off into her cave, sucked them dry of blood and ate their flesh before draping the flayed skins of her victims out to dry on the oak’s branches. She wore a skirt sewn from the skins of her human prey. As she also preyed on animals, local shepherds blamed any lost sheep on her hunger. Many a generation of Leicester’s young, if either naughty or out after dark, were told, “watch out or Annis’ll get you.” An evacuee claimed Annis’s howling could be heard as far as five miles away and, when Annis ground her teeth, the sound was so loud that all the people had time to lock and bar their doors. The evacuee also said, because the people didn’t have window glass in those days, witch herbs were tied above the apertures to stop Annis reaching inside with her very long arms and grabbing their babies. This was why Leicester cottages only had one small window. Annis was said to be very tall, with a blue face and long white teeth. Other descriptions say Annis’s teeth were yellow rather than white and that she only had one eye. All agree her face was hideous and blue. A Leicestershire poet, John Heyrick, Jr., (18th century) wrote of her: Where down the plain the winding pathway falls, from glen-field vill, to lester’s ancient walls; nature, or art, with imitative power, far in the glenn has plac’d black annis’s bower. ‘tis said the soul of mortal man recoil’d to view black annis’s eye, so fierce and wild; vast talons, foul with human flesh, there grew in place of hands, and her features livid blue, glar’d in her visage; whilst her obscene waist warm skins of human victims embrac’d. I closed the book and scratched my head. it was good tale, but something about it left me unsatisfied, left me without my “ah-ha” moment. The Black Annis snatched children from their beds according to the legend; it said nothing about luring children to them. It seemed like a creature of opportunity. Was I too hung up on the idea of the music? A few decades and surely it could have come up with some new tricks. It just seemed so elaborate for a monster that lived in caves. I headed down the stairs, feeling a little defeated. So much for putting it to Rourke. I pushed the door to the kitchen open; it swung shut behind me with a loud clunk. Virginia sat in her chair, her eyes glued to the back of the nice half naked half elf who was bent over the sink, twirling the dial on the garbage disposal. It made a gargled choking sound. A bead of perspiration ran down between his shoulder blades, and she licked her old wrinkled lips.

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“Virginia!” I hissed her name as a warning. “I’m ninety, child, not dead.” There was no guilt in her voice for being caught looking at him like that. Magnus turned around, wiping his hands on a cloth. He smiled; either he’d been so absorbed he’d been oblivious, or he’d chosen not to hear her. He pulled his shirt back on. “All fixed. No more putting pieces of bone down there. That’s what clogs it up.” “Of course, Magnus. I’ll remember this time.” I sighed. She’d probably just keep on shoving bone down there until it clogged again. I shook my head and the kettle whistled. “Ah, Cassandra, just in time,” Virginia said as if I’d just walked into the room. I took the oven gloves from off the hook by the hearth and took the copper kettle from over the flame. It whistled merrily to the counter, where an ancient brown teapot sat waiting. This had seen better days—both the lid and the spout were chipped. In front sat three perfect blue and white china cups. These were her company cups. With Magnus here I was counted as company. If it was just her and me, then I had a mug and she had her favorite rose-covered Royal Dolton cup. Most people just displayed those, but Virginia was of the persuasion that if a cup is not for drinking out of, what good is it for? I smiled at the cups as I stirred the teabag around the pot. I liked that she thought company should have matching cups. I poured out three teas. The china cup looked very precarious in Magnus’s large hands. “So Magnus told me that he spent the night?” Virginia said. I was taken aback by the strange topic of conversation. I visibly took a step back from the picture perfect grandmother in the corner, cup of tea in hand, rocking back and forth in her chair. My tea cup shuddered in my hands. “Nothing happened.” I felt my face flush even though it was the truth. Was Virginia of all people worried about my sex life? “Mm-hmm, Magnus said the same thing. I meant only to infer to the passing of your secret to another set of ears.” “I had no choice.” I didn’t want to go into specifics with Virginia; the details of why Magnus had ended up spending the night were none of her business. I looked at Magnus, and he appeared crestfallen. He must have assumed that if he hadn’t put us in that situation, it might have been something I’d never have shared with him. He couldn’t know for sure, of course, because even I didn’t know for sure. “It is your choice who to share it with, but I must warn you that if you begin to use your apartment as a gateway, the magic might collapse.” “I know. We’ve already established that Magnus couldn’t leave my apartment and it made the amulets shake. I don’t think we’ll be making a repeat trip.” Magnus gave me a weak smile. It took me a minute to backtrack in my head and realize that I’d just curtailed any hope he had of spending the night with me again, in any sense. “Magnus and I will work things out,” I amended, giving him a brief smile and mentally reminding myself

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that I could always ask Virginia for help with another grounding spell. I wouldn’t ask this visit, though. I didn’t want that as a precursor to this conversation to arouse either Magnus or Virginia’s suspicions. There was silence for a few minutes while my cheeks returned to their normal peach color and everyone finished their tea. “Did you find the book?” Magnus asked, setting his cup down. I nodded and sighed, doing the same. “I want to say;Yes! That’s my monster! But there’s just something wrong.” I tried to call up all the things that struck me as odd. The music. The laying out of the bones. That the Black Annis had last been accounted for about fifty years ago, and the creature wasn’t that big on stealth. The fact that the legend was based in Lancashire had always been the lowest of the discrepancies; surely it might have moved caves in fifty years. “I was an enforcer for over forty years. Perhaps I could help.” I looked at Virginia and couldn’t help but think her comment a tiny bit snide. “All right,” I said turning to her and began to fill her in. She nodded a few times and didn’t cringe as Magnus did at the eating of children. I had to give the old woman credit; she could still hold her own. “And what creature were you researching for this?” “The Black Annis.” “Hmm, good first thought—child eater, iron blades for fingers—however it would never have left the bones so neat and clean.” “Doesn’t that put me back at square one, though—clueless?” “Sad as it is, I think you might need to look in a little bit of a different direction. I think this perpetrator might be human, as far removed as one can be and still retain that classification.” “What are you saying?” “You’re a smart girl, Cassandra—you’ll find out who’s behind this. I know you will. You’ve already eliminated one option. Just remember that when all else is eliminated whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth.” “Well thank you, Sherlock,” I muttered under my breath. She stood and put her cup gently in the sink. She put her hand on Magnus’s back and softly moved us towards the exit. I gave a yawn as if exclaiming that it was indeed time for us to go. Magnus opened the front door and watched as Virginia and I exchanged a hug. “If you want us to come back and help take down those decorations—” I stopped as Virginia gave me a peculiar grin. “What decorations?” I looked over my shoulder. The streamers and garlands were gone; even the poor sad pumpkin was absent from the post he’d held so long.

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“I hate when you do that.” Virginia smiled at me and held her hand. I blinked and there was a book in it. “Here,” she said, handing it to me, “a little light reading.” It was fairly large, bound by red leather, nondescript with only a small gold cameo of a top hatted gentleman on the front. “Thanks,” I said automatically and took the book only to be polite. Virginia, like all old people, had her moments of strangeness. **** Riding back to town in Magnus’s car, I absently flipped the book over and over again in my hands. There was very little better to do on a car ride. Magnus’s car, while in motion, still managed to be a silent zone. Sometimes I wondered if it would kill him to put the radio on. I opened the book to the copyright page. It was a book of Grimm’s fairy tales. Virginia really had to be losing her mind. It occurred to me that although I knew the basic tales, I’d never read the Grimm versions. The tales I’d been told as a child were supposed to be tame in comparison. I closed the cover, smiling to myself; it might be worth a read. Magnus pulled up to the curb outside mine and went to cut the engine. I stopped him with my hand on his. He looked at me, rather more pouty lipped than a grown man should be able to manage. “Not tonight.” I made my voice soft. I wanted him to believe I meant just not tonight, instead of never. “Why not?” “You have to work.” “I’ll call in,” he protested. “And I’ve got to be at college in the morning. I’d feel obliged to stay at home all day with you if you stayed over, and you heard what Virginia said.” He grumbled. “You always seem to have an excuse, Cassandra. I want our relationship to progress.” “And you think I don’t? I do. I’m just not ready yet. I like you too much to rush in,” I said, looking down at my fingers. “Isn’t that a good thing?” He sighed. “It’s your right to be careful, and I guess it eases my mind that you’ve not had a stream of boyfriends before me. But we’re both adults and we should be able to talk about these things, or we’re going to end up in trouble.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I fumbled for the door handle. I wanted to leave, but looking at his face I had to lighten the mood first. “Besides, what would your boss say if you keep bunking off work?”

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Magnus, having lived for twenty-nine years or so longer than I had, had every man’s dream: he had bought the place he worked. He owned the theatre as well as managing it. He leaned back over and gave me a kiss on the lips. “I think somehow he’ll let it slide. Dinner tomorrow? Eight thirty?” I got out of the car, holding the door open and looking back inside at him. “That’d be nice. Goodnight, Magnus.”

Chapter Twenty-One I read the book from cover to cover sitting alone in my bed. I enjoyed the stories although they gave me some colorful dreams, filled with crows, gingerbread houses, children marching to the piper’s tune and most of all, blood. They were those kind of dreams, filled with disjointed images, that even though you remember them for hours after you’re awake, they doesn’t make all that much sense to you. I went to college feeling a little drained. Sometimes my dreams were so lively that I tossed all over the place and as a result always felt like I had no sleep at all. I sat through biology with Anton, patiently taking his slightly annoyed ribbing with all the humor I could muster. He was a little mad that I’d not told him about my “apparently hot” boyfriend. I was very tempted to take the sim card out of Incarra’s phone the next time I saw her. I did my best between the tutor’s sentences to quietly answer his questions. He asked pretty much the same as Incarra had (perhaps checking the facts added up for her), so the answers were easy. Anton didn’t bring up Aram, though, which I was more than slightly thankful for. Anton could be counted on to forget things, especially about a man he wasn’t with, very quickly. Incarra and I used to joke he was a goldfish when it came to men—every seven seconds he would forget the name of his date. It wasn’t like he ever took any of them home to meet his mother. Anton’s family, in fact, was cause for sadness. His brother and his father had died in a caving accident when he was twelve. His mother never got over it to the point of forgetting her younger son altogether. He said she was so depressed he couldn’t stand to be around her. He doubted she even knew he was gay (although he’d told her straight out) or even noticed that he had moved out of her house some four years ago. She didn’t register much, preferring to spend her days watching and re-watching old home movies. Some people were incredibly fragile when it came to loss; everything around them stopped existing. Others carried on because they had to live—not doing so would tarnish the memory of those they had lost. Anton and I walked to the cafeteria together. We were now talking about him, which meant my only job was to pretend to listen, give an appropriate head jiggle at regular intervals and of course buy him lunch. Anton was constantly broke, apparently spending all his money over the weekends, going to the various places across the country that were his Meccas. Anton was charming enough that after paying for cover charges into a club and a single drink, he could find someone willing enough to buy him drinks for the rest of the evening. So I didn’t always believe that was where his money went but I had no other theories. I had to admit, although I never looked at Anton that way, he was particularly handsome. His skin was a constant glowing brown color from abusing the sun bed at the tanning place where he worked. He kept his hair and nails immaculate, and there was something very boyish in the set of his brown eyes. I could

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see how people would spend their money on the chance that he might come home with them. I’d never seen him shirtless, but I’d been assured the golden tan and loveliness continued all the way down. I was one of the few people who knew he had been disciplined at work when his boss caught him completely naked on one of the beds. He’d literally got his butt cooked on that one. I smiled at him as we sat and his plucked brows arched in puzzlement. “What’s that smile for?” “I was just thinking...that I kinda love you...” He looked from side to side and leaned across the table, hand cupped next to his mouth like he was about to impart some great secret. “You do know I’m gay, right!” I laughed. “Who doesn’t? That’s like the understatement of the year.” He laughed with me for a little while and then started eating. “I just meant I love you like my best friends, you and Inc.” I shook my head. “No,” I corrected myself, “more like family—only family could make me feel this way.” “What way is that?” he asked through a mouthful of hamburger, spraying me with bits. I put my hands up to shield myself, and he swallowed with an apologetic smile. “Both loving and annoying at the same time.” He chuckled and stuffed his face with fries. I picked at my pasta salad. Finally, disgusted by his choice from the menu and his table manners, I said, “How can you eat that? And stay all skin and bones. It’s all junk.” “My body is a temple,” he said with mock horror. “Your body is an amusement park,” I corrected him with a wry smile. His mouth gaped exaggeratedly, and he grinned. “Only on weekends.” And with that he continued to chomp his food down like a starved puppy. Anton didn’t walk with me to psychology. Sometimes he did, but today he had plans to scrounge up enough money to pay his rent this month. At times listening to Anton’s struggles to pay his way made me glad that mom and dad had owned our place outright. I didn’t worry about becoming homeless if I was outta jobs for a little while. Automatically my hand went to my back pocket; I felt the wad of bills still there from the other night. I’d been so distracted the last few days that I’d just left it there. I took it all now, re-counting it, and put it into my wallet. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to go flashing that kind of cash in public, but it wasn’t as if I couldn’t take a mugger or at least outrun one if they tried for me. I had enough power on this side to manage a few small feats of magic. I continued on to psychology and found I was early enough that only a few people were there before me. I took a seat by the heater and settled back into my chair, ready to absorb the lecture. My tutor was marginally surprised to find me in my seat even before he had arrived to the class. I got a warmer smile

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than usual. When the last few seats filled, I got a nagging feeling from the way they were chattering that I’d forgotten something before he spoke the dreaded words. “You can hand your essays in at the end of class. For now, let’s pick up from the end of last class.” My face fell. The essay. I swore very loudly inside my own head. I’d not done the bloody essay. I cursed myself. What the hell had I been doing? I’d gone to the movies with Incarra (that was just mistake number one), I’d broken into the public library and taught Magnus the wonder of the quesadillas. Then last night, my last chance to do it, I’d spent reading gory German fairy stories. Then something else hit me, and the dream that had been hanging, somewhat precariously, over my head made a little more sense. All fairy stories were supposed to have some root in reality. It was, strangely enough, something I’d learned in psychology about people who create a fantasy world to escape some great abuse. The abuser, for instance, could be an ogre who kept the princess locked in the tower. With that thought came a scary realization and the thing that Virginia had wanted me to discover. One of the last stories I had read had been “Hansel and Gretel.” It took on new meaning when you assumed that it might have basis in fact. Children lured into a gingerbread house to be fattened up for the wicked old witch to eat. Although the tale itself ended with a happy ending—Gretel pushing the old witch into the oven, killing her and saving herself and her brother—the story made no mention of how long the witch had been operating. There could have been many other Hansels, many other Gretels whose endings had not been such happy ones. On the tail of this came the next story in the book, “The Pied Piper.” The same sort of subject where children were led away by the piper’s music. Would it be preposterous to imagine that the witch of “Hansel and Gretel” could adapt herself to use the cleverness of the piper’s song? A gingerbread house had to be hard to come by, highly suspicious to boot, and not a lot of children went wandering the woods alone. The prevalence of danger was pressed on us from such a young age now. Or perhaps even back then the two characters had some relation to one another. In my dreams my mind had already started to make these connections, and my conscious mind was kicking itself for just catching up to itself. These thoughts and realizations filled me with revulsion. What reason could a witch have to justify that kind of atrocity? I remembered being in Adam’s head, the mind of a frightened child, and he’d said “they.” I was sickened to think of one witch, let alone a coven. A coven usually contained at least three members. Three would explain the amount of children to go missing in such a short time—with three mouths to feed, you needed more prey. I had to find them and put a stop to it. They would have to move on soon or else they might be discovered. I didn’t have time to waste. Another one of the children trapped with Adam might reach the optimum weight for cooking soon, or another child could be snatched. Adam would be safer than the others for a while—he wasn’t eating as much as them. He was smart enough to make the connection between the food and being taken by the witches. I gritted my teeth and sound came back from the room around me, as did the fact that I hadn’t done the essay. I’d gotten so involved in the other side of my life that I was letting my real-life future go to pot. When the bell went off, I decided that I had no choice—I was going to have to beg. I stopped at the tutor’s desk, letting the last few students file out into the corridor. He looked up. “It was nice to see that you weren’t late today. I take it our talk—” He stopped mid sentence when he saw my sad and apologetic face. “What’s the matter?” “It’s about the essay,” I said and just decided to bite the bullet. “I need an extension.”

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He groaned and shifted his expression to a mask of disapproval. “Everyone else managed to get it done on time.” I felt like growling at him. I wasn’t everyone else—I had to put up with things that if he ever dreamed about would turn his slowly graying hair ghostly white. “If you haven’t checked out your class recently, they’re all just about seventeen, living at home and not independent,” I snapped at him. “They haven’t lived a day in the real world yet. I’m sure none of them have considered having to earn money to eat, have heat in winter, running water and electricity to power the PlayStations they spend half their free time on.” He sighed and rubbed his temples; I was about to continue when he let out a deep breath. “At least tell me that you have started it?” “I’ve started it.” I’d picked a title—that, I could convince myself, was starting it. “I’ll give you till I leave the office at five p.m. today, not a minute more. That gives you a couple of hours,” he said, looking at his watch. “Thank you, sir. It’ll be enough.” I hunkered down in the computer lab just off the library and got to work. It wasn’t going to be my best work; I’d reconciled myself to that on my way here. All I needed was for it to be passable. I wasn’t going to aim for a grade, just a pass, a tick in the box that said I had that twenty-five percent I needed. I needed the paper to make sense, even if I ended up repeating myself in a few places. I needed my spelling to be correct, my paragraphs formatted, my quotes italicized and my name on every page. I managed six pages, just on the low side of the word allowance, and stood tapping my fingers on the printer. It was quarter to five and everyone in the lab must have decided to print at exactly that moment. I was tempted to use a little power on the machine, make it so that only my work came out of it. I thought again. How unfair that would be on the other people who might have deadlines too. My pages finally printed. I stamped them together with a stapler at the desk and sprinted towards the stairs. The college was fairly empty at this time; I passed no one on my way up to psychology, and the corridor itself was blissfully empty. The office was about two-thirds of the way down on the left. I ran past the row of windows, barely noticing the pinkish orange haze of the sky. I wouldn’t miss him. It was near enough to five, but he would wait an extra five minutes, just in case. I knew he would. I would not miss him. I made my legs pump a little faster, my pulse racing, beating against my skin, and a shiver like dancing snowmen rolled up my spine. The corridor changed before my eyes. The sun had set. I fell to my knees outside the office door, defeated.

Chapter Twenty-Two I felt deflated. Walking home, to say it was a somber march would have been an understatement. Luckily on the other side, the top floor of the magic college had been empty too. I’d stomped my way along, throwing my essay in the nearest bin. A couple of steps later I realized that was a mistake and

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fished it out again; I could always slip it onto his desk in the morning. I could claim I was just a little late because of the printer, thought he was in the bathroom, not that he’d gone home, and he would perhaps only mark it down a little. As I walked, it sounded like a good plan, and I found myself thinking at least it would be the worst thing to happen today. I knew I shouldn’t have thought that the minute I saw Rourke’s car parked outside my apartment. She was diligently leaning against the hood with a look of delicious intent on her face. Whatever she was waiting to do, she would immensely enjoy it. I almost turned and ran. I’d always had a dodgy fight or flight response; I always chose to fight despite the fact I often knew I couldn’t win. It just struck me as cowardly to run. I took a deep breath and rummaged in my bag for my keys, secretly wishing my building had a back door. It wasn’t cowardly to use the back door—I would still achieve my goal of going past Rourke into my apartment—it was just less confrontational. Rourke looked up at the sound of my footsteps and fixed me with a wicked look that would have made the devil shake in his shoes. I blinked. “Something I can do for you, Rourke?” She grinned at me, and it was more than a little unsettling. “You can lean against the car, put your hands behind your back and make this easy.” I watched as she unhooked a pair of handcuffs from her belt, no doubt hung there for dramatic effect rather than where she usually kept them. “You’re arresting me?” I asked and did as she suggested, as resisting would only make her use force, which she was anticipating and would enjoy too much. She clipped the cuffs around my wrists. I took that as a yes. She opened the back door of her car, put her hand on the top of my head and pushed it down so that I could slide into the seat. “Do I get to know what for?” “We’ll discuss it at the station.” “Aren’t you supposed to tell me beforehand?” I was sure you had to tell someone what they were being arrested for, and I was sure Rourke was not going to read me my rights. I kept my mouth shut on that one—it was a technicality I could use later if this was legit. She slammed the car door in my face and got in behind the wheel. I leaned back against the seat, looking vaguely like I was resigned to my fate, and let Rourke drive. I twitched my hands. I could get out of a pair of handcuffs with or without a little magic, but I decided if I didn’t want to spend my nights hiding out, it’d be better to play along. Rourke kept looking at me in her rearview mirror, smug as the cat with the cream. I let her be smug and started thinking. What had I done that could bring PCU down on me? My mind whirled to the only truly illegal thing I’d done lately. I’d broken into the library to visit the Special Collection. I’d not seen any security, except the guard, and if there had been any trouble getting out Magnus would have told me. I let my thoughts drift to Magnus for a moment. Had Rourke arrested him too? A record could ruin Magnus’s life. I immediately regretted letting him come along with me. Then another thought smacked me in the brain. Breaking and entering was Larceny’s job, and nothing was taken, so what would they have to prosecute with? I started to feel smug, but I did my best to keep it off my face—I tried to keep my expression humble. I’d gone into a place without consent but I’d not

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taken anything; at most they had me for trespassing. I had no record, not with the human police anyway, so this was my first offence. The Special Collections annex, although housed by the library, was exclusively leased to the Wizarding community, and if they were going to prosecute me I’d have had an enforcer waiting for me, not Rourke. Rourke couldn’t do a damn thing to me, but she was going to try. I’d have to do a walk of shame to an interrogation room, but once there I was pretty sure I could get out again. We pulled into the police station parking lot and Rourke manhandled me a little getting me out of the back of her car. I didn’t protest; I was silent as the grave as she walked me through the station and down to PCU. The room went still as she walked me through in front of her. LeBron choked on his coffee but Benjamin did one better, spitting sandwich all over his desk. He mopped hurriedly at the papers, keeping his astonished eyes on us. Rourke had not told anyone else that she planned to arrest me. Lone gunning it was not a smart thing to do. She shoved me very unceremoniously into the interrogation room and pulled a chair out, plonking me down on it. She left me in that room for a long minute. If you’re going to play innocent, you have to look innocent, so I looked around the room like I’d never seen the inside of an interrogation room before. It’s not what you expect from watching TV and movies, although the setup is similar in some ways. The table and two chairs in the middle of the room seemed obligatory. I noted a security camera in one corner and knew it would pump every minute of this interrogation live to a television in another room. I could see that room as I closed my eyes; I could see the faces of the people in it, knew who they were even though I’d never met them and knew who would be watching Rourke’s and my little dance. I’d never seen anything like it so clearly. Just when I thought my powers were fritzing on me, they would expand out in a new way. The amazement of it filled me for a brief moment. The door slammed against the wall, and I made myself jump just a teeny bit exaggeratedly. Rourke shut it and came to sit down across the desk from me. She had a tan folder in her hands that she placed on her side of the table but didn’t open. I looked at her. “Will you please tell me now why I’ve been arrested?” I phrased my words very carefully for our audience. “The library was broken into Monday night. I have CCTV footage of you in the ‘Special Collections’ annex.” The library itself may have had very sloppy security, but I should have known that the wizard-owned part would have been different. I blinked at her in response. She pulled out two grainy black-and-white stills, time stamped, and I looked at them very carefully. The annex had cameras, but they were as ancient as more than a few of the books in there. You could barely make out it was me in the glow of the light box, and Magnus was completely obscured. Rourke thumped her finger down on the luminous white that was supposed to be my face in one of the pictures. “I know that’s you. Do you have anything to say?” I looked down coyly at my knees. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice soft but with a volume that everyone listening would hear. Rourke blinked at me and was shocked. I raised my eyes slowly. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I didn’t take anything. I just wanted to help, but you wouldn’t let me.”

