On the floor above me, I could feel Gabriel’s presence, a warm, comforting sort of glow that wrapped me in a cocoon of burgeoning love. I smiled to myself as I watched the basement patrol stroll down the hallway, alert for signs she might become aware of what was going on upstairs. The dragons and Aisling had little trouble dealing with the guards, for a few minutes later Jim appeared at the far end of the corridor.

‘‘Yo! Miss Guard! I don’t suppose you brought your lunch with you? You’re not going to need it, and my fabulous form is being positively starved to death.’’

The guard, who had her back turned to Jim, whipped around to stare in momentary surprise. I zipped around behind her, deshadowing the second she reached for her radio. She hit the floor without having time to speak a word.

‘‘Nicely done,’’ Gabriel said as he and the others stepped over her body. ‘‘Why does it not surprise me that you have martial arts training?’’

‘‘I’m mad, bad, and very dangerous to know,’’ I told him with a little smile.

‘‘We will have to compare badness at another time,’’ he answered with a flash of his dimples. ‘‘Is that the vault?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ I stood back as Drake and Aisling approached the heavy steel door. ‘‘It’s just the wards and prohibitions you’ll need to take care of—the arcane magic won’t affect me.’’

Aisling peered closely at the wards. ‘‘I can’t unmake them, but I don’t think it will be any problem to break them. Jim, get to work on the prohibitions.’’

‘‘You and Tipene patrol the perimeter,’’ Gabriel told his two bodyguards. ‘‘Drake and I will shut down any alarm systems wired to the vault.’’

They nodded and hurried off toward the stairs. Drake ordered his men to shut off power to all parts of the building but the basement, and to secure the entrances.

‘‘Stay with Aisling,’’ Drake ordered Jim as he and Gabriel were about to leave.

‘‘Ten four, dragon buddy.’’

Drake turned to his wife. ‘‘Do not do anything foolish, kincsem.’’

She gave him a fond but exasperated look. ‘‘Honest to Pete, dragons! Bossiest beings in the world.’’

Gabriel smiled at me but said nothing until he and Drake started to leave. ‘‘You’ll notice I don’t have to warn my mate to be careful. I have full confidence in May’s abilities,’’ he told Drake.

‘‘She’s a female American. No doubt you will soon understand the true depth of hell she can put you through.’’

Aisling laughed as she turned back to the door. I watched with interest as Jim broke down the prohibitions (a weak version of a curse, easily unmade by beings of a dark origin). Aisling muttered under her breath as she struggled with the wards, her face turning red as they fought her attempts to break them.

‘‘There,’’ she said after five minutes of intense work. She stepped back, rubbing her hands. ‘‘Got the little bastards. Jim?’’

‘‘I was done before you had the first ward down. You’re losing your touch, Ash.’’

She shot it a look. ‘‘Caribbean Battiste probably warded the vault doors. I’d like to see you take on the wards drawn by the head of the Guardians’ Guild himself.’’

‘‘Excuses, excuses.’’ It smiled at her.

‘‘The lock and arcane spells are all yours,’’ Aisling said to me.

‘‘Perfect, thanks.’’ I ignored the spells as I put both hands on the lock, closing my eyes as I mentally traveled the intricacies of its mechanisms. ‘‘It’s a time lock.’’

‘‘Is that going to be a problem?’’ Aisling asked.

‘‘No. I can persuade the inner clock to move forward. I’ve never seen a lock quite like this, though. There are locks within the locks, but I think I can convince them to open for us. Ah, yes. That’s it. Just one more tumbler . . . lovely.’’

The lock didn’t give me any trouble. I waited until Jim, sent to stand on the staircase, reported that the power had been cut to the upper floors before carefully opening the heavy vault door. There were no sirens or flashing lights warning that the door was being opened, but I didn’t expect them—any notice that the vault was being breeched would go out silently. I just hoped Drake and Gabriel had been successful in quelling any other alarm systems.

A light clicked on inside the vault as the door opened wide enough for me to slip in.

‘‘Here we go,’’ I told Aisling as I shadowed.

‘‘Good luck!’’ she whispered.

I entered the vault, pausing to listen for any sounds indicating security systems. There was a hum from fluorescent lights overhead, and the soft whoosh of an air system pumping air into the large vault. Ahead of me were long rows of metal cases. I touched the nearest one, but there was no lock on it. I slid the door out and rolled it back along a track. Boxes labeled ‘‘Grimoires, 1450 to 1800’’ filled the cabinet. The next one housed a collection of spell books. I closed both and moved down the line of cabinets. The vault was evidently created from the original storerooms of the cellar, separated by modern metal doors. Careful to avoid making any sound, I gently persuaded the door’s lock to bend to my will, slipping silently through the doorway and closing it with only the barest whisper of noise.

