The Hunter And The Hunted

Prologue

Typical guy. You fight through hell-literally, hacking through legions of beasts and zombies and demonspawn-to sneak home and spend a few stolen minutes with him… and he’s not there.

Eve grumbled as she paced around the tiny houseboat, multihued blood dripping from her sword. “Where the hell are you, Kris?”

Her angel partner, Trsiel, couldn’t cover for her much longer, and she’d really wanted to check in with Kristof. He’d been keeping an eye on the living world for her, watching as his sons and their daughter got caught up in this mess. There really wasn’t much a ghostly father could do to help, but the check-ins made them both feel better.

He wasn’t at the houseboat, though. Nor was he at the courthouse. Eve had gone there to find the justice building shut down. The guard on duty had muttered something about magical wards needing repair, just regular maintenance. Which was bullshit. Afterlife court was closed because the higher powers were racing around commandeering forces to put out fires both on earth and in the afterlife. But they weren’t telling the shades that their world was on the brink of war. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Just pretend everything is fine. And if you see a monstrous beast racing down Main Street, it most certainly is not a hellhound that escaped its dimension. Er, but you should probably notify demon control anyway.

Eve walked into the bedroom and looked around. Their bed was made, the sheets drawn drum tight. Kristof had grown up with maids and cooks and housekeepers, and though he’d happily shed all those trappings after his death, he kept his world here just as neat and orderly as if he still had staff.

Eve wiped her sword on the gazillion-count Egyptian cotton sheets. For a moment, they were smeared with a satisfying rainbow of blood. Then it evaporated into the white cotton. She sighed and sheathed her sword.

“Fine, I’ll leave a proper note.”

She conjured paper and a pen.

Dear Kris,

Heaven and hell are being torn asunder as angels and demons battle themselves and each other. In the living world, supernaturals continue to barrel toward a war between those who want to reveal themselves to humans and those who know such a revelation will destroy all we hold dear. The veil between the realms grows thinner with each passing moment as we plummet toward catastrophe.

Hope all is well with you.

Hugs and kisses,

Eve

She’d just finished when she heard a patter behind her and wheeled to see… nothing.

Another patter sounded on the polished hardwood floor and she looked down to see a white rabbit. It rose on its hind legs.

“Eve Levine,” the rabbit squeaked. “Mighty daughter of Balaam, lord of darkness and chaos. I prostrate myself before you.”

The rabbit attempted to bow gracefully, but its body wouldn’t quite complete the maneuver and it flopped onto its belly. When it looked up at her, its pink eyes glowed with an unearthly light. Eve concentrated hard and a second shape superimposed itself on the rabbit, that of a toadlike lump with jutting fangs and eyes on quivering stalks. She blinked and the bunny reappeared.

“Nice choice of form, imp,” she said.

“I considered a kitten, but that seemed unwise when meeting a dark witch.”

“Witches don’t kill cats. Especially not witches who’ve been recruited to angelhood.” She grasped her sword and lifted it. “Rabbits, however? Rodents. Vermin. Nothing in the manual against that.”

The rabbit backed up. “Please, my lady. Balaam has a legion of imps scouring every dimension for you. He is most eager to speak to you.”

“Is he? And what could my lord demon father want from me?” She gasped in feigned surprise. “Wait… Does it have something to do with this big reveal I’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes, yes!” The rabbit thumped a back leg with excitement. “You have heard of the glorious plan, then? After centuries of hiding, supernaturals have finally found the willpower to reveal themselves and take their rightful place as rulers of the human world.”

“About time.”

The rabbit leaped up. “I knew you would agree. You will help your father, yes? You will join the fight here and you will persuade your earthbound daughter to do the same.”

“Savannah?” Eve tried to keep her voice calm.

“Of course. She is a mighty spellcaster. Mighty indeed. And very well connected in the supernatural world. Lord Balaam has approached her himself, but she has refused his generous offer.”

“Balaam went near my-” Eve stopped short as her sword glowed blue, infused with her fury. But the rabbit-imp didn’t seem to notice. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Foolish girl. Of course I’ll speak to her. She listens to her mother. First, though, you’ll need to tell me everything you know about my father’s plans, so I can properly explain them to her.”

The rabbit told her everything and she thanked it most graciously… then lopped off its head, which flew into the hall at the very moment the houseboat door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway. As Kristof Nast stepped in, the rabbit’s head bounced off his polished Italian loafers.

“Eve?” he said, peering at his feet as she walked into the main cabin. Then he saw her and smiled. “If there are decapitated rabbit heads flying, there’s only one explanation. Eve is back.” He stopped as he saw her expression. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Savannah,” she said. “She’s in trouble. Well, bigger trouble. We need to-”

Light flashed. Kristof disappeared. The houseboat evaporated and Eve found herself in another dimension, surrounded by misshapen beasts, Trsiel at her side, her sword still in hand.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered as the beasts charged.

One

I led my half brother Bryce away from the rubble of the exploded lab, ignoring his protests, and ignoring Adam, who was sticking close and wincing every time Bryce coughed. I couldn’t blame Adam for worrying. The Supernatural Liberation Movement had injected Bryce with something called a “vaccine against mortality,” which sounded lovely, until you figured out that meant it contained DNA from vampires, zombies, and god only knows what other creatures the gang had rounded up for their experiments.

So I really didn’t want to catch whatever Bryce had either. Before we’d escaped, the woman who’d injected him had suggested it was transmittable. I had to trust they weren’t crazy enough to make it easily transmittable. And if they were? Well, then, I was already screwed. The only way out of the lab had been to drop into a pit of water connected to an underground sewer. Bryce was so weak he’d almost drowned and I’d had to help him. I’d stopped short of giving him mouth-to-mouth when he woke on his own, but we’d had plenty of contact. So I could be infected. But that was a concern for later. Right now, I was just happy to have survived, especially when the whole place had come down on our heads as the liberation movement blew up their own lab.

I’d never been so glad to be tramping-wet, smelly and dirty-down a New Orleans alleyway. Or to see Jeremy Danvers, the werewolf Alpha, or Jaime Vegas, his necromancer girlfriend. Or Adam. Most of all Adam.

Bryce might be my half brother, but I’ve known Adam since I was twelve. Bryce? Well, let’s just say we aren’t close.

“We’ll turn onto the road up here,” Jeremy said. He was scouting the way, limping from the blast. “We should be far enough from-”

He stopped and tilted his head, werewolf hearing picking up something we couldn’t. When he frowned, Adam moved up beside him and whispered, “Trouble?”

“I can hear a police radio. They’re looking for two men and a woman seen leaving the blast site.”

“Two guys covered in dust and bruises?” Adam said. “And a girl who looks like she went swimming in a sewer?”

Jeremy nodded.

I looked down at my soaked clothing. The only unscathed one was Jaime, who’d been blocks away when the building went up.

Jeremy said, “Anita Barrington set off an alarm, meaning there will be members of the reveal movement looking for all of us. You’re going to need to hole up until Jaime finds us clean clothing. I’ll go with her while she does.”

“I’ll be-” Jaime began, then cut herself short. As a necromancer, she had no innate defensive skills. As a forty-seven-year-old on the celebrity circuit, she didn’t have any acquired ones either: All she usually had to deal with were hecklers. “I need backup, but I don’t think it should be you,” she finally said to Jeremy. “Bryce needs a guard with superhearing and superstrength. I just need someone to watch my back. Savannah can do that. She isn’t battered and bruised. Her jeans are black and won’t look wet from a distance.”

Jaime gave me her jacket-a cute leather one that we’d bought on a trip to Milan. It was a little short-she’s five-five and I’m nearly seven inches taller-so on me it looked fashionably cropped. With the help of her brush and scarf, we tied my wet hair back and I stopped looking like a drowned rat, even if my sneakers sloshed with every step.

We found the guys a quiet spot to wait. Then we set off.

