“Aisling,” he whispered, leaning down to trail kisses over her soft skin, to touch his lips to hers and tempt fate by doing it. How had she come to matter so much to him? When had the thought of her death become unbearable?

He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her more tightly against him, pinned her unresisting thighs to the sheet. He was hard, as he always seemed to be when he was with her. But it wasn’t the ache in his cock that guided his actions or urged him to cover her completely. It was the desire to possess her, to protect her.

She stirred as if responding to his closeness, his need to know she was whole, undamaged, safely returned from the spiritlands. Some of the worry loosened in his chest, burst in a wave of heat that had him touching his mouth to hers again, almost daring her to wake, to defy the future by taking his breath and spirit as easily as she’d summoned him from his father’s kingdom.

Movement ended the moment. Zurael turned his head and saw the ferret.

Aziel was in the doorway, bold now where he hadn’t been willing to show himself earlier in the face of Zurael’s anger at finding Aisling still as death on the floor.

A knock on the door came and Aziel turned, retreated to the living room. Reluctantly Zurael left the soft heat of Aisling’s flesh, slid from the bed and pulled on a pair of pants. More of his tension left when her eyebrows drew together and her mouth formed a frown over his absence.

He forced himself from the room to answer the front door. It was Nicholette.

Her gaze went behind him, searching for Aisling, then down to the ferret, who wound himself around her ankles like a cat before disappearing back into the house. When Zurael didn’t call for Aisling, she said, “I brought fresh bread and vegetables from our garden. It’s not enough, not nearly enough for what Aisling did. But it’s all we can spare. We’re leaving Oakland.”

Nicholette’s knuckles were white where her hands gripped the coarse burlap. She offered the sack to him and he took it.

“Please tell her we’ll never willingly talk about what happened. Tell her no one knows Nicholas is safe. His client will never accept that her precious son brought about his own death. If she learns that Nicholas is alive, she’ll blame him and find a way to have him arrested.”

Fear settled like ice in Zurael’s chest. Dread tempted him to ask how Nicholas came to be alive and free while his client’s son was dead. Caution kept his lips sealed. If Aisling had summoned another Djinn . . .

Aziel returned, carrying Nicholette’s necklace in his mouth. Her worry faded. Laughter and warmth shone in her eyes, highlighting her exquisite beauty and delicate features. She was breath-taking, though Zurael didn’t desire her physically.

Nicholette knelt and took the necklace from Aziel. She stroked his head and back for long moments before slipping the chain over her neck and standing.

“I need to leave now.”

“I’ll pass on your messages.”

Nicholette spared one last look at Aziel, then turned and hurried away. Zurael watched her for a few minutes, felt the eyes of unseen neighbors noting his presence, but even that couldn’t pull him from the icy foreboding of his own thoughts.

He returned to the bedroom, intent on rousing Aisling, demanding answers. But the sight of her sprawled in the center of the bed, the covers kicked away to reveal splayed thighs and pink-capped breasts distracted him. Lust flared, as fast and dangerous as a flash fire.

Zurael crossed the room and stripped out of his pants without being aware of doing it. His cock was a hard ridge along his abdomen, his testicles a heavy, full weight.

He wouldn’t yield, he told himself as he knelt on the bed next to her. But then her eyelashes fluttered, parted, and he was captured in blue shaded to violet, in a whirlpool of desire he had no resistance to.

“Zurael,” she whispered, and he answered her call, responded to the subtle arch of her back by leaning over her.

With a moan, he latched on to a nipple, sucked and bit as she twisted and writhed, moved so his chest hovered above her face. She captured the loose strands of his hair and pulled him downward until she could press her mouth to his flesh.

Razor-sharp desire spiked through him when she bit down on his nipple. His hips jerked with each touch of her tongue, each suck, and he would have surrendered his seed if she hadn’t taken his cock in hand, cupped his testicles and prevented release with the tight band of her fingers.

“Aisling,” he panted, and did the unthinkable. He yielded his power to her. Submitted by repositioning them so he lay on his back and she knelt, her knees on the mattress near his head, her sinful mouth kissing downward toward his throbbing penis.