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I swear Rourke almost growled at me. I coughed a little. “Could I get a drink of water, please?” “No!” Rourke bellowed, and I flinched back from her. She slammed her fist on the table and looked angrily at me. “Do you think good intent means you can commit a crime?” I shook my head and my plait bounced behind me. I strained and stretched my shoulder, exaggerating how uncomfortable it was to be cuffed. “No, and I’ve never done anything like it before but I couldn’t just sit by, Rourke. These are missing children we’re talking about...” She whapped her hand down on the table and pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You agreed to stay out of it.” “But that was before I knew what it was. I couldn’t in good conscience just walk away. You wouldn’t let me help, you wouldn’t let D.I. Hamilton let me help and I am worried for these kids, Rourke. Shouldn’t you, as the police, be utilizing all that is at your disposal?” She turned around and took lots of deep breaths in an effort to control herself. She turned back to me, now much calmer. I tilted my head at her and pouted slightly. She rubbed her temples, her temper still brooding under her skin. “Don’t act all sweet and innocent, Farbanks—it doesn’t suit you.” I took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, rolling my shoulders for the camera. I knew she was supposed to un-cuff me once I was in custody, and she hadn’t. I was hoping the people watching had taken note of her unsympathetic treatment of me. “You want me to be straight with you, Rourke, I can do that,” I said calmly. “I went into the library as you said. I took nothing. I damaged nothing. I don’t see what business it would be for PCU, as you aren’t set up to take larceny crimes. I’m human so I don’t fall under your specific jurisdiction there either. You can’t be disciplining me as one of your agents as you won’t let me help on active cases. The fact that you are the only one to bring me in for this tells me that neither the Larceny division nor the Wizarding community who hold the rights to that part of the library have decided to prosecute me.” She stared me dead in the face, her own face filling with blood. She was going to lose her temper again, so I kept pushing her towards it. One more outburst from her and this interrogation was over. “I’d offer to pay for damages but there were none. I’d say the most I’ve done is trespass. You’ve not read me my rights, you arrested me without telling me why because you have little to go with, it’s my first offence and you haven’t taken the cuffs off. They are really uncomfortable.” Rourke kicked her chair, and it slid about a foot away from her. She leaned across the table like she was going to grab the collar of my top. “Those cuffs are the only thing stopping you using magic to get out of this.” I looked at her like such a thought had never crossed my mind.

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“But that would be illegal.” “You don’t seem to have any trouble with that,” she said and flicked one of the photographs at my face. I winced. The edge of it caught my cheek, slicing it, and a teeny trickle of blood rolled down my cheek. Her eyes went wide and the door slammed against the wall. A middle-aged man in full uniform stood in the doorway; his face was puffed with redness and he looked mad. “Rourke!” He bellowed her name and she swore under her breath. I knew and didn’t know this man. I knew he was the chief of police for Worcester, I knew he was also the man that Rourke had turned down advances from, but I didn’t know his name. I did, however, know why he was sharply dressed. He’d been showing a politician around the police headquarters, and as PCU was a new experimental division, he wanted to show off how well it was working and how much better it would work if this politician got elected and increased its budget. Rourke’s little interrogation of me had not been a good image to present. I was betting the politician didn’t like to see me persecuted like this. I was, after all, a voter, and election time was fast approaching. “Sir?” “Un-cuff this young woman immediately. This farce of an interview is over. I want to see you in your office,” he growled at her. He turned to me, his face drained of blood, and he gave me an uneasy smile. “I am so sorry for D.I. Rourke’s treatment of you. If you wouldn’t mind joining us, we’d like to discuss what you said about the children.” I gave a nod. Rourke looked like she was about to object, but one stern look from her boss and she was silent. He turned on his heel and marched away. Rourke’s entire face fell, and she looked really worn out. I almost felt sorry for her. I stood up, twisting and turning my wrists, slipping them out of the cuffs. I walked to her side. “I suppose you’ll be wanting these back.” I dropped the unopened cuffs into her hands and walked along after him.

Chapter Twenty-Three I took a little detour to the ladies, taking that drink I’d been denied, and when I joined everyone in Rourke’s office, the chief was on his mobile phone and the other man I knew and didn’t know from the other room was examining the pictures on Rourke’s wall. He wore a very swarthy blue suit, the white collar of his shirt was neatly starched and his skin was the color of milk chocolate. I didn’t know him but I at least knew his name—Theodore Mayla. He was the mayoral candidate running against the current mayor, Mayor Guvins, in the coming election. I’d seen his posters about town and I’d actually read his position on laws concerning the preternatural community that Mayor Guvins had never really addressed. I’d met the current mayor a couple of months ago and used his desire to get the vote of the werewolf community to influence Rourke into giving me the help I needed. There were only two positions with power like that over Rourke, and the top one was currently up for grabs. Mayla was about half the age of Mayor Guvins, fresh faced and filled with new ideas that threatened the established way of old gents like Guvins. Guvins had some very unkind words about his opponent—foolhardy, idealist, dreamer—and

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it had been suspected for years that Guvins was a racist. There was no one of anything other than Caucasian decent on his immediate staff. I thought if the Americans could have a black man run their entire country (and they were the people who invented the Ku Klux), surely we could have one in charge of just a small west midland city. Guvins would have you believe it was the beginning of the end. The chief finally came off his phone, explained that D.I. Hamilton had been called to join us and he had to excuse himself to go attend to something. He apologized profusely to the man admiring the pictures, who waved him away like it was no problem and he was content to stay there. Rourke started to recover some of her smile as her boss left—without him here, she could railroad me again. She looked at Mayla and weighed him with her eyes. I guess she decided he wasn’t much of a threat, as her smile grew ever wider. I took the seat opposite her desk and even stuck my feet up on it. I made it clear to her that I wasn’t going anywhere and dabbed at the cut she had caused on my cheek. It stung, and I hissed my breath out through my teeth. “Are you all right?” I turned to look at Mayla. His voice was deep and rich; I’d never heard any of his speeches on local radio, as I preferred to listen to stations that just played music all the time. It sent a shiver rolling down my spine, and I suspected right then that there was something different about Theodore Mayla. I was very tempted to stand right up to him, look him in his dark eyes and ask him outright, what are you? I folded my hands over my stomach and pretended to be a good girl. “Stings a little but I’m fine, Mr. Mayla.” He smiled at me, a row of perfect white teeth with very pink gums around them; he looked like a poster ad for toothpaste. I gave a smile back. “You know me, Ms. Farbanks.” “Miss Farbanks, and I read your campaign booklet,” I admitted, tagging on, “I found it interesting.” Rourke coughed at the same time that D.I. Hamilton walked in. He stopped dead in the doorway, unsure what had caused Rourke’s throat clearing. He spied me sitting in the chair and grinned. “Cassandra, back here again?” he asked, draping his hand over the back of my chair. I looked up into his face. “Trying to help again. I’ve been delving into things and I’ve come up with some interesting information.” He shot a quick look to Rourke to see if she was going to cut me off. She didn’t say anything; she was watching Mayla as he studied me from his spot by the wall. He turned his head and caught Rourke looking at him; she turned her eyes down quickly. Hamilton, catching the end of her glance, looked to the wall and smiled. He reached out his hand for Mayla, who instantly recognized and returned the handshake. “Theodore,” Hamilton said, “it’s good to see you again. You down here checking out theGhostbusters?” I burst out laughing remembering having called PCU an uncool version of theGhostbusters. If I had thought Hamilton might take it as a new nickname for PCU, then I might not have said it. Hell, I would still have said it. Rourke rubbed her temples and sat back in her chair. “Oh, control yourself, Cassandra.” “Have a sense of humor Rourke!”

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Mayla finished shaking hands with Hamilton and was now looking between Rourke in her chair and me in mine. His brow creased. “Do you two have a problem I’m unaware of?” he asked. I smiled at him, shaking my head. “No problem, we just don’t like each other.” Rourke scoffed and was probably thinking I had put it mildly. Hamilton leaned against the cabinet between the three of us and put on his serious face. “So, why are we all gathered here today?” I was about to answer him when I was beaten to the punch by Mayla, who decided he was going to take chair of this meeting. I was happy to let him. I didn’t like to lead discussions; I liked to chip in when I had something to say or when an opportunity to be sarcastic arose. “That would be my doing. I was watching the interview you were conducting, D.I. Rourke,” he said, giving her a firm look that betrayed he disapproved of her interrogation technique. “I asked your chief to fill me in on the case that Miss Farbanks had brought up, and I was a little disturbed that you had refused to utilize her specialist knowledge.” Rourke leaned forward on her desk, gave me a meaningful look and turned her eyes to Mayla, who was waiting for some kind of response. “Most of what Cassandra brings us cannot stand up in a court of law at the moment; her methods are unorthodox. She has no official capacity; she is a witch who likes to stick her nose into investigations. I would gladly take her information,” she said, ignoring it when I scoffed and fidgeted in my chair. “But, she tends to involve herself physically with no authority and disastrous consequences.” “There have never been disastrous consequences,” I said, but Rourke glared at me and I knew instantly what she was referring to. “Okay. Apart from that little dance with death I had.” “Death?” Mayla asked. I turned my head and looked at him, nodding. “Yeah, you know, black-hooded fella, skeletal, likes his chess.” Mayla’s smile was gone and I sighed deeply; we were going to have to go through the whole story for his benefit. I told it as quickly as I could, emitting as many unimportant facts as possible so we could get to the end and I could get his reaction over and done with. He didn’t look shocked as I’d expected; instead he appeared thoughtful. Stroking his chin with his large hands, he was considering every detail of the story carefully. “So you object to letting a civilian, even a special one, involve themselves in cases that could potentially lead to their harm,” he asked Rourke after a minute. “And leave me culpable. I am responsible for civilians I include on our cases, Mr. Mayla. It would be different if she were an official, was signed up fully knowing the risks.” “Such as a P.I.?” he asked. She gave the barest of nods. I caught the reluctance in her gesture. She didn’t want me to have that piece of information. “P” in this case meant “Paranormal,” not “Private.”

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Paranormal investigators were seen as freelance cops; they were largely prevalent in areas without the money or resources to have a whole police unit. They were allowed access to police files and some of their resources and could walk into paranormal cases without permission. Most cops were glad when they did—they didn’t have the expertise to handle the spooky stuff and were happy to have someone who knew their shit. It had never occurred to me to apply to become one. It was a career, and I had been looking forward to a career as a mental health professional. I thought about the failure to get my essay in, the fact that it might be more than likely that I would fail this year and have to start again from the bottom up next year. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, forget the sugar and serve a glass to Rourke. It would give Rourke a real kick up the ass if I became a P.I. That was almost all the incentive I needed. It came with a small government stipend to get you set up, and because those who got through the necessary process were far and few between, you could charge quite high. I knew a little about it—there were a bunch of forms to fill out and you needed a letter of recommendation from someone high up on the force you’d worked with. I looked at Rourke. She would never write me a letter singing my praises, and she would make sure I never got the appropriate licensing. All of these thoughts only took me a second, and I tried to pretend I’d been listening. “Can we get back to the matter at hand? The missing children.” Mayla and Rourke both nodded, but I had stored away the little option I had discovered in the back of mind in case Rourke decided to be uncooperative. I dropped my feet from the desk and sat up properly. “It is greatly distressing that children have been disappearing around the city and nothing seems to have been done about it. Now the only one found was—” Mayla stopped his sentence there, but we all got what he was pushing at. “When the bones were found, we started looking into these missing kids and eventually we found an odd connection,” Rourke said. I coughed and she shot me a dirty look. She gave an exaggerated sigh and continued. “That Cassandra found, but it’s not a lot. We’ve had people combing the areas where the missing were last seen and we’re turning up nothing. The bones have revealed nothing either. “ I saw from the lines on Rourke’s face that it was hard for her to admit they had hit a wall. The cops just didn’t tend to look outside the box—they stuck to old police methods. They really needed to expand their repertoire. I would have suggested that the force get a permanent witch or psychic member of PCU, if it wouldn’t have meant Rourke would ignore the idea completely and do her best to keep freaks like that off her squad. There had to be a psychically talented cop somewhere in this country. “What about you, D.I. Hamilton? What’s your bid here?” Hamilton pulled himself straight, which made him look very tall. He stood well over Mayla, almost a full foot difference; I hadn’t thought Mayla was short for a man until then. I’d not been able to compare height, as Rourke and I were both sitting. “If it’s a homicide, PCU are supposed to hand it right over to us, but there was a disagreement over whether it was a murder or a murder by supernatural means. It couldn’t be decided, so we agreed to work together.” “And have your joint efforts turned up anything new on your end?”

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Hamilton’s shoulders dropped, and he suddenly looked very tired. “No. I’ve been dealing with the parents of both the dead child and those still missing, trying to gather more information, but all I’ve got is a bunch of riled-up families I really can’t tell anything to.” I felt sorry for Hamilton. I hated to deal with other people’s grief, especially when you were so powerless to do anything about it. He couldn’t reassure them, he couldn’t tell them anything of what was going on and he couldn’t produce their children safe and sound. All he could imply was that each child might never be seen alive again, and that led to many distressed, frustrated and angry people. I had had a hard enough time dealing with the faith that Sherry Baker had put in me. All her hopes for her son lay firmly on my shoulders and although I knew he was alive at the moment, I couldn’t know for how long unless we started to do something and do it soon. “Then if Miss Farbanks thinks she has something that will help, I think we should all listen, as we have nothing.” Mayla made a sweeping gesture with his arm, opening the floor up to me. Mayla was new to this inner circle, so I decided that I had to start from the beginning, start with Adam Baker. “I was asked by a couple to help locate their missing son. I was dubious about taking the job at first—missing children is a little out of my skill set—but in the end I owed the referee a solid, so I agreed to it. Let’s just say I botched it and was ready to hand it over to a professional psychic investigator when Rourke dragged me out of bed for her bones.” I watched Rourke screw up her face. She was realizing that had been her mistake—she could have just handed it right over to Hamilton. Her own pride had gotten in the way there. “I couldn’t tell them what did it, but I was able to help with identifying the child. Rourke refused to have me help with her investigation so I returned to the Bakers, who were thrilled to let me try again. This time it went right. I contacted the boy.” “You contacted his spirit?” Mayla asked, leaning over with curiosity. “No. I entered the boy’s mind. It’s a kind of psychic projection using a spell. I saw him; he’s being kept somewhere with some other children, and he is deeply afraid of his captors. He fought off my influence as well, frightened of me, but there was enough of a, let’s call it a scent, left for me to follow it to him. But then I lost the trail at the cathedral.” “It disappeared?” Hamilton asked. He too was interested, riveted, even. Rourke had turned her chair and was staring at the wall; she was still listening but she wasn’t fascinated. She was taking every word out of my mouth with a pinch of salt. “Is that why you violated my crime scene?” she snorted. “I did no such thing. I was there when you and Hamilton released it. It wasn’t a crime scene anymore, just regular private property.” “Trespassing again,” she tsked under her breath. I chose to ignore her and carry on with my story. I couldn’t, though; there was some information there that I couldn’t share, like the existence of a humanoid gargoyle clan that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a pregnant pause. “Go on,” Mayla encouraged me to continue. “I’d hit a dead end. Then I came to overhear a couple of important pieces of information that Rourke had tried to keep to herself. There were claw marks on the tree next to the body—” I paused again and

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realized something. The claw marks could easily have been made by one of the gargoyles during their stay there, climbing the tree to get high enough purchase to take off. I’d seen that dent they’d made in stone; it would have been even more dramatic in wood. I’d paused again, but I was quick to recover this time. “And it was confirmed that the bones had been…gnawed on.” I shuddered at the recollection of that piece of information and so did everyone around me, including Rourke. “What led you to the library?” Mayla asked. I guess we weren’t going to pretend I didn’t do that, we were going to be open about. “Well, monsters are supposed to be my specialty and they have some good books there on monsters that haven’t been seen for a while. Time being of the essence, I had to find what I could as quickly as possible, but it was all misleading. I was on the wrong track—I can see it now.” “You were wrong,” Rourke said, a small smile on her lips; the thought that I was wrong about something amused her greatly. I glared her down. “Yes, but unlike some I have the good grace to admit it. I was wrong. I think the claw marks found on the tree were a red herring. They had nothing to do with the crime. The more I thought on the way the bones were left, it didn’t seem like the work of a preternatural beast.” Hamilton stood rigid and I stopped speaking; he swallowed hard several times, and I knew he’d secretly been hoping it had been a monster. “You mean I was right, we are looking at a human perpetrator?” I bit my lip and shook my head a little bit, then stopped, realizing my gesture might seem like a no. I took a deep breath. “Not exactly. This is going to sound weird, but what do you three know about fairy tales?”

Chapter Twenty-Four I was done explaining things. I sat in my chair, watching the emotions play over each face in the room. Disbelief, horror, vague acceptance and to some degree happiness. Hamilton seemed pleased that he would have somebody to arrest. Rourke’s face was pulled in on itself like she was sucking a lemon—a very bitter, sour lemon. I might have taken pleasure in that if it wouldn’t have gotten me ejected from this meeting all the sooner. Theodore Mayla was very quiet behind me. He’d stopped pitching in about a few minutes into my story. Finally I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Questions? Comments?” “You expect us to believe that fairy tales are real?” Rourke said, leaning back in her chair. “Vampires, werewolves, elves all gravitate here. I’ve met a real life soul-sucking demon from the second circle of Hell. Why is a coven of cannibalistic German witches so out there?”

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Rourke pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the edge of her desk. She didn’t have anything to come back at me with. Hamilton pushed up from where he had been slumped against the wall. “This is good. Humans we can trace. If they are keeping these kids, they have got to be feeding them. We can check supermarkets in the area of the disappearances; see if anyone’s been in buying strange quantities of food.” “This close to Christmas that might be a longer list than you think,” I said, adjusting my hair. Mayla still wasn’t saying anything. It unnerved me to know he was stood silently behind me, eyes burrowing into me. I felt his gaze like a fluttering against my skull. I batted it away. Rourke looked over my head. “Are you all right, Mr. Mayla?” I turned my head back to look at him; he coughed a little, apparently trying to make his eyes look less wide. Something had surprised him. “I would like to be kept informed on this case, and I think considering the circumstances, Miss Farbanks could be let off with a warning this time. I’m sure she won’t disregard the law again.” “No sir,” I said with a satisfied smile. Mayla excused himself and left me alone with the two of them. Rourke rubbed her temples and starred at me. “Why is it the world and everyone’s grandma thinks they can do my job?” “Well, someone has to.” She growled at me, dropping her bulky arms to the desk with a crash. “That’s enough, Farbanks. Are you campaigning for bitch of the year?” “As defending champion, you nervous?” She stood and her chair thumped back against the bookcase behind her. “Consider yourself warned; now get out of my office. I don’t want to see you around this case unless we call you in.” I stood up, taking that as my cue to make a sharp exit. A minute later, I plonked myself down on the edge of LeBron’s desk. He looked up at me and behind my back. “Glad you ditched the cuffs. They weren’t a good look for you.” I smiled, peering over the edge of his desk; he had a book on his lap,One Thousand and One Preternatural Facts. I cocked my eyebrow. “Any of them actually true?” “Don’t know, but it’s an interesting read. For instance, it says there are no female werewolves.”