The Supernatural Liberation Movement. I gave them a vowel and called them SLAM. Their mission was to reveal the existence of supernaturals to the human world. There was a very good reason we hadn’t done this already-because it was stupid. Every time the world found out about us, heads rolled-our heads. Even if we could argue that this wasn’t the Middle Ages anymore, we weren’t just different in gender, skin color, religion, sexual orientation, or any other equality issue. We had powers. Often deadly powers that gave us an advantage over humans. You can bet your ass we wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms… except maybe by military research facilities.

So why was this movement gaining traction? First, the majority of supernaturals are not as tuned in to our world as I am. Through the Cabals and my connection to the interracial council, I had the advantage of seeing things from a global and historical perspective. Second, there are a lot of disaffected supernaturals out there, especially young ones who don’t understand why the hell they shouldn’t flaunt their abilities. For most of my twenty-one years, I’d have agreed with them-I had power, so I used it. All these young supernaturals needed was a man with a plan. And they found him in Giles Reyes-aka Gilles de Rais-a charismatic leader who’d convinced them that a bunch of unusual events in our world-including me, a sorcerer/witch hybrid-fulfilled some kind of prophecy that declared it was time for the big reveal. It didn’t hurt that Giles claimed he was really a fifteenth-century French nobleman who’d stumbled on immortality and had, after centuries of experimentation, found a way to grant it to all his followers. That was the “vaccine” he’d given Bryce. I thought of my brother, who was ready to keel over. Apparently it hadn’t quite been perfected yet.

Now, because of us, Giles’s vaccine had been destroyed before it could be perfected. He was going be pissed. I really wished I could stay to see that, but we had places to go, things to do, a world to save.

When police cars zipped past, sirens wailing, Jaime caught my arm and gestured wildly, laughing, as if sharing a juicy bit of gossip.

We were nearly to the commercial district when a police cruiser whipped around the corner, cut us off, and slammed on the brakes.

“Play it cool,” Jaime whispered.

I hadn’t planned to do anything else.

“Hey, guys,” Jaime said as the officers-a slender, middle-aged woman and a stocky young patrolman-climbed out of the car. “We heard the sirens. What’s going on?”

“A bomb was detonated a few blocks over.”

“Seriously?” Jaime’s eyes rounded as she scanned the rooftops. “Where? I have a blog, and if I could get photos, that would be-”

“Um, bomb, Jaime?” I cut in. “Normal people run the other way.”

“Because normal people don’t have a Twitter feed with a hundred thousand followers.” She took out her cell phone and propped up her shades. “Do you know the address? I can foursquare it now, then tweet photos after we get there.”

“We are not going to a bomb site- we are going to your interview.” I turned to the officers, mouthed, “Hollywood,” and rolled my eyes.

“Can we see some identification?” the woman asked.

“Absolutely,” Jaime chirped, then giggled. “But the date of birth is between us, right?”

Gotta say this-Jaime has the ditzy C-lister routine down pat. The male officer seemed ready to hop back into the car, but his partner insisted on the ID.

Jaime showed her cards and offered to send autographed eight-by-tens. She explained who she was-Jaime Vegas, renowned spiritualist, as formerly seen on the Keni Bales Show and more. The male cop said he’d heard of her and that his sister-in-law would love a signed photo.

“That’s… an interesting way of making a living,” said the female officer-Medina, according to her badge. “You’re free to go on to your interview, Ms. Vegas. It’s your friend here who needs to come with us.”

“What?” Jaime screeched. “No. She’s not my friend. I mean, yes, of course you are, dear.” A pat on my arm. “But she’s my publicist. I need her for the interview.”

“Then you’ll have to reschedule, because she’s coming with us. She was seen entering the bombed building before the blast, then leaving it shortly after.”

“Wouldn’t I need to have left before the bomb, considering I’m still alive?”

Medina’s look warned me not to be a smart ass. “We just want to speak to you.”

“Then speak here.”

“Miss, we have multiple eyewitness reports. That’s enough to arrest you on, but we’d like to give you the chance to talk to us first. Provide some insight into your coconspirators.”

“Coconspirators?” I waved at Jaime. “This is the only person I’ve been conspiring with today. Does she look like a criminal mastermind?”

“You were seen in the company of two men.”

“Two?” Jaime swatted my arm. “Oh my God, you’re so selfish.”

“What did these guys look like?” I asked.

The officers exchanged a look. The woman cleared her throat. “We have preliminary descriptions, but we’re hoping you can add to those. It will certainly help your situation if you can.”

In other words, the only “description” they had was the one Jeremy heard-two guys covered in mortar dust. Whatever they had on me was bullshit. Yes, I’d been inside that building, but I’d gone in through the roof, meaning no one had seen me enter. I’d exited through the sewer. I had a feeling their “witnesses” were members of SLAM.

“If anyone saw me near this building, there’s an explanation. But I’ll come downtown if that helps.” I turned to Jaime. “You go on, do your interview-”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “This young woman is my publicist, and you can’t treat her like a terrorist. I came here to check out venues for a possible charity appearance. That’s right-charity. New Orleans has been through hell, and if you want tourists coming back, you can’t arrest them on the street…”

She continued her diva rant as Medina started leading me toward the cruiser.

“It’s okay,” I said to Jaime, trying to shut her up. “You stay here. Let Adam know I’ve been delayed. He’ll have to postpone the interview. I won’t be long and-”

“Take your hands off her!” Jaime yelled at the cop.

“She’s not touching me,” I said. “Listen, Jaime-”

She aimed a kick at Medina’s shins. It didn’t come close. Intentionally so-the one thing Jaime can do is kick with the precision of a stiletto-clad kung-fu artist.

The younger officer-Holland-grabbed her. “Cut that out,” he said. “Or you’ll be going to the station with her.”

Jaime wrenched free. “Don’t you dare lay your hands on me!” She feigned another kick, and lost her balance, stumbling. “You tripped me!”

“Get her in the car, too,” Medina said.

As Holland muscled her toward the car, Jaime put up little resistance. Once in the backseat, she slid over, making room for me.

“What the hell?” I whispered as Medina shut the door.

“You’re my backup and I’m yours,” she said. “If they take one, they take both.”

While I appreciated the support, I’d rather she made sure Jeremy and Adam got Bryce to a doctor. Before I could protest, the officers climbed into the front seat, and we pulled away. Jaime handed me her cell and whispered, “Call Paige.”

I didn’t. I called Lucas. After he’d answered, I leaned into the gap between the front seats.

“I’m calling Jaime’s manager to cancel the interview. That’s okay, right?”

Medina looked ready to say no, but her partner nodded. “Just keep it short.”

Lucas was waiting patiently, having realized from my comment to Medina that something was up. “Hey,” I said to him. “Can you call Adam at the Daily and postpone that interview and photo shoot. Jaime and I… we kinda got ourselves arrested. Adam’s waiting for us with the photographer. Bryce something-or-other.”

“Dare I ask what’s going on?”

“Mmm, better not. Seems someone thought they saw me near an explosion, which is total bullshit. I’ve been baby-sitting-” I cast a quick glance at Jaime, who faked a scowl. “Um, keeping Jaime company. Anyway, it’s a big misunderstanding that I’m sure will amuse everyone at the office later. I’m hoping this will be cleared up soon, but tell Adam to wait no more than thirty minutes. I know he has important things to do.”

“All right.” Lucas paused, then asked, “Are you both okay?”

“We’re fine. We didn’t embarrass ourselves too badly, so no emergency intervention required.”

Another silence on his end.

“Really,” I said.

Medina twisted to look back at me. “A short call.”

“Gotta go,” I said.

“All right. Let me know if you need legal help.”

“I’m sure we won’t. It’s just questioning.”

Medina signaled for me to cut it off. I said good-bye and handed the phone back to Jaime.

Two

As we drove out of the city, I realized these were state cops. I suppose I should have noticed sooner. It seemed odd for an outside department to be involved in a big-city case, but maybe even years after Katrina, New Orleans was still in a state of bureaucratic upheaval.

We pulled into a small station on a regional road surrounded by forest and swamp. Medina got out of the car as Holland made a note in his book. She opened my door. As I started to climb out, Holland opened Jaime’s door, then stopped dead.

“What’s that?” he said.

I turned to see some kind of black powder smeared on my seat.

“Damn it,” I muttered. “Did I sit in that?”