He palmed her breasts. Tortured her nipples and kissed the silky skin of her belly, bathed in the scent of her arousal when he was presented with her heated lower lips.

A shudder went through him as her mouth captured his cock head. He wouldn’t beg, he told himself, she would be the one to plead.

His hands abandoned her breasts in order to cup her buttocks. He pressed his lips to slick, swollen folds. Probed her wet core with his tongue.

She bucked, whimpered. Took his penis between her lips and sent raw pleasure through his shaft—and he knew the depth of the lie he’d told himself.

Her name became a plea in his thoughts as liquid hunger consumed him. His hips jerked, lifted off the mattress in urgent rhythm.

His cock fought to surge deeper, but her hands prevented it. Had she asked, he would have done anything she wanted if she’d just take him further into her mouth, if she’d just bring him to completion.

A soul-swallowing lust held him in its grip. He was consumed by a carnal claiming he would never have allowed himself with another Djinn.

Aisling’s fragile, delicate beauty was a trap he couldn’t escape. The more he thought to possess her, the more possessed he became.

His tongue stabbed through wet folds, licked over the tiny head of her clit. “Aisling,” he whispered and nearly cried when finally she gave him what he craved beyond anything else.

She took him deeper. Stroked him with her tongue. She sucked on him until his mind was white heat and screams of unbearable pleasure as orgasm claimed him.

He felt boneless beneath her. Echoes of his release trembled through him, but he had the presence of mind and discipline to return what she’d given him, to send her over the edge with his tongue.

Somehow he resisted the urge to press against her, to get lost in the sultry heat and sweet allure of her. “Nicholette was here. She and her brother are leaving Oakland without telling anyone he’s alive. They want you to know they’ll never willingly reveal what you did.” His voice became barely more than a growl. “What name did you call last night, Aisling? Who did you summon?”

“Irial.”

Zurael went rigid with shock. Fear for her froze the air in his lungs. It made his heart stutter and miss a beat.

Aisling turned and placed her hands on his chest. Calm blue eyes met the molten, raging gold of his. “He would have killed me if he could. He intended to. But when he saw Aziel on my shoulder, his anger disappeared completely. He asked me if I trusted Nicholas with my life since he’d witnessed everything. When I said I did, Irial agreed to free Nicholas. What happened after that, I don’t know. I couldn’t stay any longer.”

Zurael pulled Aisling into his arms and rubbed his cheek against the silk of her hair. Hope rose where fear had been. If the House of the Raven stood with him about sparing Aisling’s life . . .

He shivered when she pressed kisses to his chest. His cock hardened, and he felt her smile against his skin, answered it with one of his own.

A knock on the door kept him from urging her to her knees or taking her against the counter. He stepped back, but followed her into the living room.

Raisa stood on the stoop. Bird-sharp eyes shone as they took in Zurael’s bare chest and Aisling’s heightened color. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I saw Javier this morning. He mentioned you’d stopped by the occult shop looking for him. I took the liberty of telling him about our visit the other day. I told him I’d suggested you go there with your questions. He’s willing to meet you for lunch at my tearoom. As I mentioned during our earlier visit, my shop has always been a safe place, a neutral zone for those touched by the supernatural. There’s no way to reach Javier now, but he said he’ll stop by in an hour, just in case you can make it.”

Aisling said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“I’m sure Javier will understand if you can’t on such short notice.” She glanced at Zurael, then back at Aisling. “Nicholette didn’t answer her door this morning. Did something happen—”

“There’s still hope,” Aisling interrupted. “Or at least there was . . .” Her voice trailed off, giving the impression of worry. “If you’ll excuse me, there are some things I need to do before I’ll know whether I can meet Javier for lunch.”

“Of course.”

“You handled that well,” Zurael said moments later, when they were in the kitchen again. “Curious she should arrive this morning with an invitation and a question. What happened last night?”

Aisling told him, though not what transpired with Sinead before or Aziel afterward, and not how she’d come by Irial’s name. When she was finished, she said, “I think I should meet Javier for lunch.”