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“I wouldn’t say none at all, but it’s very rare. I’ve never met one.” “Even in the community?” “Not in our local pack. All the women inside the walls are human or other shifters or just other, but not wolf. It gets passed down the male Y chromosome, and I’ve never heard of a woman who survived an attack. They usually die in or from the attack.” “There are other types?” I just nodded. LeBron stroked his fingers back through his hair thoughtfully. “I wonder why they risk passing it on by having children.” “Only attack survivors live with that mentality, those who will probably never make it past level two or three. But those who are born into it come from a long line of wolves—it’s just part of their heritage.” LeBron thought about that too. He’d been somewhat fascinated by werewolves since he’d met Simian and his family. I was as encouraging of him as I could be without suggesting he sign up to become a lycanthrope himself. Feet stomped up behind me, and I didn’t have to look to know who it was. “Hello, Benjamin.” “Rourke almost had you, Farbanks,” he said, his voice brimming with anger. He would just love to see me brought so very low like that. “Why have you always got to come down here and tell us our business?” “Because waiting for you to come up with something intelligent is like putting a candle in the window for Jimmy Hoffa.” It was LeBron’s eyes widening that warned me. I slid off the desk, dropping to a crouch on the floor. Ben caught himself on the desk as his swinging arm hitting nothing but air unbalanced him. I thrust my weight up into his gut, bowling him over so he was on his back on the floor. I was breathing hard—Benjamin was a big man. “Idiot! Have you considered suing your brain for non-support?” Benjamin was wheezing, so he didn’t answer. I looked across the squad room. Rourke and Hamilton stood in the doorway of her office, stunned. I wasn’t sure if they were stunned because Benjamin had finally taken a swing at me or because I had taken down a man twice my size in one go. I wasn’t sure which of those facts stunned me more either. Rourke recovered herself, walking over to check Benjamin’s condition. She managed to get him sitting up. “Deep breaths, Hodgeson, deep breaths,” Rourke said, supporting his shoulders; she glared at me. “Out, Farbanks!” “He attacked me!” “OUT!”

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I composed myself and headed out the exit. Benjamin had brought it on himself, but I was shocked that I’d winded him that badly. Benjamin was physically fit—he played rugby. Sure his diet of junk food and beer left him a little soft around the middle, but he should have been able to take that hit. I stopped in the middle of the first floor corridor. I was sure I had pretty much blown any chance I had of Rourke calling me back in. It wasn’t like I needed her permission to carry on my own investigation, but it would be so much easier if she couldn’t cuff me for it again. I detoured to the administration area and began looking over the various forms in the wallets on the wall. There was a corkboard with reminders about the five aside football league and the policeperson’s winter ball. There was a small poster about a missing cat taped to the wall by a reception desk. Sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged woman with curly red hair and spectacles on a chain. She was in uniform, a white shirt and black knee-length skirt, and she was struggling with the crossword puzzle in theEvening Gazette. Every few seconds her eyes would drift sideways to look at me until with an exasperated sigh she put the paper down. “Can I help you, young lady?” I smiled at her softly and stood closer to the desk. I looked over her crossword quickly. “I’m looking for P.I. licensing forms.” She looked me up and down quizzically. “Is that right? You have to be over twenty-one to go into business as a P.I.” “I’m twenty-one.” She looked me up and down again; she wasn’t convinced of either my age or my suitability. In the end she rolled her chair back and rummaged through some cubbyholes filled with papers. She must have decided that if I was lying, the review of my form would catch me out. She slid back to her desk and lay the forms down on it. “You will need to fill this out, dating and signing on the last page. You’ll need a passport photo, and this extra sheet is for your recommendation. Make sure whoever fills out the section on the back signs and dates it too.” “Thank you,” I said, collecting up the forms and sliding them into my bag. She picked up the paper again, going back to scrutinizing the crossword. Her eyes darted to me as I hadn’t taken the forms and left. “Seven down is ‘dolphin,’” I said, giving her a small smile. She looked at me, then at the crossword; she took a pen from behind her ear and wrote in the answer. “So it is! Thank you.” “No problem.” My phone started ringing, so I quickly excused myself to answer it. “Cassandra Farbanks...” The voice on the other end was muffled by panic and sobbing. I looked at the

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caller ID then put it back to my ear. “Sophie? Sophie, calm down, I can’t hear you.” She took a ragged breath. “I can’t find Zoe. She’s disappeared. I can’t find her. I can’t find her.” I froze to the spot. I begged God to let me be imagining this phone call. Sophie began to frantically call my name into the receiver. I came back to myself. “Where are you?” “Cripplegate Park.” “I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Twenty-Five Sophie was in hysterics when I got to the park and I’d practically run the whole way there. She had her head in her hands where she sat on the edge of the kid’s playground roundabout. Jack stood next to his mother, stroking her head. “Sophie!” I called her name and her head snapped up. Her eyes were red rings from tears and her brown hair stuck limply to her wet cheeks. She threw herself up and into my arms. I wobbled backwards as she gripped tight to my coat sleeves. “Zoe!” she sobbed. I stroked her hair much as Jack had been doing. Sophie was usually so strong; it hurt to see her like that. “We’ll find her. Where was she when you last saw her?” Sophie sniffed back her tears with visible effort. “She was playing on the swings. I only took my eyes off her for a minute because Jack was on the zip wire and last time he fell off.” I looked over Sophie’s head, as she is not a particularly tall woman, to her son. He looked embarrassed. “When I turned back Zoe was gone. She knows not to wander off. I’m not a bad mother, I swear, it was only a minute.” I hugged her tight, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “No one thinks you’re a bad mother. We’ll find her.” “I didn’t know who else to call. Simian is in a meeting. I left a message but...” Just as she was speaking her mobile started to ring. The tune wasHungry Like the Wolfby Duran Duran.

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“It’s Simian.” She answered it, and any other time than this I would have found her choice of ringtone for her werewolf husband funny. I let her talk to him and went to stand with Jack. I crouched down in front of him to put our heads at the same level. “Hey Jack, you okay?” “No. If that little idiot’s got herself hurt…” He gave a little growl. Jack was a hereditary werewolf just like his father. I stroked his head softly. “It’s not my fault,” he barked through the beginning of tears. “Of course it’s not, but can you help us find her? Can you smell your sister?” He nodded, wiping his eyes. “Yes, but she’s not in the park anymore. Mom wouldn’t let me go after her. I would have been careful.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “She’s just scared but I’m here now; we’ll find her together.” Sophie closed her phone and scrubbed at her eyes. “Simian is on his way,” she said, and I could tell just that made her feel infinitely better. “I’m gonna take Jack and start following her scent,” I said and took Jack’s hand in mine. “I won’t let him go the whole time. I promise.” She nodded, trusting me, and slumped back down on the roundabout to sit and wait for her husband. We followed Zoe’s scent across the park, taking the southern exit onto the street. The hazy purple dark was growing thicker and blacker by the minute, by seven o’clock it would be pitch black. “Zoe!” I called out in case my tiny goddaughter was hiding close by, afraid of the coming darkness. Jack tugged at my hand, straining to get across the street. I made him go up to the lights and cross at the green man. We stood on the bridge and Jack snuffled while I asked a man in a suit with a briefcase if he’d seen a little lost girl. He shook his head and hurried along on his way. Jack pulled me across the bridge, growling with frustration every time I stopped to ask someone if they had seen Zoe. We headed down the slope near Brown’s restaurant; they were just bringing the outside tables in for the day. I called to her again. “Zoe! Zoe?” Jack struggled with my grip as I moved to ask the people packing the tables up it they’d seen anything, and after much tugging I lost my grip. He charged off down the riverbank and I turned to chase after him before he got out of sight. He was taking short, sharp shots of air through his nose and running with a speed I could hardly manage. I was thankful he was only a young werewolf and not grown to his full ability yet—that would strike at puberty. I skidded to a stop at the old gate up to the cathedral, looking up in horror at it but quickly following after Jack. He’d stopped dead in the middle of the grass and was shaking his head. He turned one way then another until he fell back onto his butt. I rushed to him. “Jack, Jack, are you all right?”

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“I lost her, I can’t smell her, there are so many other scents, I can’t distinguish them.” He held his head and began crying, I picked him up, holding him with one arm. He wrapped his arms around my neck and cried into my shoulder. I patted him softly while I hit speed dial on my phone. Simian answered on the first ring. “Cassandra, where are you?” “Cathedral grounds. Jack lost her trail here—too many scents for him.” “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and was at my side only five minutes later. He took over from his son, wandered the grounds but ended up tracking a circle. “The scent vanishes here,” he said. He was very close to the south end of the cathedral, where the broken stained-glass window was. I sat Jack down on the wall, told him to sit and be good. I pulled Simian aside. “I’m going to tell you something but you can’t tell Sophie—she’ll only panic.” I had Simian’s attention and I filled him in on the missing children case. He punched a rock; shards of dust flew up as it cracked and a large chunk broke off. He growled at the night. “That these monsters would dare to take my little girl—” “Calm down, Simian. If they have her we have time. I won’t let anything happen to Zoe—you know that.” I touched his face. He turned it into my palm, then slowly took it in his own. “I trust you, Cassandra. What should we do?” Sophie and Simian took Jack home to stay with a neighbor and I went with them to the police station. They sat in front of a desk in Missing Persons while an officer took a description of little Zoe. “She’s wearing a pale brown top with pink flowers. Black leggings,” Sophie said, turning to her husband, “those ones with the diamante heart on the leg. We can’t seem to get her to wear anything else.” Simian patted his wife’s hand, helping her to get through it. “She had on her little suede pink boots with fur trim. I put her blonde hair into little pigtails myself this morning. She looked so sweet.” Sophie sniffed and blew her nose into a handkerchief that Simian offered her. He patted her shoulders. “Any other distinguishing factors?” the officer asked, trying to put both sympathy and professionalism into his voice. “Yes. She was carrying an old doll. We’ve tried to get her to carry a new one, it’s got all the hair pulled out but she loves the ugly thing.” “And you can think of no one your daughter would have felt okay to go off with?” “Zoe is a smart girl for her age. She knows not to go away with strangers and not to run off. No one we know would take Zoe anywhere without asking us first. We looked everywhere.” Sophie turned into Simian’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably; he held her with one arm and started

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talking frankly with the officer. I reached into my bag, took out the P.I. forms and, borrowing a pen from a pot on an empty desk, started to fill them in. I was going to get my foot into this case one way or another; I might as well try the legal way first. I filled in all the areas detailed as quickly as I could; I was lucky I even had a passport photo in my wallet. I’d been saving it to get a new student discount card, but as I was almost certainly on the outs college wise, I could use it for this. I was staring blankly at the recommendation form, which was the only part of the process I was stuck on when Hamilton strolled past the open doorway. “I’ll be right back,” I assured Simian and Sophie and chased him down the corridor. “D.I. Hamilton,” I caught him as he was about to go into the stairwell, “Paris!” He turned to look at me, his face surprised. His lips twisted up at the corners into a smile, but suspicion was in his eyes. “Cassandra, better not let Rourke catch you back here so soon.” He had his hand on the door. “It’s you I need to talk to,” I said, pushing the door open and inviting him into the stairwell with me. He followed me and I leaned my back against the wall, sticking my chest out and looking coy. I was prepared to flirt my ass off to get this. He swallowed hard. “What seems to be the problem?” “I need a favor. I would owe you big time if you would help me out.” I pushed off the wall, stalking towards him with a vivacious sway to my hips. His eyes dropped to them and slowly came back up. His smile was interested now. “How big?” he asked. “Huge.” I held out the form; he gave it a cursory glance, then studied it more closely when he realized what it was. “Cassandra, I don’t know.” “You’ve worked with me; you know what I can do. I need to be on this case in an official capacity or I’m just going to go off on my own, no resources, no backup.” He took the form from me and started reading it over more carefully. “Cassandra, this is a serious decision. I saw you come out of Missing Persons. What happened?” I shrunk back from him; I was suddenly not feeling the slightest bit seductive. I told him the truth. “My goddaughter disappeared near the cathedral tonight. She’s three.” His face dropped and suddenly he was hugging me. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed into his body. I could feel his desire for me—the whole damsel in distress thing really seemed to do it for him.

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His arms froze around me. “Say you’ll help me, Paris, please, and I would owe you so big.” I made my voice a soft, suggestive whisper. He stepped back from me. “This will really piss Sam off,” he said, his face breaking into a grin, “and that on its own is almost enough reason. Give me the whole thing; I know some people I can get it rushed through.” “Thank you, Paris.” He gave me that twinkling smile of his and ran up the stairs two at a time. I left the stairwell, returning to Missing Persons. Simian was shaking the officer’s hand, thanking him for all his help. My phone blared to life in my pocket; I turned my back to everyone and answered it. “Cassandra? Where are you? You’re not at home.” It was Magnus. I had completely forgotten that we had agreed to go out to dinner tonight. I sighed; I didn’t know if I could just go to dinner and forget about Zoe even for an hour. “Magnus, I’m sorry...” “Don’t tell me you’re going to cancel on me,” he said, cutting me off. “We haven’t had a proper date for a while, and I made reservations.” I took a deep breath. “I’m just doing a little work, so I will have to meet you at the restaurant. Where are we eating?”

Chapter Twenty-Six The Golden City is my favorite restaurant. Magnus knew this, of course, and had done a lot of ringing around to get a table for two at eight thirty. It was one of the only four places in town that stayed open after dark and the only one that made Mexican food. It was very popular, and getting a table here could be just as hard as getting one at the fancy expensive French place. I walked in the door a little late, as I had to find a way to pleasantly separate myself from Simian and Sophie without making them upset. The maître d’ was a short, chubby man in his late thirties, with slicked-down black hair and a bushy black moustache. His skin was dark olive against his white shirt that barely seemed to fit, and a white apron was stretched over his waist. He wore a blue straw sombrero and always greeted me with a smile. He took my coat, hanging it up in the cloakroom by the door, and led me past the glass partition that separated the entranceway from the rest of the room. Every wall was painted a bright yellow at the bottom and a pale blue at the top, with green cacti dotted around and in one corner a man sleeping against a donkey, a sombrero covering his face. It was in this corner that Magnus was sitting at a two-person table, picking at the wax of the candle in the middle of the table that was burning down over the lip of an old bottle of sangria, the kind with a wicker basket around the bottom. It was patterned with many different trails of wax from all the candles that had burned down before the one that sat in it now. The maître d’ pulled out the chair opposite him for me; I sat, and

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he pushed it back in till the table bumped against my stomach. He smiled and went to fetch me a menu. Magnus had one that was sitting shut under his elbow. He looked at me across the table, and he seemed a little upset. “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, keeping my voice low as not to draw the attention of the other people eating around us. “I got here as quick as I could.” I turned to look at the maître d’ as he handed me over a menu. I ordered a Diet Coke, and when I turned back to Magnus he still wasn’t looking any happier. He set his eyes on mine and pulled himself more upright. “You forgot,” he accused me. “I didn’t,” I lied. “I just lost track of time. It’s been a very busy day.” “Of course it has,” he grumbled. His attitude made me a little angry; he was sulking because he couldn’t have my undivided attention all the time. “Let’s see…I missed my essay deadline so I’m probably going to get kicked off my course, I was arrested, and oh yes, Zoe’s missing, so I think I should be allowed to be just a little late to dinner.” I slammed the menu down on the table, making the woman on the next table over jump a little and spill her soup. She was too busy cleaning it up to continue to listen in to our conversation. Magnus gaped at me. He knew who Zoe was, and it showed in his face how bad he felt for having a little tantrum with me. “What happened?” I started filling him in from the point where I had been arrested to sitting with the Urquharts while they tried to be brave and give the best description of their missing daughter. Magnus took it all in with a quiet horror before leaning across the table and giving me a quick, sweet peck on the mouth. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have known you’d have a good reason for being late. Is there anything we can do for them?” I smiled softly at Magnus; he was always the sweetheart, thinking of those around him. “I’m working on it.” And I told him about filling out the forms to become an official paranormal investigator, as it was pretty much the only way Rourke would let me anywhere near her case. Magnus smiled at me and said he was proud of me for making something good come out of a bad situation, and I just looked at him like he’d grown two antennas and started speaking Martian. “Well, think about it: you’ve decided not to let your little problem with college hold you back. Becoming a paranormal investigator is like starting your own business, it’s a future, a career. You’ll be able to make your own hours, be your own boss.” “I’d not thought of it that way.” “What way did you think of it?” “The way that it would really piss Rourke off.” Magnus laughed loudly, spooking the waiter who was bringing my Coke over. He placed it down next to my fork and fished around in his apron for his pad.

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“Ready to order?” “Chicken enchiladas for me,” I said. I’d not even needed to look at the menu—I’d eaten here so often that I knew all my favorite items. I looked across at Magnus, who had quickly shoved his nose back into the menu. He ordered the quesadilla. The waiter took the two menus and wandered off in the general direction of the kitchen. “You like them then?” I asked, smiling at him. He gave me a grin that made my toes curl. Not in a bad way. “Yes. You never said you could cook.” “I don’t cook, Magnus; I just melt cheese over everything.” He chuckled and took my hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles, and I found it very soothing. Magnus could make me feel very calm one minute and very excitable the next; it was a constant roller coaster. I liked roller coasters. “What name did you choose?” I looked at him, finding that his question stumped me at first. Then I got that we had come full circle on our conversation and were back to talking about me becoming a paranormal investigator. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I couldn’t really think of anything good or clever. I was rushing it a bit. I just put Farbanks Investigations. It’s simple, but it’s who I am and what I do in one.” He kept rubbing his thumb in those small, slow circles over my knuckles, and it sent a shiver racing up my arm and down my back. He gave me his easy grin. “I think it’s perfect.” He slid his hand under mine, bringing it up to lay a kiss on the back of it. I found myself blushing, as it was not just a quick little peck, it was a long, slow, deliberate movement of his sculpted lips against my flesh. His eyes looked up the line of my arm into mine, and something in them told me he would have liked very much to have leaned across the table and given me that kiss properly. I broke our eye contact and took a sip of the Coke. It was very cold running down my throat, but I barely felt it as my skin was burning up. He smiled at me a little ruefully and placed my hand down on the table. “I’ve made you blush,” he said, and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his lips and lighting up his face. I grumbled, trying to calm my speeding heart and will the blood out of my cheeks. “Two can play at that game.” I arched my foot, slipping out of my shoe, and trailed it over the top of his soft suede shoes. He could feel it as my toes massaged and started to slide up his leg. He shivered in his seat as I ran my foot up and down his calf under the table. His hands gripped the table as my toes reached and tickled his thigh. The waiter came over, holding our two orders, and I quickly retracted my foot, putting it back into my shoe. Magnus let his eyes flutter shut. I thanked the waiter as he set the plates down in the right place, bobbed his head and scurried off. Magnus had a death grip on the edge of the table. I smiled. “Magnus, honey, the food’s here.” He exhaled and opened his eyes.

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“You really shouldn’t do that,” he said. “Do what?” I asked innocently, putting a forkful of food into my mouth, then slowly sucking the fork and chewing slowly. He watched me with lustful eyes. “You’re a tease.” I grinned at him but kept eating. Magnus took a few more breaths before starting on his own meal on the plate in front of him. We chatted on and off between mouthfuls about regular things—the weather for the weekend, any plans we had made—and Magnus brought up something I’d never thought he would. “Are you going to see Aram again?” He didn’t sound angry when he asked, but there was a hint that the wrong answer could lead him to be. I took another mouthful while I thought over the Aram situation. His trial was tomorrow. I had meant to go in earlier than that and get him off the hook but with all the things I’d been dealing with, it had slipped down my list of priorities. I didn’t feel as panicked as I first had about the situation, mainly because now I knew how to get him out of trouble with a single word.Novia. Then he, Jareth and I could just talk about it all in private, and I wouldn’t have to beat myself up with guilt over something bad happening to him. Magnus sat patiently waiting for an answer. “I have to go to Dante’s tomorrow night. I don’t remember if I told you, but he is being put on trial for biting me. Nearly killing me is apparently still a crime to them.” “I hope they throw the book at him,” he scoffed. “I hope they throw the whole damn library.” I understood Magnus didn’t like Aram, and I was sure Aram held no great love for Magnus either, especially as he saw him as the competition. I half wondered if Magnus saw Aram that way too, as competition. I sighed as something in me felt that I should enlighten Magnus to the whole situation. “It’s not that simple. The penalties are very specific—banishment or death. I can’t risk the possibility they will execute him. I wouldn’t feel good about it.” “You’re not going to the trial as a witness for the prosecution? You’re going to defend the bloodsucker?” I nodded my head solemnly. “He nearly killed you.” “I know.” “He violates your privacy and tries to force himself on you.” “I know.” “He could have broken your wrist,” he said, and he grabbed hold of my wrist as if squeezing it would help me to remember all the pain Aram had caused me. I felt nothing. I looked at where Magnus’s hand gripped my wrist, but there was no pain. I pried his hand off and held up my arm. “That should have hurt,” I said, confused. Magnus looked abashed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I just can’t understand why he means so much to you.” I ignored the last bit

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of his statement. I wasn’t prepared to delve too deep into that can of worms right now. “You didn’t hurt me, but that should have hurt,” I repeated, and I started unwrapping my wrist. The bandage fell to the table and I removed the compress underneath. There wasn’t a single mark on my wrist. I held it up in the candlelight. “I don’t understand. He used nearly all of his strength; I should be bruised for months.” Magnus took my elbow in one of his hands and examined my wrist with his fingers. He shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it first looked.” “No, it was bad.” I remembered the pain in the first twenty-four hours after he had done it, the soreness, but I actually couldn’t recall any pain after that—not even when I’d held the weight of an eight-year-old with it. I pushed back in my seat and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I’m just going to the bathroom; excuse me.” I left Magnus sitting at the table and walked to the back of the restaurant. The restrooms were behind another little glass partition next to the kitchen doors. I went into the ladies, checked all the stalls were empty before locking the main door. I stood in front of the mirrors and pulled my top over my head. I turned so I could see the bandage on the upper part of my other arm. I couldn’t remember it hurting much past the first day or so. I untied the knot and started to unwrap it. The bandage slid down the skin of my arm to reveal nothing. Not a huge gash from the blades, not a healing scab or even a freshly pinkish scar. There was no mark on my arm to show that I had been hurt at all. That was a week’s worth of healing done in less than a few days, hours even if the healing had finished about the same time the pain did. I was amazed and then I was worried. I had no idea how I had managed it. I would have to talk to Virginia about it; maybe something in that healing ritual had done something to me. I put my top back on, washed my hands and unlocked the main door, stepping out. I walked back to the table where Magnus was looking edgy and sat down. “Are you all right?” His entire face was racked with concern. I reached over and patted his hand soothingly. “I appear to be completely fine. Relax. What were we talking about?” I hadn’t forgotten, but I was trying to find a polite way to get out of the Aram conversation. I didn’t think Magnus would be brave enough to bring it up twice. He wasn’t. “About what to do over the weekend? I was thinking, if things turn out well with your work—and I have complete faith that you will make things turn out well—that we could perhaps go away for the weekend.” “I suppose we could give it a try. It might be a bit haphazard with my situation and all.” He smiled at me; clearly he had been hoping for an answer in the positive. He reached into his pocket, rummaging around, and brought something out keeping the hand with it in his lap for the moment. “Well, that brings me to something else. I have something for you and I don’t want you to freak out. I’m not expecting anything—I told you I like you enough to wait till you say go.” I smiled at him and leaned my elbows on the table. Resting my chin on my fists, I gave an interested glance towards his lap. “What is it?”