The spotlight hit me almost at the same time as the sound.

‘‘Aaaaaand . . . two, three, four!’’

A chorus of reedy voices began to sing to an accompaniment of tinny music. Startled by the lights and noise, I shadowed immediately, although I was sure I was visible under the bright light that filled the room. Momentarily blinded, I strained my eyes to see even as I sidled out of the way of the spotlight.

‘‘No, no, no!’’ The words were punctuated with a slapping noise. I blinked a couple of times, my vision slowly adapting to the light. What I saw left me speechless with amazement. The room held the same gray metal cabinets as the previous room, but these ones lined the walls rather than filled the floor space. That was taken up by a large wooden desk—or I assumed it normally would have been the case, the desk currently having been shoved to a far corner. Also dotted around the perimeter of the room were a couple of tall standing lights, the kind used by smaller theater companies. But it wasn’t any of that which made me gawk.

‘‘You have to listen to the beat! Move to the tempo! For the sovereign’s sake, you’re Munchkins, not lumbering baboons! It’s not . . . that . . . hard!’’ The last three words were punctuated with the slam of a ruler against the wooden desk. A man yielded the ruler— at least I thought at first it was a man, but as I watched in openmouthed amazement, I realized he was slightly translucent. A spirit, then, not a man. Which meant . . . I turned my gaze to the center of the room.

Six imps stood in a row, clad in sequin-bedecked costumes that had only a passing resemblance to those worn by the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

‘‘Now we will try this again, and this time, listen to the blasted music! Everyone lift your right foot. That’s your left hand. Lift your right . . . oh, let me show you. Again.’’

The spirit jumped off the desk and started for the six imps, pausing when he almost bumped into me.

‘‘Who are you? What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy now?’’

He brushed past me and took a spot next to the closest imp. ‘‘Right foot, do you see? This one is the right foot. Now you all lift yours. Well, that’s two of you. On the count of four you start forward on this foot. Honestly, it’s like trying to discuss brain surgery with tapioca.’’

This last bit was directed toward me. I figured since the spirit had already seen me, I might as well deshadow. ‘‘This may sound a little odd, but what exactly are you doing?’’ I asked.

‘‘Two by two! What did I just get done telling you? You march two by two toward Dorothy.’’

One imp—I was relieved to note they were the benign Australian house imps rather than the rowdier (and potentially dangerous) European variety—eeked in distress a couple of times.

‘‘Well, I’m going to sound angry when I’ve told you and told you how to do this scene! This is the pivotal moment when Dorothy meets you. She’s your savior, the one who has come to free you from the bondage that has held you in its steely grip for centuries. You march toward her two by two, bow, and go into the jazz number. Do you all have that?’’

The unhappy imp he was addressing suddenly burst into tears, the other five huddling around it in poses of abject misery.

‘‘Oh, for the sake of the sovereign’s ten blessed toes . . . take five! Go back to your dressing room and collect yourselves!’’

The imps bolted for a large cardboard box that sat next to the wooden desk. I looked from the box to the spirit. ‘‘Do I want to know why you’re evidently drilling imps to play parts from The Wizard of Oz?’’ I asked him.

He crossed his arms and adopted an extremely put-upon expression. ‘‘It’s not The Wizard of Oz. You’ve heard of that musical about the Wicked Witch? Well, this is my version of the Oz story, told from the perspective of the Munchkins, a much-persecuted and maligned people.’’

‘‘With imps.’’

‘‘Well . . . they are all I have. It’s not easy being a vault attendant, you know,’’ he said with a sniff, returning to his desk. ‘‘Not allowed to bring in guests, not allowed out for more than one day a week, hardly anyone ever comes here, and there’s not even any Internet access. I would have gone insane long, long ago if it wasn’t for my musical comedy troupe. We bring life to old classics—that’s our motto. Snappy, don’t you think?’’

‘‘Er . . . very.’’

He held up a colorful flyer that proclaimed ‘‘MUNCH! You’ve heard the witches’ sides, now hear ours!’’ ‘‘I had hoped to open next month, but I lost most of my company when they started their own group and decided to tour America. These new imps seem to be all left feet. And so emotional! You’ve never seen such drama queens in your life.’’ His eyes narrowed on me suddenly. ‘‘Who did you say you were?’’

