“I’m too tired to play head games with you, Allie,” I muttered as I heaved myself up the last step on crutches, being careful not to let the cast on my left foot touch down. I had to stop, five steps short of my doorway. My lungs felt on fire and the wide elastic bandage around my ribs couldn’t contain the bruises. I had to stop and breathe, carefully, shallowly, letting my heart rate calm.

And I was damp from the last onslaught of rain that blew down the river into my face the moment I lurched out of Steve’s rental car. Copious sweat from the exertion of getting up the stairs didn’t help.

Call you Miss Cranky Pants, Scrap taunted.

“Don’t push, Steve,” I pleaded as he applied gentle pressure to my lower back. “I can’t go any farther yet.”

“Want me to carry you this last little bit?”

“No. You’re a computer geek, not a super hero. You’d drop me and then Allie would have to take us both back to the ER.”

I hadn’t experienced this kind of fatigue since I’d become a Warrior of the Celestial Blade, dropped fifty pounds, and taken up running and fencing as hobbies. Speaking of which, I needed to call my coach and explain why I wouldn’t be in class tonight.

“This place is clean!” Allie protested. She stood in the open doorway, hands on hips, a scowl marring her strong face. “Not a single piece of dirty laundry or moldy coffee cup littering the place. No research books strewn across every flat surface. No piles of unanswered mail. I mean, Tess, this can’t possibly be your home.”

Not home. Just a temporary lodging. I didn’t know where home was anymore.

My hand went to my throat. No pearls. My talisman, my last connection to my mom wasn’t there.

“What did you do with all your furniture?” Steve asked as he peered inside at the same time he prodded me forward.

“I sold most of my stuff along with the house to Dad and Bill. They needed furnishings to open a Bed and Breakfast.” The mahogany dining table and twelve chairs had come with the house when Dill, my deceased husband, and I bought the two-hundred-seventy-five-year-old monstrosity. The earnest money agreement included the appliances, the curtains, and the ghosts. I made sure Dad and his life partner bought them too.

Taking a deep breath, I muscled my wobbling way inside. Then I stopped again, more because I saw my condo as my brother and best friend did than because I couldn’t take another step without rest.

“I guess it is kind of minimalistic,” I half apologized.

“Not minimalistic. Stark,” Steve clarified.

“Try stark naked,” Allie added in disgust. She took the bag of groceries she carried toward the galley kitchen.

I usually ate at the countertop with barstools that separated the kitchen from the dining area and sunken living room. That eliminated the need for a table and chairs. The empty space spread wider than I remembered. The parquet floor was as new and unscuffed as the day I bought the place. A simple banister of Craftsman styled pale wood protected the upper level from the drop-off. Two steps near the entry hall and another two steps in the corner from the dining area were covered in the same textured carpet in mottled cream, seafoam green, and stone blue as the main floor.

A wall of windows overlooking the river and marina dominated the spacious living room, almost half the square footage of the apartment. A white stone chimney with a raised hearth and a gas log filled the adjacent wall. My one piece of good furniture, a comfortable sofa with foldout footrests, sat before a big screen HD TV with surround sound.

The kitchen at least got used more than the rest of the house. Even then a single sparkling wine glass occupied the hanging rack over the counter in a space for two dozen.

“You never watched TV much,” Allie said cautiously. “Only two sets in the entire rambling house designed to house three generations.” She rummaged around the kitchen, opening and closing every cupboard and drawer. She only paused when she stuck her head into the fridge. “And you never cooked much either. You’ve got all the makings for a dozen gourmet meals stockpiled.”

“I have more time now that I’m not maintaining a colonial era house that sprawled in uneven levels and up three stories,” I grunted. “Dad and Bill seem to be making a go of their B&B in the place though.” I flopped onto the sofa and did some sprawling myself.

Allie creased her forehead and looked at me strangely. But she kept her mouth shut.

“What’s going on here, Tess? This isn’t like you.” Steve crouched beside the sofa at my eye level.

I turned my head away.

“You have a right to be upset over Mom’s death. My God, you were there when she was murdered. She died in your arms. I understand you wanting to get away from the house she shared with you. But you’ve always been the strong one in the family, Tess. The one we could rely on. Now you’re falling apart.”

“Not to mention you’ve pared down your skinny frame to a bony husk,” Allie muttered. She carried a few pounds more than she wanted, but on her tall, long-limbed body you couldn’t tell. “I’m heating up some of your homemade soup and making sandwiches. You need to eat in order to heal.”

Listen to her, babe. Scrap sounded more alert now, but still far away. I knew he’d maintain a connection.

“You two can have my bedroom. I’ll sleep here.” I rolled over so I wouldn’t have to look Steve in the eye.