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Magnus brought his hand up slowly, uncurling his fingers to show a little black jewelry box sitting in the palm of his hand. Suddenly I felt cold right down to my toes with fear.

Chapter Twenty-Seven The little black velvet box was not threatening; at least that was what I tried to tell myself. Magnus and I had been dating for about a month and a half, two at the most. I didn’t think we were ready for little black boxes. He’d not even told me that he loved me. It couldn’t be what I thought, except for three things. Magnus had subtly checked I was committed to him by questioning me over Aram, he was dressed sort of nice in tight jeans and a pale blue sweater and he’d gotten a table at my favorite restaurant. My throat tightened and I couldn’t speak to object to the speed of things. “Open it!” he urged me, placing the box down in front of me and pushing the danger closer. My fingers were less afraid than the rest of me as I reached for it. I snapped the lid open. A flood of relief eased every muscle in my body. In the box sat a silver locket carved with two silver doves. “My locket?” I smiled at him. He smiled back, tussling his hair, and the tiniest blush colored his cheeks. “When you ran out of the hospital, the nurse gave it to me in a little baggy. It was saturated with blood and the clasp was broken. I had a jeweler friend of mine take a look to see if he could fix and clean it.” I pulled it out of the box, examining the new clasp, and held the locket in the palm of my hand, admiring how shined the silver was. “Did he open it?” “No, he couldn’t. It’s sealed shut as a magical totem, he said, very powerful but the spell is inert at the moment.” I closed my fingers around it. It was so good to have it back. “It just needs recharging. It’ll be fine once that’s done.” He grinned, pleased with himself. My brain chose then to remember what we’d been talking about before he presented me with the gift. He’d been talking about us going away together somewhere for the weekend. Giving me back my locket and me assuring him the spell wasn’t dead had meant it was a distinct possibility that could be okay. A mini break weekend. A nice little cottage in the country or a cabin in the Lake District. Maybe he’d want to go for Christmas. I had no family to spend it with, and I doubted very much that Aziel Silvas, Magnus’s stepfather, had liked to dress up as Santa when his children were young. I was making a whole mental picture. A little cabin, remote—the nearest other people were in a tiny village many miles down the road where we’d stocked up on supplies. Magnus would be out getting firewood while I put decorations on a small spruce we’d cut for a tree. Magnus would come in from the snow in his parka and we’d be snowed in. England rarely got snow, but it was my fantasy so there was snow, a tundra of it. He’d put the wood into the fireplace, setting light to it so that a beautiful golden light

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filled the hearth. The fire might not have been a good idea after the last time, but you couldn’t have a log cabin without one. He’d wrap his arms around my waist and lift me so I could put the angel, no, the star on top of the tree. It would be late Christmas Eve, and he’d suggest going to bed early to the single bedroom and sharing the only bed. Suddenly my thoughts became very much a fantasy and I remembered Magnus with his shirt off. The candle between us flared, shooting a flame almost as high as the ceiling. Magnus jumped as did I and the candle, burnt down to nothing, flickered out. “Oh God! I’m so sorry,” I babbled, looking at the tiny scorch mark on the ceiling. The maître d’ came over. “Is everything all right? Oh. Your candle burnt out. I’ll get you a new one.” He took the bottle from the middle of the table and pottered off. Magnus and I looked at each other. I blushed a deep red crimson. “I’m so sorry. I lost control of myself.” Magnus looked up at the tiny scorch mark on the ceiling and then back to my reddened face. “What were you thinking about?” The maître d’ brought over a new candle. I got a flash in my mind of Magnus’s shirtless form and the candle lit itself, making the maître d’ yip with surprise like a frightened Chihuahua. He put it down between us and retreated quickly again. “Seriously,” he tried to say and keep the grin off his lips, “what was it?” “You remember you stripped off a little to do the wallpaper in my apartment?” I felt the heat in my face increase as he chuckled. “That’s some reaction.” “It’s not funny. I could have set the table on fire.” He looked thoughtful for a minute, then leaned his head to one side, resting it on his hand. “So was that you before? In the hut?” I bit my lips and it was all the answer he needed. He grinned at me devilishly. “I can’t help it. The mix of fear and desire is just igniting. I tried to talk to Virginia about it.” “About our love life?” he said, bemused. “No, just about my reaction to it. Sometimes it seems like she knows more about what I can do than she’s telling me.” “You seem worried,” he said, reaching to take my hand. He laced his fingers through mine, and I felt a little shockwave go up my arm. The candle glowed brighter for a second. He pulled his hand back. “Sorry, not quite got control of yourself yet.”

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“That’s what’s worrying me. My power seems to be malfunctioning. I’m setting things on fire with strong emotions, I’m healing at an increased rate, I’m seeing things in my dreams that keep coming true and I’m developing new abilities. And I think I’m stronger.” I explained about what had happened with Benjamin in PCU. He patted my hand but the candle remained the same. I smiled; the fear of the unknown had chased away the excitement I’d been feeling. I had better control. “Not that I’m saying he didn’t deserve what you did—he took a swing at you, but you put all your force into a blow to his body. Wasn’t it a bit of an extreme reaction?” “I guess, but I was attacked; instinct sort of took over. I didn’t know I could hurt him like that—he’s twice my size.” Magnus stroked my arm soothingly; I took deep breaths, trying to keep the shivers he was sending up my flesh under control. Magnus blew out the candle, stroked his fingers over the bend of my arm and watched it relight. “Magnus!” I said, trying to sound more outraged than breathy. He grinned at me. “I’m sorry, but I will never get tired of watching your reaction to me. It’s so visual.” I pushed his hand away and tucked mine safely into my lap. The waiter came over to take our empty plates and give us the dessert and coffee menu. Magnus decided to be daring and try something new, a chili coffee. Mexican coffee beans spiced with jalapeño peppers. I was amused by his choice but didn’t have anything myself. When his coffee arrived Magnus asked for the bill, snatching it before I could even see it. Magnus liked to pay for things. He was old-fashioned, and going Dutch was something he only let me do at the cinema and even then it was lopsided. He bought the tickets and I could get the popcorn. He downed his coffee, paid and left a tip. Magnus always tipped ten percent. He was very generous. I admired that quality about him as we drove over to my place. I invited him in. I needed the company, especially at the moment. Nancy had taken to spending more and more time away from my apartment since I had starting dating someone. I assumed it was her way of giving us some privacy. Tonight we needed it. The minute we were in my darkened apartment Magnus’s lips were on mine; his hands on my hips were firm, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I could taste the faint hint of the chilies he’d ingested, and it made his kisses spicy hot rather than minty cool. My back was against the wall and he was pressed against me. I knew he was happy to be there—the desire came off him in thick waves threatening to wash me out to sea. When they cut off abruptly and he lurched back from me, I was panicked. What had I done wrong? Magnus’s tanned face went pale and he ran for the bathroom next to the kitchen. I heard the door slam. I readjusted myself and walked over to the door. I rapped gently on it. “Magnus, sweetie? Are you all right?” I thought I heard a grumble of “evil coffee” and then retching. I bit my lip, sighed and went to fetch some antacid from my bathroom.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight My phone started to glow in the dark. I turned the clock radio towards me so I could read the digital display. It was four am; I’d been asleep maybe four hours. The phone kept ringing; the tone was a default one as it was not a number in my phonebook. I fumbled for it and flipped it open. “Hello?” “Cassandra? It’s Paris Hamilton. We’ve got another set of bones.” I pulled myself up to a sitting position and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. Why couldn’t they find bodies at decent hours of the night? “Where?” “Same place as the first. Homicide got called first, but I just called Rourke and she’s on her way. If you could get here in twenty minutes, before her...” He paused for a second “...do you need me to send someone to get you?” I shook my head and then, realizing he couldn’t see that, I said, “No. I think I have a lift. See you in twenty minutes.” I hung up the phone and rolled over, jabbing Magnus in the back. He grunted and tried to ignore me. I’d let him stay as he’d gotten sick from the “toxic” coffee, as he was calling it. He’d been too drained to try anything, but his warm body in my bed had been a comfort, especially now as the nights were colder. I prodded him between the shoulder blades and he sat up, yowling. “Cassandra,” he complained, “that hurt.” “Get up. I’ve got to go, so you’ve got to go. You can drop me off on the way.” I climbed out of bed, getting dressed in record time in skinny blue jeans and a black and gray striped sweater. Magnus groaned and lay back down. I pulled on my boots, shaking my head, and went to rummage through his jeans pocket. “I’m taking your car then.” He sat bolt upright in bed and threw back the covers. “I’m up. I’ll take you.” I smiled. Magnus, like a lot of men, didn’t like anyone else driving his car. He especially did not want me driving it. I’d borrowed it to drive up to Virginia’s one night, swerved to avoid a cat and made a tiny little ding in his car where I had clipped a tree. The dent was only about the size of my finger but I was forbidden to drive his car ever again. He pulled on his jeans and ran his fingers back through his hair, which was sleep tussled and cute. He looked adorable first thing when he woke up.

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I had my coat on and was belting it when Magnus came shuffling out of my bedroom, carrying the rest of his clothes. I ushered him out the door in a hurried manner. I’d make it up to him at a later date. I gave him a quick kiss goodbye when he dropped me at the corner of the city walls road and I ran across the intersection. There was no traffic, it was like a complete ghost town around here after midnight. The red and blue lights lit up the outside of the cathedral. I didn’t see any faces I recognised from PCU so I must have beaten them in. The one way system slowed things down but Rourke I knew lived right out of town. If she’d gone home for the day or to change then that would slow her arrival too. I searched the site for Hamilton. He’d been the one to call me; it would be safest to locate him first. He stood with a flashlight over a map, dividing up areas to search. “All right, people, the perps are using this site for a reason; I want to know what it is. Start canvassing—I don’t care who you wake up. Someone has got to have seen or heard something.” The uniforms divided up into twos and threes going off in different directions. I tapped Hamilton on the shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his highly polished shoes. He turned slowly and looked down to meet my gaze. “Thanks for calling me.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for coming.” Hamilton pulled open his coat, reached inside and pulled out a little clip-on badge. He held it out to me. I looked at the little ID. Cassandra Farbanks. Paranormal Investigator. Temporary Pass. I beamed at it. “You mean I got through the review?” “Uh huh—I told you I knew someone who could speed things up. Your official ID and licensing by the county will be posted as soon as possible, along with the forms to fill out for the stipend to get you up and running.” “They didn’t say anything about my application?” “Nope. With myself and Theodore backing it, they were pleased as punch to stamp and sign on the dotted line.” I gaped. Theodore Mayla, the man all set to be the next mayor had personally backed my application. I found myself suspicious. What was in it for him to help me out? Would I owe him a favour like I did Hamilton? Hamilton would be pretty easy, he’d probably use his favour to get me to go to dinner with him. He took the pass from my hand and quickly clipped it to my coat as another set of vehicles pulled up. Hamilton straightened his tie. “Show time.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and half turned to meet the coming onslaught. Rourke slammed the door of her car, having spotted me immediately, and she was fuming. “What the hell is Farbanks doing here?”

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Arriving on time, I thought. Hamilton, smiled enjoying the rosy color Rourke’s face changed to as her anger threatened to explode. “I called her,” he said, completely unfazed. I turned more to face her. The badge clipped to the lapel of my coat swung with the movement, drawing Rourke’s eyes to it. She read it with some alarm. “How the hell did you—?” Her eyes flashed to Hamilton. “You schmuck, you didn’t!” “You know I can never refuse to help a lady in distress.” Rourke glared at me and tried to snatch the badge away. I stepped back just in time so that her fingers barely brushed the corner of it. “I don’t want her here.” “Well,” Hamilton said, “she’s not here under you, she’s here under Homicide. We alone are paying for her time, so you don’t have any say in the matter I’m afraid.” Rourke was stunned to silence. Her bee stung lips looked both angry and pouty at the same time. She took another look at the badge and grumbled. “Now we’ll never be rid of her,” Benjamin said, taking his place at Rourke’s side. I resisted the childish urge to poke my tongue out at him. “Let’s all calm down,” I said, keeping an eye on the pulsing vein in Rourke’s neck. “We’ve got a body to look at. Can we?” Hamilton stepped aside with a little bow and signaled for me to follow him. He was smug and radiating with pleasure from having bested Rourke and more than likely from securing a favor from yours truly. I followed, having to walk briskly to keep up with his long strides. A second set of petite bones were neatly piled in much the same manner as the first. A little woman in a shiny blue coverall, making her look a bit like a fancy baked potato was taking pictures with a rather impressive digital camera. She had dark coppery coloured skin, short black hair cropped tight against her skull; it was almost pixyish. She turned to look at us as we approached; she had dark chocolate eyes that were acutely intelligent. “Cassandra this is Dr Ororo Soltaire, she’s the head of our forensics lab.” She extended her hand out to me and she had a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, under the circumstances,” she said looking sadly at the remains of the child. Her voice was soft and she had a distinct South African accent. She looked round Hamilton’s shoulder where Rourke was hanging back keeping her distance, I think from me. She twisted to face Hamilton. “I’m not going to have to do double again, am I?” Hamilton chuckled. “No, we’re all working together now. Right, Sam darling,” he called over his shoulder. I looked up at her just in time to catch her flipping him the bird and trying to hide it. Hamilton went over to bother her

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some more, taking her hostility as an invitation, and left me alone with Dr. Soltaire. “Those two are worse than children,” she muttered, and the flashbulb on her camera went off. She checked the image on the little screen and then let it hang from her neck. “Dr. Soltaire, do you have an extra pair of those?” I asked, pointing to the gloves she was wearing. She looked at the badge clipped to my coat before answering. “Call me Ro, all my friends do.” Ro bent down to a kit at her side and fished me out a pair of the latex gloves. Once again I struggled trying to get them on and Ro laughed at me. She had a very bouncy laugh. “Make a chicken,” she said, and when I didn’t know what she meant she took one of the gloves and blew into it. I got my hand into it more easily. I smiled at her. “Thanks. That’s a handy trick.” I blew into the second glove and got it on my other hand no problem. I flexed my fingers. There was nothing appealing to me about the feel of latex gloves; they kind of itched. “Hakuna matata.” I giggled, and she cocked an eyebrow at me. “Sorry, I’ve just not heard that said outside of a cartoon pig and meerkat.” She gave me a big grin that showed a dazzling row of pearly white teeth. Jesus, I thought, I’ve got to switch dentists. “I grew up hearing it all the time, although I quite enjoyedThe Lion Kingwhen I watched it with Munkey.” “Munkey?” “My daughter, she’s four.” Ro was easy to talk to. She was a single mother and her daughter, November aka Munkey was the light of her life and she thought she was so cute now that she’d started ballet classes. I felt I could tell Ro about Zoe. She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, her parents must be freaking out. If it was Munkey I would be livid.” “We’re going to stop this,” I said confidently. She nodded in agreement. I bent down, crouching over the bones, and she joined me. “This poor thing looks to be about eight,” she said, marking the length of the arm and leg bones with her finger. “I did some reading after the first body was found, but I’m a little foggy on gender without consulting some sources.” “You done with the camera?” I asked, reaching out to pick up the skull. “Sure, go ahead. I’m actually dying to see real-life magic in action.”

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I gave her a small smile and picked up the skull. I turned it over in my hands. “Mnemosyne...” I didn’t even really start the spell. I was open wide and I was hit like a steam train by images. Being trapped, the delicious food, the kindly face of an old woman and then bloody grisly death. I gasped as my lungs re-inflated and my eyes flew open; I’d not even realized I’d shut them. I was back against the wall, the skull cradled in my arms and against my body like it was something precious. Ro was staring at me in shock; she didn’t know if I needed help or not. Hamilton and Rourke had stopped their back and forth to pay attention to the fact that I had been blown several feet. At least this time I had not passed out. Yay. Cookie for me. I let my body relax and the skull sat in my lap. I didn’t look at it to spare myself the macabre feeling that would cause. I balanced my head back on the wall and stared up at the sky, taking deep breaths to calm the beat of my heart. “What happened?” I brought my head down. Ro had edged closer to me—apparently she’d decided it looked like I needed help. I let her take the skull from me, place it down on the ground with the bones and get me up so that I was sitting on the wall. When I felt calmer I answered her. “The boy must have a modicum of unutilized psychic talent. I was hit by the images from the last day of his life. Including the face of one of the coven. An old woman, she looked like somebody’s grandma.” A knot tied in my stomach and I felt vaguely unwell. There was nothing monstrous about that face until it was brandishing the knife that killed him, and by then it was too late. It was like he was in a trance. He couldn’t stop eating the delicious food; he saw the cage, he saw the other children but he wasn’t afraid, the power over him wouldn’t let him be afraid. I felt a single tear run down my cheek before I reeled my emotions in. I would not fall to pieces again; I was going to track down that old woman and make her pay for it. Hamilton came over to me, bending down so he was level with me, and lifted my face. “Cassandra, are you okay to go on?” he asked me as if he knew I had just been considering such things. “I’m fine. It was just a hard blow I wasn’t expecting. The body is a boy. I don’t know his name, but I could pick his picture out from the files.” Hamilton fished around his pocket and pulled out an iPhone. It was sleek, black and attractive. He started tapping around on the screen, then turned it to me, and there was a picture of a boy on it. I shook my head. He clicked the side of the screen and another picture slid across. I shook my head again. The third picture that slid across was so familiar there was no doubt in my mind it was the boy whose death I had just been forced to watch. I couldn’t speak. I just nodded my head. Hamilton brought up another screen that held some details. The boy’s name was Bryn Williams. He was eight when he went missing; his ninth birthday had been yesterday. I felt the tears start all over again.

Chapter Twenty-Nine I sat at the desk in Ro’s office down in Forensics. Rourke refused to have me sit in her squad room after last time, and frankly I didn’t want to be around while they called and talked to the parents. Ro had brought me a cup of coffee, really strong and bitter. I’d have drunk it down regardless just for the warmth. I’d grown to have a certain comfort level around death—I’d seen a lot of it for someone of my

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age—but there was something about a child dying, a life cut so short that there was no preparing yourself for. I’d watched that life cut short in full surround sound and Technicolor glory. Almost an hour later it was still making me shudder. I looked out from the little window in Ro’s office to the sterile lab where the child’s bones had been laid out on a gurney, dusted for prints, the bite radii from the marks on the bones taken (confirming that we were dealing with the same set of mouths) and the DNA sampled once again from what was left of the bone marrow. I was watching Ro as she worked with a tape measure and a computer open to an Internet page on anthropology to confirm what I already knew, that the bones belonged to a boy, eight, no, nine years old. Out of the suit, Ro wore a black and red tartan skirt, black stockings underneath, with a black blouse and spike heels. She’d changed when she’d come back into the office from the black Nikes she’d been wearing at the scene. If I hadn’t seen her don a white lab coat, I would have sworn she was headed for a night out at the local goth club. After changing her shoes, she’d turned on a stereo that blasted out metal music and gotten to work. It was her lab; she could play what she wanted. Some people worked best to Beethoven, some Metallica. I wasn’t going to complain. I was just happy that someone seemed to want me around. Ro as a scientist was absolutely fascinated by magic, like Doc Cameron was fascinated with vampires. She wanted to find a way to explain how the body contained, utilized and expelled power. People to be trained in magic were specially selected, and Ro was wondering if they all had something genetically in common. She did share a tiny bit of Doc Cameron’s passion for knowing more about the preternatural body and was anticipating his next paper on the subject. Apparently he had already written a fascinating thesis on the lycanthrope phenomenon. I would have to ask Simian if he had read it and what he thought before I would recommend it to LeBron, who was just beginning his first fascination with a preternatural species. There had been no blood at the scene, confirming that the cathedral was just being used as a dump site, a place to leave the remnants of their victims. The cathedral hadn’t had a cemetery for years, but it felt like that was what these witches were doing. I had never used the term “witches” with such venom. These were not the good, kind ones I knew the magic college turned out, with the odd exception of course, but practitioners of old, dark magic. They were the sort of witches who would have deserved the ducking stool; they were the stereotype that most regular witches and wizards had to fight on a daily basis. They were evil, and I didn’t use that word lightly—there could be no misunderstanding about what they were doing. They were monsters, and I was going to track them down. I sat watching the swirls of milk in my coffee, thinking through the best way to find them. Hamilton was trying to track them through groceries, but they would probably be so old-fashioned that they would pay in cash. I didn’t hold out much hope for his lead actually coming to anything. I knew magic, and the only way to fight magic was with magic. I’d read about so many different kind of spells studying with Virginia, not as much as if I had been permitted to enter into the magic college, but she had no objection to my learning as they did. She had tons of books on the application of magic. Now, I tried to remember everything I had ever read while sitting in her parlor or heard when she was telling me about her old cases as an enforcer. Virginia had helped me by giving me that book—although it was not her job anymore, once an enforcer always an enforcer. Most tracking spells require that you have something of the person you are trying to find. Like with a bloodhound to give the spell the scent, but there was nothing there, no trace left by these murderers to use. Conventional tracking was not going to work. Be clever, Cassandra, I told myself; be clever. I drowned myself in what was left of my coffee and rested my head against the desk. I was so tired; all I

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wanted to do was rest. Rest. Rest in peace. I sat up straight and looked around the room like I suspected someone to listen into my thoughts. There was a spell I had read about once. In fact, I had made notes on it. A resting spell. It was to locate the final resting place of someone. The spell had been forged by a wizard who knew that a noble man had murdered his wife and hidden her corpse somewhere on his grand estate. The spell had found where her body lay. He had used a lock of her hair from a brush. If I tweaked it a bit, I could make it so that the spell found the place the person died. I would need something intimately connected to the boy’s death. I looked through the little window again, and Ro was still bouncing around over the bones, examining them. I needed one of the bones; I could use it in the spell. I wrestled with my conscience on the matter. It would be wrong to steal part of this child to use in a magic ritual, but it might prevent this from happening to any of the others, to Adam, to Zoe. I stood up, determined. I had to do it. Rourke would have my neck for it if she found out. I would have to be really careful. I moved out of the office and looked through the glass sliding doors between the sterile lab and me. I would probably lose Ro’s respect for this. Not that I assumed I had her respect, but I had only just met her, and strangely I wanted her to think well of me. I would just have to deal with that fact at a later date. I took a deep breath and looked around. The doors made a loud whooshing noise every time they opened, so I couldn’t just walk in there. I also couldn’t take the bone from right under Ro’s nose. I had to get her out of the room and snatch the bone while she was distracted. It took me a little while to formulate a plan and get things into place; lucky for me, when Ro was working she focused on it completely. I was able to move around just outside the doors without her so much as once lifting her head. Finally I tapped on the glass. She jolted up and looked at me through the glass. I held up my coffee cup and indicated that I would like some more. She gave a little chuckle and moved around to the door. I stood to the side of it as it whooshed open. She took the cup from me. “You must be the first person in the history of the world who likes the coffee down here. Take a seat, I’ll be right back.” She headed out into the corridor, and the door started to slide shut. I pushed a pen I’d laid on the floor into the gap, and the door hit it and slid back without a sound. I stepped inside and stood over the body of the boy. I took the bone for his pinky toe, wrapped it in a tissue and put it into my coat pocket. The door slid closed behind me, hit the pen and reopened without a sound. I stepped back out quickly and kicked the pen as far across the room between the sterile lab and her office as I could. The door slid shut and clunked into place. I walked back into Ro’s office and sat down in the chair just as she re-emerged with more coffee for me. I took the cup from her and gave her a smile that anyone else who knew me would have read as guilty.