I went to wipe off my butt, but Medina grabbed my hands and yanked me into position so fast I barely had time to snap, “Hey!” before I stood spread eagled against the cruiser.

Jaime yelped, genuine now, and tried to get out, but Holland pushed her back in and slammed the door.

“Is that what it looks like?” he asked as Medina patted me down. “Something from the bomb?”

“Could be,” she said.

It wasn’t. Whatever ripped that building apart wasn’t some low-grade blasting powder. But showing any familiarity with what had caused the explosion-or bombs in general-seemed unwise.

Medina patted my back pockets.

“Only thing in there is my wallet,” I said. “But go ahead and check.”

She pulled out the wallet. Then she reached into the other back pocket, stopped, and waved Holland over.

“What?” I said.

I tried to twist and look, but she slammed me against the car again. I craned to see, being careful not to move anything but my head. She was holding a folded piece of paper and a crushed cardboard tube sprinkled with black powder.

“That wasn’t-”

She shoved me against the car again, then unfolded the paper. Holland leaned over to read it. He swore. His gaze lifted to mine, lip curled in disgust. “So you knew nothing about the bombing? Then why is the address in your pocket?”

“What? No. That wasn’t in my pocket. Not the paper or that powder. Look at my wallet. Notice anything odd? It’s soaked. Like my pocket. That paper and tube are dry, meaning it couldn’t have been in there.”

“Okay, so how did you get wet?” Holland asked.

“I… it’s kind of embarrassing, okay? I fell in a puddle. Landed on my ass.”

“Yes, that is embarrassing,” Medina said. “But not as embarrassing as the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your wallet was in your back pocket. It probably fell into the toilet. I lost a cell phone that way once.”

“No, my jeans are soaked-”

“Then I guess that bathroom accident was even more embarrassing. Or maybe you put these things in your pocket after you got them wet.”

“I’ve been sitting on them, in wet jeans-they’d at least be damp!”

Medina gave me another shove, hard enough that my chin hit the car. My teeth caught my tongue and I tasted blood.

Holland took over, holding me still as Medina tugged my ID from my damp wallet.

“Savannah Levine,” she said. “You’re under arrest for…”

Medina arrested Jaime, too, despite the fact that they had no evidence to suggest she was involved. That’s when I really knew this wasn’t kosher, especially when Holland seemed surprised by Medina’s decision. He didn’t argue. She was the senior partner. But when we got inside and someone yelled that there was trouble with a guy in the holding cell, Holland volunteered to help and got out of there fast.

Medina called over a second officer, a guy barely old enough to be shaving. He took charge of Jaime, who hadn’t said a word since we left the car. When I glanced at her now, she was blinking hard, eyes unfocused.

“Jaime?” I said.

She managed a weak smile. “I’m okay.”

She didn’t look okay. The officer had led her halfway down the hall when I heard a clatter and turned to see her doubled over, emptying her stomach onto the linoleum tiles.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I can’t believe I did that.” Her voice came out thick, words slurred.

“Partying a little early today, were you?” Medina said.

“Wh-what?” Jaime struggled to look up at her, eyes refusing to focus.

I tried to get to Jaime, but Medina yanked me back. “Your friend is fine. She just needs to lay off the booze.” She called to the young officer, “She’s one of those Hollywood types. Probably spent the night on Bourbon Street.”

“What?” I said. “No, we-”

“Should I send the mug shot to the tabloids?” the young officer asked with a grin.

“No, that’s exactly what these people want. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. I’ll handle the processing. Just stick her in the drunk tank.”

“Is that the charge then? Public drunkenness? For both of them?”

Medina nodded. I opened my mouth, but her look made me shut it.

She pushed me into the next open doorway and shut the door behind us as the other officer led Jaime to the cells.

“What the hell is going on?” I said, spinning on Medina. “First you question me about a bombing. Then you arrest me for it. Now you’ve switched to public drunkenness?”

“Would you rather the bomb charge?”

“There is no bomb charge. You-”

“There still might be.”

She cuffed me to a chair, then sat across from me and took out her cell phone. After a minute, I realized the beeps I heard weren’t from texting or e-mailing-she was playing a game.

I yanked on the chair. “You aren’t processing me.”

“Do you want me to?”

Part of me wanted to insist she charge me, just to see if she would, so I could confirm what I suspected was happening. But the rest of me said that was a very stupid idea.

So I seethed and writhed inside while she played her game.

“I want to make a phone call,” I finally said.

“You did.”

“That wasn’t my official call. You’re holding me, so I’m entitled to-”

“You’re entitled to a call if I charge you.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. Find the core of stillness, then focus all my energy on casting-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Medina said.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you’re doing.”

I leaned forward. “And what would that be?” I met her gaze.”Oh, wait… You know, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Just as I suspected. “Who are you working for? The moronic liberation movement that bombed their own building?”

Her head jerked up. “Are you accusing me of being a terrorist, Ms. Levine?”

“Is that what you think they are? Good, then we’re on the same page. Either way, holding me is a very bad idea. I’d suggest you reconsider and let me cut you a deal with the Cortezes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She leaped up and slammed me and my chair against the wall. As she shoved, she grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging in as she leaned down to my face.

“I don’t know who the hell these Cortezes are, but I can promise you that I’m not afraid of any gang. They can’t buy me and they can’t threaten me. Neither can you. I was giving you a break, Ms. Levine. Holding you on a lesser charge until I could consult with my superiors on the evidence we found in your back pocket. But if you want that charge-”

“No. I don’t. I-I made a mistake.”

“A very big mistake.” She shoved me again, the chair clattering against the wall. “And it’s not going to help your case. Since you don’t seem to like it here, let’s see if you prefer being in the drunk tank with your friend.”

Three

I found Jaime curled up, shivering and pale, in a corner of the holding cell. I tried to rouse her, but she wouldn’t open her eyes. When I said I was going to call a guard, she managed to murmur, “No. Don’t… cause more trouble. Just give… minute. Food… poisoning.”

I glanced around. The cell looked like… well, a cell. About eight by eight feet. A typical spot in a small station for holding people awaiting charges or the onset of sobriety. From the looks of it, more cells were needed. This one now had five occupants. Like Jaime, two were lying on the floor. Drunk, I guessed. At least they were quiet.

There was one bed, currently occupied by a chick with the kind of tattoos that scream “I got this once when I was really drunk.” Except that, judging by the quantity, it was more than once. A lot more, which might suggest it was complete lack of taste rather than serial-drunken stupidity. Her blond hair was frizzled at the ends, as if she’d overused her straightening iron. She wore cutoffs with several rolls of pitted cellulite hanging out below. Her upper half hung too, tank top screaming for a bra.

In short, she was not the sort of person I was in the mood to deal with nicely. Still I tried.

“Hey,” I said. “My friend’s really sick. Do you think she could take the bunk?”

“Go to hell, you skinny-assed bitch.”

All the frustration of the last hour flared and when I grabbed her, my hands glowed white.

The woman shrieked. “You’re burning me. You bitch, you’re-”

I pushed her off the bed and she landed on the floor, half on top of an elderly homeless woman. I apologized to the old woman, but she seemed beyond hearing me.

The biker chick scrambled up and charged. I raised my fists. She put out her claws, scratching and spitting and yowling. A blow to the stomach stopped her before I got my hair pulled. When she staggered back, I downed her with a kick.

“You’re going to regret this,” she whined from the floor. “I know people.”

“Men, you mean. Big, ugly men who ride big, ugly bikes.” I loomed above her. “Word of advice? If you’re going to trash-talk, get your ass off the bitch seat and learn to fight for yourself.”

She whined and hissed a little more, then shut up. Beside her, the old woman straightened.

“Did someone call a lawyer?” she asked.

I turned to the bars. No one was there.

“Is that your lawyer?” she said. “Can he help me? I need to get out of here.”

I followed the old woman’s gaze to the middle of the room. Still no one.

Jaime moaned. I hurried over and helped her to the cot. Before she lay down, she glanced at it.

“I’m not sure I want to touch that,” she said.