Over my head Allie and Steve exchanged “The Look.” You know, that weird silent communication two people have when they are thinking the same thing.

“Where’s your cell phone, Tess?” Allie asked, all smart and businesslike.

“Why?”

“I’m calling Gollum.”

“No, you aren’t. I deleted his number right after he went back to his wife.” I sneered the last word. Not that Julia had been much of a wife to him over the past fifteen years. She’d been locked in an insane asylum for most of their marriage.

“Don’t you remember the number?” she asked.

Of course I did.

Instead of answering I pulled a pillow over my head and pretended to sleep.

“That does it. If I can’t get hold of Gollum, I’m calling your other boyfriend, Donovan Estevez.”

“Not on your life!” I bolted up to prevent her from doing anything so drastic. Dumb me forgot about the pounds of fiberglass on my lower leg. Sharp pains shot, wiggled, and zigzagged in all directions.

With a muffled scream I lost my balance and fell back where I’d been. Panting through the pain, I couldn’t prevent Allie from fishing my phone out of the fanny pack strapped around my waist.

“Donovan, this is Allie. Tess is hurt. We need you now!” she said and hung up. I presumed she spoke to his voice mail.

I wondered why the sexiest man alive, sort of my stepbrother, champion of demon rights, and one-time suitor wasn’t glued to his business number like his life and fortune depended on the next call. They usually did.

But I had my pearls back on. I felt dressed even in my pajamas and robe.

I faced east, looking across the river as light gradually revealed lines of hills marching up to the base of Mt. Hood. The snowcapped peak towered majestically above the city. For about two seconds the low light sparkled against new snow. Then scudding low clouds raced across the lowlands and piled up against the mountain, blocking my view.

The Ross Island Bridge half a mile north had clogged with early morning Sunday traffic. People rushing to get out of town and enjoy the last of the mild weather. Cars on the Marquam Bridge, the double-decker freeway bridge next in line, still flowed freely. The mist obscured the other bridges that gave Portland one of its nicknames: Bridgetown.

Scrap perched precariously on the railing. Today his transparent body took on a shade of green content and he almost glowed. At least he’d gotten lucky recently. He faced south, upriver toward the Sellwood Bridge, in the direction of McLoughlin College, the small, exclusive, incredibly expensive institution of learning that was almost as old as the state.

“Did you know he was there?” I asked Scrap. We both knew I’d only speak of one “he.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You didn’t want to know.

“You’re right.”

“I don’t know.” Why had Gollum come to Oregon when his insane wife was locked up in an asylum outside of Boston? Surely if he were free of her, he’d look me up.

He’d said he would remain my friend, help me when I needed an archivist, just before the door closed on his retreating back.

“I don’t need him.”

If you truly believe that, I’ve got some Alpine cottages in Kansas I’ll sell you, Scrap offered with a toothy grin.

The moisture-laden air carried an autumnal edge of chill. It smelled sharp and musky, of fallen leaves and ripening fruit. I caught a whiff of pumpkin spice from the bakery down the street. My mouth watered. My stomach growled with a hunger I hadn’t felt since Gollum had left me and Mom had died at the hands of a rogue Warrior.

Those spiced muffins would make a perfect breakfast.

Maybe my soul was coming alive again after the deep grief. Maybe I could write again. My dwindling bank account sure would like me to finish the book that was more than a year overdue.

But I couldn’t just dash out and grab a muffin to go with my excellent coffee while I pounded away at the keyboard. I was stuck in this apartment, chained to the crutches and the heavy cast.

“Tess, I’m fixing omelets,” Allie called on a yawn.

I might not be able to dash out, but my brother could. “Send Steve to the bakery for pumpkin spice muffins!” I closed the lid on my cup and stuffed it in the pocket of my robe. Then I made the awkward turn on the crutches to go back inside. That wind seemed colder and wetter than it had a minute ago. Fat raindrops splattered on the edge of the balcony. I made it through the French doors half a breath ahead of the onslaught of the next shower.

Uh oh, Scrap said. He rose up from the railing on his stubby wings, large bat-wing ears flicking forward. His contented green flashed back and forth between angry orange and hot pink. Not complimentary colors.

Instantly on my guard, I balanced on my left crutch and prepared to swing the right.

“What?” I whispered so that only he could hear.

Tall, dark, and toxic has entered the building! He landed on my right shoulder, cocking his head, trying to figure a way for me to hold him while he stretched and solidified into the Celestial Blade.

“Donovan Estevez,” I sighed.

Scrap really doesn’t like Donovan. For the first year of our acquaintance, remnants of Donovan’s gargoyle aura repelled Scrap completely. The only time the two could get within ten yards of each other was when the presence of a demon or tremendous evil overrode the repulsion.