Zurael pulled her into his arms. “We’ll meet Javier for lunch.”

She placed her hand over his heart and felt its steady, reassuring beat. “Do you think it’s safe for you to go with me? The books in his shop—”

“Probably have very few incantations in them that would be dangerous to me even if done correctly and by a powerful sorcerer.”

The beat of Zurael’s heart remained steady, sure, until she stroked the tiny male nipple. Then it jumped and raced, sent a surge of pleasure through her.

“We don’t have time,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, his lips capturing the lobe, sucking, sending a hot stab of lust to her clit.

“I know.” But she didn’t pull away from him.

He slid his hands under her shirt, caressed her back with heated palms and gathered her closer so her mound was pressed against the rigid line of his erection. “This is dangerous, more dangerous than you can imagine,” he said, rocking into her, panting softly as she did the same, riding the thin edge of control until the lust burning between them calmed enough for them to separate.

Aziel emerged from the workroom and scurried through the door. Aisling picked him up, started to tell him he had to remain here, then thought better of it when she remembered the lesson he’d intended for her when they found Nicholas.

He’d always been more sensitive to spell magic than she, though they’d rarely encountered it when they lived with Geneva. She settled him on her shoulder. “If it’s a trap, I think Aziel will warn us.”

She tensed when a jeep came into view. It was several blocks away, but the camouflage green and brown marked it as belonging to guardsmen. Instinct, a lifetime of habit, made her turn into the nearest alleyway.

Zurael’s fingers curled around her wrist, halted her when she would have hurried forward. “No,” he said, pulling her behind a wall of shrubbery and using his arm to trap her back to his front.

The jeep’s engine was distinctive. It drew near, slowed as it passed the alleyway, but didn’t stop. “Wait for me here,” Zurael said before the warmth of flesh became a swirling, heated breeze.

Leaves kicked up, allowing Aisling to follow his progress until he was beyond the row of shrubs. She gasped when he returned without warning, greeted her with the touch of his lips against her neck. “They showed no particular interest in your house.”

“When Father Ursu brought me here, he told me the police and guardsmen don’t patrol this area.”

“Perhaps they’re looking for Nicholette or her brother. Or they might be here on personal business.”

Rather than retrace their steps to the main road, they continued down the alley and exited onto others just like it, until they emerged onto the street that would take them to Raisa’s Tearoom. As they passed the Wainwright house, the front door opened.

“Hold on,” Tamara called. “We were just about to send someone with a message for you.”

One hand supported Tamara’s extended belly while the other grasped the railing as she descended the porch steps. Happiness rose inside Aisling. “You’ve got Anya?”

Tamara was shaking her head as she reached them. “No. There’s an approval process, which mainly requires paying fees to the government and the Church. By the time it was done and the couple we sent got to the The Mission, the child was gone.”

Aisling could barely breathe. “Gone?”

“Yes. The matron wouldn’t provide any information about who took Anya or where she was taken, until the couple we sent reminded her it was a matter of public record and told her they intended to pursue it. Then she admitted to sending the child into The Barrens along with some of her playmates—to some religious community she claims exists there.”

“The Fellowship of the Sign,” Aisling said.

Tamara’s face tightened. “That’s the name our friends heard. The matron had no right to send any child into The Barrens without government approval—which I doubt she has. It’s beyond the reclaimed area of Oakland. It’s still considered lawless.”

Aisling felt heartsick. She worried for Anya more than the other children.

She’d been so sure Davida hadn’t noticed Aziel going to the sandbox, calling attention to the symbols Anya had drawn. Perhaps it was a coincidence . . . or more likely, given Davida’s dislike of the gifted, she hadn’t known Aisling was interested in a particular child. Instead she’d sent Anya and her playmates away thinking she was saving them all.

“Levanna wanted me to tell you we won’t give up. We’re trying to find out more about the Fellowship of the Sign and how we can find them in The Barrens.”

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?”

“Yes.” Tamara grimaced as her unborn child kicked. “I need to get back inside.”