“You’re washable,” I said. “But on second thought…”

I pulled off my jacket and wadded it up for a pillow, so her hair wouldn’t connect with whatever critters might be living on the mattress.

“Thanks,” she said. “How much trouble are we in?”

I crouched beside her. “We haven’t been charged with the bombing but… something’s fishy. That powder and note weren’t mine, obviously. Neither of us were processed. Neither of us have been charged. But we’re locked up.”

“Medina works for someone,” Jaime said, her words coming slow, as if it hurt to speak. “The movement or a Cabal.”

“I thought so, too. I called her on it, and now she’s convinced I tried to threaten her with a gang called the Cortezes.”

“Maybe, but-”

She stopped and cocked her head. A frown. Then she peered around the cell and at the empty hall beyond.

“Ghost?” I said.

“I’m… not sure. I thought I heard…” She trailed off, shook her head, then paled, as if the movement made her stomach churn. “Oh, God. What did I eat?”

“Just a pastry and a coffee hours ago.”

“A latte. Must have been the milk. I feel like-”

“Did someone call a lawyer?” the old woman warbled again.

I turned to see her staring at an empty spot with a look I recognized from all my years hanging around Jaime. She was seeing a ghost. It happened sometimes with the mentally ill.

“Is it my father?” I said to Jaime. “Is that who you think you heard?”

She nodded, eyes still closed.

“Can you look? See if he’s here?”

A faint, pained smile. “If it was your dad, I’d hear him loud and clear. Kristof Nast does not allow himself to be ignored. He took off to hunt for you after the explosion.” She frowned and opened her eyes. “I didn’t hear back from him-”

She blinked, then stared at the same empty spot as the old woman.

“Oh,” she said.

“He’s there?”

“Yes, but… faint. Something’s wrong.” She pushed up and struggled to listen. Then another, “Oh.”

“What’s he saying?” I asked.

“He’s barely coming through. Maybe because I’m sick.”

Jaime tried her best to communicate, with no success. When she started getting frustrated, I stopped her and said, “You rest. I may have a second avenue of contact today.”

I nodded at the old woman, who’d been following our efforts placidly.

“Mmm, not sure that’s such a good idea,” Jaime said. “She’s crazy enough to see ghosts, but that also means she’s not exactly coherent.”

“Well, no offense, but you’re not doing so hot yourself. Rest and I’ll see what I can get.”

The biker chick scuttled away as I sat down beside the old woman.

“Are you going to get me out of here?” the old woman said, staring up at the blank space above us.

“You can see him, right?” I said.

She nodded.

“Good,” I said. “So now he’s going to talk and you’re going to tell me what he says.”

“I want out.”

“Which he’ll do, as soon as you’ve helped me talk to him.”

She turned her dark eyes to me. “So you can’t hear him?”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then I have him all to myself.” She looked up and said, “Get me out of here.”

My father managed to trick her into passing on a message, telling me to demand to call Lucas, but after that, she caught on. She whined at him that she wasn’t stupid and he was supposed to help her, with me. Then she started to wail.

“Ignore her,” Jaime croaked as I tried to calm the old woman. “I can hear him better now.”

I got up and went over to Jaime. My father must have followed, because the woman let out a scream of frustrated rage. She flung her hands out and shouted something I didn’t catch.

Then she smiled and lowered herself to the floor and started mumbling to herself.

“Shit,” Jaime muttered. “She’s not crazy. Or not only crazy. She’s a necromancer.”

“What?”

“She just banished your father.”

“Without vervain?”

“She used a nastier method. One I’ve never learned because I don’t want to be tempted to use it. It knocks a spirit through dimensions.”

“Shit!” I leaped to my feet and looked around.

“Don’t worry, Savannah. Your dad will find his way back. Or your mom will track him down.”

“Can you let her know?”

She shook her head. “Not now. When she’s on assignment, I can’t call.”

I wanted to argue that this was an emergency, but I trusted Jaime wouldn’t let my father suffer unnecessarily. Okay, she might, but only if my mother wouldn’t find out about it, which in this case, she eventually would.

“All right,” I said. “My father was telling me to go ahead and demand my phone call. I’m not sure I like the sounds of that, but…”

“He wouldn’t suggest that if it wasn’t safe. So go ahead. Try to flag someone down.”

The hall had been empty since I’d arrived. I walked over and leaned against the bars, but couldn’t see anything. I started casting a sensing spell, then stopped. I shouldn’t automatically reach for a magical solution when mundane methods would do the job. Now that I was the spell-powered equivalent of a twelve-year-old, I had to conserve all the juice I had. And, I suppose, it was a good rule in general.

So I called for a guard. When no one answered, I shouted. When still no one came, I started the sensing spell again. Stopped again. Walked over to Jaime.

“Do you have a mirror?” I asked.

“They took my purse and patted me down.”

I stood there, waiting, until she sighed and pulled a necklace from under her blouse. It was a locket. I popped it open. On one side was a tiny picture of Jeremy. On the other, a mirror.

I shook my head. “With some people, it’s hidden weapons. With you, mirrors.”

She pulled a face.

“Watch it,” I said. “Or I’ll make you look in it.”

“No, thank you,” she muttered, raking her fingers through her tangled hair.

I angled the mirror to look both ways down the hall.

“I see a desk,” I said. “But it’s empty. Looks like pages scattered on the floor.”

“Make a ruckus. You’re good at that.”

I yelled again for a guard. Then I grabbed Jaime’s shoes and clanged the bars like a B-movie convict.

I looked again at those dropped pages-someone had left in a hurry. I remembered the biker chick shrieking during our fight. Then the old woman screaming when my father ignored her. If no one had come for that, they sure as hell weren’t coming for my clanging.

I crouched and studied the lock.

“You gonna pick that with your hairpin, sweetheart?” the biker chick sneered.

“No, I’m going to pick it with hers.”

I walked over to Jaime and held out a hand. She plucked two from her hair.

“See, you do come ready for trouble,” I said. “Mirrors, stilettos, hairpins. I get the feeling you’ve been in jail before.”

She flipped me off as she lay back on the cot.

I hunkered down by the lock again. Of course, there is no way in hell you can escape a jail cell with a hairpin. But it made a good cover story while I worked at the door with an unlock spell.

Two days ago I’d been told-by some mysterious otherworld entity-that my spells weren’t actually gone. My power supply had just been cranked way down. Like a neophyte witch, I could build power through practice, and so I’d been practicing.

I’d been able to successfully cast simple things like a light ball. And that fl are of magic with the biker chick had reinforced something I’d experienced once before- that if I tapped deep enough into my power, I could cast on emotion, without even reciting a spell. That was serious mojo. If this temporary power drain meant I could reach that level someday, then it was worth it. But right now, I needed all the juice I could get. I was determined to open this door, however much time and concentration it took. It took a lot. Twenty minutes later I heard a little click.

“Finally.”

I stood and pulled on the door. It moved about a quarter inch then caught, something inside grinding.

“You can’t open a cell with a hairpin, you stupid twat,” the biker chick said.

I turned to snarl at her, then gathered that frustrated anger and flung it at the door instead. Another click. When I yanked, it gave a little more, but still wouldn’t open.

“You’re getting there,” said a voice behind me.

I turned to see Jaime, wobbling slightly. She squeezed my shoulder.

“You’re getting it. Just keep-”

The door at the end of the hall flew open, a cacophony of shouts blasting through before it closed again. Silence. Then the thud of heavy boots.

A moment later, a man came into view. He looked like a stereotypical cop, right down to the mustache and lantern jaw. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, though. He was wearing blood. Bare chested. Skin dappled with red. More blood dripping from his hands, which were dangling at his sides, his fingers stubby, nails thickened to claws.

There’s not much I’ll back away from. A werewolf partway into his Change is one of those things.

Four

I backed up into Jaime, my arms wide to shield her. She started around me, her chin going up, mouth firm, lower lip quivering slightly.

“I-I can handle this,” she said.

“Jaime…”

“He won’t touch me. I’m the Alpha’s…” Her voice dipped, uncertain, then came back stronger. “I’m the Alpha’s mate. He wouldn’t dare touch me.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But I don’t think this guy cares.”

