No, that doesn’t scan. Only half rhymes.

Something strange going down. Down, down, down I plunge.

Oops, didn’t mean to kiss the floor. What’s this? Pretty knots of lacy vines. Holly, mistletoe, and ivy. What a lovely song they make. I could sing of them all night. Sing to them too.

But they don’t belong in my world. Something tugs at me. Hard. Pulling me back from my delightful, lazy musings.

Don’t wanna go back.

Gotta go back.

A slice of pain to my brain.

Acid boils in my stomach, followed by burning anger.

The shroud of fog lightens around my mind.

Holly, Mistletoe, and Ivy.

Mistletoe, Ivy, Holly.

Knots and knots. Twists of lacey woven green. A decidedly Italian flavor to the design.

A jolt of knowledge. The Nörglein invented that spell to make imps impotent. He and his kind have been using it for centuries to keep us at bane. Oops, at bay. Bay. Bay.

Well into the bay goes the Imp bane. Gain, main, disdain, mundane.

Not exactly the bay, but the river. Sliver, quiver, dither, Indian giver.

I grab the tendrils and pop out. Almost lose them in the chat room. Can’t do that. Might trap the unwary imp....

A torrent of giggles bubble out of me. There are more than a few uppity imps I’d like to trap. Starting with fifty of my siblings, a few old guys at the Citadel, and Mum.

Much as I’d like to do that, I need clear passage through the chat room whenever I want.

So blip. Pop back into reality flapping my wings like mad and drop the noxious bundles into the muddy, surging water. The currents grab them, dunk them, and whisk them away over the horizon. All that rain the dark elf spat at us last night strengthened the currents and gave them speed. Speed to separate me from my nemesis.

Now back to my babe and her elf of a dilemma.

I dropped face first to the floor.

I heard the shots again and again. One shot? Or had my brain replayed it?

The thorn whip lashed my back.

I curled into a fetal ball, protecting my vulnerable neck with my hands. With a second lash I yelled in pain and outrage. I couldn’t hear my own screams.

But I heard Scrap howling like a coyote under a full moon.

Crazy as a loon with all that imp bane around. I was on my own.

Another lash. I inhaled sharply.

“Stand up, lowly woman. Take your punishment as you deserve,” the elf sneered. He sounded like a bad actor playing a mob boss.

Another shot.

Allie landed beside me. “Ricocheted right off him,” she gasped, bewildered.

“Punishment!” I screamed at the Nörglein as I rolled closer to the bed. “Punishment? I’ll show you punishment.”

I grabbed a rapier from its hiding place in the bed skirt, unsheathed it in one long motion as I stood and lunged.

“Missed,” he chortled. “What I would expect from a woman. You shouldn’t be allowed to play with weapons you don’t understand. There used to be laws that kept women in their place.”

Another lunge. My aim followed true. I pushed the point deeper into his arm. The same arm I’d slashed with the Celestial Blade. The same arm that seeped black sap through the green sleeve of his short coat.

The blade quivered in my hand. A tiny jolt of electricity jumped from the wound to my arm. I pulled back and struck again, slapping the dull side of the blade across his head, taking his cap off.

“My hat!” he screamed like I’d run him through. “You can’t take my hat!”

Scrap swooped in and snatched the green wool felt with his hind claws as he circled the room.

Not a tilt or waver in his flight.

“King Scazzy of the Orculli trolls had a hat too. All his honor and power came from the hat. Is that true for you too?”

This guy was about six times the size of the garden gnome with teeth. Still, they hailed from a similar region and were classed together in the reference book.

Scrap burped acid. A few drops dribbled onto the bright green fabric. They sizzled and burned. Acrid smoke rose from the half dozen holes, each the size of a dime.

“My hat!” the dark elf screamed again.

Then Scrap popped out again. Hat in hand. Or paws. Claws anyway.

“That’s what you get for underestimating modern women. You and your kind need to be made extinct,” I yelled at him, lunging for another thrust into his wound.

“Scrap, blade now!”

He popped back in, without the hat, and landed on my hand, bright red and stretching. He bared his teeth—six rows of thirty-six razor sharp points—and hissed maliciously even as he curved.

The troll shielded his face with his hands, howling in pain. He turned and dove out through the French doors, spreading shattered glass and splintered framing behind him.

I dashed to follow. He tucked and rolled, hitting the one small patch of green between me and the river. He disappeared into a cluster of juniper tams.

Imp spit. An antibiotic against demon tags for my babe, deadly poison for trolls, elves, gnomes, and demons, Scrap grinned and paled, as he shrank back to normal translucence.

“If you’d kept your mouth shut, I could have killed him right here and now,” I complained.

“Do you truly want the girls to have to watch you execute their father?” Allie returned.

I turned my attention back to Phonetia and E.T. They stared at me, eyes wide with horror, mouths and limbs still bound with magic.

I’d called him five times just to hear him on the voice mail.

“Unknown,” Gollum replied.

I could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

While I waited for him to call me back we’d untied the girls and covered them with a sheet and a blanket. I’d already filed police and insurance reports about a break in and potential burglar/rapist. We made the noon news. If short, gnarly, and green showed his face in the neighborhood without shape-changing, he was dog meat.

A glazier and carpenter had come to replace the shattered French doors.

“Well, do you know a spell that will undo it enough to let the girls talk? They may know something. I’m betting they watched the beast work the spell on many of his victims.”

“I’ll call MoonFeather. We’ll come up with something.”

My cell phone rang beside me. I checked the caller ID.

“Call me when you know something. I’ve got to go. Lacy Lucia may have a few tricks up her sleeve.”

“Tess, wait,” Gollum said anxiously. “Are you sure you want to involve her?”

“Too late. She’s already in town and involved.” I hung up on him, more than just a little satisfied that for once I ended the communication.