Aisling waited until they were a distance away from the house before stopping and turning to Zurael. “They’ll be on foot. Walking with children and having to remain on guard will slow them down. Even if they left early this morning, you could catch up to them. And if their compound is in the forest past The Barrens, you’d be able to follow them home.”

“I can’t be in two places at once.”

She smiled at the fierceness she heard in his voice. “I trust Raisa enough to believe I’ll be safe at her tearoom.”

Zurael cupped her face in his hands. His eyes glittered with harsh regret. “And when you return home, Aisling? I’ve already failed to protect you once.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She saw he was going to argue, and prevented it by putting her hands on his chest, stroking over the firm muscles and hard nipples. “This is our best chance of finding where Ghost comes from. The longer it takes and the more people we ask questions of—the closer we get—the more dangerous it’s going to become.”

Aisling felt his tension against her palms, his resistance. She felt him struggle against the truth of her logic and finally yield to it.

“Promise me you’ll send Aziel into the house to make sure it’s empty before you go inside.”

“I promise.”

His hands tightened on her face. His eyes bored into hers. “Be safe,” Zurael said before releasing her and walking away.

Aisling glanced at the sun’s position in the sky and hurried toward the tearoom. She stopped at the shop’s perimeter when Aziel’s claws dug into her shoulder. There were round tables set outside, enclosed by a short wrought-iron fence that looked as if it might once have encircled a prewar garden. Umbrella poles rose from the table centers and a light breeze made the material flutter softly.

Sigils were carved into the gate and the redbrick pathway leading to the front door. Aisling took them in with a glance, recognized them all as standard wards against the use of magic on the premises. Still, she paused, waited for some sign from Aziel because she knew that despite the sigils she could see and read, there might be others she wasn’t aware of that could offset them and allow for subtle manipulations.

“Aisling?” a man’s voice called.

She turned her head. “Javier?”

He was so average-looking that a blink made it hard to remember what he looked like—or so she thought until Aziel drew blood with his claws. Then she realized Javier wasn’t just the owner of an occult bookstore but a sorcerer in his own right—one strong enough to create a glamour spell to mask his appearance or to dim it so he became forgettable.

Aisling turned her head, just enough to brush her cheek against Aziel’s in acknowledgment of his warning. The ferret turned his attention to the tea shop and chirped softly, lifted and lowered his head as if saying yes, then slipped from her shoulder and scampered away before Javier reached them.

“I hope I didn’t scare your pet,” Javier said, offering his hand to Aisling.

A small tremor of nervousness went through her before she could stop it. The fetishes gave her some measure of protection, but caution had ruled her for so long she still hesitated before touching her hand to his.

Javier’s smile reached his eyes. It was charming, persuasive, memorable, as if some of the concealing glamour had faded, thought Aisling, though more likely it had changed for another purpose.

He carried her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the back of it. “My assistant didn’t do you justice when she described you after your visit to the shop. You’re beautiful. Enslaving, even.”

Aisling stiffened at his choice of words and the sly gleam that had entered his eyes. She pulled her hand from his and glanced at the tearoom.

“Shall we?” Javier asked.

Aisling preceded him through the open wrought-iron gate. “I’d like to sit out here,” she said, feeling safer in the open.

“A good choice.” He pulled a chair out for her when they reached a table. She slid into it and scanned the area beyond the fence, but didn’t see Aziel.

Raisa emerged from the shop with menus. Simple pictures accompanied the descriptions of food choices, a selection of sandwiches and fruits and cheeses suitable to accompany tea. The teas were listed also, but Raisa recited them rather than ask if Aisling could read. When she’d finished speaking, Javier said, “My treat, of course.”

Aisling fought the urge to touch the folded dollar bills in her pocket. “No. I’ll pay for my own.”

“An independent woman. I like that,” Javier said. “But then I suspect there’s nothing about you I wouldn’t find delightful.”

His flirting made her uncomfortable. The isolation of the farm outside Stockton hadn’t prepared her for dealing with it, and Zurael’s presence in her life made it more unwelcome than it would have been anyway. She needed only Aziel’s reaction to Javier, and her own leeriness about sorcerers and the spell magic they played with, to leave her uninterested in Javier—other than for what information she could gain from him.