The werewolf stopped in front of the cell. If those partially changed hands didn’t confirm something was wrong, his eyes did. Pupils so huge his eyes seemed black. The whites suffused with red. His breathing came hard, ragged.

“Drugged,” Jaime whispered. “Who’s stupid enough to drug a-?”

“Hello, ladies,” the werewolf said, his voice a deep rumble, almost a growl, as if his vocal cords were changing, too. So was his face-nothing drastic, but the planes and angles were off-kilter, making him look disfigured.

“Wh-what’s wrong with him?” the biker chick quavered.

The woman who’d been silent so far-a thirtyish blonde in a suit jacket and slacks-had risen to her feet. “Shut up,” she hissed to the biker chick.

“Don’t we have some pretty ladies here,” he said, his gaze tripping over Jaime and me. “Pretty ladies in a cage.”

“Which is locked,” I said. “If you want in, you’ll need to get the key.”

“Yes.” Jaime stepped closer to the bars and raked back her hair. “If you want to visit us, you need to find the key.”

“Are you fucking-?” the biker chick screeched to a stop.

Frozen. Caught in a binding spell.

“Nice one,” Jaime whispered.

“That wasn’t me.”

The blonde stepped up beside Jaime and flicked open the top button on her blouse. “Go find the key,” she said to the werewolf. “Then we can play.”

He inhaled, nostrils flaring, then lumbered off.

When he was gone, the blonde whispered. “You know what he is?”

“Canis lupus,” I said. “Human variety.”

“And you are?”

“Savannah Levine.”

“Sav-?” Her eyes widened. Then she nodded. “Good.”

“Not so good. My mojo is on the fritz, so we’re going to need to rely on you.”

“What about…?” she looked at Jaime. “Wait. I know you. You’re-”

“Good on a stage,” Jaime said. “Lousy in a fight. We’ve got another necro.” She nodded at the old woman. “And I’m guessing one reasonably innocent bystander.” A glance at the biker chick, now huddled on the floor.

“Keiran Courville,” the blonde said. “My mojo’s not much better. Been sick as a dog since they brought me in. Drugged, I think.”

“Shit.” I looked at Jaime. Not food poisoning after all. Either Medina or Holland must have injected her somehow. My money was on Medina.

So we had four supernaturals in a cage, three probably drugged. A drugged werewolf on the loose. What the hell was going on?

“You ladies fighting over me already?” a voice asked.

We all fl inched as the werewolf sauntered back into view.

“You need a key,” I said.

“Fuck the key-can’t be bothered. I want in now.”

He grabbed the door and yanked, neck tendons bulging, and the door snapped open.

I stepped in front of Jaime.

“Okay, big guy,” I said. “You know you’re in serious shit right now. That blood tells me someone’s dead. And considering this is a police station, that someone is a cop, meaning-”

He grabbed me by the shirtfront. “You like to use that mouth, bitch? I’ll show you where you can use it.”

“Let me guess?” I said. “Here?”

I kneed him in the groin. Yes, it’s a cheap shot, but I wasn’t really concerned with fighting fair right now. Or with preserving his ability to procreate.

He dropped me on my ass. And he should have dropped himself, because it was a helluva blow. But he only snorted, then came at me as I scooted back.

“Hey, handsome,” Jaime called. “Forget the little girl. I’ve got something you want.”

He looked from me to her, then lumbered toward her. Keiran hit him with an energy bolt.

“What was that?” the biker chick screeched as the werewolf fell back, a scorched spot on his side.

I launched a fire ball- well, more like a firefl y- but my aim was good and it hit him in the eye. He bellowed louder than he had when I’d gotten his crotch.

That shot of rage jump-started his stalled Change. His brow and jaw receded, mouth and nose jutting. Thick, black hair sprouted from his chest and back.

“What the hell?” the biker chick shrieked. “What the fucking hell?”

“Is that a werewolf?” the old necromancer said. “I’ve never seen a werewolf.”

He charged her. I cast a binding spell. It didn’t work. Keiran launched something and maybe it did work, but it didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him down. He grabbed the old woman by the hair and wrenched. Her neck snapped. He threw her across the cell. She hit the wall and collapsed like a rag doll.

The biker chick started to scream. Really scream. A high-pitched wail that caught the werewolf’s attention like the squeal of a rabbit. He turned on her.

I tried another binding spell. When it failed again, I grabbed Jaime and shoved her toward the broken cell door, waving for Keiran to follow.

As we tumbled out into the hall, Jaime glanced back. Her eyes widened and she stopped. I pushed her along the hall, and she didn’t struggle, just wrenched her gaze from the screaming woman and the werewolf and didn’t look back again.

I didn’t look back at all. Didn’t dare, because if I did, I might go back and try to save her. If I tried, I’d lose the opportunity to get us out of there. So I didn’t.

The biker chick didn’t scream for long.

The door into the main part of the station flew open. I stopped short, arms flying out to keep the others back.

Medina shot inside, followed by Holland. Both were staring over their shoulders. Medina shut the door quietly, then leaned her forehead against it.

Holland’s gaze stayed fixed on the door. His hands fluttered in front of his chest. It took a second to realize what he was doing. Crossing himself.

“It’s okay, Rory,” Medina murmured, face still against the door. “We’re safe now.”

Holland kept crossing himself and closed his eyes. I motioned for Jaime and Keiran to be still, then crept forward, and slid the gun from Holland’s holster. I had it halfway out before he noticed. He grabbed for it, but I yanked it free. Medina’s head snapped up. She went for her own weapon, but her holster was empty. Her lips parted in a curse.

When Holland opened his mouth, I motioned for silence, using the gun for emphasis. I waved for Medina to open the door. She shook her head.

I stepped forward and whispered, “Open the goddamned door or I’ll-”

“I can’t.”

Jaime shouldered past, grabbed the handle and pulled. The door didn’t budge.

“It’s a time lock,” Medina said. “It’ll open in a few minutes. But you… you…”

“You don’t want to go out there,” Holland whispered.

Medina nodded. “We’ll be safe in here. Just-”

A sickening crunch from inside the cell. Then a grunt. Medina went still, then snatched the gun from my hands and headed for the holding cell.

I could have warned her. But I figured she already knew something was going on. And she was a cop. Serve and protect the taxpayers. I was a taxpayer.

In front of the cell, she stopped dead.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.”

A grunt. A snort. I ran for Medina. Didn’t mean to. Jaime and Keiran even tried to grab me. I ran anyway.

The werewolf was on all fours, back humped, fur still sparse, a nightmare version of a wolf.

The biker chick was dead. And… no longer in one piece.

The wolf was over her, bloody froth and other bits dripping from his jaws. He growled, fur on end, his drug-hazed eyes fixed on Medina.

“Shoot him,” I whispered.

“The- the bullets. They aren’t…” She swallowed. “They aren’t silver.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I reached for the gun.

She yanked it away from me and stumbled back. “No, you’ll only antagonize-”

The wolf ran for the cell door and I slammed it shut. It was broken and wouldn’t lock, but the beast lacked hands, meaning sliding it open would be imposs-

The wolf hit the door. The whole wall shuddered. He took a bar in his jaws and yanked.

“The gun,” I said, wheeling. “Give me-”

Medina started to run toward the time-locked door. I caught her by the leg. She went down. The gun fl ew. She twisted, trying to throw me off as the wolf-

Two staccato shots. I looked back in time to see the wolf collapse. Jaime stood there, gun clutched in her hands. “I see Jeremy’s lessons are paying off,” I said as I got to my feet.

“When you’re the Alpha’s girlfriend, you need to know how to stop those guys.”

She was spelling it out for Medina’s benefit, putting a little extra emphasis on “Alpha” and sliding her gaze the cop’s way. Sure enough, Medina paled.

“Seems she does know something about our side of the universe. Fancy that.” I walked over to her, still huddled on the floor. “By that look on her face, though, she doesn’t know nearly as much as she should. Like exactly who she was taking into custody. And who’s probably on his way right now, tracking down his girlfriend, very pissed off about the situation and about to be even more pissed off when he sees that.” I pointed toward the dead wolf in the cage.

