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  I shook my head, tried to focus. I couldn’t jack him off. There’d be nothing left for me. However, if I told him what I wanted, he probably wouldn’t give it to me. Nephilim were like that. I’d have to beg for the exact opposite.

  “Go ahead,” I urged, moving my hand faster. “You know that you want to.”

  His motions slowed, his moans stopped, and his eyes snapped open. “Not yet,” he growled, and ripped at the fastenings of my jeans.

  From that moment on things moved quickly, which was fine by me. The sooner the better. I wanted this done.

  I tried to close my eyes and think of England. Problem was, I needed to come, and England just didn’t do it for me.

  I didn’t want to think of Jimmy or Sawyer. I couldn’t bear to pair what we’d had with the memory of Mait. Even though I’d chosen this, even though I was doing it for them, tonight wasn’t a night to remember.

  Instead, I let my mind go blank, let my body take over. If he hadn’t been a half-demon stranger I’d followed into a dark alley, I might consider Mait decent in bed. Against the wall, not so much. Still, when I didn’t think, when I forced myself only to feel, things happened.

  Mait flexed and released, flexed and released, sliding in and out, filling me, emptying me. I lost track of time. The guy had the stamina of a racehorse.

  Minutes, hours, days later, he pressed his forehead to mine. “I cannot until you do.”

  I’d met guys like him before—in handcuffs.

  While most rapists wanted to assuage their pain by causing someone else’s, vent their anger, show their dominance—some liked to pretend it wasn’t rape by making the woman participate. Some couldn’t get off unless they managed to “satisfy” the object of their twisted affection.

  I hated those guys. The women who were assaulted by them were more traumatized than the ones attacked by any of the others. Maybe because the asshole made them believe they must have wanted it, wanted him, otherwise why would they have climaxed?

  Mait licked the tip of his thumb and, holding my gaze, slipped his hand between us and unerringly found the right place. He continued to stare into my eyes as he rolled his thumb in a circle, all the while sliding in and out, faster and faster until—

  I came.

  My body convulsed, tightening around him. His breath caught; his eyes went blank. In them I saw myself—my face stark, blue eyes wide, framed against the dark stones of the building like the sacrifice I’d made of myself.

  I couldn’t watch. As I continued to quiver in reaction, I shut my eyes against the night and as the orgasm drained away, lightning flashed from a clear sky, leaving behind an ozone-scented wind. The flare of power as it passed between us was like boiling oil in the blood—painful but also exhilarating. Magic so often was.

  I pushed aside thoughts of what I’d done—time enough for those later, or not, I hoped—and focused on what I needed to do. My eyes opened, though they very badly wanted to stay closed, just as Mait released me.

  My legs slid down; my feet touched the ground. I bit my lip until it bled, refusing to crumble. When he bent to grab his pants, I slid my hand into the fanny pack that had twisted around my waist almost to my back, and removed the charmed knife.

  As he straightened, I jabbed the point toward his eye. I hadn’t even cleared the protection of my thigh when he grabbed my wrist and twisted. I was strong, damn near invincible, but I couldn’t keep my fingers clenched against that move, and the knife clattered to the pavement.

  At first, I panicked, thinking he was too close to fight, especially with my pants around my ankles. Then my free hand flicked, and he flew, smashing into the opposite wall before landing on the ground. Since he was a Nephilim, he got right back up.

  I wasted no time, grabbing my jeans, searching for the weapon. It was gone.

  “Lookin’ for dis?” Mait held my knife in one hand and the dagger Jimmy had bought in the other. “One of a sosye’s powers is that things come when summoned.”

  “Really?” I put out my hand, and Jimmy’s dagger flew across the short distance between us. I snatched it out of the air. “Like that?”

  He rattled off several French-sounding curses, ending with “Empath.” He spat that like a curse, too.

  If I hadn’t already planned to kill him, I’d have to now. The sexual empathy was a secret I liked to keep from the dark side.