They ordered and Raisa went inside the shop. She returned long enough to bring them their tea service before retreating again. Aisling struggled to find the best way to pose her questions.

Javier leaned forward to ask his own. “Aubrey said you mentioned Ghost. You’ve encountered it?”

“Yes,” Aisling said, knowing she’d have to give up some information if she hoped to gain any.

His lips curved in a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll admit to trying it. Once. I’ll also admit to being extremely grateful I survived the experience. But I’m sure you understand Ghost better than I and have greater reason to fear it.”

Aisling parsed through his words, considered the possible meanings. His tone was conversational but his eyes were intent.

“Do you know where it comes from?” she finally asked.

“No, and I suspect it would be very dangerous to get too close to its source, either in this realm or another. The power necessary to create a substance like Ghost, one that allows untalented humans such easy and ready access to the supernatural realms . . .” He gave a dramatic shudder. “I can only imagine what kind of entities are behind its creation.”

His words rang with truth, enough of it that Aisling felt some of the tension leave her. Raisa appeared with their food and left again.

Aisling studied Javier while they ate. She couldn’t be sure, but she believed whatever disguising glamour he’d been cloaked in had disappeared as they passed through the wards guarding Raisa’s establishment. She thought she was seeing him as he truly was—physically at least. He was attractive, deeply tanned as Zurael was. But where Zurael was a muscled predator with a long mane of hair, Javier was lean, his scalp shaved and free of stubble.

“I find you very attractive,” Javier murmured, as if reading her thoughts about his appearance. “I think you’d find we have a great deal in common if you’d spend some time with me. And I’m very interested in your work.”

She looked down, not wanting to encourage him.

“You asked about Ghost,” Javier said, filling the silence. “I’m curious, understandable given the wide range of books I’ve acquired over the years. Under the right circumstances, could you summon a lingering spirit and require it to possess the physical shell left empty by someone foolish enough to Ghost?”

Images of both Elena and Nicholas—the sigils painted on them—rose like an icy tidal wave. And this time some of the ancestral memories were freed from Aisling’s subconscious.

Her skin crawled as she realized the nature of what the dark priests, or perhaps more accurately, the dark sorcerers, were trying to accomplish. They weren’t making an offering to a Satan-like god. They weren’t making a human sacrifice to feed a spell or gain power. They’d been trying to trap a demon in human flesh, where its strength might be limited though its knowledge would be vast. No wonder Zurael hunted the one guiding them in their pursuits.

Javier’s hand captured hers, forcing her eyes to his. “I’ve shocked you with my question. And now you’re wondering if I have something to do with the sudden rise in sacrificial victims. A reasonable question, one the police ask me almost every time they find a body these days.”

He grimaced and leaned forward, offering a confidence. “What they seem to forget, though I’m sure they’re aware of it—or at least those in power are—is that I spent a great deal of my childhood in the tender care of the Church. The Church itself helped arrange for me to open my store. What better way to monitor how far the non-gifted humans are straying than to know what sinful reading material interests them?”

Javier brushed his fingers over Aisling’s knuckles. But where Zurael’s touch sent liquid hunger through her, Javier’s deepened the chill spreading with every heartbeat.

If he’d thought to deflect her suspicion, he hadn’t. He’d solidified it instead.

She’d wondered if the Church played a role in Elena’s abduction when she found the connection between it and the branded man who’d sold Ghost to Elena and taken her from Sinners. And now Aisling had another link, this one between the Church and a man whose store was visited by humans without supernatural abilities. Men like Anthony Tiernan, the dark priest Zurael killed. Men like the son of Nicholas’s wealthy client, the pretend sorcerer Irial killed.

Aisling escaped Javier’s grip when Raisa returned to take away their empty plates and offer dessert. “None for me,” she said through frozen lips, fumbling as she pulled the folded money from her pocket and counted out what she thought she owed.