“I-I-”

“That’s the problem they were having in lockup when we arrived, wasn’t it? You weren’t just stupid enough to imprison a”-I glanced at Holland, still standing by the door, in shock. I had no idea how much of this was penetrating, but I shouldn’t take chances-“a guy like that, but you drugged him, too. Intentionally released his inner animal.”

“No.” She scrambled up. “I just arrested him. That’s my assignment.”

“From the liberation movement?”

“Yes. I bring in people like us.”

“Like us? What are you?”

“Acies,” she said. A vision-enhanced half-demon, very mild powers. “They give me sedatives, then someone comes to bail the prisoners out and takes them to the lab. Sometimes I find the subjects on my own. Sometimes I’m tipped off. That’s what happened with you. I got a call. My contact didn’t tell me who you were-he just described you and where to find you. The sedatives have always worked.” She glanced into the cell and swallowed. “It must be the latest batch. Everything was fine-”

“Yes, just fine. All you were doing was kidnapping our kind on false charges then selling us as guinea pigs in horrific experiments.”

She bristled. “Those experiments will save us. They’re benign-”

“Benign?” I clenched my fists so hard I heard the faint pops of my knuckles cracking. “Tell that to the subjects they dumped into a watery pit. Before they were dead! Those benign-” I lifted my hands for emphasis and sparks flew everywhere.

Jaime caught my elbow. “How about we skip the blame game. Jeremy will find me eventually, and this is something he shouldn’t walk into blindly.”

She was right. Most werewolves can’t follow a scent when you’ve traveled by car, but Jeremy wasn’t your average werewolf. He had an extra boost of kitsune blood, which helped him find his family when they were in danger. Jaime was family. He’d be on his way.

“Am I drugged?” I asked Medina.

She shook her head. “I only had enough left for one more. You seemed compliant enough.” She gestured at Jaime. “She was the one who was fighting.”

“When you came in here, what were you running from?”

She pointed to the cell.

“There’s nothing else?”

She shook her head.

So the werewolf had been on the loose, and she and her partner ducked in here to escape it, only to trap themselves with it. Which I’d say was fitting, except that they weren’t the ones who’d died for her stupidity.

“So as soon as that lock opens, we’re free to go?” Keiran asked.

Medina nodded.

Holland lurched from his stupor. “N-no. There’s paperwork. We have to do the paperwork. People can’t just walk out of…”

He looked around, then caught sight of the blood sprayed across the hall floor. He stumbled toward the cell, Medina grabbing for his arm to stop him. Too late. Holland saw what was in there, doubled over and threw up.

He was still retching, Medina at his side, when the time lock on the door clicked. Keiran grabbed the handle. I jammed my foot in the way, stopping it.

Keiran glowered at me. “I’m leaving, okay? I don’t care what the council says about this mess and my ‘duty’ to help clean it up-”

“I was just going to say to be careful.”

I pulled my foot away and she slipped through. I was about to follow, but Jaime caught my sleeve.

“Not so fast,” she murmured. She slid one stiletto into the door opening, then put her ear to the gap.

Medina marched over. She’d pulled her partner away from the carnage in the cage and left him sitting, slumped against a wall, head on his knees. She grabbed the door. When Jaime made a move to stop her, she snapped, “You stay here, until I make sure the witch is okay.”

As Medina went through the door, Jaime gave me a questioning look.

“Hell, no,” I murmured. “I’ve had enough of playing hero. We didn’t send them out as bait. Their choice. Might as well take advantage.”

We could hear Keiran’s pumps receding along the hall, then the softer thumps of Medina’s loafers. A murmur of voices as Medina caught up. The click of a door. We waited for another ten seconds.

“No screaming yet,” Jaime said.

“Always a good sign.”

We slid out.

Five

We crept down the hall. There were two doors at the end. The left one headed to the interrogation room; the right to the main office.

I cracked open the door on the right and listened. A week ago, I’d have been ashamed of myself for being so cautious, called myself a frightened little witch mouse. A week without powers has taught me that the only reason not to take that extra second was ego.

When we heard nothing, I eased open the door and went through first.

Everything was silent and still. I turned to give Jaime the all clear. Then I stopped.

Silent and still. In a police station that’s just been ravaged by a werewolf.

“What’s up?” Jaime whispered.

I lifted a finger to my lips and pivoted, straining to hear.

Jaime tapped my shoulder and I jumped.

“Let’s just go,” she whispered.

She was right. If losing my powers had made me careful, it had also nudged me to the edge of paranoia. A werewolf had just rampaged through an isolated police station where I’d only seen four officers, including Medina and Holland. The other two must be long gone. Or dead. Judging by the blood on the werewolf, I suspected option two. That would explain the silence.

We passed a quad of cubicles. Something crunched underfoot and I looked down to see a broken pencil. Pens were scattered off to my left. Papers blanketed the floor around the desks. Crimson blood dotted the pages. Only drops, though. Someone wounded and getting the hell out, scattering office supplies in his wake.

I took another step and heard the slam of a car door. I pictured a survivor sitting in the parking lot, gun drawn, waiting for someone- or something- to come out those front doors.

I turned back to Jaime.

“We should look for a side exit,” I whispered.

She nodded. In front was the reception area. To our right, another door hung partially open. As we headed for it, I noticed more blood streaked on the linoleum. Still wet. From the werewolf, I presumed. I steered around it and kept going.

More blood ahead. Lots more. Smeared in front of the partly open door. Lines ran through it. Drag marks. Was the werewolf the only thing responsible for those blood trails? I wasn’t sure enough to go through that door.

“Other way?” Jaime whispered behind me.

I nodded. As we crept back in the direction we’d come, I kept glancing back at the blood smears by the door. What if someone was in there, wounded?

I shook it off. As I’d said, I was done playing hero. While I was sure that Paige-and-Lucas-fostered self-sacrificing side of me would erupt again, it wasn’t popping out while we had a dead werewolf in the back room. We had to escape. This was Medina’s mess. Let her deal with it. Or let the Pack do it-after we got to safety.

“Hello?” a man’s voice called from the reception area. “Is someone here?”

Jaime stopped and looked back at me.

“I want to file an accident report,” he called. “Hello?”

I motioned for Jaime to follow and we backed up to a block of filing cabinets. As I tugged her behind them, I caught a flash of something across the room. Jaime gasped. I wheeled.

There was nothing there.

Jaime had her eyes half closed and was taking deep breaths.

“What’d you see?” I asked.

“Just a ghost. Some kind of-” Another deep breath. “A residual, I think. It startled me. Sorry.”

A residual was a spectral image, usually the replay of a gruesome death, meaning Jaime had every right to look like she was five seconds from puking. But why had I caught a flicker of it?

The guy in reception called out again. I plastered myself back against Jaime. My heart kept thumping. I tried to calm down. It was just a guy. At worst I could play receptionist and get rid of him.

Yet the self-talk didn’t help because it wasn’t the guy making my heart race. I kept thinking about that flash. A niggling doubt in my gut told me to look again.

I peered out and jerked back so fast I elbowed Jaime.

“What-?” she began.

I clamped my hand over her mouth. My heart was thudding so hard now I could barely draw breath. She tugged my hand away and mouthed, “You saw it?”

I nodded. What had I seen? I didn’t know. My brain was throwing out bits and pieces like a jammed movie camera.

Not human. No, not humanoid. That’s what had my mind stuttering, because it wasn’t human and it wasn’t beast, and that wasn’t possible. I lived in a world of monsters, but they were all recognizably human. Only werewolves could change form. This… This wasn’t a werewolf.

Eyes. I’d seen eyes. Cold, unblinking, reptilian eyes scanning the room. Looking for us.

Forget what it was-it was looking for us now and when it found us…

Blood. I’d seen blood and gore dripping from misshapen jaws. I stared at the smear on the floor and now saw more than drag marks. I saw claw marks.

“Hello?” the man called. “Jesus Christ. Someone’s gotta be here.”

A creak. The door opening. A growl. An inhuman cry, half shriek, half snarl.

