SORCERESS, INTERRUPTED

Dear Reader,

Like superheroes? Well, picture the Human Spark throwing a tantrum because he’s tired of being invited to your Labor Day barbecue just to light the grill. Or Lady Seductra dodging ex-boyfriends at her high school reunion. Maybe that’s why A. J. Menden’s characters are so compelling: they’re as familiar as they are quirky. Her books aren’t about the superhero in you. They’re about the you in every superhero.

Sure, Phenomenal Girl 5 has superstrength and can fly, but she also fell in love and married the man of her dreams. (He died saving her life and was reborn in a different body, but that’s what you get for dating a guy called The Reincarnist.)

Fantazia’s got similar problems. She’s a powerful sorceress who can’t age or be killed, but that hasn’t made her relationship with her parents any easier. Nor has it made finding a boyfriend a piece of cake: you’d be surprised how many men aren’t worth keeping around after twenty minutes let alone three hundred years. The good news is, she’s about to get exactly what she needs. And it’ll be forever.

Think Jim Butcher meets “As the World Turns.”

We hope you feel the magic, too.

Christopher Keeslar
Senior Editor

MARKED

I glared at him. “You’re saying you wrote ‘Property of Cyrus the Virus’ on my body.”

He laughed. “Not in the way you’re taking it, no.”

“Then in what way could you possibly have written it?”

“In the same way a guy gives a woman an engagement ring,” he said.

I stared.

“I’m not as commitment-phobic as you are, Fantazia. I’m not afraid to admit when I want to be with someone. Maybe it’s because I have an average life-span, but I know life is short and at any moment something can take it all away. You’re going to have to decide what you truly want. Do you really want to be left alone for all eternity, or do you want to be with the rest of humanity? You’re going to have to decide pretty damn quick.”

Other books by A. J. Menden:

TEKGRRL

PHENOMENAL GIRL 5

SORCERESS,
INTERRUPTED

A. J. Menden

For Lisa, who is the true meaning of a BFF.

DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

June 2011

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016

Copyright © 2010 by Amy Phelps

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 13: 978-1-4285-1120-2
E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0948-1

The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com.

CHAPTER ONE

I stared at the glamorous woman in front of me. She’d never looked more lovely than she did at the moment, her long, dark hair curled in waves down her back, a stark contrast to the long white dress that draped her perfect figure and somehow managed to avoid the dirt and dust passing chariots and horses kicked up in their wake, her arms bare except for the few golden bracelets. Her otherworldly beauty was almost terrifying. I struggled to find my voice. “You’re leaving?”

She sighed. “I never should have come. This isn’t my place, you understand. I should be with my own people. I don’t belong here. I never have.”

I tried to process her words. My mind wouldn’t let me. “You can’t just leave.”

“My family’s come back for me,” she said, glancing over to the small group of equally extraordinary-looking people who were watching the scene before them like they were watching animals fight for scraps of food: insignificant, and not worth their time.

“I must go with them,” she said again, as if addressing a small child. “This was a mistake.”

It was as if she physically hit me. “This was a mistake? I’m a mistake?”

She looked back to where her family stood waiting, embarrassment obvious on her beautiful face. “Don’t be like this.”

“How am I supposed to be?” I bit back the tears that threatened. I didn’t want her to see me cry. Not because it would upset her, but because she wouldn’t care and that would be worse. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You’re a big girl, you’ll be fine.” She glanced over to see the bearded man motioning to leave. “I’ve got to go now.”

My hand shot out. She looked down at where I gripped her arm and then back up at me. Her eyes narrowed, and I waited for her to slap me to make me let go.

“What about him?” I hissed. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

It was the wrong thing to say. A coldness settled over her features. “You should probably take care of him. Someone should.” She yanked her arm out of my grasp. “Good-bye.”

“You selfish bitch!” I screamed at her retreating back. “If I ever see you again, I swear I’m going to cut that cold heart of yours out of your chest!”

She disappeared with her family, to whatever glories awaited them in the far-distant land where they had sequestered themselves.

A handsome young man, dressed in the garments of the wealthy, came out of the dwelling behind me, passing by one of the altars to the gods in the vestibule. “Who were those people?”

I gritted my teeth. “No one important.”

He nodded as if he understood, even though I knew he didn’t. “And . . . who are you again?”

I fought down the urge to strike him. “No one important either, apparently.” Dad.

I woke up momentarily confused. I took in my surroundings, expecting to see the decor of the ancient home that I had just revisited in my dream but instead was met by lush contemporary furnishings. Repulsed by the dream, I shivered. At least this time I’d called her a bitch and didn’t just cry and beg her to stay. If you’re going to dream about past events, you might as well act how you wish you had.

Remembering I wasn’t alone, I glanced over at the man lying next to me in bed. He was snoring loudly, as only someone drunk could. I remembered all of the booze we’d tossed back together in my bar last night. At some point we stumbled to my “throne room,” the chamber where I met with my patrons who wanted to ask for favors, and I had transformed it into my bedroom. No wonder I’d dreamed of the past: I always get depressingly sentimental when drunk. Which is why I don’t get drunk very often. But the knowledge of today’s significance had begun haunting me last night, and at the time having a drink or two in the company of a man with scruffy good looks seemed like a good distraction.

With a hangover and a man in my bed whose good looks were decidedly more questionable in the cold morning light, things were different. This was just another reason why I flirted outrageously with anyone male but usually went to bed alone: the letdown and aftermath are always too much. I’d had my heart broken more than a few times in my long life and it never got easier. Which was why I was careful never to give it away anymore.

I whispered soft words in Italian, a spell to rid me of my pounding headache, then whipped the sheet off the bed. When that didn’t rouse him, I poked my guest in the arm. “Hey. You. Wake up.” What was his name again? He wasn’t one of the regulars who came to my little corner of the universe to drink and hang out with others of the magical persuasion. He was one of the surprisingly few magic-users who didn’t owe me a favor—although, after his performance last night, he just might. If he didn’t want the details spread around.

If only I could remember his name. I knew he was one of the Brothers of Power, one of the five charming and gorgeously handsome siblings whose magical abilities were so great they had earned a reputation among those in the magic circuit as being able to do whatever was needed—for a price. In a world where powered-up heroes and villains do battle in gaudy costumes in the street, gods and goddesses crawl out of their ancient hidey-holes to join in the fray or avenge childish grievances, and powerful magic-users can easily destroy city blocks, those with less power are always in need from those more powerful. That’s usually where I came in: helping weaker magic-users right wrongs, giving them protection, or whatever was needed . . . but also for a price. In a way, the Brothers of Power were my competitors, but where I used my great powers to gain favors from others or to get information for later use, the brothers did it for monetary wealth, which they immediately blew on lavish lifestyles.

Joseph was the one with whom I had the most dealings, and while I recognized his brother here, it wasn’t enough to sort the name with the face. That had been advantageous last night when I was drunk and depressed and out of my mind enough to seek some momentary physical comfort, hoping that if I didn’t know him very well, he wouldn’t expect anything else later. Now it just put me in a horrible mood to know I’d been stupid enough to go there with a stranger.

His name began with a D—I knew that much, though I hadn’t exactly been calling it out last night—and it was bland and ordinary-sounding, like Joseph. But it was too early in the morning to play guessing games.

This time, I shoved my visitor hard. “Hey!”

He opened one blue eye. “Oh. Good morning, luv.” His voice was heavy with sleep. Seeing my nakedness, his other eye opened and he smiled. “Ready for round two?”

I gave him a mean grin. “After round one? No thanks.”

He grunted and scratched himself. “It’s all the alcohol. I’m much better when I’m sober. Or so I’ve been told.”

“The magic groupies you and your brothers hang out with aren’t too hard to impress.”

He ran a hand through his shaggy, dirty blond hair and reached over to the bedside table to light a cigarette. “You’re the one who came on to me, luv. Remember?”

“Not so much.” I glared at him. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Don’t get all dodgy just because you can’t remember how I rocked your world last night.”

“Sweetheart, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll find few men rock anything but themselves. And stop talking with that fake British accent. You and your brothers and those affected accents you put on as part of your mysterious mercenary routine . . . Everyone knows the closest you’ve come to the United Kingdom is watching the BBC.”

He smiled. “Ladies love it.”

“Good thing I’m not one. Now get lost before I toss you out without any clothes.”

He chuckled, standing up and tossing on his jeans. “You’re one to talk about fake speech patterns, Fantazia,” he drawled in a bland American accent that I knew was his own. Under my baleful glare he threw on his shirt and donned his long coat without bothering to button up. “Because I know someone who’s lived since the dawn of time and avoids technology like the plague wouldn’t really talk like a bimbo on a reality show.”

I shrugged. “Hey, I model my way of talking and acting like I see the rest of you do here in the bar. But don’t imagine you know the real me. None of you does.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” he laughed. “All of us magic-users do know: you’re a witch. A cold-blooded one. Cheers.”

The overemphasized British affectation was followed by a cruel laugh, and he walked out of my bedroom and into my bar. From there he walked out of my reality and into everyone else’s. Literally. It forced me to wonder once again if it had ever been a good idea to move the pocket universe I called home closer to the real world. Did I really want magic-users powerful enough to know how to access the doorway able to travel between the two?

When I first discovered this plane of existence, I saw it as an oasis away from all suffering: Living entirely alone, I wouldn’t have to watch everyone I ever knew slowly rot away and die while I remained unchanged. I wouldn’t have to invent new lives in new towns every twenty years or so when it became apparent that I still looked the same while everyone else grew older. I wouldn’t have to see the jealousy in the eyes of those I let know about my immortality, when they started to be affected by age and sickness. I’d already been through all of that and more.

Also, I wouldn’t have to deal with my father anymore.

It was a welcome respite for a while, but eventually I came to realize just how awful solitude truly is. Calling forth djinn servants helped, as did visiting other dimensions. But eventually I came to miss being around people. Which was when I had the idea of turning my pocket universe into a hangout for the magical set, a crazy bar called Memory Plague, or “The M. P.” for short. Alcohol can be a plague on the memory—or take away such a plague. And this way, while I couldn’t be of the people anymore, I could at least be around them. So I took on the moniker Fantazia—I left my real name safely in the past, along with a whole lot of pain—and began my stint as barmaid and hostess.

Eventually some realized how powerful I was and started coming to me for favors. Eventually I started granting them—for a price, since it’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone worth a freebie. And since one of the best places to get information is a bar—people always confide in bartenders once they get a few drinks in them—I started trading in information, too. Information doesn’t come cheap. My public persona is a hard-as-nails bitch who doesn’t care about anything or anyone. If you don’t care, no one can hurt you.

I drew that detachment around me again like a cloak as I got dressed in a complicated black lace body stocking. Why do I dress like this? To be totally honest, I like men looking at me. It’s one of the few thrills I still get in life. I like to wear sexy outfits to get attention. It’s one of the reactions from people that I trust to be genuine. Sex appeal is our basest instinct, and that being the case, I say, if you’ve got it, you should be allowed to flaunt it.

I noticed as I dressed that the protective wards I usually have the djinn servants paint on my arms in henna were smeared from last night’s debacle. I didn’t feel like having them redone this morning, though. It would serve as a reminder to myself of what happened when I got maudlin and drunk. They’d still serve their function, even in mild disarray.

I zipped up my thigh-high stiletto-heeled black boots and exited my bedroom, not stopping until I was out in the bar area. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet. Memory Plague was usually a place of muted conversation, but it wasn’t the absence of the patrons that set me on edge. Things hadn’t been the same here since the Elite Hands of Justice stopped by to play houseguests.

The EHJ. Usually a cadre of respected crime-fighters, they’d been on the run from the law after a series of misunderstandings and needed a safe house. The man that used to be my father, the Reincarnist, now named Wesley Charles, had seemed to think he could just crash here. I’d let him. I’d magically redone the whole pocket universe to accommodate him and his friends, magically locking all of the patrons out for reasons still unknown to them and turning the bar into a damn dormitory for heroes. When it was over, they went back to their superstar lifestyle and I went back to my reclusive one. Oh sure, they offered me a place on the team, but I know better than that. I’m not the hero type. And I didn’t think I could handle being around the Reincarnist all of the time.

Now things were back to normal: me in the bar, them in their gilded tower in Megolopolis. Yet . . . in the short amount of time they were here, I got used to it. I got used to having people around. I normally wouldn’t dare say or even acknowledge it, but in my current hungover state, I had to: I’d had a taste of a family for a short time, and I was craving it.

I cursed my weakness. I know what needing people leads to: disappointment. My father especially. He had a new life—literally, again—and a new family. He didn’t need me in it. I hadn’t seen him much in the year or so after his stay, just on a few rare occasions of magic-related questions.

Lainey, his new wife, actually brought their daughter and my half sister Emily over to visit while they went out hero-ing or to movie premieres, or wherever it was they spent their free time. I didn’t know if this was from a wish to build a relationship with me, concern for my young sister’s safety, or just because I’d elicited a promise to bring her at one point. Emily was the only one of my half siblings over the many years that I’d ever taken any interest in, though I have to admit it’s in large part because I know what supposedly lies in store for her. It wasn’t necessarily sisterly affection; it’s more of a morbid curiosity to see what this person prophesied to save the world or destroy it would do next.

I sighed. If all I was going to do was think about the EHJ and Emily, there was only one thing to do. My bar was a bit out of range for transmitters, phones and the like. That was really no problem: while I really do try to update my speech to the popular vernacular so that people around me feel more at ease—I’ve done it to the point that even my thoughts have started to sound modern—technology and I have never been friends. I’m always a decade or more behind, and I’ve pretty much given up on trying to move forward. No, if someone needed to get a message to me, they usually came to me personally or went through one of my djinns.

Sadly, Emily and the others weren’t likely to visit me here. That meant I had to leave home to see her.

CHAPTER TWO

Some magic just requires the right words spoken in the spellcaster’s preferred language; others, words and a deed, like a hand motion or a combination of special powders. Still others use all of the above, and a select few can be evoked with just a thought, if the caster is powerful enough. I am. Portal travel is one of the easiest spells for me, and that was the way I made my way between my reality and others. I can appear anywhere, and in this case, I appeared right in the middle of the Elite Hands of Justice war room. Instantly I heard alarms screaming to life.

Mindy Clark-Christian, aka Tekgrrl, was the first on the scene, training a rather large gun of some sort, probably of her own design, on me. Seeing my identity, she relaxed and pointed the weapon away. “Damn it, Fantazia! I’m going to have to reset the alarms.” She sighed. “Computer, override security, per my access.”

The alarms died out in midscreech.

I surveyed Mindy coolly. “I thought I had security clearance here.”

“You do if you come in the proper way instead of just popping into our dimension all willy-nilly.” She walked over to the computer bank on the side of the room and started typing furiously. I caught a glimpse of my name and the words “interdimensional bartender” on the screen. I guess they’re pretty serious about logging in visitors. “Wesley had to up security after one of the Dragon’s cronies tried to fake his magic signature to get in here. Now, anyone sets off the alarm who magically transports inside, regardless if they’re allowed to be here or not.”