It was an effort for Aisling to control her desire to escape Javier’s presence and hurry home. She scanned the area past the wrought-iron boundary of the tearoom for Aziel, for Zurael—and found neither.

Javier followed Aisling’s lead and paid for his lunch, too. Raisa lingered as if hoping for an invitation to sit or read the tea leaves. When one didn’t come, she walked away slowly.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you with my confession, Aisling,” Javier said, “but apparently I have and I’m sorry for that.” A small smile curved his lips. “I shared a little known fact, my connection to the Church, with you, because I hoped to put you at ease, to show you we share a certain dangerous predicament in that we share an undesirable connection with the Church, one we have to handle with great care given their financial and political resources.”

Aisling forced calm into her limbs. She forced herself to meet his gaze. His nearly black irises made her think of the soul-stealing entities that could be found in the spiritlands. And in a moment of clarity she realized this was the true trap, the one she’d expected to be waiting for her when she went searching for Nicholas.

“I don’t trust the Church,” she admitted, willing to draw Javier out, to delay the moment when she had to leave the tearoom, because now the walk home seemed far more treacherous.

“You’re smart not to trust them,” Javier said, relaxing, seeming to accept that he’d managed to reduce her fear. “They have their own agendas, one of which is to find Ghost, I think. I can’t imagine they’re thrilled with the prospect of having its use spread through the wealthy classes. No telling what voices those in power might start hearing, and what Church whispers might no longer be heard because of them.”

Aisling nodded, encouraging him to continue. She believed Annalise Wainwright’s vision was true and the Church had sent the vampire’s shaman to his death trying to find Ghost. She suspected Henri had lost his life for the same reason.

Javier’s reasoning was in keeping with what she knew of those whose lives had moved beyond the daily struggle for survival—but she would find it equally believable that he was behind the creation of Ghost.

He leaned forward and said, “I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer. It’s a hazard that comes with owning the shop. Not all the guardsmen serve only the city or the Church. Some of them are in the pocket of wealthy and powerful families who’ve recently lost loved ones in magic ceremonies gone wrong. They’re looking for someone to blame and I make a wonderful target.

“I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I find you attractive, Aisling. I think we could be very good together.” Javier reached out to stroke her cheek, but even for answers she couldn’t bear his caress.

She jerked back. His eyes flashed, narrowed, then slowly filled with speculation. His voice lowered to a whisper. “Does the demon who accompanied you to my shop serve you so willingly, kill for you so willingly, because you’ve enslaved him with sex, perhaps even love, Aisling? It’s a dangerous game to play with a demon. I wonder if you’re equally ensnared.”

Aisling did her best to hide the alarm she felt. She refused to acknowledge his reference to Zurael.

Javier smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Gaining access to your special gifts interests me far more than access to your body. I’m content to share nothing more than a working relationship with you.”

His absolute confidence unnerved her. Every instinct shouted that she was in the presence of the man who’d orchestrated the dark ceremonies—the man Zurael hunted.

Aisling doubted Javier would admit his guilt, but she pushed anyway. “I won’t work with you. Those who practice black magic and attempt to gain power by human sacrifice are damned to dark, horror-filled places in the spiritlands.”

Javier’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you saying you fear for your soul? I rather imagine there’s a place in hell for you already, at the side of your demon lover.”

He opened his jacket. From a deep inside pocket he retrieved the figurine that had been behind the counter of his shop. His thumb stroked the red crystal set in its forehead. “My assistant mistakenly thought this reacted to your presence. I didn’t disabuse her of the notion. It’s an old artifact, predating much of civilization.

“Before The Last War it spent centuries in the hands of various private collectors, all of whom gained possession of it through illegal means. I believe it was originally relegated to a storage room in a museum after being found by archaeologists, though it disappeared shortly thereafter and was sold on the black market.

“If there are a handful of these statuettes still in existence, I’d be shocked. I’d be equally shocked if even a handful of people would recognize it and understand its true purpose.