I leaped from my hiding spot. The thing flew at the man. Literally flew, leathery crimson wings billowing out. Its beaklike snout opened and it let out another horrible cry.

“Holy shit,” the man said. “Holy fucking-”

I hit the beast with an energy bolt. Or I tried to. What came out was a spray of harmless sparks that showered the thing. It gave a screech, more annoyance than pain, and reared back. Four taloned feet flashed. All four grabbed the man. Grabbed him and ripped. Blood sprayed. An arm landed by my feet. The man was screaming. All that blood, and that arm lying at my feet, and the man was still screaming.

Jaime had to drag me a couple of feet before I snapped out of it. I pushed her along ahead of me as we ran for the second door. My sneakers slid and squealed on the blood. A grunt from across the room. The beast. The man had gone silent now. Thank God, he’d gone silent. But that meant the beast had heard my shoes.

Jaime wrenched open the door. We tumbled through. I yanked it closed. The beast hit it with a thud, the wall shuddering. I held it shut with both hands, my feet braced. It threw itself at the door, over and over, shrieking.

Jaime grabbed my shoulder. I lifted my hand to brush her off, then realized she was holding out a steel baton. We jammed it into the handle. The door rocked twice more. Then stopped. Talons clicked on the linoleum as the beast retreated.

I glanced at Jaime. She didn’t ask what that thing was or how it got here. Right now, it only mattered that it was here.

“It’s looking for another way in,” Jaime whispered.

“Which means we need to find another way out.”

I turned. We were in an office. The chief’s office, I was guessing. Big, spacious, filled with natural light… all coming from skylights overhead. Barred skylights. No other exit.

There was a shout. Then an earsplitting screech. I spun toward the door.

“Holland!” I said. “We forgot about-”

A scream cut me short. The same kind of horrible scream I’d heard from the man who’d been torn apart.

Jaime gripped my elbow. “Too late,” she said. “We need to find a way out.”

I stood frozen as the scream was replaced by wet smacking and grunting as the creature devoured the young officer. Then everything went quiet.

I pressed my ear to the door.

Jaime tugged me back. “It just remembered there’s a bigger meal in here.”

I took a step, and nearly landed on my ass. I looked down at what I’d slipped on-the extension of the blood trail that came through the door.

It continued past the massive desk. I took two steps and leaned around to see what looked like rope on the floor. Another step. Not rope. Intestine, stretched out from what remained of a torso clad in…

“Medina,” I whispered, seeing the name plate on her uniform shirt.

That was the only way I would have recognized her. Her legs and one arm had been ripped off. As for her head, it was still attached, barely. Where her face should be, there was a bloody crater.

Jaime stepped around the desk. I blocked the sight.

“There’s someone behind her,” Jaime whispered.

I looked behind the desk. There were bodies there. Two, maybe three. It was impossible to tell. One face stared up from the pile. The blond witch, Keiran.

“Okay,” Jaime said, taking a deep breath. “We need-” She looked around. “Phone. We need to find the-”

Her eyes rounded. She lunged forward. “Savannah!”

Cold steel pressed against my throat.

Six

“I’d say, ‘Nobody move,’” said a raspy male voice. “But I think the knife makes that redundant.”

I started whispering a spell. The blade pressed into my windpipe.

“I’d call that moving,” he said. “Another word and you won’t be speaking. Or breathing.”

“There’s a thing out there,” Jaime said. “Some kind of beast.”

“Demon,” he said. “Demonic, at least. I was testing out a particularly tricky new spell.”

A sorcerer. One who knew witch magic, which explained how he’d appeared from nowhere. Cover spell.

“Who are you?” Jaime demanded, as if reading my mind.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “That beast wasn’t quite what I hoped to summon, but I’ve sent it back now. With a full belly, apparently. Pity about Jackie Medina. A nice person to work with. So dedicated to the cause. So gullible.”

“She wasn’t drugging us to make us more compliant, was she?” Jaime said. “The drugs were supposed to drive supernaturals crazy. Why?”

“Is this the point where I explain my master plan? Um, no. Thanks, but I have more important things to do.”

“Like cleaning up this mess,” I muttered.

“That’s not on my list either. I’m sure either the council or the Cabals have a crime-scene cleaning team on speed dial. And avoiding fallout…?” He chuckled. “Definitely not part of the plan. As for the plan itself, let’s just say it underwent a serious change when Ms. Medina called me and said she had Jaime Vegas and Savannah Levine in custody. The Fates must be smiling on me. Well, not the Fates, maybe, but someone is. I wanted a chance to test my spell, and you gave me a better one than I ever could have imagined. Now, Ms. Vegas, could you do me a favor and call Eve Levine? I know you have her on speed dial.”

“I can’t-” Jaime began.

“Yes, you can.” He gestured at the knife against my throat.

Being told to call my mother or I’d die? Serious déjà vu. First Leah O’Donnell, the half-demon who came back from hell. Now this asshole. Everyone wanted Mom. Which meant, while part of me said I should be scared, I was really just annoyed. And impatiently waiting for this sorcerer to get caught up in negotiations with Jaime and relax his grip enough for me to escape.

“You can call her,” he repeated. “And you will, because if you don’t, I’m going to slit her daughter’s throat and leave her on this pile of bodies.”

“You don’t understand,” Jaime said. “Eve is out of contact. Someplace I can’t reach her.”

“You mean she’s off on an angel assignment.”

Jaime let out a squeaky laugh. “Um, no. Trust me, Eve Levine is no-”

“She’s an angel. Ascended angel. Celestial bounty hunter.”

I looked at Jaime, and waited for a real laugh, not that nervous titter.

Her mouth opened. Closed. She swallowed. She looked at me and blushed.

Angel? My mother was an angel?

I wanted to laugh. Only I couldn’t, because it made sense to me-as much sense as the concept of my dark-witch half-demon mother as a divine agent could.

Leah had said my mother was on her tail. That Mom could keep her from going back to hell. Who could do that except an angel?

When my mother came for Leah, I’d seen her faint outline. I’d also seen something glowing at her side. Something she’d used to slice bloodlessly through Leah’s host body and send her soul back to hell. What could do that except a celestial sword?

Kimerion-a demi-demon who’d been helping us-said Leah must have gotten divine aid to escape her hell dimension. He claimed it was a collaboration between the angelic and the demonic. Then he’d asked about my mother.

That’s why Leah wanted her. That’s why this guy wanted her. Because my mother had a direct line to the celestial.

I felt… Confused. Then that fell away and what took its place wasn’t fear or pride. It was hurt. Hurt because this son of a bitch knew my mother was an angel, and I didn’t. Hurt because I trusted Jaime-trusted her since I was fourteen years old-and now I realized she’d kept something about my mother from me, something important.

Finally, Jaime said, “If you know what Eve is, then you understand that she’s not always at my beck and call. Six months of the year she’s an angel. I can’t summon her. I’m forbidden-”

“You can’t?” he said. “Or it’s forbidden? Those are two different things. If Eve Levine finds out that her daughter died and you didn’t have the guts to try calling her, she’ll reach through the dimensions and rip those guts out through your belly button.”

“I can’t-”

The blade slid across my throat. I felt the skin split. Felt blood run down my neck. Heard Jaime yelp. Tried to turn, but the blade was still there, cutting in deeper, his other hand wrapped around my hair now, wrenching my head up.

Mom!

My eyes bulged as I gasped for breath. I found it. Somehow I found it.

I could still breathe. Blood oozed down my neck. But it didn’t spurt. I stopped struggling.

“Good girl,” the sorcerer whispered. “Ms. Vegas, the ball is in your court.”

She was already saying my mother’s name, the words spilling out as she yanked off my mother’s silver ring and clutched it. “Eve, I need you, please, Savannah needs you.”

She paused for breath, and he dug the knife in again and I gasped, eyes rolling in pain, a scream caught in my throat, not daring to let it out, barely daring to breathe for fear it would press my throat harder against the blade.

The sorcerer was murmuring something. A spell?

Mo-

I stopped the thought. Squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t call her. Don’t call her.

Are you crazy? There’s a knife-

I can’t call her. I won’t. My mother was an angel. A goddamned angel, and if people knew I could summon an angel, I’d have a knife to my throat every week. I had to trust Jaime.