I hadn’t heard about that. The Dragon is my father’s archnemesis. He’s a powerful magic-user who wants to bring about the apocalypse by recalling to our world a group of superpowered beings called the Ancient Ones, who had been locked away long ago by a group of magic-users, supposedly forever. The Dragon tried to use his cult to cast a spell so he could eventually free them with the help of the DarkLight, who happens to be my baby sister, Emily. Whom my father desperately wants to protect.

The Dragon was still stuck in the DarkLands dimension, thanks to my father, but his minions were still trying to find a way to get him back. It was pretty much an exercise in futility: my father had locked the Dragon away and threw away the key, casting a spell so powerful it was darn near impossible to circumvent. But that wasn’t going to stop those little cultists from trying to, at the very least, corrupt little Emily. Had Wesley said something about his current problem I would have cast a spell to help him, but of course I’m the last one he ever thinks to contact.

Paul Christian, aka White Heat, coleader of the EHJ along with Wesley, came striding in. His limp, which he got after fighting an alien invasion in our last big adventure, was barely noticeable. “What the hell is going on?” Seeing Mindy clicking away at the computer, he sighed. “Why are you the first on the scene?”

“Because I’m the fastest,” she retorted.

“You should be the last one on the scene. You shouldn’t be running into trouble right now, Mindy.”

“Paul, I had a transport gun.” Without looking up she raised the weapon, which I suppose would have sent me straight to jail had she fired it. Mindy and Paul, the resident scientists, were the ones responsible for all of the high-tech gadgets of the EHJ. That’s why she’s Tekgrrl. I remember her discussing the particular weapon back when the team lived with me.

“Besides,” she continued, straightening up to face him. “It’s just Fantazia.”

I frowned. “You don’t have to say that like I’m some homeless person you stepped over on the street.”

They both ignored me in favor of their argument. “You didn’t know it was just Fantazia when you ran in here,” Paul growled. “Where’s Toby? Where’s Selena?”

“Toby’s visiting Forrest in Washington today, and Selena’s handling a press conference. I’m still a hero, Paul.”

“A hero who’s heavily pregnant and doesn’t need to go running into danger. A hero who’s my wife.”

“This isn’t the 1950s, and I’m not some delicate flower!” Mindy blasted.

I interrupted. “While I’m enjoying this peek at wedded bliss, I didn’t come here to see all the reasons why I never got married. Where’s Wesley?”

Paul frowned. “That’s the eternal question. Never around when we need him.”

Mindy sighed. “Boy, you’re grouchy today. I’m the one with the hormone troubles, babe, not you.”

“I’m the one that has to live with you,” he replied with a smile.

“You’re so going to pay for that.” But she smiled, too, and there was no mistaking the glimmer in their eyes. I remembered long ago when someone used to look at me like that. No one ever realizes how impermanent love is until it’s gone.

“I’m leaving before you two end up either killing each other or screwing on the table,” I said, starting for the door. “I’ll look for him myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Mindy called as the door slithered shut behind me.

Stepping out into the hallway, I heard my name called and turned to see Lainey Livingston-Charles, also known as Phenomenal Girl 5, who was in a weird way my stepmother. She made her way toward me. “Was that you who set off the alarms?”

“Yeah, it was me. I hadn’t heard there was another attack,” I said. She hugged me, and I almost jumped in surprise. Ever since I started taking an active interest in her and Wesley’s daughter’s life, she’d gotten friendlier.

“Wes sent them to the DarkLands to live with the Dragon, but still, better safe than sorry,” she said. She gave me a curious look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . why are you here? You never leave home.”

“I left to fight your alien invasion,” I reminded her.

“Under duress, if I remember correctly. Is something wrong?”

She was right: I usually let people come to me. I very rarely set foot outside my pocket universe. I’d done so recently, but only to help the EHJ in a battle, and then only because Wesley nagged me until I gave in. I’m like Switzerland. I don’t take sides. Or hadn’t until I got pathetic and lonely.

I didn’t want to tell Lainey the real reason I was here, so I just said, “I just thought I’d see Emily. Is Wesley around?”

“He’s watching her, in case there’s another attack,” she said. “They’re back in the common room. I’ll just shut down the wards. Come on.” She motioned me to follow.

I have to admire the glam atmosphere the EHJ have for their headquarters. They’re the biggest hero team in all of the United States, maybe even the world, and more than live up to their celebrity status. They’d been a bit of a joke for a while, more celebrities than heroes, until Wesley rejoined them and set things straight. No matter which life he was living, my father always was a take-charge kind of man.

We reached a doorway and Lainey said softly, “Apri I reparti.” The magic took effect and the door swung open as the wards surrounding the room broke, revealing comfortable living quarters with a widescreen television taking up one whole wall.

Inside the room I was greeted with an exuberant, “Fay!” the bizarre rendition of my name I was given by my two-year-old half sister, and then her chubby arms wrapped my leg.

I smiled in spite of myself. Emily is the only person on Earth who has that effect.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, bending over to pick her up. “Are you driving Daddy crazy like I told you?”

She nodded, blonde hair like her mother’s bobbing as she did. “You come to play magic?” Her blue eyes—just like her father’s—sparkled with hope.

Emily was still young enough to be enthused by simple tricks, like making things appear and disappear or making her toys dance. Truth be told, she was powerful enough to do these things herself, if someone would teach her how. Usually a natural-born magic-user wouldn’t be able to access such powers until the onset of puberty, but Emily’s an anomaly. She’d started working small bits of magic at the tender age of one, likely to both her parents’ horror. You think normal kids’ temper tantrums are bad? Try telling a kid who can work magic that she can’t have a cookie. It’s even worse when that kid is prophesied to be the world’s most powerful magic-user who will either save the world or destroy it by releasing powerful creatures locked away since the dawn of time.

Everyone’s doing their part to make sure she comes down on the save-the-world side.

“Here ya go,” I said, sitting her back down. “Fai delle farfalle.” Brightly colored butterflies flashed into appearance and flew around the room. Emily laughed and clapped her hands.

“You shouldn’t be teaching her that.”

I narrowed my eyes at the speaker. “Lighten up. They’re just butterflies. Harmless.”

“You know better,” Wesley Charles said. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glared at me. “It’s creating life out of nothing. That’s dangerous.”

It was weird seeing him as a twentysomething. So many years ago, practically the dawn of time, he was my father. His powers made it so that instead of dying at the end of each life, he reincarnates as a twenty-year-old—a twenty-year-old who remembers nothing about his previous relationships.

Since I don’t age and can’t die, I’d tried over the years to remind him. Over and over. Eventually, I got tired of rehashing that pain and gave up. That was around about the time he started writing down personal details in journals. He’d try to contact me. I’d ignore him. Eventually I grew bored with that and just treated him like he always treated me: a stranger with a few similar interests. Things had been awkward for his last couple of lives, but we’d come to an uneasy truce since Emily’s birth.

“She’s not going to get a God complex from creating a few butterflies,” I grumbled, watching my sister spin around the room.

“Why are you here?” Wesley asked. “Is something wrong?”

Something was wrong, but I wasn’t going to tell him. I’d known yesterday that this was going to happen, but I couldn’t help it. Today of all days I felt the need to be around family. He was all I had.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, shrugging. “I just felt the need to spoil Emily. I thought I’d take her to get some ice cream, maybe visit the toy store, make a few butterflies appear and fly around the room. You know, normal big-sister stuff.”

Wesley frowned. “She doesn’t need to be out gallivanting.” He left the with you unspoken, but I could feel the words hovering in the air. I can always feel other people’s disapproval.

I put my hands on my hips. “So, I’m good enough to watch her when you want to go out gallivanting, but when I want to do it, it’s bad?”

“When you’re watching her, we’re out saving the world,” Wesley snapped. “Not having a good time.”

“Wesley!” Lainey interjected. “Let Emily go out with Fantazia.”

Wesley turned, astonished. “But . . .”

“I know reclusiveness is a family trait,” she said, motioning between me and my reincarnated father, “but I will not have my daughter end up that way. Let her go.”

“B-but it could be dangerous!” Wesley sputtered. “The Dragon—”

“Is in the DarkLands. We haven’t had any trouble with his cronies since we threw that last batch in the DarkLands with him, and Fantazia is probably the safest person your daughter could be with. Emily has to have as normal a life as we can give her, and going out for ice cream and visiting the toy store is what every two-year-old does with her relatives.” She eyed me again, taking in my outfit. “Well, maybe not relatives dressed like they came off the set of Male Fantasy Monthly.”

I sighed and magically changed my outfit to a pleated skirt and a long-sleeved shirt, a bit like a Catholic schoolgirl outfit that would definitely be in the magazine Lainey just described. Like all of my clothes, the skirt was just a little too short and was paired with killer boots, and the V-neck was just this side of being too low, but I just scooched in on the correct side of good taste and the change seemed to satisfy Lainey. She picked up Emily and handed her to me. “Go. Have fun. Wesley’s taking me out to lunch. We’ll see you later this afternoon.”

Emily threw her arms around my neck and squeezed. “Yay! I go with Fay.”

“Yes, you do.” Lainey kissed the top of her head. “Tell Mommy and Daddy bye-bye.”

“Bye!” She blew them both kisses and grinned.

Wesley came over to drop a kiss on her head. “Love you, Emmy-cake. Be good for Fantazia.” His dark blue eyes bored holes into me. “Take good care of her.”

“Yes, Dad,” I said. “I won’t let her run into traffic or take over the world. Not today, at any rate.” I turned and walked out of the room before he could say anything else.

“So what kind of ice cream you want, Em?” I asked as we headed for the main doors of the EHJ headquarters. I’d decided to take the civilian exit, as who knew what kind of trouble I’d get into with Wesley for teleporting from one place to another with Emily.

“Vanilla.”

We stepped into the elevator. “Vanilla? That’s boring! We’ve got to live it up today, be crazy!” I hugged her closer and whispered in her ear, “Today’s Fay’s birthday.”

We got triple chocolate fudge with strawberries, and I returned hours later with a sugared-up Emily in tow, laden down with bags. I know that on your birthday people are supposed to give you gifts, not vice versa, but for me, returning a kid on a sugar high with all kinds of obnoxious new toys to her unsuspecting parents is present enough.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a male voice asked as I maneuvered Emily and her various packages into the elevator. “It looks like you have your hands full.”

I looked up with a grateful smile, but it died on my lips. “What are you doing here, Cyrus?”

The stocky bald man was at least a head taller than I, and he took a few of my bags and ushered me and Emily inside the elevator. “I work here.”

His sharp blue eyes caught mine, arrested me. It wasn’t as if he was good-looking. Well, not in the conventional sense. The shaved head, the piercing blue eyes, the tattoos, the stocky physique. His presence was . . . scary. Most women would walk across the street if they saw him approaching.

“Please. You’re a lurker not a worker.”

Cyrus Ramsey, or the Virus, as he’s known among the magic-user set, had once been a regular visitor to my pocket universe. He’s something of a rarity, being what we magic-users call a techno mage: someone whose precise control is over magic as it relates to technology. While I can use my magic like a hammer to smash a computer—the only good solution to one, really—Cyrus can use his to go in and completely change the workings. It requires a good bit of scientific knowledge about the technology, something completely foreign to me.

Back then he’d been a petty villain making ends meet by hacking into bank accounts. He’d been just another face in the crowd until coming to me for a rather unusual favor. Then he’d gone to prison. He’d been out for a few years now and supposedly on the straight and narrow. He still owed me, though. Even helping out the EHJ at my insistence hadn’t been payment in full. It had been a big favor, one neither of us liked to discuss. In my circle, the less you discuss things, the better.

“Same difference,” he said. “How else would I have this?” He held up a gold security card and let the elevator scan it. The penthouse placard instantly lit up, and the car began rising.

“You probably hacked into the system and stole it.”

“Those days are behind me, Fantazia. I only hack for the Old One and his cronies now. So it’s legal.” All magic-users call my father the Old One. It was his name among us before he took up the mantle of the Reincarnist and crime-fighting back during World War II.

“Criminals. Do they ever really go legit?” I mused.

“Don’t talk about my shady past in front of the kid,” the techno mage mock whispered. “Besides, you’re one to talk.” He smiled and his voice softened. “Hey, Em. How’d you get stuck with the old lady for the afternoon?”

She grinned back at him. “It’s Fay’s birthday!”

“Emily!” I chided. “That was supposed to be our little secret, remember? Fay said not to tell anyone.” My tone betrayed my annoyance that she’d to let this spill in front of Cyrus of all people, and her exuberance faded a bit and she looked down at the floor. Which just proves that I’m not good at being maternal.

Cyrus chuckled. “All these years and you’ve never learned not to tell a toddler secrets?”

“Well, as a general rule I don’t spend a lot of time with toddlers,” I growled. “I didn’t know you were such an expert.”

I noticed the corners of his mouth twist down. “I guess I’m just full of useless information. So what is this, Fantazia—the big one-zero-zero-zero?”

“Something like that,” I muttered, regretting even more the weakness that had dragged me back into the real world.

“Don’t know how you manage to be out and about, what with your advanced age,” he joked.

“Look, don’t say anything to the others,” I growled.

He grinned. “What’s it worth to you?”

Ugh. I went on the offensive, my fallback approach that always distracts men when I need to get them off topic. Angling my body in a seductive pose, I looked up at him from under long black eyelashes, flaunting my ageless beauty, the one gift of my long life. “What do you want?”

Cyrus must be the only man on earth immune to my distraction-by-flirting skills. Instead of rising to the bait and then being disappointed later when I didn’t follow through, he just frowned. “Definitely not that. And don’t do that in front of Emily.” He shook his head as if disturbed. “Too bad you were gone for the feminist movement, Fantazia. You might have learned a few things.”

I dropped all pretense of interest. “Well, what do you want?”

That irksome grin returned. “I’ll let you know. I like the thought of you owing me for a change.”

The elevator doors opened and he stepped out carrying my bags.

“Keeping this secret won’t make us even,” I warned, scooping up Emily and following.

“Don’t I know it,” he said. “You like keeping me on an invisible leash too much to ever let me free.”

Wesley must have a sixth sense that lets him know his daughter is in the building. Not me. “You’re back!” he said, hurrying over.

“Daddy!” Emily squealed, reaching out chubby arms to him. How soon I am replaced.

“Did you have fun with Fantazia?” Lainey asked, kissing her daughter still protectively encircled by Wesley’s arms. I tried not to feel the slightest twinge of jealousy. It would be mean-spirited to remind myself that one day he would forget her existence, too.

Emily’s blonde head bobbed up and down. “Ice cream!”

“Great. You’re on a sugar high then,” Lainey said.

I smiled.