Chapter Thirty I stayed long enough to make it look like I had wanted the coffee I’d asked her to get. As quickly as I could I got out of the building only being stopped once by LeBron, who wanted to congratulate me on achieving some officialdom. I smiled politely when he asked if I was okay, and I tried to blow him off by saying that I was very tired. I started the walk home, patting my pocket every few yards to make sure my

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little bundle was safe. When I got to my building, I paused for a minute and looked at the bottom floor apartment. With a little money I could turn it into an office space where I could meet with clients and potential clients. It would be convenient to just go down the elevator to work. Popping home for lunch would be too easy. It would be tracking down the building’s owner to rent the space and get permission for the conversion that would be hard. I’d met him only once, when he came to turf me out for squatting till I produced deeds showing I owned the apartment. Lucky for me deeds were the same in both worlds. Before he could check his own records there was a mysterious fire that destroyed them. Not my fault. It was a gift from Nancy; she thought she was doing me a favor. Nancy wasn’t like me when it came to fire magic, but she knew her way around a lighter and a little petrol. I’d not approved, but I didn’t turn her in for it either. Fact is, it had solved my problem. My building wasn’t condemned or anything, just abandoned. Nobody wanted to live this close to vampires, werewolves and the old haunted grammar school that was just down a bit. The owner had no choice but to let me live there. I refused to move out because I owned my apartment, and he couldn’t sell the building if I wouldn’t move. We had come to an understanding that I could stay but he wouldn’t pay money for the upkeep of the building that had no other people in it. So when part of the third floor staircase had collapsed it just got left that way. He might be delighted at the offer to rent the lower space, as he would finally be getting an income from the building. The ground floor windows were boarded up. They’d have to come down, and the outside would need as much cleaning up as I could manage to make it comfortable enough for visitors. I would put calling the owner on my “to do” list. I headed inside, taking and kicking the elevator (at the appropriate floor) to my floor. I opened the door, yawning as I went inside, and saw the flick of a gray tail from the armchair. “Nancy?” You know anyone else who’s furry?Her voice came into my brain and for the first time I could remember it didn’t hurt; in fact it was almost effortless.Where’s Mister Scrummy? I shut the door behind me and took my coat off, hanging it on the peg next to the door. “If you’re referring to Magnus, he went home.” That’s a shame, he’s so... I got a flash from her of an image of him, shirtless, stripping the wallpaper in the spare room. Nancy had sat on the bed watching him work. “Remind me when you’re human again to kick your butt for ogling my boyfriend.” By the time I’m human again, you’ll have forgotten all about it. “You’ve not got much longer.” Two years, six months and three days, if today is Thursday. I lose track of things like days. I walked around to look into the arm chair. Nancy was stretching digging her claws into the upholstery. “Nancy! Claws!”

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Mmm, sorry. Sort of just happens when I wake up and stretch. I’m still so tired. It takes so much energy running around on all fours. How about some grub? I went to the cupboard and rattled around till I found a can of tuna fish. I mixed it with mayonnaise and threw in some croutons for crunch. Nancy hopped up on the counter as I slid the dish towards her. I didn’t make her eat it off the floor, although I would for an actual cat. Mealtimes were humiliating enough for Nancy. Mmm, tuna. When I am human again, I will never eat tuna again. “It’s the best I can do, Nance. You refused to have the cat food. Y’know, it’s nearly as good as human food now.” You eat it then. She started munching on the tuna, doing her best to look gracious. I looked for her saucer. “How about something to drink then?” I’ll have a beer. I ignored her and poured some single cream onto the saucer. She gave me a look out of her Persian face that said volumes, but she licked at it gently with her tiny pink tongue. I stroked my fingers through her fur. She pulled back from me. What are you doing? “Your fur is going to get matted unless you let my brush you. Y’know, it’s always struck me as funny that your fur’s gray. I mean, you’re a redhead; I’d have thought you’d be a ginger cat.” Maybe it’s part of the punishment, to be so colorless. No more petting. I am not a cat. I arched an eyebrow at her. Mentally I am not a cat. I smiled at her correction and rubbed her ears despite what she said. I was getting distracted. I pushed away from the side and went into my bedroom. I had made detailed notes about the spell I was going to do—it was tucked into my red notebook from a couple of terms ago. I went to my bookshelf and pulled out the red notebook. The spell wasn’t there. “Hmm, maybe I put it in a different one.” I started looking through all my old notebooks, growing more and more frustrated as I searched and couldn’t find it. I slammed the last one down on the floor with an angry growl. What’s going on in there? “Have you seen my copy of that ‘resting place’ spell?”

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Nope. What do you need it for? It’s too late for spells now—it’s just about switching time. I looked at the clock; it was later than I’d thought. How long had I been out with the police? The amulets in the corners of the room glowed bright red and my body trembled. “Great! Just bloody great!” I kicked the notebooks on the floor and stomped back into the kitchen. Nancy was licking her paws and preening. What I wouldn’t give to be able to have a real bath. I grumbled, grabbed a beer from the fridge and sucked on it, only slightly teasing Nancy. Geez, moody bitch. If you need that spell so badly, I have it in my affects in your basement. What do you need it for? I went to my coat, pulled out the little bundle and unwrapped it on the counter in front of her. She sniffed it. Smells like bleach. That’s a human toe. Even I’ve never been that bad, to disturb a grave. “So you’re not counting the corpse of that collie you reanimated?” Pet cemeteries don’t count, and that was just funny. “And I didn’t disturb a grave. I stole it from the forensics lab at the cop shop.” Nancy’s yellow cat eyes went wide. Cassandra, you’re such a bad girl! She gave me the cat approximation of a smile and started preening again. **** The basement was dark. I used my torch to light the way. Once you went past the laundry room it was storage cages. One for each apartment, ten altogether. I noted most contained your run of the mill things, kid’s bicycles, old pieces of furniture, and one held a classic Harley Davidson motorcycle that was someone’s restoration project. My space was mostly crammed with boxes. Mum had put all my dad’s stuff down here when he died, and I’d put all her stuff down here when she passed. When Nancy became a cat, everything she couldn’t bear to part with I moved here; we sold everything else. The money was sitting in a savings account, gaining interest, for her to have when she became human again. The wire metal cages were fitted with a combination lock for security. I hadn’t been down here in some time, so it took me a while to remember the combination. I spun the digits around and shined the torch into the dark space as I pulled the cage door open. I heard the slow drip, drip of water and pointed the light towards the ceiling. One of the pipes was leaking right onto a stack of my mother’s boxes. “Shit.” I put the end of the torch in my mouth and shoved the boxes, pushing them away from the pipe. They moved enough that it now dripped on the floor. The top box was completely soaked. When I pulled at the flaps, they came away like wet tissue paper composting to mulch in my hand.

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“Yuck!” I flicked the mess onto the concrete floor and started pulling things out of the box, trying to fit them into others. I rested an old wooden miniature chest on top of some boxes while I scrambled to get bits of paper out from the sodden box. They were old paintings I’d done in primary school. Nancy leaped up onto a box next to me; I jumped, knocking into the pile of boxes on the other side of me. Before I could grab it, the wooden chest fell back off and behind some other boxes. I heard a deafening crack as it hit the floor. “Damn it, Nancy! Meow or something before you do that.” I bent down, trying to reach through the boxes to get the chest, but my fingers barely grazed it. I gave up; it would have to stay there till I could sort all this stuff out. Another thing on my ever growing “to do” list. This stuff isn’t mine. Nancy was pawing at some of the bits I’d removed from the soggy box. “It’s my mom’s,” I said, flashing the torch light over the pipe so Nancy could see it. “It got leaked on.” I added calling the building super on this side to have him get a plumber into fix it to my list. Jeez, she kept a lot of junk. “My mom was like that. Every little thing was precious.” On top of the pile was an ashtray made from my handprint in some clay. It had “Cassie, aged 6” scrawled on the bottom. I didn’t know why I had made it; my mom had never smoked, but I suppose it could have been used for other things too. I ran my fingers over the small handprint and remembered what I had come down here for. “Do you have any idea which box it’s in?” I asked Nancy while I assessed the pile of boxes that were marked with her name in red. You packed them, not me. It’s a slate-covered notebook, pentagram and vines on the cover. I opened the first box and started rooting around. It was mostly clothes; one, a zip-up leather vest, required further examination. I held it up to her. Mmm, I remember that top. One of my favorites—looks cracking on. She sighed a catty sigh. I miss clothes. I miss my boobs. I chuckled at her and put the top carefully back into the box. I pushed it over and started in on the box below. This one was full of old books and papers. The notebook Nancy had mentioned was right at the bottom. I pulled it out, showed it to her and she nodded to confirm it. Now let’s get out of here. It smells. I locked up after us and headed back to where we could take the elevator back up to my apartment. The little light on the answer machine was blinking when I got back in. I had the spell but there was no point in rushing. I couldn’t do it till it was dark again and I was back on the other side. I hit the play button.

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“Miss Farbanks, this is Lance, from Dante’s Inferno. Just a courtesy reminder call that your presence is required tonight at five thirty p.m.” I grumbled. I should have sorted this mess already, but I hadn’t. What would it take? An hour tops. Get in, save Aram, get out and go do the spell. It went to the top of my list.

Chapter Thirty-One Dante’s looked daunting at this time of night. The sun was barely down, shadows littered the surface of the building and none of the exterior lights were on. The sign looked horribly lifeless. I hefted my bag up higher on my shoulder and stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the blood-red doors. Whoever had decided to paint them that color had not thought how macabre that would look as the entrance to a vampire nightclub; or perhaps they had. They were closed too. I took the steps slowly, looking for the eyes I felt on me. I kept trying to tell myself that this was no big deal. There was going to be no trial. I had a way to stop it. There was no security outside, so I decided I had to knock. I made two quick, hard raps on the door. If someone was close by they would have heard that. I waited for someone to come and answer the door. Slowly it opened outwards and a head poked out. This was a face I knew. His name was CJ; he was one of the day guards. I guessed he hadn’t clocked off yet. He looked at me with a sad smile on his face. “Hello, Miss Cassandra,” he said and pushed the door open farther, indicating that I should slide in past him. I did and stood in the dimly lit foyer. The coat check girl was sitting in her booth, polishing a little sign that informed you that holy items were forbidden past this point. She kept her eyes down as CJ walked me past her. We headed under the staircase and around onto the main dance floor. All the vampires of the kiss were gathered, some around the edges of the dance floor, some looking down from the second floor bridge that overlooked it. Jareth was sitting in his throne at the back of the floor and Aram, instead of standing by his side, sat in another chair at the bottom of the throne’s platform. There were silver manacles around his wrists and he looked pale and hungry. They still hadn’t let him feed. I felt sorry for him. I hadn’t known they were going to starve him till the trial. CJ led me to a spot before Jareth and backed away quickly. I took in the eyes of the vampires around me. Some looked at me with dislike; Dusk’s expression was one of pure hatred. Others were looking at me with sympathy, even pity for what Aram had done to me. I dropped my bag to the floor and waited. Did I speak first, or did I have to wait for some kind of proceeding speech? I looked around again and found Sienna standing just to the right of Jareth; he looked vaguely disappointed in me. I could understand why. I had left this so long, it must have looked to him like either I hadn’t been able to find what I needed or I hadn’t been trying. Jareth coughed, and I turned my eyes back to him. He stood slowly so that the importance of his standing was noted, and he raised his arms in gesture. “We gather tonight in sadness, as we must accuse one of our own of breaking our secret trust. Before me stands the offender, accused of drinking without permission, drinking to near death. This is one of our greatest crimes.”

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There was muttering in the galleries. Jareth waved his arms and the entire room was silenced. He stared directly into my eyes. I didn’t drop my gaze; I was not embarrassed. Okay, I was a little embarrassed; everyone was fricking staring at me. It would have been better to say that I was not ashamed. I was not frightened. I was not worried. The lack of any of these emotions, on my face, in my body language, seemed to make Jareth stumble for a minute. He recovered himself without a notable pause. “Before we begin, is there anything you wish to say, Miss Farbanks?” I didn’t like that he was back to addressing me so formally. I still remembered the feel of his arms around me as I had cried over how stupid this all was. I didn’t know what to do. Did I declare myself as Novia? Did I say I wanted to invoke the right? What was the proper way to phrase it? I thought back to what I had been reading, it must have been a couple of days ago now. It was a right—you invoked it. “Shall I take your silence to mean no?” I looked Jareth right in his face and shook my head. I was fighting the urge not to smile; I always smile when I am feeling clever. “No. I was trying to remember how to say something,” I said and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with as much oxygen as I could. “I invoke the right ofNovia.” There was a rumble of voices. Jareth eyes widened, and so did Aram’s from where he sat. He was weak but still had enough power to look shocked. I shot him a glance that told him he had better look less damn shocked if we were going to pull this off. I spared a minute to glance at Sienna, who was the only one smiling at me. Jareth waved his arms again, silencing the chorus of astonished voices. “You and Aram have talked about this?” Jareth asked. He shot a sideways glance at his brother, who had recovered enough to look blank and play along. I took a small step forward. “Yes. “ “And you accept the right, Aram?” He looked at me, and he was too weak to show me even a little of what he was thinking or feeling right at that moment. I was hoping he felt grateful. “I accept.” “If I understand it correctly, that means no trial.” Jareth nodded. There was again a rumble of voices. I scanned all those watching and made a note of the faces who looked disappointed in this outcome. I would remember them; they were the people neither Aram nor I could trust. “She can’t do that,” Dusk wailed, clamping her hand over her mouth too late to stop her words. Jareth fixed her with an icy glare. “You would prefer the trial to go on?” he asked. She shook her head. “Then she can, and you will be silent and remember your place, young one.” Dusk looked embarrassed, although no blood filled her cheeks. She was barely ten years dead and

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some human gestures took longer to get rid of, like turning her head and casting her eyes down. Jareth turned, swishing back his cape. Not many people could pull off a cape, but Jareth always wore his well. “Release Aram and you may all go about your business.” The room was suddenly empty, except for Aram, Jareth and myself. I picked my bag up from the floor and slung it back onto my shoulder. Jareth slumped in his chair, and I at once recognized it as relief. Aram stood, rubbing his wrists from where the silver had bit deeply into them. I took another step forward. “Is that it? Can I go?” Both brothers looked at me like I had gone back in time and slapped their mother. Jareth sat more upright in his chair. “Do you understand what you have asked?” I looked at Jareth and shrugged. “All I understand is that it stops the trial and we can negotiate this in private, but I don’t really have time to do that now. I’ve got work to do where time is of the essence.” Jareth continued to stare at me. I turned to go, then turned back and walked over to Aram. The closer I got the more he didn’t seem as pleased as I had hoped he would. I reached in my bag, pulled out his book and handed it back to him. “There you go, you’re off the hook. Go feed—you look terrible.” He folded his arms, turned his head from me and growled a little. I tilted my head to look round at his face. “What?” “I’m not talking to you!” he proclaimed. I shrugged. “Okay.” He turned his face to look at me, and I waited while his weary eyebrows rose. “Don’t you want to know why?” “No, I trust your judgment.” I turned away from him and started going towards the exit. “I’m mad at you,” he said behind me. I kept walking. “Be as mad as you like, Aram, for as long as you like. You know how to find me when you’re done. Goodnight.” Exit. Stage left. Cassandra has left the building.

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Chapter Thirty-Two I went back to the cathedral. It was a safe, secluded spot from which to do the spell. There was a single squad car waiting there in case the culprit returned to the scene. I’d learned while at the station that the morning before the second set of bones appeared they’d finally stopped watching the site. I showed my temporary pass to the officers in the car and they waved me through. Both of them were attached to Homicide instead of PCU. That was a smart move by Hamilton—maybe he knew I might need to come back here without him, and Rourke would have had the PCU uniforms cause me grief. I walked carefully up the path to the tree near where the first set of bones was found. Both sets had been left here; there had to be a good reason for that. I dropped to my knees on the ground, pulling my bag around my body and pulling out everything I needed. I used a stick to draw symbols into the mud and filled them with salt. I laid the little bundle containing the second skeleton’s toe in the middle and carefully unwrapped it. I’d chosen to use saffron for the spell. I didn’t have a lot of it, but it was a distinct smell, fiery, and would make everything clearer. I made a circle of it around the tissue with the toe bone in it. Putting my back safely against the tree, I started to center myself. A loud crunch like a bough under great stress made me open my eyes and look up. Jacque was in the tree above me, peering down at me and watching the entire setup with suspicion. I sighed and stood up. “What do you want, Jacque?” “What are you doing?” “Magic.” “Oh.” He turned around and dropped to the ground. His knees bent, absorbing the impact, and he turned back to me, casually leaning against the tree. “Do you have to do it here? Leantes and Laverne won’t like it.” I sighed and stood between him and the spell so that he had to look at me instead of it. “How’s Belle?” Jacque beamed at me. His features were human enough for him to pull it off without it looking odd. “Much better. More coherent. She can remember the weapon now, said it was long and silver, like a needle. She remembers getting cut a few times by it before she realized what was happening.” Long and silver, needle like. I let that digest in my brain for a moment. “Did it have a sort of ball, or flat end at the other end?” “Yes, I think she said something like that. Belle’s English is disjointed and my French is, well, rudimentary.” He seemed pleased with his use of such a big word. I rubbed my brows. Belle had been attacked by what sounded like a knitting needle. It was hard to believe something like that could have caused so much damage. “She also said it smelled human, so it might not have been the monster you were talking about.” “Oh, I think it was—just a different kind from the one I was thinking. Did you know another set of bones was found here?” He nodded his head. “We noticed the lights had come back. We had to assume that something new had

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developed, but we stayed out of sight.” “Did any of you see anything?” Jacque shook his head and looked what I assumed was apologetic. I couldn’t believe these people could sneak past eight pairs of eyes and not be detected. I flicked my plait back. “If Belle is better why haven’t you moved on?” “We’re going to, to the ruins outside of town like you suggested. Belle will be okay to move we think tomorrow night. I sort of hoped you’d be back.” “Why?” He scrubbed the back of his head with his hand. “I dunno. You’re okay to talk to, and some of the others are just, well, so old.” I chuckled. “What about your sister?” “She’s a girl.” “I’m a girl.” He looked me up and down and shook his head fervently. “It’s not the same. You’re new and you’re a witch. I’ve never met one before. I mean I didn’t believe you all looked like the one inThe Wizard of Oz,but...” He started to babble and I found myself chuckling even more. His cheeks blazed under his jade skin. I folded my arms. “I thought you didn’t like witches.” “That’s them not me. As I said, I’ve never met one before. You seem nice enough. But they’ve met some real nasty ones from the stories they tell. Humans, especially the ones with power, can do horrible things to our kind.” “Humans, especially the ones with power, can do horrible things to their own kind. No race is perfect.” “The elves?” he asked. I shook my head at him. “Even they have their faults.” “Are you saying that your boyfriend isn’t perfect?” “Well, he’s actually only half elf, but yeah, Magnus isn’t perfect. If he were absolutely perfect then he wouldn’t be a real person. Real people are flawed.” I smiled at him. Everyone had at least one flaw; it was being loved in spite of the flaw that made relationships perfect. God knows I have a lot of flaws, and time was going to tell whether or not Magnus would love me in spite of them. I looked back over my shoulder at the spell I had started. I turned back to Jacque and put my serious face on. “Look. I’ve got to do this spell; it’s very important that I find where these monsters are roosting,

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before anything else can happen to more children.” Especially Zoe. I would be sick to my stomach if something happened to poor, sweet, innocent little Zoe. If Simian didn’t kill them I would. “You can watch if you like, but there isn’t going to be a great deal to see.” He nodded and crouched down next to the tree. I took my place back on my knees in front of the spell and started to center myself again. I felt deep down inside me for the core of my magic only to find it was bigger than I remembered. I’d not gone this deep into myself for a while. I focused; everything was silent and still. Jacques breathing was quieter than even the vampires’. I raised my hands up to begin, and a screech filled the air. I opened my eyes, ready to chastise Jacque, but he was on his feet, looking towards the inside of the cathedral. “What is it?” I asked. “Trouble.” He turned, leaping up into the tree, and climbed to the top so he could see over the wall. He hung upside down and dropped the length of his body down so he was looking upside down at me. “I think you had better come too.” I reached down, snatching up the toe and putting it into my pocket. Then, grabbing my bag, I ran in the direction of the main chamber. The big Laverne stood over something cowering in a dark, shadowy corner. Behind him was the female who’d been sitting under the tower when I had first met them; she was shaking like she had been frightened. I was betting she was the one who’d shrieked. I couldn’t see into the shadow to see what it was Laverne was towering over—his own shadow added to the blackness that was concealing the creature. Jacque dropped down beside me, and I looked up as Leantes glided down, clamping his taloned feet on the edge of the roof. “What is going on?” he asked, instantly looking to me. He was slightly more pleased to see me than he had been last time, but not enough to make his look a friendly one. I put my hands up in front of me to signify I was innocent. I hadn’t done anything. “Leantes,” Jacque said. “Tell Laverne to move back, he’s scaring the boy.” Boy? I turned my eyes back to the shadowy corner while Leantes spoke to Laverne in his own tongue and the lumbering one moved back. With him out of the way, the moonlight streaked over the frightened face of a boy, a face I recognized from seeing his picture. “Adam? Adam Baker?” The boy quivered and stayed in the corner. He was utterly terrified. I realized why—not only was Laverne a big ole gruesome monster, but Adam was deaf and couldn’t understand what was going on. I moved forward and urged Laverne to stand even farther back from him. He went, but not willingly, over to cuddle the woman who had shrieked. I could see why she would. Adam was disheveled and dirty. His feet were bare and he had several bruises and cuts over the parts of his skin that were exposed. I moved closer to him, slowly, gently, hands out in front of me. I wanted him to see that I meant him no harm, that I held nothing, that I understood he was scared and would be as gentle as I could with him. I bent down, lowering to my knees. He turned towards me a little. I was human, and this made his shaking slow. I was wondering if he could lip read. He might be able to, if only a little, so I said his name exaggeratedly. “Ad-am.”