  Reaching out, I tried to take the other knife, too, but he was ready for me and held on tight. I wished momentarily I didn’t have to fight shirtless, but since I didn’t have much choice, and maybe it would distract him, I tightened my hold on the dagger and moved forward.

  I’d never been in a knife fight. Close encounters were more Jimmy’s style. Sanducci was king of the sharp shiny things. I was better with my hands, my feet, a club, a gun. Not that I couldn’t use a knife. How hard was it? Pointy end went into the bad guy. But when we both had knives, and we both had superpowers, things got dicey.

  He cut me; I cut him. I healed my wounds; he healed his. We could have kept at it for days. Then I aimed a fancy roundhouse kick toward his chest, and Mait saw my tattoo.

  “You’re a—” My heel met his sternum and he flew. “Skinwalker,” he said right before he hit the wall, cracked his head, landed on the ground, and the knife in his hand slid across the pavement. “You’ll never die.”

  “Never say never,” I muttered. “But certainly not today.”

  I landed on his chest, the tip of my dagger speeding toward his left eye.

  That thing I have about eyes?

  Turns out, I didn’t have it anymore.

  CHAPTER 34

  “What the hell you doin’ back there?”

  The deserted street was deserted no longer.

  “Mind your bizness,” I shouted, doing my best impression of a crack addict. As a big-city cop, I’d known plenty of them.

  The guy moved on, grumbling; I needed to move on, too. Except the body wasn’t ashes yet, and I didn’t dare leave until it was.

  Burning a body isn’t as easy as you’d think. Luckily I had supernatural fire literally at my—

  “Talon-tips,” I said.

  An instant later I was a phoenix and could shoot fire in a steady, blistering stream until the only sound in the alley was the crackling of the flames.

  When nothing remained of Mait, former god of the night demons, but ashes, I beat my huge, multicolored wings until every last particle had swirled away. Then I clasped the dagger in one talon, my knife in the other, and flew into the fading night.

  Dawn threatened when I circled the hotel then landed on the terrace. As I’d done before, I went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. It didn’t help.

  I might be able to wash the scent of Nephilim from my skin, but I wasn’t ever going to be able to wash the memory of what I’d done from my brain.

  And there was going to be payback. I just knew it.

  So far I didn’t feel evil. That had to be good, right? Maybe I’d get lucky and absorb only Mait’s magic without the accompanying vice.

  Yeah, that would happen.

  My phone was ringing when I came out. I snatched it up, glancing at the caller ID even as I brought it to my ear.

  Luther.

  “Did you find her?”

  “You done made your choice,” Ruthie said.

  I blinked. Why was Ruthie calling me?

  Then everything connected, and I sat down heavily on the bed. Ruthie was talking through Luther, because I’d just embraced evil again.

  “Crap,” I muttered.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I had to,” I began. “I saw—” I paused, not wanting to tell her what I’d seen, as if putting the horror into words might just make it happen, if it hadn’t already. “Something,” I finished.

  “Figured that or you wouldn’t have done what you done. I told you’d there’d be consequences.”

  “I’ll pay whatever I have to.”

  “Not much choice ‘bout that,” Ruthie said, then
gave a deep sorry sigh. “What you done, Lizbeth, I fear for you.”

  I feared for me, too, but I feared more for Jimmy and Faith. I’d do it again if I had to. I just hoped like hell I never had to.

  “You go on back to the Dinetah.”

  “What? No. I have to—”

  “Sawyer ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  She was trying to keep me from raising him. She had to know that, eventually, I would. I had to.

  “The boy is frightened. Summer’s losin’ her mind. You go on back, find out what’s what.”

  I opened my mouth to argue; what came out was, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I caught the first plane to Albuquerque, rented a Bronco, and drove to Summer’s place. At heart it was an Irish cottage, and there were times the terrain around it appeared like the rolling emerald hills of that land. There were other times when the cottage became a castle, complete with a moat.

  The gargoyles remained regardless of what shape the house took. Their job was to guard against evil. So what had they been doing when Faith disappeared? I planned to find out.