“What’s all of this?” Wesley asked, motioning to the bags Cyrus set down.

“Ask Fantazia.”

I prayed silently that Emily wouldn’t say anything.

“Burfday presents!”

As if I needed another reminder that God and I aren’t on good terms.

Wesley frowned. “It’s not your birthday, Emily.”

“Not my burfday, Daddy,” she agreed.

“They’re just presents,” I said.

“Did you buy the whole toy store?” Lainey asked.

“There’s some clothes in there, too,” I said, gesturing to the bags. “Emily had to get that EHJ T-shirt. Couldn’t pass that piece of commercialism up.” I laughed.

I noticed Wesley looking at me strangely. I hoped he wasn’t making a connection. I couldn’t take that apologetic look he gave every time he realized he’d forgotten something from one of his many, varied pasts. Especially when it came to me.

“So, where’s Mindy?” Cyrus interrupted. “We were going to work on some updates to your computer network.”

“You’re letting him near your system?” I asked Wesley, grateful for the distraction. “Hello, fox. Meet henhouse.”

Cyrus frowned. “I’ll have you know I’m a trusted member of the EHJ family now, Fantazia.”

“Because I’ll ship you off to the DarkLands if you revert back to your old ways,” Wesley said.

Cyrus jerked his thumb in Wesley’s direction. “See? We have an understanding.” He shrugged and asked, “So, where is the beautiful and talented Mrs. Christian?”

“Down in her lab. I’ll call her,” Lainey offered.

Cyrus waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just run down and grab her myself. It’ll piss off that stuffed shirt she has for a husband.”

“He’s probably down there with her.”

“Even better.” Cyrus grinned. He turned back toward the elevator. “Good seeing everybody.”

“Wait, I’ll ride down with you,” I said. “Bye, Em. We had fun, right?”

She nodded her blonde head. “Bye, Fay!”

“Thanks again,” Lainey called.

“No problem. Anytime.” I gave Wesley a slight nod. He was still looking at me like he suspected something. “Bye, everyone.”

I turned and fled to the elevator with Cyrus. As soon as the doors closed I said, “Thanks for the distraction.”

“I didn’t do it for you, sweetheart,” he said. “I did it for me. How am I supposed to collect on keeping a secret if it gets out?”

The elevator slowed as it approached the laboratory floor. I frowned. “I don’t know what you think I’m going to owe you.” For a moment I was distracted by thoughts of the ways in which I could repay him, and all of them involved his big male hands all over my body. But where had that come from? My drunken night of debauchery had obviously messed up my head more than I thought if I was thinking that way of Cyrus, someone who’d probably rather go celibate the rest of his life than get in bed with me, judging from his reaction earlier.

“I don’t know either, but I’ll be sure to let you know.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “This is my floor. I’ll be seeing you, Fantazia.”

“Not if I see you first,” I said.

“Promises, promises.” He started to exit and then turned back. “Oh, and . . . happy birthday.” He shot me an evil wink and was gone, the elevator doors shutting behind him.

CHAPTER THREE

I was restless. After my birthday trip with Emily, I tried to throw myself back into my everyday routine of bar owner and purveyor of magical knowledge, but it just wasn’t the same. It used to be fun to sit in my dark room in the back of the bar and wait for someone to ask a favor, like a dark queen awaiting her subjects and supplicants, doling out judgments and boons. Now it was just boring. And lonely.

Murmured conversation sounded outside, the tinkling of glass and the occasional yelp or cheer as someone either won or lost a game of chance. Some of my patrons were always playing. There were occasionally a few grumbles or ill words, but the losers knew not to start throwing punches, no matter how drunk they were. Heroes and villains alike are welcome here, but the forces of good and evil both know combatants in my place will be cast out, never to be allowed back. I’m not above busting a few heads when someone steps out of line, and I also have my djinns. Creatures from another dimension are great bouncers when I don’t feel like messing up my manicure.

I also use them as bodyguards. Not that I’m afraid of anyone out there. Or anywhere, really. When you’ve lived as long as I have, death isn’t something to scare you. It’s almost amusing when someone tries to set the reaper on my trail; it’s a way to pass the time and remove the mind-numbing boredom. But after getting the reputation I have, of being the biggest and baddest magic-user in all of creation, it helps to have a few flyswatters around for those stupid enough to challenge me—or those who don’t want to pay up for magical services rendered.

One of my bodyguards stood as I moved to part the heavy curtain that separated my room from the bar.

“Are you going outside, ma’am?” he asked.

“It’s not much fun sitting in here with you two, is it?” I shot back. The djinn are all the same: pale androgynous creatures with elongated features that look alien and a bit unsettling. They’re not much for conversation either.

The djinn and his twin fell into step behind me as I glided across the room under the pretense of making myself a drink, shooing away one of the otherworldly servants I employ as bartender and listening to the conversations of those around me. So far, no one knew that I was intimately connected with the EHJ, and I intended to keep it that way. No one would spill their guts to someone who could potentially tattle on them to the authorities.

Two men magic-users, who I had heard vague rumblings about starting a magic-user biker gang, were having a few beers and discussing me.

“What’s she doing out here?”

“Dunno. She never comes out.”

“Still smoking hot.”

“Acts like she’s so much better than everyone else, though.”

“Maybe she is.”

I smiled and took a sip of my drink. I was queen of this world. But lately that gig was starting to stale.

Forcing the predatory smile to remain on my face, I glided around the tables saying hello to the patrons who were worth knowing. I draped my arms around the neck of a man with curly light brown hair and an air of danger—just the way I like my men. It had been a glimmer of similarity that had attracted me to his brother that catastrophic other night. He was playing and/or cheating at cards with a few other faces I recognized. Glancing at his hand, I smiled and lowered my red lips to the Brother of Power’s ear, at the same time giving the rest of the table an eyeful of décolletage. “Playing to win, I see, Joseph.”

“Always, darlin’,” he replied with an affected Irish brogue that was every bit as fake as his brother’s British one, and with a playful smile. That grin had charmed its way into many a girl’s bed. Joseph was a flirt, just like me, but he would also sleep with anything he could get his hands on. We would flirt, and I also sometimes got information out of him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go any further than that. And right now I was more interested in finding out if there were any jobs on the horizon. I couldn’t take this monotony.

Recognition suddenly tore through me. Donald. Donald was the name of the man I’d ended up sleeping with on my birthday.

“Crawled out of your cave, I see, Fantazia.” A woman with bobbed dark hair shot me a glare over her cards. She was wearing Gothic clothes from Victorian England.

“Just to show you up, London,” I said.

An old man who looked like he should be ordering the blue plate special at some early bird diner shook his head at me. “Trying to use your goodies as a distraction? Some things never change, Fantazia.”

“Oh, come now, Howard,” I cooed. “I used to do it for you all the time.” Howard was an old friend, now literally old. He’d been very handsome when he was younger, and the sweetest guy you could ever meet for someone who didn’t consistently play on the right side of the law. I’d once considered getting involved with him, but he would have wanted something permanent, which never works out with me. He went on to meet and marry another magic-user and had a passel of children and grandchildren. I definitely couldn’t have given him the domestic life.

He smiled. “That seems like centuries ago.”

“Only decades.”

The youngest man at the table shivered. He had the look of a high schooler trying too hard to seem a tough guy, baggy clothes practically falling off his emaciated frame. “Shut up and play. I don’t want to think about you doing the nasty with anyone, Howard.”

“Let’s not offend Dylan’s delicate sensibilities,” I agreed. “He’s still practically a baby.”

His eyes glimmered with a predatory light. “Give me a chance and I’ll show you I’m a man, Fantazia.”

London rolled her eyes. “Gross.”

All four of them were probably on the EHJ’s most-wanted list. They had each done magic a bit outside of the law at one time or another, things that had made headlines and caused ordinary humans to quake with fear. They also probably each had a few of those ridiculous aliases that both heroes and villains go by, but I couldn’t be bothered to remember them, or their last names. They were simply Joseph, London, Howard and Dylan to me. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like we were going to be mailing each other Christmas cards.

“Get lost, will you?” London said. “We’re playing a game here, and some of us at the table aren’t interested in looking down your dress, if that’s what you call that thing you’re wearing.”

Her tone was snarky but there was respect underneath, otherwise I would have given her the boot. I did a little spin so she could get the full effect. My black lace outfit showed off a lot of skin. Also visible were my freshly painted wards, which served the same function as the bodyguards: to show that I was always on guard, and always dangerous.

“I think she looks hot,” Dylan said.

“I think she looks like a woman working a street corner,” London retorted.

“No one gets off on your dead-grandma look,” Dylan snapped. “Don’t take out your lack of sex appeal on Fantazia. Jealous much?”

“Some men don’t go for the trampy look,” London said in a quiet voice. “Some men like women who dress like a lady.”

“I don’t see why you’re dragging this out,” I said, eyeing the stakes on the table. “Joseph’s going to win this round.”

Everyone groaned and folded; they could sense I was telling the truth. Sometimes I like messing with the card games in my establishment. Games of chance are especially chancy around me. For some reason, people still come here to play.

Joseph sighed. “I could have milked them, Fantazia.”

“Who cares? It’s just money and I’m bored and want to talk to you,” I said.

Grabbing him by the arm, I snapped my fingers. Typical club music started blaring from unseen speakers. Popular music is beyond my comprehension and tastes, but I pay someone to recommend whatever is currently in fashion. And I can dance.

“Since when does talk equal humping my leg?” Joseph asked. He seemed to be enjoying it, though.

“Since now,” I answered. I snapped my fingers again, and a section of tables disappeared to allow a dance floor, much to the chagrin of the patrons sitting there. “I’m terribly bored so I want to dance—and you’re one of the few guys around here who actually can.”

“I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” Joseph said.

“I’m not,” I replied. “But I’m damn good at faking it.”

He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

“Baby,” I said, “I never have to fake it with you.”

“You’re too kind, and flattery will get you everywhere.” He shot me a smile, then glanced around. “I don’t think everyone’s in a making-merry mood, but I guess I should have suspected you’d be. Considering what I’ve got.”

It wasn’t a good transition, but I was intrigued. “What are you talking about?”

He knew he had me. His lips curled into that dangerous smile. “Darlin’, I know you. Do you think I’d honestly give you the goods for free?”

I pressed against him and purred, “You have something big?”

“Ah, it’s big now, is it?”

I was already bored. “Cut the crap, Joe,” I said, my voice an intense growl. “Tell me what you’re getting at or just shut up. I’m not in the mood for games.”

“But you’re always in the mood for games, darlin’. And as you say, I always play to win.”

His smug grin was intolerable. Sometimes I’m in the mood for sport, sometimes not. Right now? Not. Especially not from him. A rumble sounded in the room as I built up the pressure of my magic. Glasses started to shatter. Several people bolted from the room. They must have been around the last time I did this.

“Don’t make me rip it out of you,” I warned, narrowing my eyes.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Joseph said, but the fact that he’d spoken in his real voice and not his fake Irish brogue told me he knew he’d pushed too far and was backtracking. And, was that a glimmer of fear in his eyes?

I whispered a few words under my breath, looking directly into his eyes as I touched the surface of his mind, ready to dig through his memories to get the goods.

“Something big’s going down,” he yelped.

I frowned. What a letdown. “ ‘Something big’? Something big’s always going down.”

“This time’s different.”

“This time’s always different.” I laughed. “This time ‘someone’s really going to destroy’ the city, country, world, universe, dimension, et cetera. Each and every time, it’s a big nothing. Who am I going to sell pipe dreams? Shit, this is more boring than watching you play cards.”

I let the tension go out of the room, and the remaining patrons gave sighs of relief. Club music continued to play until I abruptly turned it off. I spun to go back to my bedroom.

“I mean it, Fantazia. This one’s got the attention of the whole community. A lot of the lesser powers are scared.”

“You’re not,” I pointed out, turning. But this was beginning to sound more promising. If the lesser magic-users were worried, that might mean them coming to me for protection or favors.

He swung back into character with a cocky smile. “No, I’m not. Me, darlin’? I’m too powerful to be worried yet. But I could get worried. If what I know gets any worse.”

I rolled my eyes. “Come back when it does. I don’t give a damn about some idiot’s take-over-the-world scheme. Until it’s a real crisis, it’s a dream.”

“What’ll it be worth to you?” he asked.

“If you’re that scared? I’ll protect you.”

“Will you?”

I was surprised to hear fear in the voice of the new speaker. “Not you, too, Howard.”

The old man shrugged. “I’m not young, Fantazia. And the whispers going around have been frightening. There’s talk of magic-users being drained of their powers.”

I tried to appear uninterested. “Drained? So what? You hear stories all the time about some bozo trying a spell he can’t handle and draining himself dry. It happens.” It was probably a magic-user’s worst fear, though, never being able to tap their power again.

Joseph shot a nasty glare at Howard, then nodded. “Nope. Not this time. These guys didn’t do it to themselves. They were in a fight and someone did it to them.”

“That’s what I’ve heard, too,” piped up London.

“Me, too,” said Dylan. “That was a stake we were playing for, actually—the chance to tell you. Joseph won.”

“And then you all blabbed it anyway,” Joseph complained.

“You’re more powerful than the rest of us,” Dylan whined. “And you’ve got your brothers. Why do you need her protection?”

“Maybe that wasn’t what I was going to trade the information for,” Joseph said. His eyes glowed bright blue with power. “Maybe I was going to trade it for something else.”

“It doesn’t matter what you intended, because it’s useless,” I said, trying to calm them down before I had a mess on my hands. They were whipping themselves into a frenzy, and likely for nothing. “Has anyone actually talked to someone who had this happen?”

“They’re in comas,” Dylan said.

“Okay, have you actually seen them?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got a friend who’s got a friend whose college roommate had it happen to him.”

“And they were also murdered by a serial killer who hid under a sofa and pretended to be a dog. Or maybe were attacked by a killer with a hook hand at Makeout Point. They’re called urban legends, Dylan. Even I know that, and I’ve been hanging out in this pocket dimension for most of this century!” God save me from gullible people who believe everything they’re told or read on the Internet. “Does anyone have any solid information, or is this just a rumor?”

Howard shrugged. “Just a rumor, I guess. But face it, Fantazia—as far as rumors go, it’s a scary one. If someone’s really found a way to drain us of magic . . .”

It was scary, but the list of people old or powerful enough to do such a spell was small, and I highly doubted any of them were wandering around sucking the power out of striplings. I certainly wouldn’t.

“It’s probably a binding spell,” I suggested. “Someone’s going around using one, barring others’ access to their powers. Happens all the time. Some yahoo gets in a fight, someone slaps a binding spell on him and he can’t do anything for a while. Then someone else goes and makes the story sound more impressive than it is.”

Joseph nodded. “ ’Tis true. Happens all the time.”

Was it my imagination, or did he sound like he was trying to reassure himself? Joseph normally laughed at this kind of gossip, and he was the one who’d brought it to me. I’d definitely have to investigate this further if it had one of the mercenary Brothers of Power nervous.