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He nodded slowly. He was able to see his own name on my lips, so that was good. He turned to face me, raising his hands and trying frantically to tell me things in sign. I didn’t know a word in sign language. I reached out my hand slowly and clasped my fingers around his, stopping him. He looked at me and his eyes welled with tears. I mimed a pen and he nodded. I pulled my bag around to the front and rooted inside for a little notepad and pen. I found a blank page and handed him the pen. He scrawled across it, in tiny, perfect cursive. I want my mommy. I laid my palm out flat, and he placed the pen in it. I wrote and wished my handwriting was even a tenth as neat as this young boy’s. I turned the page to him so he could read it. Don’t be afraid. My name is Cassandra. I’ve been looking for you. I’ll take you somewhere safe and you will see your mommy very soon. I promise. He nodded and threw himself into my arms. He cried and I patted his head. He was about the same size as Jack Urquhart, so I was able to lift him up easily. Leantes joined us on the ground, and Adam shuddered in my arms. I stroked his head to try to keep him calm. “I’ve got to take him in to the police. He’s been missing for a long while. I would suggest if you’re going to move, you do it tonight. I can’t guarantee that they won’t come right here and tear this place apart. This is three things in one place.” “We understand,” Leantes said with a bob of his head. I didn’t wait around. I carried Adam out to the squad car and gave the two nodding officers quite a scare.

Chapter Thirty-Three Going to PCU had been a mistake. I knew this as I watched the monitor. Adam Baker sat in the same interview room I’d been in just yesterday. He wore a little child-size white jumpsuit, as his clothes were saturated with evidence. Rourke sat on the opposite side, trying to get him to talk to her. Rourke did not have a way with children, and she kept trying to resort to emotional inflections in her voice, inflections Adam couldn’t hear. She was only making him shrink in on himself—although Rourke was a woman, she frightened him. Heck! At the best of times Rourke frightened me. She was clearly getting nowhere. Rourke had made it clear that I had no power in her squad room when she’d refused to let me into the interview. She was treating this little kid like a suspect, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop her. I was desperately waiting for his parents to show up. A hand with a cup of coffee shot under my nose, and I looked at Ro. She wasn’t smiling as I took it and thanked her. She took a sip of her own coffee. “Poor kid,” she said, starting a conversation. “I understand he’s deaf. Hasn’t Rourke called for a translator?” “I’m beginning to doubt whether she’s called the parents yet,” I said, flipping out my phone. I texted LeBron a quick message:The kid with Rourke is Adam. Call Sherry.Ro watched me do it and then stared at the monitor.

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“Cassandra,” her voice was stern, “I understand how much you are doing to help, so I understand why you took it.” I froze and kept my eyes on my coffee. “You should understand that it’s a very serious crime to remove evidence. I’m not going to report you, but I’d like it back.” I didn’t look at anything but the slightly open palm of the hand at her side. I reached into my pocket and put the little bundle into it. Ro closed her fingers around it. “I’m sorry,” I said, but the apology was weak because I was unrepentant. “If it were Munkey and I could do what you can, I’d probably have done the same thing. But I’m not, so you got to let me do what I do. We won’t speak of it again.” Her hand moved and whacked me around the head before I could duck. I stumbled forward. “Ow!” “That’s for violating my lab,” she said, grinning at me. I rubbed my head, looking abashed. “I thought we weren’t gonna speak about it anymore.” “We’re not, but I gotta say you’re very sneaky. I didn’t notice for two hours and then I spent another checking the floor for it. What were you going to use it for?” “Finding the place of death, but I’m going to have to do it the traditional way. Anything off Adam’s clothes?” I went back to sipping my coffee and watching Rourke’s pathetic attempt to make a connection with him. He kept writing something again and again on a piece of paper, but Rourke either didn’t understand it or was ignoring it. “Red mud, gray dust, some leaves, but it’s all non-specific. It’s the makeup of most of the wooded areas around here. There was one plant, vulparia, found in his hair that was unusual.” I put my coffee down on the table that filled the center of the large room and looked at the board covered with a map, with little pins marking the abduction sites. Black pins marked the two dead. I picked up a pen and drew two straight lines along the outermost locations till they crossed. “It’s more commonly known as wolfsbane.” I tapped the map where the two lines met. Ro moved over and looked at the woodland on the northwest side of the river I was indicating. “The Bane Woods, so named because the plant grows in abundance there. All the abductions are within a couple of miles of this location. An easy enough distance if you’re, say, an old woman.” “I think you might have something there.” “Only thing is getting Rourke to listen.” Ro and I shared a look. “Maybe you should tell her.” I stared at the map; the cathedral was the only real point on this side of the river. Sherry’s neighborhood

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was one of the farther points, but it was on the same bank as the woods. “Cass-and-rah.” I turned to the monitor, hearing my name, if in a very disjointed manner. Adam was speaking, unsure of what he was saying as he couldn’t hear the sounds he was trying to make. “Cass-and-rah.” Adam pounded his little fists down on the table, startling Rourke. I left my coffee where it was and dashed for the interview room, throwing the door open. Rourke glared at me. “Are you trying to traumatize him more?” I yelled at her and walked around to Adam’s side of the table, noticing the paper. My name was written over and over again. Rourke had been ignoring his request, forcing him to speak out loud. Adam placed his hand on my cheek, and I gave him a reassuring smile. I pulled the pad off the table and wrote:Are you alright?He nodded his head. He made a motion to write, and I gave him the pen. Mommy?he wrote, his eyes pleading with me. I took the pen and spoke as I wrote so Rourke could hear me. “She’s on her way.” Rourke stood up, slamming her hands on the table. I rose slowly, resting my hand on the top of Adam’s head. “I was questioning him.” “He’s not a suspect, Rourke, he’s the victim.” “I was trying to find out where he’s been!” “And I noticed how well you were doing with that. He should have a parent present, and you should have called someone to interpret if you were going to proceed without. You can’t just talk louder at him. He’s deaf, not remedial.” “He wouldn’t even write out the story for me; he was being difficult.” “He’s a scared child, Rourke. Back down and let me try, okay?” Rourke threw herself back into her chair and extended her hand as if to say go ahead. I bent back down in front of him. I took the paper and wrote out what it was I wanted him to do. I know she is a bit scary, but she’s a police officer and she means well. She wants our help to find the other children, the ones you were trapped with. Can you write out everything you remember? Your mommy will be so proud of you for being brave and helping us. He nodded, and I rolled over to a fresh sheet so he could start. I stood just behind him, my hands on his shoulders reassuring him as he worked. I read it as he wrote. I was standing in the garden when there was this something in my head, it was sweet and I felt I had to go after it. There was an old lady, she reached out her hand to me and I took it. I shouldn’t have but it was like I couldn’t say no. She led me into the dark, it was dark for a long time and then we came out in another place. There was so much food, cake and candy and there were other kids eating. I thought it was a party. There was something wrong with the other kids, they were like zombies and I wanted to go home. They put us into a pen and the others just sat. They took away the curly haired girl and she didn’t

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come back. One came past us dragging a bag and went through the door we had come through. There were stairs up on the other side of the place we were, they came and went up and down them. I wanted to go home. Each night they would march us out to a table and the others would eat but I didn’t want to, they would go around measuring us while we ate to see who had grown. One came back with another child and they took another away. Yesterday they brought a new one, little and while they were putting her in with us, I ran at the old lady and knocked her over. I yelled at the others to run but they wouldn’t move, so I ran alone. It was dark again and I kept falling over, then I came out of the dark but there were... I squeezed Adam’s shoulder and he looked up at me. I subtly shook my head. He shouldn’t mention Leantes and his people. It would lead to a witch hunt. Adam was a smart boy—he scrubbed out the word were and replaced it with was. ...was no one around. I sat and waited and Cassandra found me. He put the pen down and pushed the pad over to Rourke. She scooped it up and read his account. “A room, the dark, coming out of the dark. Does he expect that to make sense to us?” “He’s a kid, Rourke, what do you expect? He’s not going to be as observant of things as we are. We can gather that he was taken underground, that the room they were kept in is underground. So we are probably looking for a property with a basement.” Rourke gave a gruff response, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she looked through the door I had left open. I turned to look and saw Sherry Baker talking frantically to LeBron. He pointed in our direction; she bustled over, her husband close behind her. When Adam saw his mother, he was out of his chair and threw himself into her arms, crying. She held him, picking him up, kissing his head and leaving imprints of her lipstick on his skin. Vernon embraced them from the other side, and Adam hugged tight to both his parents. Sherry relinquished him to his father’s arms, and Sherry turned to face me. Her eyes were wet and shiny as she wrapped her arms fiercely around me. “Thank you, Miss Farbanks. You can’t know how much this means. Our little boy is safe, and it’s all because of you.” Rourke coughed, but Sherry was too immersed in hugging and thanking me to notice. Rourke coughed louder. Both of the Bakers turned to look at her. “Ma’am, I am happy for your family, but there are still many other children missing in this case and Adam might know something. We need to keep him a little longer.” Sherry looked at me, and I shrugged my shoulders. Sherry turned to Rourke, and her face was very deathly serious. “Have you been questioning a minor without a guardian or parent present?” Rourke visibly stumbled over her reply. “He might have information regarding the whereabouts of several other missing children. From what he has told us so far, he seems to have been held with them for some time.” “I didn’t ask that,” Sherry said fervently. “I asked if you have been interrogating my son without parental presence and consent.” “I was trying to prevent the death of another child,” she said. Sherry took a step forward and Rourke

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involuntarily took a step back, conceding the weaker will. “I am sorry for those families that have lost their son or daughter, but I am sure that my son would have told you all he knew. My father was a lawyer, detective, so I know you’ve violated my son’s civil rights. We are taking him home and if he remembers anything else, we will be sure to pass the information directly to you.” Sherry turned from Rourke, who was speechless. Sherry did not in any way look as intimidating as she had just been; I’d always seen her as a bit of a timid woman. She took my hands in hers, clamping them together and giving them a little shake. “Thank you again, Miss Farbanks. We appreciate all you’ve done.” I managed a quick “no problem” and watched them turn on their heels and walk out of PCU. Rourke growled and left the interrogation room, slapping the boy’s words and the pad to the floor as she did so. I picked it up and LeBron walked in. “Great job, Cassandra,” he said as if I needed further congratulating. My ego was not in that desperate a need of pandering to, ever. I held the pad in my hands. Adam had seen them bring in Zoe and used it as a distraction to escape. “It’s not over, Michael—there are still all the others.” He nodded solemnly, agreeing with me; there was still far more work to be done tonight. LeBron put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. We walked out into the squad room, and I leapt back as Rourke shoved a smug finger into my face. Ro was standing just behind her. “This,” she said, indicating the information she was about to impart, “is real police work. Dr. Soltaire has found wolfsbane on our victim’s clothes, which she has determined grows in abundance in the woods on the northwest side of the river. All our abductions took place within easy reach of those woods; it’s the best place to start canvassing.” Ro and I shared a look. I said nothing. When those who can hurt you think they are winning, it’s best just to lose with dignity. “I can’t argue with the logic.” Rourke laughed; it was so joyous to her to be able to have one over on me. Ro looked like she wanted to object, but I shook my head and she accepted that. Smart doctor. Rourke brought out another map and started drawing pencil lines over the grids on the map; then she started barking orders. “Hodgeson, call Hamilton, get him to gather as many able bodies as he can. We’re going down to the woods today.” If you go down to the woods today, I thought, the old rhyme coming into my head,you’re in for a big surprise.I hated surprises.

Chapter Thirty-Four I rode in Hamilton’s car, as he was the only one who would agree to take me on the search. Rourke had

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to concede that another pair of eyes and legs to do the work would be helpful. Hamilton was silent on the drive over, and I was thankful for it—he didn’t look like he’d been getting a lot of sleep, and conversation would only have distracted him. When we arrived, the cars were gathered in a loose clustering centered around Rourke’s car. She had a map spread out on the bonnet and held a torch over it. The uniformed officers were splitting into search groups. The Bane Woods was huge, possibly the largest woodland area in town—it stretched far up the river, joining to the greater Worcestershire forestry that covered a large percentage of the countryside. In this world, development hadn’t gone as far; woodlands were more protected, as they tended to keep preternaturals out of the larger towns and cities. Also, although I hated to admit it, this town was a magical hubbub—things were drawn to it, and some of them were not so good. Cutting down on a development kept the population from getting too out of hand. I didn’t think a new house had been built here since the seventies. I got out of the passenger side of Hamilton’s car and let him go ahead of me to join Rourke and organize the joint forces. I took my torch from my bag and made sure the batteries were still all right. The light beam was strong and yellow. I noticed LeBron was standing pretty much to himself and went to join him. “Won’t the other kids let you play?” “They don’t like who I choose to hang out with,” he said, shaking his head like it was all stupid. It was. “Should I apologize?” “No, no, never. They, well, they just need to stop being so member only.” I smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “No cop is supposed to like outside help. Big tough lawmen don’t like us civvies raining all over their parade.” He reached over and flicked the badge that was still attached to my coat lapel. “Not a civvy anymore.” “Cops like other agencies poaching their glory even less.” He checked his own torch; the beam lit a little spot on the floor, and we were both good to go. Hamilton waved to us. We exchanged a look, shrugged and walked over to him. “You two are with me. Come on,” Hamilton said, leading the way to the woods. He produced his own torch and sent the beam off into the dark tangled thicket that lay before us. I brought my torch up and held it shining at the ground. We stood in a line and started walking into the woods. “Stay close together, yell if you see anything,” Hamilton barked. “That self-addressed envelope would sure be good right about now,” LeBron said. I chuckled, and Hamilton told him to keep his mind on task. We walked very slowly, very methodically along the path assigned to our group. God, this was going to take forever. There were miles upon miles of wood ahead, and there was no accounting for the fact that these witches might have a good knowledge of the craft by now—they could easily glamour their home so that we could never find it. Who was to say that Adam’s escape hadn’t meant they just ran and left all the children behind, or worse, killed them all to cover their tracks?

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No, I told myself. I had to think positively. We would find them; we would find them all, okay and well. Zoe was going to be fine. I needed to believe that because the alternative was just too horrible to imagine, and there was no power in the verse that would have stopped me from hunting them to the end of the earth. I would find a way. Nothing makes you more determined than vengeance. It’s sad but it’s true. We searched and searched. Hamilton had a radio; I could hear the squawk of it as we walked along, people reporting in, people finding nothing, people getting spooked by a squirrel but nothing relevant. In the end I was so tired of false findings that I was happy to listen to the static in between and not hear a thing. The trees overhead were a thick canopy tangled together, hiding even traces of moonlight from us. I soon lost track of both Hamilton and LeBron in the darkness. It was only the sound of the radio that let me know where Hamilton was in proximity to me as I walked. I didn’t know whether LeBron, who was walking on the other side of him, was keeping up with our pace or was striding ahead or even lagging behind. I remembered what he said about his ankle playing up if he walked too far; I wouldn’t begrudge him for going slow or even needing to rest every so often. I kept my light trained on the ground, holding it like I’d seen cops do on TV show likeCSI. I scanned the forest floor, stepping over roots and trying not to spook either of the boys by snapping any twigs. We must have walked about a mile when Hamilton’s radio blared to life again. “D.I. Hamilton, I think I’ve found something!” It was LeBron’s voice clear as day over the radio. I turned my light to my left and lit up a side profile of Hamilton as he brought the radio up close to his face, jamming down the button on the side. “What is it, Officer LeBron?” He released the button and we waited. Static. “It looks like a kid’s shoe. I could use some more light.” I walked over to Hamilton’s side, and he jammed down the button again. “We’ll be right over to you. Everyone else keep searching, don’t break your pattern.” Hamilton signaled me with a wave of his arm to follow him. He walked slower, either from tiredness or so that I could keep up. Our torch beams merged to create a greater light as we wove through the trees, looking for LeBron. He stood in a small clearing; he was waving his hands over his head, his torch beam whipping back and forth with the movement. It helped us to find him. “Found something?” I asked him. He nodded at me and pointed his flash beam to an object lying on the ground a few feet away from us. We used all three of our beams to make the object clearer and crouched down really close to it. It was a small pink sparkly trainer with a rainbow Velcro strap for a fastening. It was so eerily familiar that it sent a cold chill rolling up my spine. Hamilton plucked it from the ground and turned it over in his hands. There was a name scrawled inside in biro, but it was so blanched from wear that it was hard to make out. “Is that an F?” Hamilton asked, turning the shoe so that I could see the inside. I stared at the lettering. LeBron re-angled his torch and I could read the name more clearly. “It’s a J. Jessica Cairns.” He looked at the name in the new angle of light and let out a deep breath. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He put the shoe back down where he’d found it. He rose to his feet to use

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the radio and stopped. His torch beam glinted off something else. He trained the light more solidly in the direction of the glint. I turned slowly on my heels, still crouched down, and joined my beam to his again. There was something else there in the dark. “What is that?” I asked him. He shrugged his shoulders and started walking towards it. I rose to my feet, joining him. It was more clothes. From the looks of it they belonged to several children. We started to sort through them, and after about the first four items the clothes were much older—they looked like they might date back to the turn of the century. “What do you make of this? I mean, these clothes look Victorian,” Hamilton said, riffling through the pile. It looked like they had been dumped into a shallow, badly dug hole. I shook my head, looking at them; they all belonged to small children. “I think this means they’ve been here before, before things like computer records and searches.” “That might be to our advantage,” he said, dusting his hands down on his trousers. “If they haven’t kept up with the times, that boy escaping might not bother them. They might not understand how close to them we are.” The radio blared to life, making us both startle. It was LeBron again; he sounded breathless and scared. “I think I’ve got a body, sir. It looks like a baby. It’s stuffed in between a couple of tree roots so it’s hard to tell.” Hamilton and I looked each other in the face and leapt to our feet, running back to where we had left LeBron, and used our lights to search for him in the darkness. He was further on and a little to the left of where we had been examining the clothes. Hamilton clapped LeBron on the shoulder and moved him off to one side to try to help him calm down a little. I shone my light at the tree directly in front of us, starting at the top and dropping the light slowly down, trying to mentally prepare myself for what I was going to see. Nestled, almost lovingly, between the roots of the tree was a tiny unmoving form. It was pink and nude, lying partially covered by leaves so all that really showed of it was its head and an arm. The arm was stiff like it was reaching out to you. The eyes were open and looking at me; the light gleamed off them. That was wrong. Human eyes didn’t reflect a beam like that. I started to move closer to it, careful that I didn’t disturb anything. When I got near the tree, I bent down carefully so I could get a closer look. I was almost sure that it wasn’t a baby now. It was a doll. An old doll, with all the hair pulled out and those glass eyes that would roll back into the head when it was tilted upside down. I remembered Sophie describing it to the nice officer in Missing Persons. It was Zoe’s doll. “You guys can relax; it’s just a little dolly.” I carefully pulled it out of the roots by the outstretched hand. I carried it over so Hamilton and LeBron could get a better look at it. LeBron was visibly relieved. “It’s Zoe’s,” I said quietly, meaning it to be to myself, but only Hamilton understood what I had meant. He slid an arm around my shoulders in a half hug. I shrugged it off. I didn’t need comforting—nothing had happened to Zoe, not yet, and I wasn’t going to let it. I looked Hamilton in the face with grim determination on mine. “Does this mean they’re close?” “It depends on how far they’re prepared to walk to dump evidence. They went all the way across the river to dispose of the bones.”