‘‘I don’t think I did. My name is May. And you are?’’

‘‘Misha,’’ he said, nodding dismissively.

‘‘Pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry to appear at a loss, but I wasn’t expecting to find anyone in here.’’

‘‘No one ever thinks of the vault attendants,’’ he said with another sniff. ‘‘Speaking of which, the vault hours are clearly posted in the lobby. I am not obligated to serve customers after hours unless a member of the committee requests it, and I’’—he made a show of shuffling through some paperwork—‘‘do not have any such order.’’

‘‘You’re a spirit,’’ I pointed out, albeit apropos of nothing.

‘‘I’m a domovoi,’’ he snapped back.

That was interesting. What was a Russian house spirit doing acting as an attendant in the committee’s vault? ‘‘I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry, and can’t wait until the proper vault hours. I’ll be happy to let you get back to your imp musical if you could just point me to the area where the Lindorm Phylactery is being held.’’

‘‘Room C, row seven, shelf two, box K," Misha said, sitting back down at the desk. ‘‘But you can’t have it.’’

‘‘Why not?’’ I asked, wondering if he was going to make trouble.

‘‘No one is allowed into the back storerooms. Not even Dr. Kostich himself. Besides, it doesn’t belong to you,’’ he answered without looking up.

‘‘Actually, it was taken from me when I was arrested, and I neglected to regain my things when I left. So you see, I do have every right to it.’’

He pursed his lips as he considered me. ‘‘You’re a dragon’s mate, but you’re not a dragon. That phylactery belongs to dragons.’’

‘‘More specifically, it belongs to my dragon,’’ I agreed. ‘‘That is, the wyvern to whom I’m mated. He’ll be along any second to collect it, so if you wouldn’t mind getting the phylactery, I’ll send Gabriel in for it, and you can get on with your . . . er . . . directing.’’

‘‘What was your name again?’’ he said with a much-put-upon sigh.

I told him.

He sorted through some of the papers, extracting one, which he read with an increasingly sour look. ‘‘It would seem your story is true. So far,’’ he allowed. ‘‘But it is well after hours, and if I make an exception to the rules for you, I’ll have to make one for everyone.’’

‘‘Says who?’’

He thought about that for a moment, then gave a little shrug. ‘‘You’re right. I’ll get the phylactery for you, but only because I really have to nail down this scene before morning if we hope to have any chance of being ready by the end of the month. Stay here and don’t touch anything.’’

I thanked him as he toddled off, muttering under his breath about people interrupting important dramatic work. The second the door closed behind him I was out the way I came, running back to the entrance, sure that Gabriel would be ready and waiting for my report back on the vault.

I opened the door to find utter pandemonium.

Gabriel and Kostya were yelling at each other, Drake and his men trying to pull the two wyverns apart. Maata and Tipene jumped at Kostya, and everyone went down in a big mass of snarling dragons.

‘‘What the . . . what’s going on?’’

‘‘Mayling! There you are. Will you tell Gabriel to stop being so mean?’’ Cyrene stepped over one of the dragons and gave me a very irritated look.

‘‘Cy? You’re all right?’’

She squawked a little when I hugged her.

‘‘Of course I’m all right, silly. I was with Kostya.’’ I shook my head. She couldn’t be saying what I thought she was saying. ‘‘You’re not going to tell me that he didn’t kidnap you?’’

Kostya lunged free of Maata and Tipene and tried to grab Gabriel by the throat. Gabriel rolled away and lashed out with his leg, connecting with Kostya’s gut.

‘‘Kidnap me? Why would he kidnap me when he saved me?’’

Kostya screamed and tried to bite Gabriel’s leg, but due to the struggle, ended up clunking heads with Drake instead.

‘‘Hey!’’ Aisling yelled. ‘‘Jim, stop them!’’

‘‘Saved you from what? Cyrene . . .’’ I pulled her out of the way as the dragons attempted to rise to their feet. I kept one eye on Gabriel in case he should need me, but judging by the blows he was getting in to Kostya—hampered though he was by Drake and his men trying to keep him from doing so—he didn’t need my assistance. ‘‘Didn’t Kostya have Porter kidnap you?’’

‘‘Stop them how? You want I should pee on them or something?’’ Jim asked Aisling.

The threat of urination had more effect than all the pleading in the world. En masse the dragons hastily got to their feet, dirty, bleeding, and furious, to a man.