I glanced at the quartet. “Like I said, it’s worthless information until you have proof that this is more than just a crazy rumor. Come back when you’ve got something better. Now, if you all will excuse me”—I could see one of my bodyguards beckon from the back of the room—“I believe my next appointment is here.” I blew Joseph a kiss. “Give my love to your brothers.”

He winked. “Not a chance of that, me darlin’.”

“Like you haven’t already,” London mumbled, but the barb was halfhearted. If she only knew how truthful her statement was . . .

Something definitely had her on edge. All of them were a bit strung out, now that I looked. It was nice to know that when the chips are down, I’m the one people come to. And while half-baked rumors are annoying, annoyance is a hell of a lot better than boredom.

CHAPTER FOUR

The service industry sucks. No matter where you are, be it a cheap restaurant or an expensive bar that also sells magical favors, people sometimes get the mistaken impression that The Customer is Always Right is a law written on a stone tablet somewhere and not a clever maxim of some profit-pushing corporate shill. Or maybe what kills me is customers who discover they get to be right all the time and use that as an excuse to act like entitled asses. Being an entitled ass is my turf, damn it.

Let’s face it, I’m also not a good businesswoman. I didn’t get into this business to serve customers. I was tuning out the enraged neophyte sorceress from the moment she stormed in, with her perfectly done hair and fancy manicure, designer clothes and handbag and all the other trappings that screamed she was trying to be important, and started blabbing on about how I hadn’t done what she wanted. A good businesswoman would at least pretend to care about her problem. All I did during her tirade was mentally lament the fact that the new generation of magic-users no longer fear and respect their elders. Back one hundred years ago—hell, back fifty years ago—there was no way anyone would have dared talk to me like this, and this kind of disrespect was getting more and more frequent.

There were a few exceptions to the rule. London, for example, was one of the youngsters still respectful in an old-school way: while she was insulting and abrasive, she knew when to back off. Older magic-users like Howard, or even Joseph and his brothers, would kid me, annoy me, or even romance me during one of my weaker moments, but they also knew that when all was said and done I’m not someone you want angry with you. Frankly, respect is a two-way street, and those people pay the toll on my boulevard.

The woman in front of me, however, acted like she was the queen of the universe and I was a peasant. The attitude reminded me of the woman from my birthday night dream, and it completely infuriated me.

She started to jab her finger and one of the bodyguards stepped over, but I shooed him away with a dismissive glance. That should have been the woman’s first clue to back off, but she didn’t and instead took a step closer. From my casual sitting position I faced her down, the bored expression falling off my face as I felt my jaw clench and my eyes narrow. In a cold voice, I said, “Silenzio.”

The woman was instantly silenced, and her eyes widened in fear. I could tell from her look of horror that she was still trying to talk and was unable to understand why she couldn’t make her lips move.

“Siediti,” I said, pointing to the chair behind her. She instantly planted herself on it, against her will. I could see her trying to squirm but unable to control her limbs.

“Now,” I said, leaning back on my couch with the air of bored royalty. “Let me make sure that I understand the situation clearly. You came here a few nights ago and wanted your boyfriend sent out of town because he’s cheating on you with a coworker at your shared office. Boy, that’s the same old story, the boyfriend and the best friend. Really, it is. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard it. So is the interoffice relationship thing. Anyway, you’d been casting some low-level annoyance spells—rashes, impotence spells, what have you—but that wasn’t satisfying your need for revenge. So you wanted him far away where you never had to see him again, and where she couldn’t see him either. So nobody gets him and nobody’s happy. Correct?”

Silence. I looked up and noticed her eyes were screaming, trying to communicate.

“Sorry. Parla.”

“Yes, but—”

I cut her off. “No buts. All this, so I used my powers to magically send him away from you and her—in this case, to a remote cabin in Montana, with pretty much what amounts to a memory wipe so he won’t just call the girlfriend and have her send him a ticket out of there. He’s now out of town, and you will no longer have to see him every single day of your dreary office existence. Correct?” I nodded for her to speak.

“Yes! But then—”

I cut her off again. “In return for me using my power to do as you requested, you owe me a favor. You ask a favor of me, I get to ask a favor of you. This is the standard agreement I make with all of my clients, unless you have information I need, which you don’t. So you owe me one.” I fixed her with my darkest stare. “I’m certainly failing to see the problem that has you in here screaming at me.”

She was either oblivious or didn’t care about my intense disapproval, because she started talking again as soon as I allowed it. “I just wanted to teach him a lesson! I wanted him stranded in the middle of nowhere for a while until he came to his senses!”

I shrugged. “So call him. I told you if you ever wanted to undo it, just call and talk to him. It won’t work if the girlfriend calls him, only if you do.”

“I did, but we got into another fight!”

“Look, if you want me to reset the spell, that’s going to cost you.”

“No!” She looked like she wanted to hit me. I mentally dared her to. “While I was here the other night, he called me and left messages on my machine begging forgiveness and asking me to take him back. He was crying over the phone, saying he loved me, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, and that the fling with Chelsea was a terrible mistake.”

I took the glass one of my djinns held out for me, bringing the glowing pink drink to my lips. “So you taught him a lesson, he came to his senses, and you got what you wanted. I’m afraid I’m failing to see how this has anything to do with me.”

She shot daggers at me with her eyes. “You sent him to Montana!”

“You asked me to,” I replied with equal venom. “It’s not my problem that you changed your mind and broke the spell almost immediately. If you want him back here, send him a plane ticket. Problem solved.”

“That’s just it!” Her eyes glittered and she looked a little insane. “I finally got hold of him on his cell phone to say that I forgive him and to come back home. But now he doesn’t want to! He thinks the fling with Chelsea was part of a midlife crisis because he was feeling trapped in his job. He wants to stay out there in Montana and live off of the godforsaken land or rustle cattle or something like that. He thinks it was a God-given miracle he was sent there.” She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with shaking hands.

I smirked. “I’ve been called many things, but ‘God’ is definitely a first.”

She glared at me over her cigarette. “He’s living some stupid cowboy childhood fantasy.”

“So, go out there to be with him if you love him so much. That’s where he’s happy,” I suggested. “Maybe it is just a stupid childhood fantasy, or maybe it’s a wake-up call for him to figure out what he really wants in his life. Either way, you can go out there and be with him and try to work it out.”

“Me? Live out in some cabin in the middle of nowhere? Like hell.”

Now she was really pissing me off. There was a time in my life that I would have loved for someone to wave their magic wand and do something magically for my relationship that I couldn’t. Sending her cheating investment banker boyfriend away to Montana with a fuzzy memory seemed to have helped: at least he wanted to work it out with her, if in a new locale. How hard was it for her to go to Montana for this guy she was supposedly so in love with?

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’ve ruined everything. I had a great relationship before all of this mess. You were supposed to be making my life better, not worse.”

Was she kidding me? Her relationship was great while her boyfriend was a cheating investment banker? “Look, the bottom line is you wanted him gone, he’s gone.” I shrugged. “You had an escape clause to get out if you wanted; you used it. Now, because things didn’t work out the exact way you wanted, you don’t want to pay. That’s like going out to dinner and ordering the steak, eating it, and then telling the waiter that you changed your mind and wanted the salad instead, and that you’re not paying for the steak you just ate.”

She stared as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What are you talking about?”

All niceness faded and I slammed my glass down on the tray held out before me. “A lot of things in life don’t work out the way you want, and you have to live with the consequences. You ate the steak and now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Like hell I am,” the woman shrieked.

“That’s it.” I was on my feet. “You need to leave.” And with a few quick words in Italian and a wave of my hand, she was gone. “And I thought I was a spoiled brat,” I said.

I’d thought I was alone, apart from my djinns. I was wrong. A presence loomed behind me and I heard, “Where did you send her?”

“To a cabin in the hills of rural Tennessee. Not with her boyfriend, and not anywhere near a major city. And nowhere near Daddy and his money.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age.”

I sighed. “I’ll admit it’s not exactly what I wanted to do to her. Throwing her into an active volcano would have been better, but I think I can get some satisfaction out of her being lost in the mountains and eaten alive by mosquitoes instead of dining on room service at the Four Seasons.” I turned to face the speaker and said, “The Old One and his friends would probably frown on dumping semi-innocent people into molten lava. Did they let you out for good behavior?”

Cyrus grinned. “When have I ever been good, Fantazia?”

“Since you started shacking up with the EHJ. Or is that some sort of clever ruse?”

He shook his head. “Not a ruse. I’ve just turned my talents to the other side—still for monetary gain.”

“They can’t be paying you more than someone would pay for insight into their dirty little secrets.”

Cyrus shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t like looking over my shoulder for the law anymore. I’m basically a lazy person. You know that. Keeping your guard up all the time gets tiring.”

“Poor baby. So what are you doing slumming with me?” I rose and walked over to him. “Get tired of being around all the goody-goody girls? Felt the need to be around a bad one?” I patted him on the cheek.

He removed my hand. “You’re the baddest one of all,” he agreed. “That’s why it astounds me to report that they need you to watch Emily. One of the take-over-the-world types broke out of jail, and all hands are needed.”

I laughed. “Good God. Is that their rallying cry now—‘All hands’? What a pun.”

Cyrus grinned. “No, it’s not, but it is pretty good. Maybe I should suggest it to Paul.”

“Please do.” Just thinking of the stuffy coleader of the Elite Hands of Justice and his reaction to such a proposition was worth a chuckle. “So . . . if ‘all hands’ are needed, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you out there in the trenches, saving the world in spandex?”

He made a face. “I don’t have the body to pull that look off.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

He shot me the finger. “And I am doing something—I’m fetching you. I told you, sweetheart, I’m basically a lazy person. Once I get you over there to watch the kid, I’m going back to watching the game.”

“The game? You get that out of the Handbook of Generic Male Excuses or something?”

He gave me a dark look. “Fine. I’m going back to watching professional wrestling. There’s a steel-cage match between the Hillbilly and the Dark Reaper I want to see. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“So, come on. The world’s ending and only you can save the Elite Hands of Justice from the horrors of babysitting duty.”

I was secretly happy that I’d get to hang out with Emily again but didn’t want to seem too eager. “I don’t know. I have duties here.”

He glanced around. “Like lounging around? No one’s here, Fantazia, no one but you and your creepy waitstaff. Come on, either you babysit Emily or I will, and I know which the EHJ prefers. Though, with the choice between me and a never-aging tease willing to use her beauty to get whatever she wants, I don’t understand it. You certainly wouldn’t be my first pick. Not as caretaker to a potentially scary little girl.”

Tease? While it might be somewhat true, I didn’t like that this seemed to be all he saw when he looked at me. And I also didn’t like that I was starting to care what he thought. “I may have done a lot of questionable things in my long life, Cyrus, but I’ve never gone to jail for any of them. You, my friend, have.”

“And no one wants a convicted felon watching their kid. I know.” He glared at me. “Are you coming to headquarters or not?”

I pretended bored acquiescence. “Fine. When you sing my praises like that, I guess I have no choice.”

He shook his head. “I’d love to know what the Old One has on the reclusive Fantazia to make her get up off of her lazy ass to go and take care of his kid. And to make him trust you,” he added.

How Cyrus went this long around the EHJ without hearing that I’m the Reincarnist’s daughter, I’ll never know. But since I always like having the upper hand, information-wise, I just smiled and said, “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

He smiled, a wicked grin that hinted at more than a little mischief. A girly side buried deep inside of me wanted to giggle nervously in reaction. I smothered it. “You’d better hope I never do. Because having any dirt on you, Fantazia, is the sweetest jackpot of all. As I already know.” Was it my imagination, or was there a little bit of heat burning in those dark blue eyes?

I dropped my gaze from that dark, hot look and bit my lip.

Oh yeah. The birthday thing was going to come back to haunt me.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Good, you’re here.”

I was greeted by a frazzled-looking Mindy. She held a sobbing Emily in her arms.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens,” Cyrus joked.

Mindy shot him a dark look. “She’s just upset because Lainey left. She’s still not used to her mom being one of the ones to go off on missions.”

“Mommy!” Emily was sobbing. “I want Mommy!”

“Shhhh,” Mindy said.

“Shouldn’t that maternal instinct be kicking in for you?” Cyrus asked.

“Shouldn’t self-preservation be kicking in for you?” Mindy shot back. “Or do you have a death wish, saying stuff like that to a pregnant woman?”

“Whoever said self-preservation was my strong suit?” Cyrus shot me a wink.

Mindy just shook her head. In a brighter voice she said, “Look who’s here to play with you, Emily!”

The child swung her head in my direction. “Fay.” She seemed a bit happier, but still wasn’t over her mother’s departure.

“Fay’s come to play with you while Aunt Mindy does monitor duty for Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Paul and Aunt Selena and Uncle Toby.”

“I wondered if you’d be staying off the battlefield,” I said. “I didn’t think a pregnant woman should be out on the front lines.”

She made a face. “Now you sound like my husband. No, I’m staying here and helping Paul coordinate teams over the headset. But I can’t exactly do that with a crying kid on my lap, so . . .”

“That’s why I’m here,” I finished, scooping Emily out of her arms. “Come on, kiddo, let’s go to your room.”

As I started to leave the room, I turned back. “So, who are they fighting?”

“Edgar Ragde,” Cyrus said. He was headed for the other room, probably to watch professional wrestling like he’d claimed. Men in tights beating each other up? That’s like a normal Monday night for heroes and villains. Didn’t quite see how that was pleasurable or escapism. Maybe it was because the ending was predetermined.

“Mr. Paranoia?”

“He’s finally gone from paranoid to just plain psychotic,” Cyrus added. “He escaped from jail and is using his magic to attack anything that moves.”

“It was a short trip for him,” I mused. Edgar was a magic-user who believed he had more power than he actually had, and that everyone was out to get him because of it. Everyone was out to get him, but mostly because he was superannoying. Still, he took paranoia to new heights, going after civilians and such. That’s why he’d gone to jail in the first place: insisting some guy on the bus was threatening him. Magicked him up good.

“It’s taking the whole team?” Edgar was powerful, but not that powerful. And he wasn’t usually violent.

Cyrus shrugged. “He’s a particular kind of wound up today, apparently.”

“It’s mostly Wesley and Lainey that are going to be dealing with him. The rest are on crowd control,” Mindy said. She headed for the control room.

I carted Emily off to her room to play. The little girl seemed more used to the idea of being stuck here with the rest of us, her mommy being away. “Fay watch TV?” she asked when I sat her down.

“Not me, but if you must, go ahead.” I motioned to a selection of DVDs on the wall. “Pick one.”

She selected one with a brightly colored box and a cartoon monkey. “This!”

“Whatever.” I knew enough about the DVD machine to know how to stick the disc in, but not how to work it. God help me if I ever have to work the EHJ’s complicated database for their own entertainment. I was lucky that Emily, being a two-year-old, was still a bit behind the times like myself. “Know how to play this thing?”