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That fact was still bothering me. Here we were searching the woods, but both the bodies had been dumped at the cathedral. I had found Adam at the cathedral. There had to be some connection. We were going about this the wrong way. We were doing this the police way. We needed to do this my way. “Keep searching,” I said, turning back the way we had come, “I’m going to try something else. I need to borrow LeBron.” Hamilton looked shocked but he didn’t ask questions; he signaled for LeBron to follow me, and we ran for the cars. We’d walked quite far into the woods, so it took nearly half an hour to get back to LeBron’s squad car. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, jangling them as I skidded to a stop at the passenger side. Moments later we were in the car and he was pulling away. “Where are we going?” “We’re going to the Bakers’. I think Adam can still help.” LeBron slowed his speed and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Sherry pretty much made it clear that she didn’t want him to talk to the police anymore.” “No offense, LeBron, but I’m not the police. I’m me and I need to do things my way. I need to find the connection, and it’s got to be somewhere in Adam’s memory. He said he was in the dark. He was taken during the day; if he went through the woods he would have noticed that. I think he was taken there underground.” LeBron drove the rest of the way in silence. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable with disturbing the Bakers again this evening—they were supposed to be friends of his family. He pulled up behind their Vauxhall on the drive. There was still a light on in the downstairs window. “You can sit in the car if you want. I won’t make you do this with me.” “No, I’m coming with; I know which horse I’ve backed.” He gave me a brief, tired smile. I wasn’t sure that I enjoyed being compared to a horse, but I had no time to argue the finer points of LeBron’s choice of phrases. I walked to the front door, LeBron was standing a little behind me as I rang the bell. One long, sharp dong sounded through the house. The curtains flickered in the window and a few seconds later the front door opened. Sherry stood there; she was wearing a pair of blue fuzzy slippers and looked like she had settled in for a normal evening at home. “Miss Farbanks?” She looked over my shoulder. LeBron inclined his head in greeting. “Michael. What are you doing here so late?” “I’m sorry to do this to you, Sherry, but I must speak to Adam.” Sherry looked at me for a long minute, judging the look on my face; she stood aside and let us pass into the house. She closed the door, and I saw Vernon had peeked his head out from the lounge. He didn’t seem too pleased that his wife had let us in. I bet he was hoping he had seen the last of me. His crisis of faith was apparently over. He was a true believer once more, and I was a blaspheming witch in communion with some devil. Prepare the ducking stool! I turned to his wife and ignored him completely. Sherry was back to being mild mannered and a tad shy.

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“He’s asleep,” she said quietly. “Then we’ll have to wake him. I’m sorry to do this, but it’s vitally important, and I think Adam would like the chance to help those other children.” “He told you all he knows,” she complained. I shook my head at her. “He told me all heremembers,not all he saw and definitely not all he knows. I’m going to use a little magic and try to see what he saw as he was escaping. We’re searching the woods north of here as we speak, but it’s taking too long. Please.” Sherry exchanged a long look with her husband before she turned to the stairs and started walking up. LeBron and I followed along behind. She turned on the upper hallway light and led us down to the end, where a plaque on the door announced that it was Adam’s room. Carefully she opened the door, peering into the dark. She turned on the bedroom light and pushed the door wide open. Adam was sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. He looked at the door and starting signing to his mother. Sherry spoke aloud for our benefit while signing to her son. “Miss Farbanks is here. She would like to talk to you again.” Adam made some quick movements with his hands. “No, she’s not found the other children yet, but she is hoping that you will help her there.” She turned around to me. I’d stopped in the doorway, and LeBron was hovering in the hallway behind me. She waved me forward. “You can have ten minutes. After that, I must insist he be allowed to get some sleep.” I nodded and walked around her to sit on the edge of his bed. Adam gave me a little wave and I gave him one back. He was a sweet boy. I looked at Sherry. “Can you explain it to him as I explain it to you?” She nodded, and I turned to look at Adam. “You know that I’m a witch and I use magic to help people.” Adam’s eyes were on what his mother was telling him, but his nod was for me. “Well, I’m going to use a little of that now, to try and see through your memory. We see more than we can consciously recall. So there might be something important in your head that you just can’t remember. I need you to hold very still and think about where you were and how you escaped. Can you do that for me?” Adam nodded again. I smiled at him. Good boy; if I had a cookie I’d give it to you. He sat very still. I placed my hands, palms flat, against his skull and pressed my forehead to his. “Close your eyes.” Adam closed his eyes very tightly. I concentrated power into my mind, into my hands, into forging a connection with his mind. “Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory, she who see’s all that has been, let me see what has past, let me see memory.” I was suddenly eight-year-old Adam Baker, sitting in the corner of a pen looking at the other children. They were in a trance, and the door was opening. A new little girl was being pushed inside; she was a

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little more awake than the others, but she would soon be like them too. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I got to my feet and ran at the woman. She fell back, surprised by my attack. I looked back, but no one got up to follow me, not even the new girl. I looked to the stairs and ran for the curtained exit near the pen. It was dark, very dark, but I kept running. I fell over and felt water and mud under my hands. I scrambled along, trying to find my way. The path kept changing and dividing, two rights and a left. I was somewhere that smelled moldy, and it was much wetter here; I slipped in the mud again and again, and the bank was steep and slippery to climb. There was light coming from up ahead, not a lot but I walked towards it. I was in a stone place, with columns supporting the ceiling and what looked like a tomb, still underground. There were stairs that went up, so I took them, and finally there was moonlight. I was in the cathedral now. I broke away from Adam’s mind and I was me again. I opened my eyes and pulled my hands back from Adam. He swayed a little and I caught him. Sherry moved over, panicking. Adam let out a rather loud little snore, and I helped her tuck him back into his bed. “He’s exhausted; he needs some rest. I’m sorry we had to wake him, but he was very helpful.” I let Sherry fuss over her son and led LeBron down and out of the house. He was buzzing with curiosity as we got back into the car. “What did you see?” “There is a tunnel under the cathedral; it leads right into the place where they’re keeping the children.” “I guess I know where you want to go next.” Off we drove.

Chapter Thirty-Five We were back at the cathedral again. It was the point of convergence for several different factors in this case, and now we knew why. Underneath this ruined structure was a section of tunnels dug right into the wet earth; they’d probably been there for years, and no one had ever known about them. It was a tribute to this town, this darker version of the Worcester I had grown up in, that there were hidden depths, surprises buried under the soil itself. I had LeBron call Hamilton on his mobile. I didn’t want this broadcast over the radio so that everyone could hear it—Rourke would be so far up my ass so fast, and she would take this lead away from me. She was still as desperate as ever to get out of the career dead end that was PCU, if you were higher-ranking brass. For officers assigned to the unit there was still the possibility of transfer. Rourke and Benjamin were stuck till they proved they should be reassigned, either due to being unsuitable to the job, which was Benjamin’s aim, or through outstanding achievement, which was Rourke’s angle. They would go together if Rourke’s way worked—Benjamin was her D.S., her wing man, as it were—but if Benjamin got his way, Rourke would let him float. He would be totally on his own, but I wasn’t sure he knew that. In fact, I was sure he thought Rourke would have his back. I was always surprised that Benjamin got on so well with her as she was a woman and his boss. But to each their own, as they say. LeBron held his phone out to me. “The detective inspector would like to talk to you,” he said and he sounded tired, like he’d had been

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arguing a point with his superior and had to cave because he was just that, his superior. I took the phone and put it to my ear. “Yes?” “Cassandra, I don’t want you going into this tunnel alone.” “I’m not going in alone; I fully intend to take LeBron with me.” “I want you to wait till I can send you some more bodies to go in with you.” “No.” “Why?” He sounded like he was on the cusp, moving from fearful to annoyed. “Two reasons. The first being that I want Rourke to stay where she is. You call for backup for me and she’ll know I’ve left the woods. Second is I don’t know how stable these tunnels are—too many people down there and we could have a cave-in. I’m not willing to risk other people’s lives.” “What about LeBron?” he countered. I sighed long and deep. “I explained the risks to him; he’s a big boy and can take care of himself. He wants to go, he’s not coming ’cause he’s been ordered to.” “Cassandra! I don’t like this at all, I think...” “What was that? I’m losing you. The signal’s going,” I said, moving the phone away from me as I spoke, and I clicked the button to hang up. I threw it back to LeBron. He looked at me like I had not just done what he thought I had. The phone started ringing again and again in his hands. I pulled out my phone and turned it off. “Turn that off and let’s get going.” I headed for the place where I had managed to get into the old structure before, hoping that Leantes and his people had had the time to get out. I don’t know how LeBron would react to gargoyles. He was coming over to the fair treatment side of dealing with the preternatural world; I didn’t want to frighten him. The last thing I needed was him running off like a spooked gibbon. I patted my bag—while LeBron had been making the call, I had rummaged around in the boot of his squad car, raiding his emergency kit and removing the flare gun. I wasn’t going to be a glory hog, no siree; I was not one for having the odds against me. I would take this route without help exactly for the reasons I had said, but it didn’t mean once we got where we were going that I wouldn’t send out an invite to the party. I just wanted to be the one to get it started. As we went along, I started humming that song by Pink, to many strange looks from LeBron. Once we were inside the stone structure we had to turn our torches on and LeBron let me lead, mainly because I was the one who knew where we were going. He jumped at the faceless angel as I had, and we helped each other up the step into the main part of the cathedral. It was empty, but I did a quick sweep of the roof just to be sure. If any of them were still here, there was no sign of them. LeBron shone his torch over the blocked stairwell and kicked one of the looser stones. “We’re not getting down this one.” “There’s another one on the other side—it’s clear all the way down to the crypt.”

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“Isn’t it supposed to be the tomb of King John or something down there?” I shrugged. I knew it was on my side, but I didn’t think it would still be here on this side; I was sure some well-meaning Arch Deacon would have dug him up and moved him when the cathedral became an official ruin. It wouldn’t be very nice of them to leave him down there, whether he was a particularly liked king or not. The archway was clear and the steps down were largely intact, but we took them carefully—the last thing we needed was for one of us to be taken out of action by not looking where we were going. It was pretty dark in the crypt so we kept close. “Did Adam give any indication as to where the tunnel started?” LeBron kept his voice low like he was worried that he would be overheard. “It seemed like it was fairly close to where we came down.” I wound my way around a few of the columns, shining my light on the wall. There was a darker patch where it seemed all the brickwork had been pushed away. I shone my light inside, and I saw the red-brown earth wherever the light touched. “This is it.” I stepped inside, and the ground was a little soft underfoot. I was happy to be wearing my Nikes; my boots would have been completely ruined by the slosh. LeBron gave an audible groan as he felt his feet slosh into the mud. He shone the light ahead of us, lighting the tunnel that went straight before us. He unsnapped his gun, and this time he took the lead because he was the one armed. I would have reminded him I was just as good as a gun, but I knew better than to use magic in unknown spaces. The scar on my side ached with the reminder. We walked slowly along the tunnel. I closed my eyes and was recalling Adam’s memories that I had shared; they were fading in my own memory. I opened my eyes and LeBron had vanished. I took a tentative step forward and looked down the deep embankment. LeBron was sitting at the bottom, mud slicked down his back and his torch in his lap. “What you doing down there?” “Thinkin’.” ‘Well that’s not a good sign, is it?” He looked back at me and wrinkled his nose, annoyed. I moved to the wall and, using it to keep my balance, slid down to the bottom to join him. I offered him a hand up. He took it, and with some slipping and sliding we managed to get him back to his feet. He was muddy though. “You could have warned me that was coming!” he said, wiping his muddy hands on his trousers; they were already ruined, so I found it funny when he pulled a face at having dirty red hand marks on them. “I’d forgotten about it. I was just trying to remember which way we have to go.” I turned my torch back to the tunnel while he bent down to pick his up from the ground. I started forward, and something wet slapped me on the head and dribbled down my face. I raised the torch to look above me. The mud was dripping water down on me—it was seeping through. “We must be under the river,” I said, and LeBron shone his light above us as well. Water dripped and splashed down on the end of it. He shone it around the walls. “There are no supports; it looks like it’s been carved out straight into the mud. How is it staying up?”

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“The red color in the soil is clay—this top layer’s gotten wet from the water coming in from above, but underneath it’s more solid, like someone hardened it with a blow torch or fire magic.” “Doesn’t sound like it’s all that safe down here.” I turned to face him. “If you want to go back I can give you a boost back up the slope.” I grinned at him, knowing my voice held a hint of sarcasm. He turned his light forward and motioned, with a slightly annoyed face, for me to continue walking. It was slippery for a few meters while we crossed under the Severyn and much drier as we came out on the other side. The tunnel split here. LeBron shone his torch down each way; they were both identical. I closed my eyes, bringing up the run through these tunnels. “Which way do we go?” LeBron asked, and without opening my eyes I raised my hand and pointed to the left tunnel. “That way.” I opened my eyes and we took the left tunnel. The tunnel was just wide enough for LeBron and me to walk abreast of each other—that way neither of us was leading. LeBron kept turning to flash his light behind us and make sure we weren’t being snuck up on. We reached another intersection where the tunnel forked again; the left-hand path was caved in. LeBron shone his light over the debris in the tunnel’s mouth. “Good thing we wanted to go right anyway,” I said, turning into the right tunnel and moving on. This tunnel was a little smaller, so we were forced to walk single file. LeBron stayed behind me, watching our backs while I watched for danger coming head-on. There was no noise inside the tunnel; this one seemed to stretch a really long way, and every now and again I would trip over a root that had burst through the walls. LeBron was examining the path carefully. There were plants growing out of the soil. “We must be under the woods now,” he surmised and I had to agree with him. Somewhere above our heads were the others searching the forest floor. We came to another fork, and I went right without even discussing the matter. This tunnel wasn’t as long as the ones we had come through before. I could see a light at the other end. I leaned back pressing a hand to LeBron’s chest, and made him back up to the intersection. I snapped my light off and he did the same. “Lean around the corner and look down to the end.” LeBron must have leaned around and seen the light because he was trembling as he gripped my shoulder, with excitement, I think. “We’ve found them?” I nodded in the darkness and froze. I could hear other feet slopping in the mud, coming towards us. I grabbed LeBron by the wrist and pulled him into the left tunnel. I flattened our backs against the wall. “What’s the matter?” I raised my hand and put it over his mouth. I put my finger to my lips and hissed a “shhh” at him. A light came bouncing towards us. I wished I had something heavy, like a bat or a tree branch. If this was one of them, I wanted to be able to club her over the head before she could warn the others we were coming. I’d have to settle for a sucker punch. I balled my hands into fists. The figure came into view, and I launched myself at it.

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Hamilton grabbed me by my upper arms and had me pinned to the wall before I could do anything to him. The man had great reflexes; he shined his light in my face. “Hamilton?” He released me when we each realized who the other was. I rubbed my upper arms, feeling the blood pouring back into them once he had released his fierce grip. “How did you get down here?” “The same way you did. Where is LeBron?” I leaned around into the left tunnel, and Hamilton shone his light around my head. LeBron stood ready with his gun pointed. He relaxed when he saw the owner of the torch. Hamilton snapped his light off, following our example, and I got him to look around into the right tunnel. “We must have walked for ages,” Hamilton said as we huddled in a group. “We must be back under the woods, right?” I nodded. “Did you come down here after us because you were worried?” I didn’t need the torch to know that Hamilton was embarrassed by the tone of my voice. He coughed quietly and straightened his back. “Safety in numbers. I grabbed a couple of uniforms, and they’re waiting at the other end in case anything tries to come out that way.” I nodded, approving of his plan, and took a step into the right tunnel. Hamilton was behind me and LeBron was guarding the rear. The end of the tunnel seemed to be covered only by a piece of drapery, simple and of a dark color to match the rest of the tunnel. Light was peering out from around the edges, which were frayed and old. I crouched down when I got closer and crab walked to the very edge of the light. Hamilton copied me, signaling for LeBron to stop about half way up the tunnel. He was going to make sure nothing snuck up on us. I reached out carefully, lifting up the corner of the cloth, and looked into the room beyond. One side of the basement room was entirely an oversized chicken coup, made of slats of wood wrapped in chicken wire, and in it sat eight children. I scanned their faces and found Zoe; she was sitting closest to me but she was staring into space, swaying slightly like she was listening to music. All the children were swaying slightly. I didn’t call out to her; I checked the rest of the room first. There was a large table and around it were eight little chairs just right for children to sit in. In the center of the table sat an ornate music box with the lid was up. And although I could hear no sound, I knew that was the source of the music the children could hear. Then I saw the old woman. She looked ancient, pale faced and wrinkled. Her white hair was stringy and flowed out from her face in all directions. Her nose was long and curved. She was dressed like a harmless little old lady but the clothes looked old-fashioned, like sixteenth century old-fashioned, and she had a cotton candy pink shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders. She was sitting in a rocking chair in the corner and appeared to be asleep. Next to her, across from the table in the middle of the right-hand wall, were stairs leading up. I let the flap fall back into place. “So,” Hamilton said, his voice barely above a whisper. I leaned into him; he put a hand on my hip to steady me and didn’t look at all unpleased to have it there.

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“I can count eight children, which is about right if we discount Adam and the two dead. They are in a cage on the left side. There’s a box on the table to the right and one of the kidnappers is in the corner behind it, but she appears to be asleep. The stairs leading up are right next to her.” Hamilton reached for his radio, and I stopped him. “We need backup,” he said sternly. “I’m not disputing that, but we don’t know our location. We could be half a mile from the nearest of our search groups and she might hear us using the radio. One of us needs to sneak up the stairs and use this.” I reached into my bag and produced the flare gun. He lifted the edge of the curtain so some light shone on it and he could see what I was showing him. He nodded and took it from me. “I’ll do that,” he said and tucked it into the belt of his trousers. I touched his shoulder, gently squeezing it. “I’ve guessed there might be three of them, but I can’t know for sure. If you go up those stairs, then I don’t know what you’ll encounter.” “It’s all right. I think I can handle a couple of little old ladies, Cassandra.” Of course, how silly of me. Physically he was every bit of a match for them, but if they were powerful witches, he could be struck dead before he even got a blow in. I didn’t tell him that; I wanted him to be brave. He pulled back the curtain and crept into the room. I let the drape rest for a second and then lifted it to follow. Hamilton crouched next to the table and moved around it slowly; the old woman was snoring. He slipped up to the wall, slowly rose to his feet and shimmied around the corner onto the stairs. He was on his own now, and so was I. I crab-walked to the cage, and I could just reach in to poke Zoe on the shoulder. Her little head turned to look at me, but she showed no sign of recollection. “Zoe, it’s Cassandra. ZoZo,” I said but got no reaction whatsoever. I looked at the box on the table. It was small enough to be carried, blue with a golden trim. I took a step towards it and peered over the table; the old woman was still sleeping in her chair. I rose up and looked into the box. It was a metal roll, and it turned in the box. The bumps on it were the notes, but it played without the needle reading it. I reached up, taking the lid in my hands, and slowly lowered the lid. It touched down with a gentle clink. I went back to Zoe and poked her again. This time when she turned to look at me, she grinned and her eyes filled with life. I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh, ZoZo, quiet. Poke the others, it’s time for everyone to go home.” Zoe was such a smart girl. She copied my finger to my lips and quietly got up from where she was sitting and poked the boy near her. He woke up, and she repeated the action of the finger to her lips before moving to the next one. I slid across the floor to where the door was. It was padlocked, a heavy duty metal lock. One tiny touch and I knew it was guarded against magical interference. Damn it, I was going to need a key. The children gathered close to the door. “Where is the key?” I asked in a whisper, but the children were silent, and I watched as a shadow fell over all of us.

Chapter Thirty-Six

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I spun around, my back against the door, and looked up at the gnarled old woman leaning over me. I swallowed hard. Her eyes were a beady black color, and she stared down at me half asleep, not sure she was seeing me there. Her wrinkled lips stretched into a smile; her teeth were misshapen and her breath stank. “What have we here then?” Her voice was higher than I would have imagined, nasal and almost melodic in a creepy way. She sounded a teeny bit like her claw-like nose was blocked. What did I do? Did I try to stand up? I was sure that I was taller than her even in myNikes. Or did I try to leap away, come back around for an attack? I decided to leap to my left. Her hand shot out and wrapped itself around my braid; I was yanked back onto my knees, and I screamed at the feel of her pulling on it. She was stronger than she looked. She tugged till I had no choice but to lean my head back to look at her. She licked her thin, ugly lips. “I normally like my meat younger than you, my dear, but you do look so tasty.” I struggled with her grip, twisting my body, taking my braid in my own hands and trying to pull it from her grasp. She gave it a little jiggle and laughed at me. Her beady eyes were aimed at my throat like she was thinking about ripping it out with her teeth. I rolled onto my ass, brought my foot up and kicked her as hard as I could manage in the kneecap. She screamed, letting go of my head and grabbing at her dislocated knee. I scuffled backwards, trying to get to my feet. She clicked her knee back into place with a whine and a growl. She looked at me, fueled by anger, and I put the table between us. She drew out a long silver knitting needle. Wielding it like a dagger, she slashed at the air between us, and I dodged back. Her walk was slower now, labored, as her newly set knee complained about the movement. We both froze as there was a great whooshing sound from above us. The flare punched through the roof and exploded in the sky above. I brought my eyes back to the old woman, who was closer now than I remembered, and she lunged at me. There was only a small amount of room to dodge; I missed the needle by inches but smacked my spine into the table. I yowled with the pain and she was on me. She wrapped a wizened, liver-spot-covered hand around my throat and squeezed. She cut off my air so I was suffocating; I clawed at her hand and kicked out with my feet, but she was keeping to my side so I couldn’t swing them into anything. She was so much stronger than I would have thought. “I may look old to you…” she said, and she stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. It felt like sandpaper, rough and thin, grating against my flesh. “But the children keep me young where it counts.” I choked as her fingers tightened their grip and her other hand, the needle clenched tight within it, rose up, preparing to strike me. I pried one of her fingers up to get some air into my lungs, and I managed to shout once. “LEBRON!” I heard the curtain flap as the needle came down. A shot rang past me and the old witch stumbled back from me. I could breathe, but the pain in my shoulder was unbearable. The needle was sticking into me. I stumbled forward and, with anger clouding my sight because she had hurt me, I kicked her hard in the gut. Her head hit the wall with a satisfying thud as she slid down, her eyes fluttering shut. “Hope you enjoy the concussion,” I snarled and leaned against the table. My arm was beginning to feel numb. LeBron walked to the pen with the children inside it and ushered them away from the door. He shot at the lock, splintering the wood around it, and he kicked it off. The door swung open. The children rushed out. LeBron looked at me as I walked slowly around the table. There was commotion upstairs and I heard Hamilton curse.