‘‘Kostya?’’ Cyrene all but goggled at me. ‘‘No, of course not! That man Porter, the one who blackmailed us, kidnapped me. He said he was going to give you a little motivation to get that amulet back, but he wasn’t acting on Kostya’s behalf. In fact, it was just the opposite. Kostya saved me from him and brought me to Paris, where I knew we’d find you. And here we all are!’’

‘‘Well, I’m glad to know that, but I don’t understand why you would go willingly with Kostya after he killed Porter. I realize he saved you, but he’s a murderer—’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’ Cyrene interrupted. ‘‘The blackmailer is dead?’’

‘‘Thought that would get your attention,’’ Jim said with a satisfied smile at the dragons.

‘‘Yes. We found him. And since you and Kostya had evidently been there, I assumed he had killed him.’’

She shrugged. ‘‘You assumed wrong. Kostya followed us when the blackmailer grabbed me, and bashed him on the head, but he wasn’t dead. Then we left by the window. I thought it was very gallant of Kostya.’’

I shook my head, more confused than ever. ‘‘Great. We’re back to the question of who killed Porter. I don’t suppose you have any idea?’’

‘‘I didn’t even know he was dead,’’ Cyrene protested.

‘‘It’s got to be the person who is manipulating us. And if it’s not Kostya . . . ugh. I just don’t know how much more of this mysterious business I can cope with.’’

Cyrene patted me on the arm. ‘‘Does it really matter who killed him? He was a bad man.’’

I shot her a look of disbelief.

‘‘Well, don’t think too hard about it, then,’’ she amended. ‘‘It’ll give you wrinkles.’’

‘‘If Kostya is so gallant, why is he holding you ransom for the phylactery?’’ I asked, pouncing on something she’d said.

‘‘Is he?’’ She looked over at where Drake and his men were (this time successfully) keeping Kostya back. Gabriel and his guards stood opposite. I frowned when I noticed that Gabriel’s lip was cut, and his nose bleeding. ‘‘Well, I’m sure he has a very good reason for it. You’re all wrong in thinking he’s a villain, May. He’s actually very sweet, and very, very misunderstood.’’

‘‘I bet he is,’’ I said, moving around her to Gabriel’s side. His eyes glittered with an intensity that did not bode well for Kostya.

‘‘We don’t have time for this,’’ I told him in a low voice.

His gaze flickered to me. ‘‘You found it?’’

‘‘Yes. But you’ll need to take it. The vault attendant will only give it over to a dragon.’’

‘‘The phylactery!’’ Kostya said loudly, wrenching himself away from Drake’s bodyguards. He was at Cyrene’s side before I could even think to warn her, a knife held to her throat.

‘‘You’ve already done that,’’ I told him, my fingers itching for my own knife. ‘‘You’re not going to be so predictable, are you?’’

‘‘If you do not bring the phylactery to me, I will kill your twin,’’ he said coolly.

Cyrene gasped and tried to look at him, but he held tight to her neck.

‘‘You will not harm anyone,’’ Drake said in a tired voice. ‘‘You may be many things, but you are not a murderer. Let go of the naiad, brother.’’

Kostya looked like he wanted to argue that point, but to my great surprise, he dropped the hand holding the knife, his shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘‘There is much to be said for dealing with strangers who do not know one well. No, I am not a murderer. But I will do whatever it takes to get back what belongs to me.’’

Cyrene turned around and stomped on his foot, then slammed a knee into his groin. Kostya yelped and doubled over, clutching himself.

‘‘Oooh, right in the happy sacks,’’ Jim said, wincing. ‘‘That’s gonna sting.’’

‘‘That’s for using me! And that is for making me think you were nice when all along you’re a selfish, egotistical beast!’’ Cyrene stormed, shoving him into the wall.

‘‘Dragon, not beast,’’ Kostya said with painful little gasps of air.

‘‘Same difference.’’ Cyrene marched over to where I stood, telling Gabriel, ‘‘I take back everything I said about Kostya. As far as I’m concerned, you can have the phylactery. He doesn’t deserve it.’’

‘‘I’m so glad to have your permission,’’ Gabriel answered with a twinkle of humor in his eyes that quickly faded away.

‘‘Why don’t we take this opportunity of momentary calm to finish up before someone notices the lack of security?’’ I suggested.

Gabriel nodded, taking my hand as he led me toward the vault. ‘‘I take it that it’s safe for us to go in there?’’

‘‘Yes, unless you have some sort of a phobia about singing and dancing imps.’’

He shot me an odd look as he opened the door. The others followed, Kostya bringing up the rear in a half-shuffling, half-crab-walking sort of gait.