“You’ve no doubt guessed, but I’ll tell you anyway. Humans—gifted and non-gifted alike—have always called upon otherworldly beings. Angels, gods, demons, devils—name them what you will, through ritual sacrifice, ceremony or rite, prayer and incantation, we’ve tried to enlist their aid, compel their aid.”

Javier’s eyes glittered. His thumb again stroked the darkened gem in the figurine’s forehead. “This particular statuette was used by priests. It served to warn them whenever malevolent spirits were present, beings the Church would label demons. Imagine my surprise when despite the wards protecting my shop against such entities, it flared when you entered the shop accompanied by one of them walking around in daylight in human form.”

He placed the figurine on the table between them. “Do you know what happens to those found guilty of consorting with demons? They’re branded, and regardless of gender they become fair game, though women suffer far more than men do. After all, if someone is willing to lie with a demon, then how can they protest sex with a human, willing or not?”

His smile became predatory. “I think you understand now why I’m so confident we will be working together. The Church won’t protect you. You’re every bit as disposable to them as Henri was. In fact, you’re something of a liability to them. Here’s another little known fact. As I mentioned when we sat down for lunch, I spent a great deal of my childhood in the tender care of the Church, much of it with Father Ursu, who saw the dark nature of my soul—read my aura and the strength of my inherent gifts—then tried to scrub it clean.”

Aisling’s stomach knotted. She remembered Father Ursu closing his eyes in the hallway of the farmhouse as if he looked elsewhere to ensure she was the one he should take to Oakland. She thought about his interest in Aziel and wondered if he’d seen a demon’s aura.

If her suspicions were right about the Church being behind Elena’s abduction, and if the vampires were right about the Church being afraid to openly go after whoever was responsible for Ghost—had they used her, knowing, hoping, she’d summon a demon if she found Elena in time to keep her from being sacrificed? Was it a test to see if she could be used to do something they couldn’t? And if she succeeded, would she be branded, put to death for consorting with demons, for carrying a demon taint?

Javier stood abruptly, jerking Aisling from her private horror. He captured her face between his hands before she could evade him. “I need to be on my way now, but I’ll be in touch soon. Give what I’ve said some thought, Aisling. I’m sure you’ll see the benefits of us joining forces. Imagine what could be gained if even a handful of the wealthy and powerful lost their souls to Ghost—or permanently for that matter—while their bodies housed entities you and I could command.”

His hands dropped away from her face. He picked up the figurine. “Just a friendly warning, if you truly care for your demon lover, don’t send him after me. I’m well protected.”

Javier turned and left the patio area. When he stepped beyond the wrought-iron fence marking the tearoom boundaries, he glanced down at the figurine as if checking it for the presence of a demon, then hurried away.

Aisling shuddered. Icy fear coursed through her, propelled by the fast beat of her heart.

“Did you have a nice visit?” Raisa asked, startling her.

“Yes,” Aisling said, and somehow she managed to sound calm underneath the birdlike-scrutiny of Raisa’s dark eyes.

Aisling stood. “The lunch was wonderful, as was the tea. Thank you.”

Raisa nodded but didn’t reach for the dishes on the tables. The silence hung between them, demanding to be filled with confidences, but Aisling wasn’t tempted. She said good-bye and left.

Nervousness trailed her as she hurried toward home. Despite having seen the guardsmen earlier, Aisling worried about what might be waiting for her in the alleyways more than she worried about being out in the open.

Her thoughts raced. Lunch with Javier played itself over and over again in her mind.

There was no sign of Aziel. She couldn’t help but think he’d somehow sensed the figurine in Javier’s possession. He’d known the crystal would flare in his presence and confirm her suspicions about his demon origins.

Worry for Zurael knotted Aisling’s stomach. She couldn’t hide from him what she’d learned. And when she told him, he would hunt Javier.

She turned the corner and stopped at the sight of a car parked in front of her house. It was black, its windows tinted. From a distance she couldn’t determine if it belonged to the Church or if it was the one Elena had arrived in.

Indecision held her motionless. The lack of safe places to go kept her from simply turning and running.