  As I drove up, the cottage shimmered, shifted, became a ranch house with a wraparound wooden porch. Several horses whinnied from the corral. On closer inspection, I was certain they’d be revealed as half horse and half something else—gargoyles on alert.

  It was all glamour, courtesy of the fairy.

  I climbed out of the truck, eyeing the statues in the yard. Gargoyles could turn to stone at will. They could also turn back, take to the air, and protect the innocent from demons.

  Since I was no longer innocent, did in fact have a few demons in me, I walked warily between the bizarre figures. Half lion–half eagle, part man–part hawk, woman and wolf, several of them shifted in my direction, the light of the moon flashing off their flat, black eyes. They were watching me. I couldn’t blame them.

  The door opened; light spilled out, casting the silhouettes of a short female and a tall male onto the ground.

  “Liz,” Luther said. “Thank God.”

  Summer snorted. It was good to be back.

  I tromped across the porch, the weathered boards that weren’t really there creaking beneath my weight. “No castle?” I lifted my hand to the gorgeous night sky, painted every shade of blue and orange and pink. “Turrets, moat, patrolling sentries?”

  “There’s nothing left to protect.” Luther turned away. As usual his jeans sagged off his bony behind, the waistband of his boxers—red and black plaid—playing hide-and-seek with the frayed tail of a unlv rebels T-shirt.

  I was close enough to catch Summer’s wince, and for an instant I felt sorry for her. Then she opened her mouth. “What did you do to him this time?”

  “Him, who?” I asked, but I knew. With Summer, it was always about Jimmy.

  “He was mad, sad.”

  “Jimmy hasn’t been happy for a long time now.”

  Had he ever been happy? Yes. So had I. Before we knew the truth.

  “Because of you,” she said.

  “What else is new?” I tried to move past her and into the house, but she remained in the doorway. I could make her move, but then there’d be a catfight, and when you’re talking supernatural cats, it usually got ugly. So even though I wanted to pop her in her perfectly pert nose, I didn’t.

  “We need to work together,” I said. “We’ve got the same goal. Find the kid, find Jimmy.”

  “In that order?”

  I met her eyes. “Yes. Sanducci can take care of himself. Faith . . .”

  “Can’t,” Summer finished.

  Luther, still standing in the hall, muttered a word I didn’t much care hearing from his mouth, but I decided to let it pass. I had bigger problems than a teenage boy’s cursing.

  Summer let me in. I nodded my thanks. Best to make nice for the time being.

  For a change she wasn’t wearing her circulation-inhibiting jeans and slutty, fringed halter top, though the alternative wasn’t much better. White shorts so tiny I couldn’t guess their size; they made her slim, smooth, perfect legs appear longer than they could possibly be. The pink shirt bared her flat stomach, revealing a belly button ring I had a hard time not yanking out.

  Inside, the decor reflected the western ranch motif of the exterior. The walls were the color of the sky at dawn, the tile the shade of the earth. The paintings appeared to be Georgia O’Keeffe. The houseplants were cacti—huge, fat, gorgeous specimens.

  “I like this,” I said.

  “I don’t care,” she replied. So much for making nice. “Any news?” Summer shook her head. “Did you try Jimmy’s cell?” I had, but I figured he was avoiding me.

  “What do you think?” she snapped. “Every call goes directly to voice mail.”

  I sighed. “Making nice only works if we both make it.”

  “You’ve been making nice?”

  “I haven’t slugged you yet.”

  “The night’s young,” she muttered, and I laughed.

  Sometimes our banter took a turn like this, and we ended up smiling at each other. Then we’d remember we didn’t get along; we’d remember why, and the verbal and physical jabs would return. I liked to think that in different circumstances Summer and I might have become friends. As things stood, Jimmy would always lie between us.

  “What are you going to do?” Summer asked. “How are we going to find them? Who do you think took them?”

  “We don’t know that anyone took Jimmy.”