“Uh-huh.” She found a remote control and started pushing buttons.

“Your parents must be so proud.”

The show immediately started with music. An animated monkey was singing and dancing with real children about being a good friend and always helping people and never being mean to anyone. It was nauseating, saccharine-sweet and condescending at the same time. I began to think the EHJ should play this video at every villain they caught. They’d give up their secrets within minutes.

Emily, unfortunately, loved it.

One of the on-screen boys pushed one of the little girls down. The cartoon monkey chastised him: “That’s not how we treat our friends. What do you say, Tyson?”

“Sorry,” the bratty kid responded.

“And what do you say, Megan?”

I suggested, “Do it again and I’ll rip out your entrails?”

“Fay, shh!” Emily gave me a serious look and put a finger to her lips. She looked just like her father when she did that.

“I forgive you,” said the little girl on the television.

I groaned. “This stuff is rotting your brain, Emily.”

“He silly,” Emily replied, watching the monkey do a dance with the children in celebration of everyone being friends again.

I couldn’t take it. “This show has an overly simplistic way of looking at things, Em. In the real world not everyone wants to be your friend, and the bad people won’t apologize for hurting you. And sometimes even someone you think is your friend will turn around and hurt you. Or leave you. Remember that. The real world sucks.”

You would think a child of superheroes would be more aware of that than anyone, but I had a feeling Wesley and Lainey wanted to keep Emily as sheltered as possible, all because there was the possibility that she might destroy the world one day. I had lived long enough to know that prophecies come and go. So had Wesley lived that long; he just didn’t remember. But no matter what, I refuse to think of us as slaves to fate. Emily would have the choice between saving the world or destroying it. And watching all-smiles, happy-all-the-time television wasn’t going to be what made her choose good over evil. If anything, it was going to lead her screaming toward its destruction. At least, it would if she was anything like her half sister.

To protect her sanity and mine, I stepped in front of the television. “How about we say good-bye to the monkey and play a game instead?”

Emily frowned at the distraction but then brightened. “Hide-and-seek?”

“If it’ll end this hell, sounds like fun. But we’ve got to stay in this room, okay?”

She nodded, and I triumphantly shut off the monkey in midsong. Take that, Spurious George.

“Fay hide,” Emily commanded.

I sighed. “Fine. Close your eyes and turn around.”

She immediately started giggling and did so. I briefly considered going back to my bar and hiding in my pocket dimension to see if her powers were great enough that she could follow me, but then I decided that was probably too hard for a two-year-old. And Wesley would be furious that I took his little girl to a bar. I was supposed to be setting a good example.

I lay down in her bed and pulled the covers up over me. A few moments later, I heard more giggling. A small body hurled itself atop me.

“Got you!”

I flipped off the covers. “Yeah, you got me, all right. You go hide now and I’ll get you.”

I pulled the covers back over my head and started counting. More giggling followed, and I figured she was just trying to hide behind one of her toys. Then I heard the door open.

“Emily!” I jumped up. “You’re not supposed to be outside of here. Stay in.”

The little girl took off out the door and into the hallway, running and giggling all the way.

I followed. “Emily! Will you stop? Mindy doesn’t want you bothering her right now.”

She turned the corner and went into another room, me hot on her heels. Great.

“Did you make a break for it from the mean old lady, kiddo?” Cyrus asked, looking up from a computer.

I frowned at him. “We’re playing hide-and-seek. Or chase the Emily. Whatever keeps me from having to watch stupid cartoon monkeys.”

“Did he sing the ‘Song of Friends’ yet?”

“I do believe the virtues of friendship were extolled, yes.” My half sister crawled around the computer desk and onto Cyrus’s lap, and I warned, “Emily, leave him alone.”

“She’s fine.” He watched as she reached for the computer keyboard.

“I don’t want her to go around climbing up on strange men’s laps.”

“Don’t want her to end up like her favorite babysitter, you mean?”

“So funny.”

“Besides, I’m not a stranger, am I, Emily?”

“Unca C!” Emily said, cheerfully beating on his keyboard.

“Go easy on that,” he said. Turning to me he added, “See? I’m Uncle C.”

“And Wesley and Lainey are okay with that?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt it.”

“I think it’s growing on them. Much like I am.” He smiled at me, that same expression full of mischief that made my stomach flip. The corners of my mouth turned up, totally unintentionally. I don’t have a maternal bone in my body, but seeing a big, tough guy like him sitting with my baby sister on his lap did warm things to me. No guy is ever more attractive than when he’s showing he’d be a good father.

I tried to shake thoughts like that away. It’s an animal instinct for preserving the species, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

I tried to get back to more comfortable ground. “Interesting, how you compare yourself to a fungus,” I said, and walked around the desk to stand behind Cyrus. He hurriedly went to click something off the screen, but not before I could see a picture of a young girl at a softball game.

“Wait, is that—?”

He clicked to another page. “Trying to find an old sports score. Got a bet on an upcoming baseball game and wanted to see how the teams were doing.”

Uh-huh. Sure. “Is betting on baseball games on the approved activities list for a legit guy? I’ll bet the EHJ are overly moralistic about gambling.”

He shrugged. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Gotta make a little side cash.”

“Uh-huh. Come on, Emily, let’s leave Uncle C to his unsavory business practices.”

“She’s fine, Fantazia. She can play on the computer if she wants. Not everyone is fearful of technology like you are.”

“All that technology has ever done for the world is make it easier for people to spy on each other.” I nodded to his computer. “Like you were just doing.”

He frowned and said, “So you should love it, since you like to stick your nose in everyone else’s goddamn business.”

“Don’t swear in front of Emily. What kind of role model is that for a little girl?”

If looks could kill, his would have obliterated me. “Whoever said I was a good role model for a little girl?”

“Not me.”

“And not me either.” His eyes narrowed. “And neither are you, the way you act. Emily doesn’t need to be around a coldhearted bitch who cares for nothing and no one other than herself. All you want is power.”

That really stung and it shouldn’t. It was nothing I hadn’t heard. I’d worked hard to build that power-hungry rep. It kept people from expecting anything I didn’t want to give, because everyone always seems to expect something. And they never want to give in return. If that’s the image I want to project, then why did it hurt that it was what he thought of me?

“I thought the Old One had something over you, what with you both having long pasts, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s the other way around: you’ve got something over him, and you’re using it to get close and corrupt his only daughter.”

I clenched my jaw and looked away so he wouldn’t see how much that barb hit home. Clearly I’d struck a nerve and now he was retaliating, all guns blazing. I reminded myself that he didn’t know the first thing about me, considering he had just named Emily as the Reincarnist’s only daughter.

“So, now you think I’m part of the Dragon cult?” I growled.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “If there’s something you can get out of it.”

That did it. I glared at him. “How dare you? How dare you suggest I would do anything to hurt her?”

Emily winced. “Fay loud.”

“Yes, Fay’s loud when she’s being insulted!” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave Cyrus a death look. “I can’t believe that even you would dare suggest I’m a heartless user of a little kid.”

“You know how I dare?” Cyrus stared me down and I had to fight not to look away from that icy gaze. “I dare because that’s how you act all the time, Fantazia. You act like you’re a coldhearted man-eater who doesn’t care about anything or anyone. Why would it matter that Em’s a kid?”

“Down!” Emily protested, obviously getting sick of listening to us yell at each other. Cyrus did as she commanded, setting her on the floor.

I glared at him. “Maybe it’s not all of humanity that I would leave to die and step over the bodies on my way out, Cyrus. Maybe it’s just most of them. Maybe I have a few people on my good list, people who’ve earned it or deserve it. Ever think of that?”

“Actually, I think you might potentially care about more people than you think, Fantazia.” His voice was soft.

I couldn’t read his expression; his face was a neutral mask, if his eyes held a bit of warmth. “So, now you’re saying that deep down I actually care about people? Why don’t you make up your damn mind.” I watched Emily toddle around the room and head straight for an electric socket. “No! Don’t touch that, Emily!”

“I get glimpses of a possible soul from you now and again,” Cyrus said, nodding at Emily. “When you let the big ‘I’m a bad girl’ act slip. On the rare occasion.”

“She’s just on my good list,” I murmured.

Whispering under my breath, I created a glowing ball of light for Emily to chase around the room. She squealed with delight as it floated just out of her grasp at every turn. I enjoyed her enthusiasm, then looked up to see Cyrus with a knowing smile on his face.

I frowned. “What?”

“When you let the mask slip, you’re something else, Fantazia.”

His voice was tinged with real admiration. I felt my pulse quicken as I caught his gaze and saw warmth there. I didn’t know how to respond to that, and I felt heat come to my face. What was going on with me? I just didn’t like it when people caught a glimpse of my softer side, I reminded myself, that’s all it was. I said, “Well, don’t let the sight of me being nice to a little girl fool you. Like I said, she’s on my good list. Most of humanity is not.”

“Am I on the good list?” Cyrus asked, his voice still a bit warm.

I felt the need to break the moment and scoffed. “It’s a very short list.”

He laughed harshly. “I would think you’d get exhausted, proving to the world you don’t care all the time.”

“It’s easier than you think,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I did it every single day, every single hour when I was in jail. Before that, too, when I was big, bad Cyrus the Virus. I know how tiring it is, living like that.”

I was saved from having to find a response by Emily squealing, “Pity light!”

“Yes, it is a pretty light,” I said automatically. Then I turned to look at her. It was not my ball of magic the little girl was talking about. There was a bright white rectangle of light, almost like a shimmering doorway.

Cyrus must have caught my astonishment. He turned and muttered, “What the hell? Where’d that come from?”

Alarms started screaming. I grabbed Emily by the arm and jerked her behind me. At the same moment a man emerged from the portal and fell to the floor in front of us. He struggled forward, trying to push himself upright, but fell back down again.

I gasped. “Joseph?”

He managed to look up at me. “Well? You said you’d protect me, Fantazia. Start protecting.” He slumped forward again onto the floor.

CHAPTER SIX

“He just appeared in the room?” Wesley was saying.

We were standing in the EHJ infirmary, staring at the still-unconscious Joseph. The rest of the Elite Hands of Justice had returned home. Edgar was back in jail.

“He teleported in,” I said. “Opened a portal and plopped himself down.”

Wesley frowned. “He’s not supposed to be able to do that. We thought we had this place locked down for magic-users outside the three of us.” He was referring to himself, Lainey and me. “Oh, and Cyrus,” he said as an afterthought.

“That’s right, I’m still a part of this dog and pony show,” Cyrus grunted.

“I think that right there is your problem,” I said.

Wesley gave a small smile. “Cyrus?”

“Hey!”

“No,” I said, ignoring the Virus’s protest. “Well, yes but no. I mean the reason the spell isn’t working right is probably because you’ve got too many loopholes. A strong enough magic-user could manipulate those. You need to go ahead and lock it down all the way. At the very least, make it so you and only you can teleport in and out.”

“They’ll be giving up their favorite babysitter,” Cyrus said. “Like you’re going to take the bus here, Fantazia.”

I glared at him. “No, but if I teleport in and out on the ground floor, down near the Cuppacino, and Wesley locks off the top floor, it’ll give this place better security. The ground floor is public, but it has all of those high-tech security measures that Mindy put in place, like automatic body scans and ray guns and I-don’t-know-what-all else.”

“That’s a good point. We’ll look into doing that,” Wesley said. “But now back to the matter at hand.” He eyed Joseph.

“He said he needed protection right before he passed out,” I said.

“Any indication as to what he needs protection from?”

I shrugged. “He was in the bar the other day, saying there are rumors going around that something or someone is going around draining magic-users of their magic. The less powerful ones,” I added.

Wesley frowned. “Interesting.”

I felt a brief tingle of remorse that I hadn’t alerted the EHJ to possible wrongdoing in the city, but it wasn’t really my job. I’m not on one of the world’s premier superhero teams. I just own a bar. “Someone’s always slapping someone else with a binding spell. Hell, you did it to Syn before one of the Dragon’s cronies dropped him onto that flagpole.”

“I’d love to shake that person’s hand,” Cyrus muttered. There had been incredibly bad blood between him and the other villain, as I remember.

“I didn’t think much of the information at the time,” I continued.

“But it worried one of the Brothers of Power.”

Wesley stared at me, and I couldn’t help but bristle a bit under his gaze. It was like he was lecturing me with his eyes about being an irresponsible person. This was a look a parent would give a teenager for doing something incredibly boneheaded, and I resented it. Like he had ever given me that look when I needed it. He’d forgotten who I was by the time I was a teenager doing bonehead things like running off with that soldier who immediately dumped me for a vestal virgin in the next town. He wasn’t there then, and he wasn’t there when my heart was really breaking, so he wasn’t allowed go all lecturing and paternal now.

I glared back at him. “It’s not my concern what worries the Brothers of Power. I’m not their mother, and they don’t pay me to act as their bodyguard.”

Wesley kept frowning, and turned back at Joseph. “Television’s eaten his brain,” he muttered.

I surely hadn’t heard correctly. “What?”

Wes looked up. “Hmm? Oh, just something Edgar Ragde said. I thought they were just the ramblings of a mentally ill man, but . . .” He trailed off and shrugged. “The only way we’re going to know is to wake Joseph up.”

“Good luck with that,” I said.

Wesley just ignored me and started mumbling under his breath in Italian, casting some sort of diagnostic spell. His hands hovered over the unconscious Joseph’s body. He was doing something other than raising the man to consciousness.

“I’m surprised you didn’t think of that,” Cyrus said to me. I shushed him with a look.

“Our friend’s concern was reasonable,” Wesley announced when he was done. “His magic has been depleted, and not from trying an overpowered spell. His human willpower has also been taken.”

That really wasn’t good. Taking someone else’s magic to boost your own was bad enough, but taking willpower was worse. Magic-users tapped into their own will to power spells. If someone was tapping into someone else’s willpower to cast a spell, at the very least it might leave them unable to perform magic again. At the very worst, it could put a hole in them, much the same as someone eating at their soul, leaving them incredibly open to corruption from outside sources. Anyone could walk up and tell them to kill someone, and they’d have to actually do it.

“What would do that?” Cyrus asked, stepping forward from behind us.

Wesley eyed him. “Nothing good, and I have a feeling we’re all going to find out very soon.” He turned his attention to me. “Fantazia, get me that spell book on the table over there. Let’s wake him up and ask.”

I called the book he wanted to hand with one quick word and a flick of my fingers. Wes shook his head at my casual use of magic. My father had never, in any of his forms, been so careless.