The driver’s door opened. A man emerged from the car as though he stepped out of the pages of one of Geneva’s history books. He wore a brown suit with a matching derby hat—just as Marcus had in the spiritlands when she’d gone looking for Tamara’s lover.

Aisling knew in a heartbeat he’d come to collect the ghostland debt. And strangely enough, the thought of it calmed her.

The man took his hat off and nodded respectfully when she reached him. “I’m Marcus, sent to fetch you, miss.”

He caught her surprise and smiled as he placed the hat back on his head. “The Master calls us all Marcus, after a favored servant when he was a boy. Says it’s easier all the way around. Any other name and we’ve outlived our usefulness to him and know it.”

Marcus patted his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You’ll want to see this before getting into the car with a stranger.”

Aisling took the paper from him and opened it. She found what she’d expected, a single sigil, the same one the Marcus she’d encountered in the ghostlands had shown her inside his bowler hat.

“Do we need to leave now?” she asked. There was no sign of Aziel, and Zurael wasn’t back from his search of The Barrens.

Marcus tugged on a gold watch fob. An old timepiece dropped to his hand. He looked down at it. “We’ve got a few minutes—just—before we have to be on our way. Don’t worry about meals. Cook will serve you. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to drive you home until after sunrise tomorrow.”

Aisling glanced at her front door, remembered her promise to send Aziel in before going in herself. “I’ll need clothes. And to leave a note. Would you mind going inside with me?”

Marcus pocketed the watch. All affability left his face. “There’s been trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must insist on going in first to make sure it’s safe. The Master would be displeased if something happened to you. Not that I would countenance it either, miss.”

He reached under the car seat. Aisling half-expected him to pull out a Prohibition-era tommy gun. Instead he retrieved a wooden truncheon.

Marcus slipped the rope loop at one end over his wrist, then tapped the palm of his hand with the billy club before nodding, apparently finding the weapon satisfactory. He followed her to the front door and waited while she unlocked the doors, but then insisted she remain on the stoop while he went inside.

A few minutes later he emerged and held the door open for her. A tug to the watch fob brought the timepiece out of his pocket again. “I’m afraid we’re going to be cutting it close if we don’t leave quickly.”

Aisling hurried to her bedroom to gather a change of clothes and something to sleep in. Marcus cleared his throat. “The Master won’t expect you to be dressed on par with a coming-out party. He understands you’ve only recently arrived in Oakland. But you might want to pack your best for the appointment tonight.”

“Thank you, Marcus.”

“My pleasure, miss.”

Aisling packed her clothes, then went to the kitchen to search the drawers for the tablet of paper she thought she’d seen there. It was underneath frayed dish towels and yellowed from age.

A pencil was there, too, its tip broken. She used a knife to sharpen it.

There was so much to tell Zuarel, none of which she wanted to leave in writing. She hesitated, pencil point on the paper, and asked, “Where are we going?”

Marcus shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say. You’re leaving a note for someone you care about?”

“Yes.”

“Then assure them your physical safety is guaranteed. As my counterpart said when he struck this deal with you, tonight’s work involves a shaman’s task not meant to be difficult or dangerous. You understand we can’t offer assurance when it comes to the use of your gift. But to the best of our ability we’ll see no harm comes to you.”

Aisling nodded her understanding and acceptance. She had to settle for telling Zurael she was paying a debt incurred and would see him in the morning.

Only when they got to the Bay Bridge and San Francisco loomed ahead of them did her nervousness return like a gust of icy wind. Suddenly references to the Master took on chilly meaning, as did the clothing Marcus wore—clothes centuries upon centuries out of style.

He slowed to a stop at the guard booth.

“Authorization!” the guard barked.

“Certainly.”

Marcus pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the guard, but not before Aisling saw the green of printed money held firmly to the back of the paper.

The guard slid the bills into his sleeve as he held the paper underneath a scanner. When the scanner beeped, he returned the paper to Marcus.

“Everything is in order. By law I must remind you that under the terms of the compact between Oakland and San Francisco, the bridge closes from dusk until dawn.”

As soon as they pulled away from the booth, Aisling said, “Marcus, do you serve a vampire?”