  “I do.” She tilted her chin. “He wouldn’t stop answering his phone, unless he couldn’t answer it.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. But I was more concerned with Faith at the moment. Someone had already tried to kill her. I was terrified that she hadn’t been taken and hidden, but taken and killed. The only thing keeping me from gibbering in a corner, besides the fact that I rarely gibbered, was the memory of my vision. In it, Faith had been alive.

  “You think the same guys who came for her the last time came this time?” Luther asked, and despite the steadiness of his voice I knew how scared he was by the tremor in his lips.

  “No,” I said. “It wasn’t them.”

  I didn’t point out that those guys would have killed her. I think he knew it anyway.

  And I knew I needed more help than I had to make certain we got Jimmy and Faith back alive.

  “Can I have a few minutes to myself?” I asked. I certainly didn’t plan on raising my first dead man with an audience.

  Summer glanced at Luther, who had moved into the living room and now sat on a leather sofa the shade of sand pretending to watch MTV Cribs. He lifted one shoulder then lowered it. “I’m not movin’.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” I turned to Summer. “Can you show me which room is mine?”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “Ruthie said I should.” She hadn’t, but Summer didn’t know that.

  “Well, she didn’t tell me,” Summer muttered, then stomped as loudly as she could in bare feet down a hall that led toward the back of the house. As we walked, the corridor lengthened in front of us, doors appearing on either side.

  I’d seen her do this before. She could change a cottage into a castle in the blink of an eye. She could also add rooms and floors without even waving her hand.

  We turned into another long corridor, and she stopped, throwing open a door to our right. The room looked like a cell on Prison Block A.

  I assumed Summer could also decorate with her imagination. Hence the cold gray walls, the metal cot with the über-thin, stained mattress, and an army-green blanket that appeared as soft as a Brillo Pad.

  “Thanks.” I was unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

  She smirked and turned away. I stepped into the room, which gave off an unpleasant chill, and shut the door, then I reached for a lock that wasn’t.

  “Lock!” I shouted, and in the next instant one appeared.

  Summer could no doubt unlock the door just as easily, but oh, well, this shouldn’t take long. At leas
t it hadn’t for Mait.

  Since I’d absorbed his powers, I hadn’t felt any different from before. Sure, I could stretch out my hand and make stuff come to me, but I didn’t feel any stronger in a mystical, necromancer-y kind of way. And shouldn’t I?

  What if it was a lie—the gift of raising the dead? I’d only seen Mait do so in a dream. Certainly Ruthie had corroborated his talents, but Ruthie couldn’t be right about everything, all the time, could she? Had I risked my soul for nothing?

  Panic threatened and since panic would help no one, I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, trying to calm myself. Just the familiar, meditative act made my training kick in. My mind opened. I reached for the power, and it was mine. Power flowed through me, along with all the knowledge. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

  So simple. Such strength. I could raise everyone we’d lost. Ruthie, Xander. What was to stop me? Who could stop me? Who would dare?

  I slapped myself in the face. The sting brought me back.

  “Focus,” I said. “You did this for Sawyer and only Sawyer.”

  But what if it worked?

  I shoved the tempting thought aside and did what I’d sacrificed so much to be able to do.

  Mait had touched the graves, but that was because he hadn’t known those he was raising. I knew Sawyer—probably better than anyone. All I had to do was think of him and call him home.

  “Come back,” I whispered, and then I waited.

  For his touch, his voice, his scent. Nothing happened.

  I tried again. Open. Reach. Beg. “Please, come back to me.”

  I remained alone in an empty room.

  I was doing this right. Unlike the time when I’d attempted to raise his ghost—a spell boosted by magic and therefore easily screwed up with the wrong twitch of a finger or the switching of a single word—the power to raise the dead was part of me. I could feel the ability to lift Sawyer out of death and back to life in my mind, my heart, my very soul.

  From somewhere in the house came a vicious growl, followed by several heavy thumps and the breaking of glass.

  I was at the door in an instant. I jerked on it three times before I remembered the lock. Then I was running down the hall and skidding into the living room where three people now stood instead of two.