“We can’t give him back his willpower,” Wes said. “Maybe over time—”

“Or never,” I interrupted. I’d had some lesserpowered magic-users at the bar who’d used too much will and couldn’t perform magic anymore. They’d seemed to think I could magically cure them. “Willpower is extremely hard to recover. He might be able to regenerate some of his magical aptitude over time—”

“You don’t always get that back either,” Wesley said, giving me a knowing look. In his last life he’d used his impressive magic to perform the one spell that no one other than himself had ever been able to pull off: a Resurrect Other spell. He’d done it when one of the Dragon’s cronies murdered Lainey. The highly leveled spell took a lot out of him and depleted a lot of his magical reserve. Once the most powerful magic-user in existence, he was now second to me. Somewhere down deep that had to hurt him. I had to admit, a small part of me didn’t mind having stolen some of his thunder.

“He may never be the same again, but at least we can help undo the physical damage,” Wesley said. He looked at me expectantly. “Fantazia?”

I sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m running low after the fight with Edgar. Let me borrow some of your magic.”

“Funny, wasn’t that the problem we were just discussing?” I said, but I stepped over to him. I couldn’t help thinking of Cyrus’s accusation that I only look after myself. How wrong he was. If only he weren’t. “Did one of the other Brothers of Power do this to Joseph?”

“Very possibly,” Wesley said. I met his eyes, and I knew we’d both come to the same conclusion. “Not everyone knows how to do this kind of power boost without damaging the donor. It’s possible one of them tried to borrow some of his magic and botched it instead.”

“I didn’t even know it was possible, borrowing magic from someone, hurting them or not!” Cyrus said. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“It requires a special kind of donor,” Wesley said. “You try to do this to just anyone and you end up . . .”

“Like this.” I motioned to Joseph. “You’d better leave it to the grown-ups, Cyrus. You think you’re a lazy man now . . . ? Of course, this would give you an excuse to lie around all the time.”

Actually, anyone with enough magic to cast the spell could steal someone else’s power to boost their own, but usually those sorcerers potent enough to do so found the ceremony unnecessary. What they also often knew was they could borrow magic from direct family members with less likelihood of dangerous consequences.

Not to say such a process was painless.

“Fine, whatever,” I said to my father. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was giving in, but I knew a small part of me wanted to show Cyrus that I did care about people, even though I spent most of my time trying to prove to myself and others the exact opposite. It was distressing. “But if I end up like him, I’m going to kill you and Lainey’s going to have herself a new and younger husband.”

Wesley glared at me. His hand clamped down on my arm and, with a few growled words, I felt power drain out of me and into him.

I started to sway and, contrite, he grabbed me so I wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern plain in his voice. His grip was firm but gentle.

I looked into his eyes, eyes that no matter their color or shape always looked the same. I had a completely random—and unwanted—flashback to my childhood, of a man with similar eyes holding me the same way after I was almost trampled by a runaway chariot. I was injured and crying, in terrible pain and waiting for the gods to escort me to the underworld, but my father scooped me up in his arms. I took comfort in his deep and confident voice speaking words of magical healing. At that time I knew I would always be safe as long as my father was nearby.

Then I found out my father would one day be gone and replaced by a stranger.

In pain and anger, I jerked away from him. “I’m fine,” I growled, letting my long, dark hair fall into my face so he couldn’t see the uncharacteristic tears in my eyes. “Just take care of Joseph.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Cyrus’s voice was different; it held a gentleness he’d never reserved for me. I hoped to God he hadn’t seen the tears or I would never live it down. Worse yet, he’d pity me.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, moving away before he could do something awful like hug or put an arm around me. I wasn’t sure how I would react. I wrapped my arms around myself in a protective gesture.

Cyrus turned back to Wesley. “What are you doing, boss?”

“The equivalent of magical smelling salts,” Wesley said. He showed the hint of a smile. “And here we go.”

A chant, a sprinkling of contents from a nearby vial, and Joseph’s eyes flew open. He sprang up, flailing around. Wesley soothed him. “Easy, easy,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“W-where am I?” Joseph asked, glancing around. “Where’s Donald?”

Donald? What had happened to the guy since I kicked him out of my bedroom?

“You’re at the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters,” Wesley said. “We don’t know where your brother is. Do you remember getting here?”

“I used the last of my power to get me to wherever the hell Fantazia was,” Joseph said, forgetting in his pain to use his fake Irish accent. “What are you doing hanging out with the EHJ, darling?” He goggled at me.

“Slumming, I guess,” I said.

“You thinking of changing sides?” he asked. Giving Cyrus a look, he said, “Like the Virus?”

“I’m on the same side I’ve always been on, Joseph,” I said. “I’m always on my own side. I don’t get involved in politics. You know that.”

“Things change,” he replied.

“You’d better hope so,” Cyrus growled, glancing at me. “Because you’re in need of some help and she’s not known for doing so out of the goodness of her little black heart.”

I shot him a dark look. He was right, but did he have to be so nasty?

“What happened to you?” Wesley asked. “Can you remember?”

Joseph stared at him. “I forget it’s you sometimes, Old One. Your face changes and it’s hard to remember that you’re the same man who fought alongside my grandfather against Hitler’s dark mages.” He sobered. Gone was all the affected Irish character, the merry skirt-chasing Joseph, and in his place was a once powerful but now fearful man. “Donald and I were home, hosting a bit of a soiree. Invited some of the more disreputable element you let into your place, Fantazia.” He grinned at me. “We were looking to try some dirty magic.”

“Making drunk groupies’ underwear disappear, you mean?” I retorted.

“Go on,” Wesley said, clearly disapproving.

“In the middle of the party, the speakers started squealing, lights start popping and the stereo starts changing stations. It was like everything mechanical in the room was suddenly alive.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Donald starts convulsing, shuddering like he’s about to fall apart. I could see the magic pouring out of him and swirling around the room. I swear it, Old One, I could see it. The stuff was like a mist.”

“Could you see where it went?” Wesley asked.

Joseph nodded. “That’s just it. It was going into the machines. Like they were sucking it out of him or something. Everyone else in the room could see it, and they started screaming and running out of there. They’d all heard the whispers of something targeting us, taking from us. I tried to stay and help my brother, but then he fell to the ground and was still, and I could feel whatever it was start to work on me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cyrus breathed. We all turned to look at him. “It’s an Afieral spell.”

“What?” Wesley narrowed his eyes at him.

“It’s powerful. Extremely powerful. It amplifies magic. Christ, Old One . . . That’s even out of my league, which is saying something.”

I rolled my eyes. Cyrus was powerful, but not that powerful.

He seemed lost in his thoughts. “It’s a techno mage doing this. We’re so few and far between, and I can’t imagine anyone I know being able to do it . . . It’s got to be a new player on the scene.”

“Concentrate, Cyrus,” I said, taking him by the shoulders. “One thing at a time. What does this spell do, exactly?”

“You use every bit of technology around the target to act as an amplifier. You could use it to hit them during a fight, or to send a telepathic message, or any number of things—drain their willpower or steal their magic, which I didn’t even know you could do up until a few moments ago.”

I snorted. “You say that like you don’t want us to suspect you.”

“I don’t!” he snapped. “But the fact of the matter is, I am the most powerful known techno mage right now, and if something is going down, I’m going to be the one people are going to blame.”

“The television was eating his brain,” Wesley said, mulling things over. “That’s what Edgar said earlier.”

I turned. “You think whatever attacked Joseph and Donald attacked Edgar?”

Wesley shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to the jail where they’re holding him and do a diagnostic spell. See if he has any metaphysical wounds and if they look similar.”

“So it’s the EHJ to the rescue,” I said. Great. I could head home.

“Sort of,” Wesley said. He gave me a sinister smile. “Since Joseph came to you for help, why don’t you go see if you can help his brother?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“You knew it was possible to steal magic from others? I mean, you know how? You know the spell yourself?” Joseph stared at me while Cyrus related how he had been magically revived. Wesley had left to check things out in the prison.

I glared at him. “For someone who needs help, you need to take your tone down a notch. Who do you think you are to me? And, are we going to help your brother or not?”

Joseph wasn’t ready to let it go. “We came to you with the information that someone was stealing magic and you downplayed it—acted like it wasn’t possible, that it was just a binding spell—but the whole time you knew it was something else entirely!” He was angry enough to drop his Irish accent entirely. Or scared enough.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Are you suddenly suspecting me of doing all of this?”

“When you’re one of the only people that seems to know these kinds of spells, then yeah, I am.” Joseph stared me down. “The Old One sure as hell isn’t doing it.”

I couldn’t believe this. “First of all, the spell the Reincarnist used on me wasn’t the same thing at all. He ‘borrowed’ some of my magic; he didn’t steal it. I’ve recovered by now. Also, you heard Cyrus—the spell that attacked you and your brother was an Afieral spell that uses technology. When have I ever used technology for anything?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point,” Cyrus said.

Joseph glared at me. “If you’re the cause of all of this, Fantazia, I’m going to kill you.”

“If I’m really the cause, Joseph, you aren’t powerful enough,” I retorted. “Now, do you want my help or not?”

Joseph stared at me for a few more moments, then sighed. “Yes. Donald may need every bit of the help I can get. If you know borrowing spells or whatever you want to call them, who knows what other talents you’re hiding in your dirty little bag of tricks.”

“I make a mean dark chocolate cheesecake,” I retorted. “But that’s probably not what you mean. If we’re doing this, let’s go.”

“I’m ready,” Cyrus said.

I turned, surprised. “Since when are you invited?”

He frowned. “Since a techno mage got involved. This is my area of expertise, Fantazia, not yours. Unless that’s another one of the secret talents you’re not telling us.”

“Wesley didn’t ask you onto this caper, and—”

“I can call him up and ask, but you’re only going to look ridiculous,” Cyrus said.

As if it weren’t already ridiculous that we were arguing.

“I want him to come along, too,” Joseph said. “I don’t want to be alone with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “After all of the times we’ve been alone together before, Joseph? You wound me.”

“I always knew you were a scary bitch, but that was part of the fun of flirting with you,” Joseph said. “Until now.”

“What, the fun of playing with fire went away? Makes sense to me.” Cyrus smirked.

I fought incredulity and fury. “I’d like to point out—again—that it was the Reincarnist who did the spell, not me. You two don’t seem the least bit scared of him.”

Both men shrugged. “It’s him,” Joseph said.

I tried to control my seething insides. Everyone automatically trusted my father and did whatever he said. He could suggest blowing up the entire world and no one would question him. I began to wish he would.

On that unpleasant note, we prepared to help Donald. I went through the motions of the spell to transport us to Joseph’s house.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this,” I growled under my breath. “You’re not afraid I’m going to transport you to outer space or to the center of the Earth or something?”

“Just shut up and do it,” Joseph growled. But I could see how upset he was, which was why I let it slide. “I shouldn’t have left him behind or wasted time arguing with you. I should have just come here and—”

“It’s okay, man,” Cyrus said. “We’re going to help him.” To me, he said, “Let’s go, Fantazia.”

I nodded and worked the spell. “Apri il portale.”

The portal opened and we transported directly to their house. Well, mansion. The Brothers of Power had multiple homes between them, all enormous, all on the outskirts of Megolopolis or beachside, mountainside and every other side you could imagine. The family had been rich for generations in two things: money and magic. Losing the latter was likely the last thing they expected.

The mansion looked like it had been evacuated in a hurry. We stood in the middle of the ballroom, where the party had been raging from what we could see in the dark. Glass crunched underfoot, as if people just dropped their expensive stemware and ran for their lives. Joseph went to the wall and flipped some switches but nothing happened. The power must have blown from the techno spell.

I called up a ball of energy. The room was cast in an otherworldly green light, making it look even creepier. There was the usual party debris, empty glasses and bottles and the like, but there were also a few other things that put me on edge: overturned chairs, and some that looked like they’d been thrown at the wall. The expensive art on the walls had been mutilated. A large mirror at the back of the room was shattered.

Donald was nowhere to be seen.

“I . . . I don’t understand. I left him right here,” Joseph said, pointing to a spot on the dance floor in between two large speakers and a DJ booth. He looked up at us. “Maybe that’s a good thing, right? Maybe he’s okay. Maybe he’s looking for me. Or maybe he’s with one of the other Brothers.”

“Maybe,” I said. But I wasn’t so sure.

“Donald? Where are you? Look, I’m sorry I left!” Joseph was yelling. Something about the whole situation was giving me the creeps. I could feel the hairs on my arms standing on end. Something wasn’t right here.

Cyrus must have sensed the same thing, since he put out a hand to stop Joseph. “Man, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he said.

Joseph brushed past him, going out into the hallway. “Donald? I brought some help. Are you okay? Where are you?”

We followed him out into the other room. Cyrus and I both stopped short.

“What the hell?” Cyrus muttered.

“This is so not right,” I breathed, all of my senses on alert.

The massive chandelier that had hung in the hallway was shattered. Marble statues surrounding the staircase were overturned, like a massively strong toddler had thrown a temper tantrum. And that’s when I heard it: banging and clattering upstairs.

Joseph must have heard, too, because he abruptly started to run for the steps. “Donald!”

“Joseph, no!” I said, reaching out to grab him. “We don’t know who or what’s up there.”

“It’s Donald!”

“It might also be whatever went after you,” I said. “And we’re not charging up there into whatever trap it may have laid.”

“DONALD!” he bellowed.

I sighed. “Or bring its attention down here to us.”

The banging stopped. We all fell silent, listening to the silence. Then, another crash. We all jumped.

There came the sound of running footsteps upstairs, footsteps coming toward us.

“Great,” I said softly. “Just great.”

Joseph yanked out of my grasp and started up the stairs. “Donald!”

Sure enough, his brother appeared at the top of the stairs, lit by the weird glow of my ball of energy. The look on his face was enough to make me take a step backward. Gone was the artistically disheveled and handsome man I’d recently slept with, replaced by someone who quite frankly looked out of his mind.

He was missing a shoe and his clothes were in shreds. I couldn’t tell if he’d done it himself or if someone else had. Blood ran down his arms from massive scratches and dripped onto the floor. I thought at first the cuts were made while destroying the room, but a closer look showed they were letters or numbers, like he’d been hacking some sort of message into his skin. Or maybe a ward. But the worst part was seeing his eyes, which were completely and totally blank. There was no one home in that gaze.

Joseph didn’t seem to notice. “Thank God! I’m sorry I left you, man!” He went to embrace him, bloody arms and all.

Donald’s blast of magic took him square in the chest. We stared in horror as Joseph crashed backward down the stairs, landing in the shattered glass and debris of the chandelier at the bottom. He didn’t move. Neither did his brother.

“What the hell?” Cyrus turned wild eyes on me. “I thought he said all the magic was drained out of him!”

“He’s one of the Brothers of Power,” I murmured. “I guess not even an Afieral spell’s going to be able to drain him completely.” I glanced back to the figure on the stairs, who was considering us with empty eyes. “But it’s obviously completely messed with his head.”

Too late I remembered what Wesley had said earlier: Joseph’s willpower as well as his magic was affected by the attack. We could only hope the damage Donald had suffered wasn’t permanent. And the damage Joseph had just suffered.