At the same time I missed him so much my gut ached.

“Pronto,” I answered the cell half a ring before it went to voice mail.

“Ah, cara mia, you learn a little Italian,” Lucia’s rich tones filled the airwaves. The silence in the background did not indicate airport busyness.

“That about exhausts my vocabulary,” I admitted grudgingly. “Have you left Vegas yet?”

“I am in Portland, cara. I have checked in at the Freemont.” She mentioned the exclusive private hotel downtown.

“Good. How fast can you get here?”

“What has happened?” she asked. I heard soft rustling in the background indicating she moved around the room, possibly collecting coat and purse.

I told her this morning’s adventures.

“Have the children eaten anything?” she asked most anxiously.

“They sipped a little chicken bullion from a spoon. Not much.” I started to pace, my own anxiety increasing as I talked.

“Continue trying. They need the salt and liquid. Give me directions. I do not trust Internet maps. I shall hire a vehicle and driver. Servants do not always know the best shortcuts if they can earn more by delays.”

My favorite vampire might be over two hundred years old and enamored of Goth trappings and spooky candle holders made to look like skulls, but she embraced modern technology.

About twenty minutes later, as I was dribbling more salty broth into E.T., Allie ushered Lady Lucia into the room.

Much to my amazement Lucia carried a tiny girl, less than a year old, sucking her thumb. The little one looked up at me with wide chocolate-colored eyes. Her dark hair curled nicely around her shapely face. She grinned at me around the precious thumb, revealing her new front teeth.

“Um ...”

“Tess, this is Sophia,” Lucia said, smiling fondly at her child. She looked tired and a bit ... frazzled. Her usually immaculate blonde hair needed a touch-up around the roots—should have been done a month ago—her tidy business suit had developed creases and lost its crispness.

“Nice to meet you, Sophia.” I held out my fingers for her to grasp. She did so with her damp hand. Then shyly hid her face in her mother’s shoulder.

Half a heartbeat later, she turned back toward me, holding out her arms, begging for me to hold her.

I did so, cradling her weight against my chest, letting her fill a bit of the emptiness from knowing I’d never have a baby of my own.

Sophia touched my lips and nose with exploratory fingers. Then she tucked her thumb back into her mouth and settled her head against my shoulder.

“She is tired and in need of a nap. Travel does not agree with the very young,” Lucia said, caressing the child’s curls.

“I’ll put her on the cot in my office,” I said, moving toward the door.

“I usually put her to bed myself,” Lucia sighed. “The one task I do not trust to a nanny. When I can keep a nanny more than a few days.”

“You work too hard at scaring the wits out of them.”

“Perhaps.”

Moments later we returned to the big bedroom. Sophia had slept instantly on my shoulder and not whimpered when we transferred her to a new bed. I wondered if Lucia had used some kind of demon magic on her to gain such easy compliance.

Lucia stared maliciously at the glazier. She bared her teeth like he would make a tasty meal. He ignored her as he caulked and sealed each piece of glass. “See weirder on the streets downtown every day,” he muttered.

“I suppose he must stay until he finishes.” Again, with the heavy sigh, as if she wearied of the world. Or had being a mother drained her of her usual vitality? “Perhaps you and I should retire to the kitchen. I must gather supplies.”

“I’ll stay with the girls,” Allie sat in the chair I had just vacated. She took up the task of spoon-feeding E.T.

Phonetia had spat out the last tablespoonful of life-giving liquid I’d tried giving her.

“If she doesn’t take something soon, I’m calling Sean.”

Lucia raised her left eyebrow in query.

“My boyfriend. He’s a doctor and he figured out our ... business without me telling him.”

“Useful.” Without another word, Lucia led me through my own apartment, down the hall past the guest bath and office, to my galley kitchen that overlooked the dinning area and sunken living room. She directed me to the tall stool at the counter while she rummaged through my cupboards and fridge.

One by one, she placed her treasures on the counter before me. A bottle of mixed herbs, a tiny canister of expensive saffron, red wine, cups, bowls, matches, votive candles.

“You didn’t tell me about the baby,” I tossed out a conversational gambit.

“I told no one. Especially not the father.” She continued her search without looking at me.

“Who is?”

“Need you ask?” She finally gave me a direct and searing look. The arrogant and ruthless vampire returned to her posture.

“Donovan?” I coughed. Another black mark against him on my mental chalkboard.

“Yes. I should have known better than to trust someone raised by the Damiri not to use a condom. In that, I believe, you were smarter than I am.”

“Yes.” What else could I say? Except “I think he’s in town. If he finds out about Sophia, I would not put it past him to kidnap her.”

“Which is why I listed my assistant as the father on the birth certificate. Which brings us back to your two girls. I presume you have taken care of the legalities?”

“Yes. I have copies of the birth certificates. Duplicates of the ones on file in my home township on Cape Cod.”

“Good. Get them listed on your health insurance today. You may need it.”

“You don’t sound hopeful for their recovery.”

“They will recover. Eventually. But the longer they remain under the influence of the spell, the harder they will find it to reclaim their humanity. I noticed the older girl begins to show signs of animosity.”

“Her name was Blackberry. She is ... um ... prickly in the best of circumstances. But she does try. We call her Phonetia now.”

“Hm. Well, I’ll try.” She surveyed her array of ingredients. “Send your friend out for sweet onions, pine nuts—Italian if possible—and extra virgin olive oil, first pressing.”

“That’s going to be expensive.” The primary reason I didn’t stock the last two gourmet items.

“I will pay. But then, you will pay me back as well.”

“I already owe you more favors than I can count.”

“When this business is finished, you will do me one last favor and then I will be in your debt forever.”

Which meant I was in big trouble if I had to do a favor that huge.