Misha the attendant was waiting in his room when we all piled in. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of us, but other than making a few sounds of disapproval at the sight of the bloody men, he said nothing. ‘‘Sign here,’’ he said, holding out a clipboard and pen.

I scanned the paper quickly, but it was just a statement that I had received my property back in the state it had been taken from me. I signed and handed the clipboard back.

‘‘Next time, please adhere to the stated hours,’’ he said, handing me a small box.

‘‘Gabriel?’’ I said, nodding toward it.

‘‘That’s mine!’’ Kostya said in a still somewhat strangled voice as he lurched forward.

Gabriel reached for the box but Misha held tight to it, backing up a couple of steps as he eyed us.

‘‘You are who?’’ he asked.

‘‘Konstantin Fekete, wyvern of the black dragons. The phylactery belongs to me.’’

‘‘The black dragons,’’ Misha said slowly. ‘‘Surely they all died centuries ago?’’

‘‘Not all. There are still a few of us. And we will regain what we once held—’’

Everyone in the room except Cyrene chanted in unison, ‘‘—but was taken from us. We will face death to restore to the sept the pride, the glory, the true essence, of what it once was.’’

Kostya glared at us all.

‘‘Don’t get him going about that, please,’’ Aisling said from where she stood behind us, leaning against Drake. ‘‘It’s late, and once he starts, it can take hours.’’

‘‘And this is your wyvern?’’ Misha asked me, nodding at Gabriel.

Gabriel bowed and introduced himself and his bodyguards.

Cyrene edged toward me, giving Kostya a glare as she did so. ‘‘Who’s that?’’ she whispered.

‘‘He’s the vault keeper. I wish now we’d done a twin identity swap before we came in here,’’ I whispered back.

‘‘Why?’’ she asked, but I didn’t have time to explain to her the importance of someone other than me taking the box.

Misha peered over Gabriel’s shoulder. ‘‘Ah. Drake Vireo, is it not? I had no idea the committee rescinded its order concerning your presence in Suffrage House.’’

Drake looked momentarily taken aback as Aisling gave him a long look. ‘‘It is nothing, kincsem,’’ he told her. ‘‘A little misunderstanding about some items which might have gone missing.’’

‘‘Misunderstanding,’’ Misha snorted, saying in an aside to me, ‘‘Caught him trying to break into the vault more than one time over the centuries. He succeeded once. But that was before we got the electronics, eh, Vireo?’’

Drake adopted a haughty look. ‘‘I have no knowledge of what you speak.’’

Jim snickered.

‘‘May I have the phylactery, please,’’ Gabriel said, holding out his hand for the small box Misha held. ‘‘As you can see by the inventory, it belongs to my mate, not Kostya.’’

Misha shoved the box toward me. ‘‘That would appear in order, yes.’’

I held up my hands and took a step back. ‘‘Thanks. Just give it to Gabriel, please.’’

Misha frowned at me. So did everyone else. ‘‘I am trying to do just that. Please take it so that I may get back to my rehearsals.’’

‘‘Rehearsals? Do I want to know?’’ Aisling asked softy.

‘‘I don’t think so,’’ Drake answered.

‘‘Just give it to Gabriel, please,’’ I said, taking another step back.

Misha clicked his tongue in an exasperated manner. ‘‘I must return it to the owner. So far as the L’au-delà is concerned, you are the owner of this piece, and it is to your hands I must return it.’’

Kostya, standing mostly straight, started to move toward me, but Maata and Tipene blocked his way.

‘‘I understand that, and as owner, I give you permission to give it to Gabriel,’’ I said, moving back yet another step. I wondered briefly if I could get Misha to give it to Cyrene, instead of me, but suspected that even if he would, the dragons wouldn’t accept that.

‘‘I cannot do that,’’ Misha said.

‘‘What is the problem, Mayling?’’ Gabriel asked, his lovely brows pulled together.

‘‘I can’t take it,’’ I told him, unwilling to say any more.

‘‘Why not?’’

‘‘I just can’t. You take it.’’

Gabriel looked at the box. ‘‘Does it contain something dangerous?’’

‘‘No, I just can’t—’’

‘‘For the love of the sun and moon! I do not have time for this!’’ Misha shoved the box into my hands. The second it hit my flesh, the world shimmied for a few seconds. My fingers tightened around the box holding the phylactery as I gazed in absolute horror at Gabriel.

Before anyone could say anything, a demon opened up the fabric of being behind me, wrapped its hand around my upper arm, and yanked me with it through the gaping hole.