“Donald,” I said, in the most soothing voice I could muster. “Your brother brought us here to help you. He was worried about you.”

“Lizards in my brain,” Donald said, pulling at his hair and actually ripping a chunk out. “Their tongues are forked.”

“It’s okay,” I said, taking a cautious step forward. “We’ll get the lizards out, I promise.”

“Their numbers don’t add up,” Donald whined. He frowned as he saw me getting closer. “I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do,” I said calmly. “I’m Fantazia. Remember?”

He blasted me with magic.

The fireball took me in the chest. Luckily, I’d been tracing a shield spell with my finger, so the spell didn’t hit me as hard as it had Joseph. It didn’t knock me off my feet, instead knocking me into Cyrus.

“She’s evil!” Donald shrieked.

Cyrus laughed and righted me. “Seems he does remember you.”

“If we survive this, remind me to kill you later,” I retorted.

Donald attacked again, ending conversation. “Make the evil burn!” We ducked as he threw another fireball in our direction. His eyes searched the room, I’m not certain for what. “Make it pay!” He released another gout of fire.

“He’s going to burn the building down,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. The front wall and door were now on fire.

“With us in it,” Cyrus agreed. “We should grab Joseph and get the hell out of here.”

“And leave Donald here?” I asked. Maybe I was getting sentimental in my old age, but I felt after having shared an (admittedly mediocre) evening with this man, I shouldn’t just run for the hills.

“You said it.”

“I can’t see the numbers, but they’re there!” Donald was shrieking. “With the lizards!”

I sighed and quickly spoke words to smother the fires. They fizzled out quickly, leaving a charred, blackened mess; this mansion was going to need some serious renovation. “You’re the one working with the EHJ—or at least trying to get in good with them. Shouldn’t you be trying to save this guy?”

Before Cyrus could answer, he got clobbered with a large chunk of wall; Donald had somehow magically torn it free and hurled it at him. The nut job was tearing the house apart since I’d put out his fires. Cyrus sank to the ground, groaning.

Donald had hurt his brother—possibly killed him—and knocked out Cyrus. This left me to face him alone. I thought of the many ways I could fight him, this very powerful and very crazed magic-user whom I’d once briefly considered good enough to share my bed, and decided on a course of action. I met his sad, empty eyes and thought the words directly at him, into him, through him.

“I tuoi attacchi farranno del male a te.” Your attacks will harm you, I incanted.

Donald eyed me quizzically. His poor addled brain had clearly forgotten that I cast my magic in Italian.

“Sweetheart, you don’t want to do this,” I said gently, hoping that enough of him was still in there to understand.

With an unearthly howl, he threw another chunk of wall. The wood and plaster hurtled toward me but then, almost like a boomerang, reversed itself. Donald had just enough sense and reflexes left to dive away from it, and it crashed into the wall behind him.

“I warned you,” I said as he glared at me hatefully. “Now please just stop and let us help you.”

He raised his hands and tried to hit me with an energy spell, one that magic-users like to call the Tazer. The lighting shot forward but followed the same path as the previous attack, rounding on him with full force. His body flew up into the air, hit the wall behind him, fell to the floor and jerked and twitched. It shuddered to a halt. That was all. He was down, perhaps permanently.

Someone grabbed me from behind, whipping me into the nearby wall. “You hurt him, you bitch!” I was slammed into the wall again. “You’re supposed to be helping him and you killed him instead!”

“What the hell, Joseph?” I shouted. “I didn’t do anything; he did it to himself. I told him to stop. And, aren’t you forgetting that he just tried to kill you?”

“You killed my brother,” Joseph sobbed. He looked like he wanted to kill me.

“Look around you, Joseph! The walls were on fire, and he threw chunks of it at me and Cyrus. He tried to kill us. I thought you were dead! He was too far gone. Whatever attacked you both drove him completely out of his mind, and the same thing could have happened to you if you hadn’t run away.”

Joseph and I were distracted by a voice. “No, no, don’t help me get up. Your concern is touching. Really,” Cyrus was saying, pulling himself upright among some debris, still holding his head. “I’m fine. Maybe a few internal injuries. Just a little concussion.”

“Nothing to worry about with you,” I tossed back. “Always knew you were hardheaded.”

Of course, Donald wasn’t dead, and this was the moment he chose—like any good movie villain—to come charging down the steps. I immediately began a shielding spell, but it was going to finish too late to protect the three of us.

Surprisingly, Cyrus had it under control. He simply stepped in front of me and punched Donald in the stomach. Donald went down. “Time to go to sleep now,” he said, bending over to do some sort of complicated nerve pinch. Our attacker slumped over, unconscious.

“Didn’t know you were a street fighter,” I said, surprised. His frame certainly didn’t suggest he spent a lot of time in a boxing ring.

Cyrus shrugged as he straightened. “Just another skill I picked up along the way.” Taking a step, he staggered and slumped down on one knee. “Don’t suppose you know any of those healing spells the Old One does . . . ? Because my head is spinning and the sides of my vision are starting to go black.”

“Poor baby,” I mocked gently. But I was actually feeling kind of warm toward him. I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, almost gently. “Adesso va meglio. There. All better.”

He stood up, absently rubbing his head. “That did work, thanks.”

“No problem,” I said. Then: “Thanks for getting in front of me like that, all heroic-like. Hanging out with the EHJ is starting to rub off, I guess.” I gave him a slight smile and let my dark hair fall into my face. I never felt comfortable being genuine, even if it was just thanking someone.

“Anything for the damsel in distress,” he said with a grin. It was warm, and his eyes kept trying to catch mine.

I gave a toss of my head, clearing the hair from my eyes and whatever moment was happening between us, trying to get back to familiar territory. I sank back into my powerful-bad-girl second skin. “Did I look like I was in distress? Please. I was worried about you two. I’ve been handling this kind of thing since before you were born.”

A bit of the heat behind his smile cooled, and he shook his head as if he knew what I was doing. “I guess you are older than dirt, Fantazia.”

“Can you two please stop flirting?” Joseph interjected, looking like he’d cheerfully strangle us.

“We’re not flirting,” I snapped. I flirted with anything male I could find, but somehow Cyrus kept trying to engage me on a more personal level. That went beyond flirting and quite frankly scared me. No thanks.

“As if I’d bother,” Cyrus said, and instantly whatever had existed between us a moment before was gone.

Joseph glared at me. “At least act like you care about helping my brother and help me get him back to the Elite Hands of Justice. This is the last time I ask for your help with anything, Fantazia.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Then again, mortals were like this: unpredictable and ungrateful. That’s why I’d vanished into my own dimension for a few centuries. “Oh, please make that threat into a promise, Joseph.”

But as I worked the spell to transport the three of us and the unconscious Donald back to safety, I couldn’t help but be bothered by something else, someone else. It wasn’t like I had some deep, burning desire to be wanted by Cyrus, much less to engage on the level he seemed to want, but I couldn’t help but be a bit insulted as soon as he seemed no longer interested. Was it just my craving for male attention, or was it something else entirely? Then we were back at the EHJ headquarters with the alarms predictably screaming around us.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Reincarnist sat quietly listening to us recap the events of the night before. Joseph sat at his brother’s bedside. It was the next day.

Not much had been discussed last night. Immediately upon our return, Wesley had given Donald a magical version of anesthesia so he could be sure the man wouldn’t attack him during an examination. Donald had reacted strangely, falling into a deeper coma than Wesley intended, and Joseph had stayed by his bedside all night. From the looks of his rumpled state, my father had done much the same. I myself had gone home to sleep.

“So what did you find out, boss?” Cyrus asked. I noticed that during his recap he hadn’t repeated Joseph’s accusation of us flirting. But, why was I letting his omission bother me? I knocked the annoying thought out of my head with a quick shake.

Wesley sighed. “The wounds from the attacks on Joseph and Donald and Edgar look the same from my diagnostic spell. It seems like the exact same magic is being used in each case, though it’s hard to tell if the spell is being cast by the same person. I don’t know if that’s because the magic is channeled through technology or what, but the genetic signatures attached to the spells are distorted. It’s like a criminal wearing gloves or wiping fingerprints off a weapon.”

“Can you fix it? Clean up the signature or whatever?” Cyrus asked.

Wesley sighed again. “I might be able to. I’ll keep studying it and trying to cross-reference it against magic-user records in our system, double-checked against those who fit the profile, but anyone capable of casting this spell should be someone already flagged for us to keep a close eye on. This is just . . . baffling.”

“Couldn’t it be someone new?” Cyrus asked. “I’m telling you, I know all of the techno mages, and I don’t know anyone powerful enough to do this. It has to be someone new.”

Wesley smiled. “I hate to tell you this, Cyrus, but we keep an eye out on every magic-user. I do personally. And if it’s someone new, like a kid—”

“I wouldn’t want to meet that kid,” I interjected. “To be able to do this already they’d be—”

“As powerful as my daughter,” Wesley finished.

I hadn’t planned on going there, but yes, Emily was going to be one truly scary teenager someday. She’d make whoever was doing this look like a level-one magic-user. We both let that thought go unspoken.

“So you keep track of every magic-user? Even the law-abiders? That explains a lot.” Cyrus rubbed his chin in thought. “Though, I can’t imagine how you do it. I must say, it is interesting, being on this side of the crime.”

“So glad my brother’s injury has enlightened you,” Joseph said from the other side of the room.

Wesley straightened. “I will do everything I can to help him, Joseph, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll wake up or what mental state he’ll be in if he does. We’re going to have to remove him from our headquarters, however; we’re not equipped to handle him in case he goes on a rampage again. There are several psychiatric hospitals in the city that cater to the magic-using set, and—”

“My brothers and I will take care of him,” Joseph snapped, but I could hear the break in his voice. “As soon as I can get hold of them, that is.”

“You can use any of our communication—”

“I just need a quiet room so I can use a telepathic spell to contact them,” Joseph said. “Can you stay with Donald?”

“Of course,” Wesley said. “I will stay right here.”

We were quiet as Joseph left the room. When the door closed Cyrus said, “So, what’s our best hope? If we’re there when an attack like this happens, we might be able to follow the spell back to whoever’s cast it.”

I said, “Don’t overcomplicate things. Why do you think we won’t see the caster directly? If we’re there, we can see the magic-user, walk over and tell him to stop—then hit him repeatedly until he does.”

“They’re probably doing this remotely, Fantazia.”

I shook my head. “This strikes me as a precision kind of spell, and you can’t cast those by sitting in your evil lair and laughing manically to yourself. Precision requires presence.”

“Well, it requires someone to be present,” Wesley spoke up. “This is a difficult spell for one person to cast. We also have to consider that this could be a group of sorcerers working together.”

“You see Dragon cultists around every corner,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

“I didn’t say that, but it’s possible,” Wesley conceded.

“Donald did say something about lizards in his brain,” Cyrus pointed out. “And what are dragons but big lizards?”

“Those were also the ramblings of a very deranged man,” I said. “Besides, the Cult of the Dragon aren’t actual dragons.” I addressed my father. “Edgar didn’t say anything about lizards, did he?”

Wesley shook his head no, but he still looked thoughtful. That’s all I needed, him getting even more obsessive about the Dragon’s cult.

“Then it could just be a strange coincidence,” I said directly to him.

“We can’t rule them out either,” Cyrus said.

“If someone’s casting this spell to get power from others, they’re not going to all pitch in to help each other,” I said. “If you’re that power hungry, you’re not going to help someone else get more, are you?”

“You might if you’re part of a team—not that you’d know much about that. Or you might if you plan on using the extra power you get to try to take theirs later,” Cyrus suggested.

I shook my head and glared at him. “This conversation is making my head hurt.”

Joseph burst back into the room. “Donald and I weren’t the only ones attacked. Nathaniel and Daniel were, too. Nathaniel was like me and barely made it out, but Daniel’s in a coma. They’re holed up in our house in the mountains. None of us have heard from Johnny.” Joseph looked like he was slipping into shock. He turned his attention to the Reincarnist, looking like a little lost child. “What’s happening?”

My father clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t know, but we will find out. I promise. And I will help in any way I can.”

He motioned Cyrus and me to follow him outside. “I want you two to start investigating this,” he said in a low voice. “If the Brothers of Power are all being targeted with this kind of spell, it’s serious. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.”

“Why us?” Cyrus asked.

“The other members of the team aren’t equipped to deal with it. They don’t know much about the magic world or”—he met my eyes—“have your connections.”

Cyrus laughed. “So a former criminal and the dark mistress of blackmail are the last line of defense.”

Wesley actually smiled. “Who better? As I said, you both have better connections than I do at this point. Since Emily . . .”

“You think they’ll spill their guts to us just because we’re not good, clean family folk?” I asked. “You obviously haven’t been hanging out at my bar. What gets information is cash or power. Everybody wants something. Or they need to be threatened and intimidated.”

Wesley shrugged. “So threaten and intimidate.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t help feeling insulted. He didn’t think much of me except as someone whose soul wouldn’t blacken further with someone’s blood on her hands. “I see. Send us in. The black-ops team gets to do the wet work. All so the good guys don’t get their hands soiled.”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “I never said that. We need to try to protect life at all costs. ‘Threaten and intimidate’ means only that. But there’s nothing wrong with letting whoever you’re fighting believe that you might destroy them. We at the Elite Hands of Justice have a reputation of pulling our punches, so to speak. You two are a bit more unpredictable.”

“So we can afford to look like possible psychopathic killers, but you can’t.”

Wesley sighed. “We can’t afford to sit on this, Fantazia. This caster is a menace. And if you’re only out for yourself, think about this: They’re targeting more and more powerful people. Who do you think they’re going to go for eventually?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, furious at his suggestion of my selfishness. “They’re welcome to try, but nothing’s going to hurt me at this point. I’ve picked enough fights with powerful mages to know. I’m more powerful than anyone else out there, and I’ve got protection against human weapons.” I motioned to the wards painted on my arms. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“No one’s immortal, Fantazia. Not even you,” Cyrus said. He looked mildly amused at my bravado.

I looked pointedly at Wesley. “Sure of that, are you?”

“Except him, but there’s something not right about him.”

Wesley shook his head. “Thanks.”

“The danger in thinking you’re immortal is that one day you’re going to find out you’re not,” Cyrus said to me.

I laughed. “Well, considering that I’ve been alive since before the Romans, I think I’m doing okay.”

“What about Emily?” Wesley asked. “You don’t think they won’t come after her at some point?”

It was his trump card, damn him. I crossed my arms tightly on my chest and stared him down. He met my gaze unflinchingly. I couldn’t help but be a little pissed that he was so concerned for her safety when it had been millennia since he’d been concerned about mine. But, why shouldn’t he be? She was his daughter. Within the memory of this lifetime.