Donovan spent about eight hundred years as a gargoyle, keeping demons and evil away from whatever structure he protected. Some of that apotropaic nature remained after his fall. He claims that he was inexperienced (gargoyles don’t learn and grow after they are assigned a statue). Smarmy persuasion and vast numbers of demons overwhelmed him about fifty years ago. Whatever the cause, he was kicked out of the gargoyle business. A half-blood or Kajiri demon rescued him from his fall. I’d only recently learned the rescuer had been my deceased husband. That knowledge still ate at my gut.

I had a hard time convincing myself that a few family photos I’d accidentally tucked into a box of Dill’s stuff I had sent his family were worth bringing back painful memories. His sister Doreen wanted to return them. I didn’t want to have to think about all the people I’d lost in the last few years. Mom, my best friend Bob, Dill ...

Those were just the ones who’d died.

After Donovan’s fall, Dill had sheltered and nurtured him for a time before The Powers That Be passed sentence—condemned him to be fostered by Darren Estevez, a Kajiri of the Damiri tribe and nowhere near as nice and nurturing as my Dill.

Donovan claimed he hadn’t been involved in Dill’s murder at Darren’s hand. I didn’t believe him.

You see, Donovan developed sympathy for those he’d been charged to keep out of sacred space and now served as their human champion. Scrap had a darkness in his soul that made him and Donovan mutually repulsive, sort of like magnetic fields. Scrap overcame his problem. I’m not privy to the details of his time of trial.

Now the two can face each other and snarl.

I didn’t like Donovan or approve of his mission to create a homeland for half-breed demons in human space—for that reason I had helped my aunt MoonFeather gain custody of Donovan’s daughter, Lilly. The baby’s mother certainly couldn’t care for her in an asylum for the criminally insane.

But I trusted Donovan with my life. Several times we’d fought side by side and triumphed over some truly nasty Midori (full-blood) demons.

“What about Donovan?” Steve asked, emerging from the bedroom, blond hair scraggly—longer than he usually wore it and in need of a good cut—jeans zipped but not snapped, T-shirt half tucked in, feet stuffed into loafers, sans socks.

“He’s approaching the front door,” I said and flopped onto the sofa amidst the tangle of pillows and blankets that had made my bed. My hand automatically went to the strand of pearls.

“How?”

“Don’t ask. Call me psychic like MoonFeather.” Our father’s sister was an avowed witch. We’d learned long ago not to question her powers of observation, intuition, and healing calmness. Who’s to say I hadn’t inherited her talents?

Allie, of course, knew about Scrap. She’d been deeply involved in one of our little escapades a while back. I hoped she’d kept that information secret.

Scrap flitted to the door, growling and gnashing his teeth, glowing an angry dark pink.

If he’d truly meant it, he’d turn deep red and stick himself to my right hand. If Scrap thought for an instant that Donovan threatened me in any way he’d have stretched and curved halfway through transformation into the Celestial Blade without my command.

A loud knock on the door and a simultaneous peal of the bell demanded attention.

“A bit impatient, isn’t he?” Steve shuffled to the entry, peered through the spy hole, then unlatched the dead bolt and security chain. The door thrust open, nearly knocking him into the wall. He harrumphed and departed, presumably for the bakery and my requested pumpkin spice muffins.

“Good morning, Donovan. Have you visited your daughter lately? You look like you drove all night,” I said, gluing my gaze to the weather report on the big screen TV. I didn’t want to take in his lean, muscular frame, the high cheekbones and copper tone to his skin. His long black braid touched with silver at his temples could send me into paroxysms of joy when he tickled me with its silky ends.

Nope, not going to think about that, not one little bit.

“I’m flying out next week to testify on my custody appeal for Lilly. What’s wrong with you?” He stalked over to stand between me and the map of the region with predicted high temperatures plastered over it. “Did a demon invade your dad’s place and open a new portal? I can’t believe you actually sold that very vulnerable piece of land to someone you love.”

A memory flashed behind my eyes. My head reeled and my present location and condition reverted to an earlier time.

I lived again the gnawing fear that drove me to the most dangerous portal of all in the chat room. Once more I stood before the tall elegant door with stained glass panels to the sides. I heard again the deep reverberations throughout the Universe when I dropped the knocker. Felt the vibrations as my pearls picked up the harmonics. I shuddered anew with the bone deep, burning cold of the doorknob when I finally screwed up my courage to open the damn door to the Powers That Be.

Seven beings from seven different dimensions sat in judgment of the entire Universe. Seven beings hidden and shadowed by long cloaks and deep hoods. I had no way of knowing who they were or where they came from. If any of them were human or had human sympathies they didn’t betray them.