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“Take them back through the tunnel, two rights, one left. Go,” I said, making frantic motions with my hand. Zoe ran to me, the last one out of the pen, and wrapped her arms around me. I stroked her head and bent down to her. “You is bleeding,” she said. I looked at the needle; blood was seeping out from around the metal. I gave her a smile. “I’m going to be okay. Go with the nice policeman, okay, ZoZo? Your mommy and daddy are worried about you. He’ll take you to them.” She shook her little head at me. I looked at LeBron, who stood just inside the flap; he came back and picked little Zoe up. She screamed at him and kicked, but he took her through the flap and into the tunnel. Hamilton came running down the stairs. There was the sound of pounding on wood behind him—he’d locked the door behind him. He ran skidding to a crouch at my side. He dabbed at the blood seeping through my coat with his fingers, and I gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think I’ll take up knitting after this.” I laughed a little, but it shook my shoulders and it hurt. I winced. “Stop being brave; this has got to hurt like hell.” I nodded at him. “Think you could pull it out?” He nodded, searching the room for something to pack against the wound to control the bleeding. He pulled the shawl from the old woman’s shoulder and ripped it to make a pack. “Where are the kids?” “LeBron is taking them back the way we came. He shot the witch for me, isn’t he sweet?” Hamilton smiled at me. “He’s a darling, that one.” He yanked the needle out, and I screamed with the pain. He packed as much of the ripped-up shawl as he could between my coat and my shoulder. Then he helped me get to my feet. “You all right to move?” “Yes. Let’s get out of here, please.” He turned slightly from me, switching on his radio and requesting an ambulance to the cathedral site—there was a man injured. I realized he meant me; he was counting me as one of his people. I saw her just a second before it was too late. I pushed Hamilton over so he was out of the way and took her attack full-on. She leaped at me, screeching like a banshee. My back hit the floor, and we skidded across the ground thanks to her momentum. This close, her eyes were pitch black; I grabbed her wrists as she tried to claw at my face. Hamilton pushed up from the floor, dazed, as I wrestled with her. She was screaming into my face, her saliva dripping from her teeth, flying out, venomous and slimy. She was mad. Mad as the Hatter and the March Hare. She kept going for my face, and her body on mine prevented me from moving. Her long nails sliced my neck, not very deep, but it was enough to draw blood and stung like hell. I growled at her and pushed back at her harder than I had before. I felt anger rising in me as I struggled. “Get off me!” Starbursts flashed over my eyes, and the old witch screamed as her flesh began to burn.

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The smell was awful, even worse than her breath. I shoved my hands into her face, pushing her and the smell away from me enough to scramble to my feet. I was on fire up to my elbows; more of me was burning than ever before. Usually when I used fire magic it stayed around my hands or in my palms. This was like wearing opera gloves made of rich red and gold flames. Hamilton was staring at me; he’d never seen anything like it, and I could tell that it scared him as much as it surprised me. I couldn’t put it out. I waved my arms and the fire was stuck to me, coated to my skin like a second one, but it didn’t feel hot to me. I tried to concentrate enough to make it go out, calm my breathing. My hands flew to my ears as the shriek, that awful shriek of the bird rang in them. It was getting louder, coming closer like it was looking for something, looking for me, and I knew I didn’t want it to find me. The charred black witch stopped writhing, turned and, blind and full of rage, she charged at me one last time. We fell backwards against the empty pen and it caught fire. She was screeching at me, the flames on my arms consuming every bit of her that wasn’t already burning as she tried to hold onto them. She wailed, running from me, but I caught her by the ankle, dragged her down and waited till she wailed her last. As soon as the old witch was dead, the fire on my arms receded back to my hands. I felt myself able to take deep breathes, and finally I snuffed it out. I stepped over the charcoal briquette that had once been a singularly evil person and stumbled out of the pen; it was blazing and eating its way up the foundations of the structure above. The basement was filling with thick gray smoke. I tripped, falling into Hamilton, who caught me and held me upright. “Are you all right?” he asked, and I was nodding before I realized he was checking my arms for burns, but they were completely unblemished. I coughed as the smoke swirled around us with no way to escape the space yet. “Let’s go.” He kept one arm around me and we ran into the tunnel, thankful for the damper, clearer air. We raced forward. I felt the pinch in my shoulder as I swung my arm to help propel me forward. I’d almost forgotten about the injury. Hamilton had to let go of me when we got to the smaller tunnel, but he kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure I was still following him. I was, but slowly, as my arm began to feel like it weighed a ton. At last we reached the wetter tunnel under the river. LeBron stood at the bottom of the bank on the other side, watching the tunnel with his torch. The last kid was being pulled up by another officer at the top. “Did you see her?” he said frantically. “Who?” Hamilton asked. “The little blonde girl, she bit me and ran back to look for Cassandra. I couldn’t stop her; I was about to go look for her.” I turned in the tunnel and started going back the way we had come. Hamilton and LeBron stared at me. “Zoe?” I called, moving back to the tunnels. I fumbled to get my torch out and on, shining it in the different tunnels. “Zoe?” I started back the way we had come. I looked between the tunnels at the intersection. She could so easily get lost under here; she wouldn’t remember which tunnels they had taken.

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“Damn it! Zoe!” “You said a bad word,” came her tiny little voice. She looked up at me from the end of a tunnel. I shined my light over her to make sure she was all right. “Come here,” I said, both angry and relieved. “Didn’t I tell you to go with the nice policeman? Don’t you ever go running off like that.” She looked at me, pouty faced, and her little eyes started to brim over with tears. I scooped her up into my arms. She wrapped her little arms around my neck. “But they left you,” she said in her babyish little voice. I stroked her hair. “They didn’t leave me—I was right behind you. Let’s get us both home.” She gave a little agreeing nod and I turned, heading back. I balanced her against my bad shoulder—her weight was hardly anything compared to the pain I already felt there—and I kept the torch tight in my other hand. LeBron and Hamilton were still waiting for us at the bottom of the mud bank. I waved my torch hand at them. “I’ve got her. She’s okay.” LeBron came down the tunnel to help me. I tapped Zoe on the head and she looked up at me. I nodded to LeBron. “Don’t you have something to say to him?” She made a little guilty face and looked at LeBron. “I’m sorry.” “Good girl,” I said, ruffling her hair. She snuggled into my neck and we walked the rest of the way to the bank. Outside the cathedral was a circus of lights. Along with the ambulance firefighters had arrived, and some of the officers who’d been searching the woods were now here trying to keep back spectators and press. A big call like “Man Injured” warranted everyone’s attention, and of course that much happening in one spot meant that the local news was there, as well as several reporters from local papers. **** I was sitting in the back of the ambulance. Zoe was being entertained by one of the paramedics, who let her play with a stethoscope he had with him. She loved listening to the sound of his heart and then hearing her own. I smiled, watching her giggle and ask to listen again. I seethed as the other paramedic (as they always came in pairs) cleaned up the wound in my shoulder, which was already smaller than it should have been. “You should really come in for stitches,” he said. I sighed; we had already had this conversation. I didn’t

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want to go to the hospital. Not only did I not particularly like them in the first place, but the chance that I might run into the blonde doctor from the last time I was injured was too great. “We’ve discussed this. Clean it, patch it and let me go.” He looked at my hard face and lost the will to argue with me. He started taping gauze into place and held my arm as he wrapped a bandage around it. I poked my finger through the hole in my coat; I was going to have to get a new one and think of a good reason to tell people when they asked about it. I couldn’t tell someone like Incarra that a demented child-eating witch had stabbed me with a knitting needle. I’d liked this coat too; I’d gotten it on sale at M & S. With my arm bandaged, I flexed the arm to see what movement I could take before pulling my top back over my head and then putting my coat back on. “Thanks for the patch job,” I said, leaping out of the back of the ambulance. I spun and held my arms out to Zoe. She bounced down the gurney and jumped into them. I grunted, catching her, and poked her in her nose. “I think it’s time for someone to go home and go to bed.” I turned and looked across the field of cars that had sprouted up in the last half an hour. Most of the cameras were focused on the families being reunited. Hamilton had made his first job calling all the parents of the children to let them know their kids were safe and sound and that they could come collect them. The press loved a real feel-good piece and were eating up the hugs, the tears and the gratitude the parents were feeding the police. Hamilton was right in the middle for it. He was a star; the camera absolutely loved him. I’d heard from LeBron that after the house started to go up in flames, the other two members of the coven had been apprehended while fleeing the smoke. Rourke had seen the flare and had the house surrounded by then. One of them claimed they had been leaving the bones to be found; they wanted the police to find and stop them. The second one hadn’t liked that and turned on her, beating her nearly to death. It took six officers and Benjamin to restrain her. The third one, of course, they found burnt to a crisp in the basement. Hamilton, LeBron and I all agreed it was self-defense and there wasn’t a lawyer in the world who would try to nab me on it. Rourke, however, was not happy: she had the two witches in custody, but as they were practitioners, enforcers were now trying to take custody of them, to be tried in Magical Court. I sighed and shook my head, turning to leave. It was getting really late, and I wanted to get Zoe home before I had to switch over again. A hand came down on my shoulder and I turned to see Theodore Mayla standing behind me. He grinned at me from ear to ear. “I heard you were injured.” I turned more to face him, jiggling Zoe in my arms as she started to doze off against me, and I nodded. “Nothing big, I’ll be fine.” “I’m glad to hear it wasn’t life threatening this time,” he said, and his smile stayed pulled up at the corners. It was a very businesslike smile, not like he was really happy. I got that same feeling of buzzing about my brain, and I pushed it away. His smile faltered a little. “Interesting,” he said as if to himself. His smile pulled up again, and I realized what he was doing; he was

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putting on his politician’s face. I took a step back from him. He reached out and looked at the temporary license attached to my coat lapel. “You picked up on my tip,” he said, smiling at me. “Do you want me to thank you for reminding me of something I knew already? I appreciate that you helped rush it through, as it were, but I don’t feel like I owe you.” He looked taken aback but I didn’t believe it, not one little bit. “I wasn’t going to ask you for anything.” “Of course you weren’t. You’re the kind of politician who does things for people with no hope it will benefit him in any shape or form.” He moved to my side, and before I could stop him he had his arm around my shoulder. I looked up just in time to be blinded by a flashbulb. “That was great,” the photographer said. I shoved his arm off my shoulder and poked him hard in the chest. “Don’t ever. I am not some pawn; I will not be used in anyone’s political agenda. Win on your policies, not on tragedies like this.” He straightened his suit and he wasn’t smiling now. Then came the buzzing again; this time I slapped at it with a little power, and Mayla stumbled backwards a little. There was somethingotherabout him—I was certain of it now. He recovered himself. “This isn’t a tragedy. We won here, and you, Miss Farbanks, are a hero.” I turned away from him and started towards the exit gate. “I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to get the job done and go home to bed.” **** I carried Zoe through the empty night streets; it was a little cold, so I took off my coat to drape it over her. She was deep asleep now, poor tired little mite, and I did everything I could not to wake her. I rang the bell at the community gate and was met by the night watchman; he let me through, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Zoe. Next I rang Simian’s bell. He was quick to open the door and unbelievably happy to take his youngest child from my arms. He patted me on the back, smacking my wound and making me wince. Then he started in with the questions, but I begged him to let them wait till I’d had a decent night’s sleep. He kissed me on the cheek and offered me his spare room. I shook my head—I wanted my own bed. Wearily I wandered home, letting myself into my apartment. I kicked my shoes off and, fully clothed, collapsed on my bed. I snuggled down under the covers and found there was another figure in the bed with me. I opened one eye. Aram was propped up on one elbow on the pillow, looking down at me. “You have been bleeding again, pet.”

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“All in the name of a good cause. I thought you weren’t talking to me.” “I changed my mind,” he said, waving his hand as if it was such a fleeting thing. “Thanks for the update, but if you don’t mind I would really like to sleep now.” He gave me a small smile, tucked a lock of my hair that was loose behind my ear and kissed my forehead. “I will see you another night.” I closed my eyes, and I didn’t hear him so much as I felt him go. As soon as he was gone, I gave myself full permission to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Theodore Mayla won the election. I saw the local news coverage of it while passing the Sony store. The television in the window was lit up with his victory speech. My official paranormal investigator’s license and ID arrived in the post a week after the events of the missing children. The two old witches, one of whom later died from the injuries inflicted by the other, were handed over to be sentenced through Magical Court, because that court had the death penalty. Rourke was not too unhappy about that, and neither was I, to be honest. These witches had terrorized children for so long that they had become their own fairy tale. I got in touch with my building’s owner, who not only approved of the idea of renting the ground floor flat to me but didn’t mind when I discussed the renovations with him. I’ve had a contractor in to look at it and gotten a quote. It’s a bit steep and I’ve adjusted the stipend claim forms to account for it; they are currently pending. I stood outside the Sony store on the back street, the news report still glowing on the monitor in the window, twirling my locket and adjusting the packages I had in my arms, listening to the broadcast for a minute. Two weeks had gone by; we were well into December, and the case still wasn’t old news. I had started my Christmas shopping and was in a fairly good mood. I had so many people to buy for this year. I’d bought Virginia a new pair of oven gloves and a nice tea towel set to go with it—it would come in handy for taking that kettle off the hearth. Incarra and Anton’s presents could wait until next weekend, when I could do regular-world shopping. Incarra would spend her Christmas with her mom, making sure she didn’t have too much nog and that the Christmas turkey didn’t get char-grilled because she couldn’t tell the difference between degrees and gas marks. Anton would spend his in a bar; the boy practically attached mistletoe to every part of his body and tried his luck. I found a book on werewolves, a pretty good, fairly accurate one, and I’m going to give it to LeBron for Christmas. And I got some beginning-to-read books for my goddaughter. Zoe has taped the picture of us and Theodore Mayla to her bedroom wall—she had her mom cut it out of the paper for her. She’s so proud of it. The article that went with it used the word “hero” much too often for my liking. I’d binned it straight after reading it. I didn’t want to be a hero. I wanted to be me, Cassandra Farbanks, whoever she might be. I’d only

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called Simian to see how Zoe was doing and ended up being talked into Christmas Eve dinner with his family; Magnus was invited too, and Virginia wants us to spend Boxing Day with her. I suspect this is because she is planning on putting turkey bones into the garbage disposal and wants her happy-to-do-it handyman around. Magnus had heard about my injury through the grapevine. He picked me up after he’d finished work, and we drove up to his place in the commune. Magnus and I had discussed going away for the holidays—just the two of us and my remote cabin fantasy—and then his sister kicked a fuss. She, unlike her father, was passionate about Christmas. Bethany was planning a big Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, especially now Magnus would have someone to bring over with him. She had laid the biggest emotional guilt trip on him ever, and he had caved like a ton of bricks. So we were due to go round to Aziel’s and Bethany’s house on Christmas morning for gifts and a nice lunch. That added two last-minute gifts—one for Bethany and one for Aziel—to my list. I wasn’t quite sure what you could get an elf that would in any way please him. I’d settled for a book voucher—I was sure if nothing else, he could at least find a book he could amuse himself with. Of course I already knew I had to get Magnus something, and he wouldn’t let me set a budget as he’d had my gift picked out for months, and if he set a budget now I would know roughly how much his gift cost. I’d grumbled about that for a while. He made me dinner that night and we finally watchedSleepless in Seattletogether, which Magnus fell asleep during. He was so sweet when he slept. I found his airing cupboard, covered him with a blanket where he lay curled up on the couch, and picked up my things, leaving him a note to tell him how good a time I’d had. I shut his door quietly and started what was going to be a long walk home. When I reached the main road to town, I looked out to where the old, ruined church was and decided to go there instead. I had some unfinished business there, and it was time that I laid it to rest. I took the long dirt road up through the trees to the clearing where the church sat and noticed the new additions to its face. The Gargoyle clan had made themselves at home. I waved at Jacque, the only one who acknowledged I was there at all. I saw the female, Belle, who had been injured, up on her feet, and I was glad. I headed down the central passage to the grate behind the altar, managing to tug it free with no problem. I looked at my hands; they didn’t look any different, they still looked like my hands, but there was something different about them all the same, different about me. I took out my torch and headed down the stairs. The catacombs under the old church were a desolate, dark place without the bright lanterns, the stall merchants of the magical market—the Soul Market—their colorful wares and the music that had filled the air that night in late September. The remains of stalls where people had cleared out in a hurry were falling to pieces, left to rot down here in the stale air and gray darkness. I shined the torch beam from wall to wall, taking it all in. I had put an end to this; the good parts had vanished along with the bad. They had coexisted down here, but I was sure somewhere the regular magic market would continue without the shadow of black trading hanging over it. The missing vampires, weres and half elves that I had been charged to find, the deaths of Carolyn Danvers and Tom Grailey, and ultimately the power of the demon Lilith had all drawn me here. My footfalls echoed through the room as I walked to the end and into the next chamber. This one was clearer than the first—they’d had more warning to move here. I followed it through to the path, and this time I took the left ramp down. This room was the most intact; the people here had just taken their profits or as much of the merchandise as they could carry and run. Run from the law. They no doubt would set up again somewhere. Deny people something they want, make it illegal, and there will always be a market for it. I stepped over broken jars that had held fairies for sale; my feet brushed the chains

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that had held a werewolf, baiting him as a form of entertainment, and I made it to the three arches at the end. I walked into the middle one, sidestepping right inside the arch, and stood in a straight corridor that led to the room at the other end. I took the corridor and reached the big metal door. It whined in protest as I pushed it open, hitting the wall with a clang. I stepped into the dark, keeping my light ahead of me. I bounced down the steps into the second, larger part of the room and stared at it. Broken glass littered the floor; the shelving unit had been pulled over and lay flat against the floor. One gurney remained against the back wall—its wheels were rusty, so they’d just left it when they had cleared the room. In the middle of the room, on the floor was a darker patch. This was why I had come here. I walked closer to it and shined the torch over it. It didn’t look even a little red now; instead, it looked deep black on the gray floor. It had seeped into the concrete and gone deep down. I switched the torch to my left hand and with my right gently ran my fingers across the patch. It was dry as a bone. I don’t know why I had expected it to still be wet. Part of my brain had believed I would walk in and there would still be a fresh pool of blood on the floor. I lay my hand on it, palm down. This was where I had nearly died. I had nearly died, and it was only the start of my troubles. Now so many strange things were happening to me, to my powers and in my dreams, that I didn’t know where my future was going to take me. I patted the stained floor and decided that this was the past. It had led to who I was now, but I needed to put it behind me, where the past belonged. There was so much in the past; this was one thing I understood, but there was still so much I didn’t know. I made a promise to myself to start answering all the questions I had put off for the last few years while I’d adjusted to the loss of my mother. There was so much she hadn’t told me. I needed to know more about myself—where did my magic come from? Did my mom have any family? Were there people out there who knew what was happening to me? Why had my mom run away from this world? How had she achieved it? What was that sound, the sound of the screeching bird that would fill my head? Why didn’t fire burn me? I contemplated all these questions as I squatted there, pressing my hands to the cool, dark ground, not moving until I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I didn’t have to turn around; I knew who it was without looking. “How did you know where to find me?” “I told you, you and I are connected, pet—I will always know where to find you.” I wrapped my arms around myself and found that I could bring all my questions down to one thing. “I feel…different!” Aram walked over to my side and stood with me as I looked at the dark stained floor. “You’ve always been different, pet—that’s what I like about you.” “I suppose in a way it just feels like something has ended.” “Something ending is merely something else beginning.” “Something else beginning? I don’t know what that something else is. I’m not sure I’m going to like it, and that scares me.” “And that is why I will be here for you, Andra.”

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One arm hugged me and then his hand slid down, past my waist to my bottom, where his fingers squeezed the flesh. “Aram! Hand!” “Yes?” I smacked it away, strangely finding his sheepish grin infectious. “You get one of those a year!” “Just one, pet?” I rolled my head to the side and let out a deep sigh. “Let’s go. I think I’m done here.” He reached out to me, his hand palm up, and I found myself surprised when I took it almost on complete instinct. We were definitely connected, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that either. We walked towards the exit. “So, what is aNoviaanyway? I never took Spanish.” Aram smiled. “It is Italian, pet.” “Oh! Well, still...” “Its most literal meaning is ‘bride.’” I stopped, but he kept walking. Our hands slipped apart and when he no longer felt mine, he turned to look at me. “You’re joking, right?” “Perhaps.” The wry smile on his face said it was a joke, but there was a deadly seriousness in his eyes. “Do you know what it means to become our bride?” I shook my head while shrugging my shoulders. I didn’t know what it meant, but I had a feeling, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon I would find out. About the Author:

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Sonnet O’Dell was born in Oxford in 1984 and had always had a love of the written word. Compelled by vivid dreams and imagination, she has been writing and submitting for many years. Sonnet adores mythology, books, movies, music and animals. She currently lives in Worcester, England and is working hard on the Cassandra Farbanks Series set there. Her first book,Soul Market , was published by Eternal Press in March 2009. She promises more magic, mystery and vampires to come in the future. Visit her atwww.sonnetodell.com or e-mail fan mail to her [email protected] Also from Eternal Press:

Soul Market by Sonnet O’Dell Paranormal Adventure Length Novel of 113000 words ISBN: 9781926647531 ebook ISBN: 9781926647616 print Every parent hopes their little girl is going to be special, but Cassandra’s mother always hoped her little girl wouldn’t be. When her mother died, she revealed the terrible truth, that when sunset came, she would be drawn into another world. A nightmare world, where monsters really did lurk in the dark shadows. Three years later, Cassandra is still learning to control her magic, while doing the odd magical job for cash. She never dreamed something as big as finding several missing people would fall into her lap.

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Despite the police telling her to leave the case be, she can’t, because the law is fuzzy about the rights of the Preternatural groups involved. The police department may not care, but Cassandra does. Something is out there in the dark and she is determined to do something about it. Also from Eternal Press:

One Soul for Sale by Cate Masters Paranormal Romance LengthNovella of 20200 words ISBN: 9781926704043 ebook ISBN: 9781926704128 print When Madelyn sells her soul on UBuy, she opens the gates of hell. Or is it heaven? Selling your soul high-tech style can still have catastrophic consequences. When Madelyn sells her soul on UBuy, she’s not ready for the hell that’s unleashed. All she really wants is to make a success of her art. But the gorgeous stranger who buys her soul for $666 asks her to perform a few tasks. Tests of her true worth, Madelyn thinks, as each brings her – and her cat Brutus – into greater danger. And closer to the frightening shadowy figure stalking her. On All Hallows Eve, her final test will open the gates of hell. Or is it heaven?

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