“I-I think she’s coming,” Jaime said. “I feel her, and-”

“Tell her to cross over there.”

He pointed. I tried to look, but the knife wouldn’t let me.

“I-I don’t under-”

“Tell her to cross there. Into the circle.”

Circle? I didn’t need to look now. It had to be something for binding a spirit.

“No,” I said, wheezing. “Jaime, don’t you dare-”

The knife bit in and I yowled. Couldn’t help it, even if it made the blade dig in all the more.

I could barely see Jaime through a haze of red. But I glowered at her, pouring every bit of rage and betrayal into that glare.

Don’t you dare let him bind an angel, Jaime. Don’t you dare.

“I-I can’t tell her where to cross over. It’s not like that. She-”

“Eve!” His voice rose to a shout. “I’m sure you can hear me. You’re going to cross into that circle or your daughter is going to die.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could. Do not cross into the circle. I had no idea who this guy was or what he was up to, but he wanted to harness an angel, and with everything that was going on-the freedom group, the immortality vaccine-we couldn’t let it happen.

I’d tricked Leah. I could trick him, too. I just needed enough time.

The sorcerer restarted his incantation, shouting the words now. I didn’t recognize the spell. Didn’t even recognize the language. Not Hebrew or Greek or Latin.

Something older.

As his voice rose, he pulled the knife away from my throat, tightening his grip on my hair. He flicked the blood-covered blade to the left. Toward the circle.

My fi st went up, spell on my lips, but he slapped the blade back so hard my knees gave way, only his hold on my hair keeping me upright. He yanked me to my feet.

“The circle, Eve!” he shouted. “Cross into the-”

He stopped. And he laughed, a low, rasping chortle. “Yes. That’s it. Thank you.”

The knife eased on my neck enough for me to look over at the circle and see…

My mother. I saw my mother. Not a faint image or a shadowy apparition. I saw my mother, as real as she’d looked nine years ago, when she’d left our cell to find us a way out of the compound where we’d been trapped. She’d never returned.

“Eve,” the sorcerer said.

She pulled something off her back. A four-foot-long sword, the metal glowing blue.

“Jaime? Tell him he has fi ve seconds to drop his blade or I use mine,” she said, her gaze fixed on him, dark eyes blazing.

I could hear Mom. Why could I hear her? But he could, too. His knife hit the floor with a clatter. He released me and I fell to my knees, hands going to my throat.

“Good,” she said.

She kept walking toward him, but lowered the sword. I stared up at her.

I can see you. And he can see you too, can’t he? Why can-?

My gaze dropped to the floor where my mother was leaving a trail of boot prints.

She shouldn’t be able to leave boot prints.

The hell-beast. He’d summoned a hell-beast and it had materialized. It had crossed the dimensions and physically entered ours.

What had he said before he started the ritual?

I’m testing out a particularly tricky new spell.

“There,” he said to Eve. “I’ve let Savannah go. I just wanted to bring you here, Eve. We have very special plans-”

My mother lifted her sword. Ready to send him to hell, as she’d done with Leah.

She swung the blade. One clean, effortless cut through the torso. The sorcerer’s eyes bugged. His mouth worked. Then his upper half slid to the floor, blood spurting, the shriek dying in a keening gurgle as his legs fell over and he lay there, blinking, mouth still open, any noise he made drowned out by Jaime’s screams.

“What the hell?” Mom whispered.

She backed up, sword held out, gaze fixed on it as if it had come to life in her hand. She slid on the blood and looked down at the floor.

“What the hell?”

She stared at her jeans and blouse, soaked with the sorcerer’s blood.

“What the hell!”

I stood there, watching her and trying hard, very hard, not to look at that horrible, bisected body.

My mother blinked. Then she leaped forward, sword raised, and stabbed the still-blinking sorcerer through the heart, releasing him to death.

Jaime stopped screaming. At least, stopped audibly screaming, fist jammed into her mouth, eyes closed. Then she went rigid. Her eyes flew open and fixed on something I couldn’t see.

“You-you called her,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you did but-”

She flinched and I knew she was talking to the sorcerer’s ghost. My mother jumped forward, but Jaime lifted her hands.

“I-it’s okay. He’s gone.” Jaime looked around. “I don’t understand.”

“I do.” My voice came out soft, barely audible. Then I turned to my mother. “You’re real. I mean, you’re here.”

I stepped forward and reached out. My fingers touched her sleeve. The fabric dimpled under them and then I was touching her. Her. My mother. “Oh, God.”

My eyes filled and she reached for me. I swallowed. Fresh blood trickled down my neck. She stopped short, yanked at her shirt, and wheeled on Jaime.

“First aid. Find a kit. Now!”

Mom ripped her shirt off, buttons popping, and pressed it to my throat. Then she led me over to a chair and made me sit. All I could think was It’s Mom. My mother is here. I can see her. I can hear her. I can reach out and touch her.

I sat there, feeling no pain while she and Jaime tended to my throat. In shock, I guess. I dimly heard my mother say the cut was shallower than it looked-the sorcerer knew what he was doing, inflicting minimal damage while making it look serious.

I didn’t care. My mother was here. Right here. I kept trying to process it, but my brain refused.

They taped me up. No one said much. I think we were all in shock, even Mom, who kept looking over at the bisected corpse as if she expected it to magically mend.

“How… how did he do it?” I whispered. “That’s not possible.” I looked at Jaime. “Is it?”

She shook her head. “Zombies, yes. A ghost inhabiting a living body, yes. Bringing back a ghost in corporeal form? It doesn’t happen. Can’t.”

“Just like you can’t manifest a hell-beast,” I said. “But he did.”

No one answered me.

“We need to go,” Jaime said finally. “We can… figure all this out later. For now, we have to call-” She glanced at the phone, then at the bodies.

“No calls,” I said, snapping out of it. “Or the first person the cops will track down is whoever received a phone call post carnage.”

“Careful, baby,” Mom said. “You probably shouldn’t talk.”

Baby. How long had it been since I’d heard that? Fresh tears made the room swim. I swiped them away as she leaned over, ignoring the blood as she hugged me tentatively, then tighter, when I didn’t evaporate at her touch.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

Only it wasn’t. We were in a room with dead people. Dead people who’d been carved up and ripped up and chewed on, and at any moment someone was going to come through the station door and find blood and entrails decorating the chief’s office.

Jaime was right. We had to get out of here. And, yes, that meant that after eleven years, I couldn’t stop to hug my mother, even though she might disappear back to the afterlife at any moment. But that’s how it was. Life isn’t fair. Not when there are bodies to dispose of.

It took about thirty seconds to realize that we couldn’t do it. Hiding the bodies was useless, given the sheer amount of blood. All we could do was take the first-aid kit-which we’d touched-look around and determine that we hadn’t touched anything else except the baton in the door. Take that, too. Smear our footprints in the blood. Hope that my blood would go undetected. Pray we hadn’t shed hairs-rather, pray they weren’t found. Really, in general, we just prayed that the Cortezes could cover this up.

Could even a Cabal cover it up? I wasn’t so sure. Didn’t want to think about that.

Next we went into the locker room to find clean shirts for Mom and me. We grabbed a blouse and a gym top from Medina’s locker. Jaime changed into Medina’s sneakers. They weren’t a great fit, but they’d do, though she insisted on taking her heels, too-they were her favorites. My jacket was back in the cell, remarkably clean. My wallet and Jaime’s purse were in the front room. Mom found our processing papers hidden inside Medina’s desk. We took those, too.

Last and maybe most important was video surveillance. But we got lucky there. The camera was an old tape one that only monitored the reception room. We’d never been in there. I grabbed the tape anyway.

Before we left, I borrowed Jaime’s phone-which had been in her purse-and texted Adam. A simple we’re fine, don’t come after us. Last thing we needed was to have Adam and Jeremy show up right as the authorities discovered the bloodbath within.

I didn’t even have time to put the phone away before he texted back. Can u call?

Mom leaned over to read the screen and shook her head. “Later.”

I texted back soon.