She was also my half sister. I sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”

Cyrus stared. “You will?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” I said. “It was getting boring hanging out in that pocket universe all the time. This is the most fun I’ve had in decades; might as well rejoin the human race for a little while. But once this case is solved, I’m going back home,” I told Wesley. “Don’t get any delusions that I’m going to suddenly don a pair of tights and spend my time catching bank robbers. I help out on this and then I go back to the bar.”

Wesley nodded. “I understand.”

“And stop using your daughter as a motivator to get me to do things,” I snapped. “I’ll tell your wife, and she’ll be mad that you’re turning her child into glorified bait. And . . . you’re going to owe me one. A big one.”

“I’ll never get out of debt to you,” he said.

No you won’t, I thought. “But you’ll forget it,” I muttered.

Wesley patted me on the shoulder, the closest contact we’d had in years. “Thank you, Fantazia.” He met Cyrus’s glance. “And thank you, Cyrus.”

The techno mage shrugged. “It’s what you pay me for.”

As soon as Wesley walked off, Cyrus turned to me. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that the great and terrible Fantazia would help a group of heroes trying to save the day. I take back what I said on your birthday. The Old One must have something on you.”

I shrugged, trying to hide my gritted teeth. “It’s like I told him. I spent some time out of the loop. I’m bored and want back in, just for a bit. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” I studied him. “But what about you? Why are you doing this?”

“Just what I said: it’s what they pay me for—to do their dirty work.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said. “That’s not everything. What’s keeping you here besides the money?”

He smiled. “Money’s a great motivator, Fantazia.”

“This is about her, isn’t it?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Cyrus’s face. “Leave her out of this.” He looked away.

I laughed. “That’s what this good-guy spin is all about, isn’t it? You’re trying to make the headlines so she’ll see you in the papers and think you’re some big hero.”

“Don’t. Bring. Her. Up. Again.” Cyrus bit each word off and chewed it. He looked like he wanted to hit me. If I were a guy, he probably would have. “Just because you found out about—”

“I helped you with it!”

“Doesn’t mean you get to bring it up whenever you want. You do it again and we’ll really test your immortality theory.”

He turned and stalked off before I could say another word.

CHAPTER NINE

I followed Cyrus into the elevator and down to the garage beneath the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters where they parked their cars. He passed many different colors and makes, jangling keys in his hands. There were only six active members of the EHJ right now—seven if you counted Cyrus, I guess—so why did they have so many cars? Did each have one for each day of the week?

“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to catch up with him. “I thought we were jumping into the fray, talking to other magic-users, all hands on deck and all of that hero nonsense.”

“Look who’s eager all of a sudden,” Cyrus said. “Go on and get started, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m sure you’re planning on batting those big brown eyes to get what you want, so I’ll just cramp your style.”

Seriously, what was his problem? “You know, I have other methods of getting information besides my looks.”

“Really? You seem to play the pretty-but-brainless card a lot. Or maybe that’s just when I’m watching.”

“Brainless?” I said. My voice was loud—it bounced off the garage walls, and Cyrus stopped walking. “You don’t live to be as old as I am by being brainless. I’ve forgotten more about magic than you’ve ever known. If I act pretty but stupid, it’s because I know that’s what will get me what I need. Sometimes acting stupid is really quite smart. Maybe you’ll learn that sometimes it’s good to give people what they want—and then take everything you can get.”

Cyrus turned back to me. “First of all, not all men favor looks over smarts, Fantazia . . .” He sighed. “But we can continue this discussion later. I’ve got something I’ve got to do.”

I fought back irritation. “Wesley wants us working on this case together, not me doing everything while you go bet on horses.”

“And now you’re citing the Old One’s orders?” He chuckled without mirth. “Who are you and what have you done with Fantazia?”

“All I want is to get this done and over with so I can get back to my life. The sooner we get started on tracking the loser who’s doing this, the sooner we can beat him to a bloody pulp and haul his sorry carcass off to jail. You know, for someone who’s suddenly decided to be a hero, you don’t take the job very seriously.”

He walked up to a big black car and clicked a button on his keys. An alarm chirped. “Look, teacher’s pet, we’ll start busting heads later. If you’ve got a lead that you want to track down on your own, fine. Go. I’ll catch up with you. But I’ve got something I have to do first. Alone.” He swung himself into the car, cranked the engine and roared off.

I stood, coughing in the fumes and scowling. If he thought he was going to go lollygag all day while I did the work, he had another thing coming.

My eyes fell on a silver car that I recognized as one of Lainey’s. It looked small and plain but sturdy. I’d overheard her saying once that she felt more comfortable in less expensive vehicles than those the rest of the members of the Elite Hands of Justice drove—that is, the vehicles the EHJ drive when they aren’t being chauffeured somewhere or aren’t transporting themselves by less mundane means. Sure, I might be able to guess at the timing and just pop into existence wherever Cyrus ended up, but frankly, following him to his destination like a normal person might be a little subtler. I could take him unawares, maybe learn more about whatever he was doing. That seemed like a good idea, seeing as he was about to become my partner.

“Hey, Lainey, I’m borrowing your car,” I said to thin air, as if asking permission to no one was somehow made it less like stealing. I snapped my fingers, and the keys instantly appeared. With a grin, I went over to the car and got in. “I’ve never driven before, I hope you don’t mind.” Hey, aren’t all kids supposed to do stupid things to annoy their stepmothers?

I said to the car, “It’s my first time driving, so be gentle with me and I’ll be gentle with you.”

Putting the key in the slot, I turned it. Music started playing—from that accursed monkey cartoon, the children singing about minding your manners. I groaned and randomly hit buttons until it was silenced. Glancing in the backseat showed a child safety seat and a few toys. “This Mom-mobile is definitely incognito,” I said to myself. “Now let’s go find Cyrus.”

Marshaling my memories of watching other people drive, I mimicked what I’d seen. I managed to pull out of the parking space without hitting anything, but just barely, making me realize that it would be a miracle if I made it to my final destination in one piece. A miracle or magic. I was good with magic. Maybe I should stick to that.

“Follow that car,” I said to Lainey’s silver vehicle in Italian, and we were off, hot on Cyrus’s heels.

As I pulled up next to Cyrus’s black GTO, I couldn’t have been more surprised to discover our final destination: a dusty baseball field on the outskirts of town. It might have been my imagination, but I swear Lainey’s car sighed in relief when I turned it off. Magic and technology are not friends. I guess that makes Cyrus’s skills that much more impressive.

As I stepped out into the worn parking lot, the thin stiletto heels of my boots sank into the dirt and caught on the gravel. Sighing, I gritted my teeth and whispered in Italian, changing clothes from my sexy dress and boots into slim jeans and a simple blue tank top with an American flag. After all, baseball is America’s pastime, right? Might as well dress the part. I whispered a few more words and erased the wards off my arms. Weird henna tattoos would definitely make me stand out, and I highly doubted anyone would be coming at me here.

Adding simple thong sandals—what they call flip-flops now—I looked like any other female spectator at the game. Except for one touch, I noted as another mom-type passed by. I conjured up a pair of sunglasses to complete the look.

Where I was trying to fit in, Cyrus seemed to be going out of his way to look like a scary ex-criminal. Instead of joining the others sitting on the benches or on fold-up chairs, he was standing way off to the side, by himself. He still wore his leather jacket, which he easily could have left in the car, and biker boots. It was as if he was intentionally trying to keep people away from him. Given the looks and whispers he was getting, it seemed only a matter of time before someone called the cops.

Slinging my thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans, I wandered over to him, taking care to smile and nod at the moms I passed. Maybe if they saw me with him, they would assume I was someone’s rebellious older sister with my scary boyfriend. At least that way I wouldn’t be bailing or breaking Cyrus out of jail at the end of this.

I called out as I approached, “I hope you realize you look like a creepy kidnapper or something.”

“What the hell are you doing h—?” He turned, and the words died on his lips. His mouth actually hung open while his gaze raked up and down my body. I just waited for him to take it all in, not bothering to adjust my casual position. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Cyrus give me more than a passing glance. He’d looked all right, but always a quick scan before going back to his card game, drink, pool game, or whatever he was doing at the bar. He’d never looked more than once. He was actually looking twice now.

I played it cool, like it really didn’t matter to me what he thought, but my pulse couldn’t help but jump. I waited for him to finish, and when his eyes met mine again, I said, “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” A smile played at his lips.

“What? You’re looking at me weird. There’s got to be something.”

He actually looked again, and my pulse jumped again in reaction. It’s just because he usually ignores me, I reminded myself. That’s all it could be. It’s Cyrus, for God’s sake!

“I’m not saying anything,” he said. “Anything that comes out of my mouth is just going to get me in deep.”

“You’re already in deep, so you might as well come out with it.”

He shook his head, still wearing that strange smile. “It’s just that, for all of those outfits you usually wear, you don’t realize how damn sexy it is when you’re not trying to be. Right now, you’re the hottest I’ve ever seen you.”

I’m not the type to blush, not at all, but coming from him, the compliment felt genuinely sincere. He’d never done it before, and I didn’t know how to react. A half smile curved my mouth. “Who knew Soccer Mom was your particular kind of kink?”

“This isn’t Soccer Mom, sweetheart—unless soccer moms have gotten way hotter since I was a kid. No, it’s not the outfit. It’s that you’re not trying so hard.” His eyes met mine directly and something passed between us.

I looked away quickly, toward the crowd of spectators down the field, and noticed we were still getting looks, parents likely trying to figure out who we were and what our deal was. One glanced at a passing patrol car and pulled out her phone. Before Cyrus could react, I threw my arms around him. “I missed you, too, baby,” I said a little louder, even though I was pretty sure no one was close enough to hear.

“And now you’ve spoiled it,” Cyrus said, trying to slip out of my grasp.

“You idiot, I’m trying to cover for you,” I said. “You’ve got everyone on this field ready to dial 9-1-1 on their portable phones, lurking all the way over here. I’m trying to make you look more normal and less like a pedophile.”

“It’s cell phone, Fantazia, not portable phone,” he said. “And thanks so much for saying I look like a pedophile.” But he glanced over at the people watching us and stopped trying to fight me off. When he put his arms around me, I could smell the leather of his jacket and the scent of him underneath. It was very male and took me back to a time when I was much younger. Back then, delicate good looks weren’t what women wanted in a man, but a strong arm to wield a sword. His arms felt very strong at that moment. They felt right. That slight air of menace that surrounded him, more like a warrior taking in his surroundings, was working for him.

He slipped his hands into the back pockets of my jeans and squeezed my butt. The directness of it took away all the bizarre and misplaced romance of the moment.

“What the hell was that?”

He smiled. “I’m a method actor, sweetheart.”

“Whatever.” I took a moment to remind myself who I was with, and to get my bad-girl attitude back on. “They’re not looking anymore, so you can stop method acting and just tell me what the hell it is you’re doing here besides scaring the civilians.”

He moved away from me with a frown on his face. “I should ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing here when I specifically told you I needed to be alone?”

“Stalking you, obviously,” I retorted. “Usually my prey doesn’t go hang out at a softball game. So now I’m asking you again, nicely, what the heck are you doing here? And if you don’t tell me, I may go poking magically into that pea brain of yours to find out.”

Loudspeakers blared. “Now up to bat, number thirty-four, Sabrina Johnson.”

“Ramsey,” Cyrus muttered, and turned to watch a young blonde-haired girl, probably about ten years old or so, pick up the bat and swing it once, pull at the brim of her helmet and then frown in concentration.

“Oh, no.” All the pieces fell into place and I actually felt a burning in the pit of my stomach. I sighed. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Cyrus?”

“It’s not hurting anyone,” he said. His eyes were glued to her.

“Only yourself.”

“So what?” He winced as the umpire called strike one. “It’s okay, let the first one go. Keep your eye on the ball.”

“So, why torture yourself? Why come here?”

She swung and missed again. He wasn’t listening to me. “You don’t have to swing randomly, Sabrina, let the ball come to you. Wait for the right moment . . .” He held his breath as the pitcher wound up.

This time, the girl’s bat connected. The far spectators cheered and clapped as she rounded the bases. The game was over; her hit had won it.

“That’s my girl!”

There was no mistaking the look of pride on Cyrus’s face. To be honest, watching him broke my heart, which I’d thought cold and dead after so many years of purposeful neglect.

Sabrina was patted on the back by her teammates. A tall man wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans came over and gave her a big hug. A pretty, blonde-haired woman in jeans and a T-shirt with the team logo joined him. I half expected them to hoist her up on their shoulders and carry her along the field singing “For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”

Cyrus turned away. He saw me eyeing him. “Don’t look at me like that. I thought you were hard-hearted enough to be beyond pity.”

“I surprise even myself,” I said. “But I’ve never seen anyone try to hurt themselves in this fashion.” Actually, I had. But eventually even I learned my lesson. “Why in the world did you come here, Cyrus?”

“She’s still my daughter,” he said, his voice barely a growl. “I may have given her up, but she’s still part of me. I still love her.”

“And she wouldn’t know who you were if you walked right up to her,” I said softly, intentionally without malice. “You gave her up when she was a baby.”

“She was eighteen months old!” Cyrus said, like that made all the difference. “And it’s not like I wanted to give her up. You know that, Fantazia. I was going to jail. I just didn’t want her lousy mother to have custody.”

“I know, I know,” I soothed. And I did. This was why Cyrus owed me. He’d come to me with the police and several superhero teams knocking on his door with enough evidence to finally arrest him for all of his crimes. He’d just had a custody fight with the child’s mother, whom he “wasn’t stupid enough to marry,” although he’d questioned that decision afterward.

I think he made the right move. His ex was a villain groupie: she’d been with plenty of them before Cyrus and had quickly moved on to Syn. Which terrified Cyrus. Syn was a notorious magic-user—a soul-eater, as we call them, and scarily was in the same group of dark magic as the current crisis we were facing. He was one of the few who’d figured out how to feed on a person’s energy. The more innocent the soul, the more power he could gain, and children were the best. If that wasn’t enough, there were rumors that Syn’s interest in children went far deeper than their souls. Cyrus wanted to make sure Syn couldn’t hurt his little girl, and also that her mother’s predilection for evil men never endangered her, so he’d asked me to make sure Sabrina’s mother lost custody. For good.

So, that’s what I did. Cyrus has a younger sister, Amanda, one who turned her back on him and his life of crime but who gladly took his child. I pulled some strings using some nonmagical connections I had—not everything has to be done with magic, you know—and Cyrus’s sister and husband took custody of Sabrina. Then I made sure that Cyrus’s ex and Syn could never find her. Ever. That was what took the magic. Powerful magic. The spell had laid me low for two weeks, but Cyrus’s ex would never see her daughter again—literally. If she walked by her child in the street, she wouldn’t see her. If someone called out her old name, she wouldn’t hear it. Sabrina was a permanent blank spot to her mother, one that she would never recover. She knew she’d had a daughter, but that was all. No one connected to her would be able to find Sabrina either.

It was a mean spell and a very powerful one, but it had ensured that Sabrina would have a good life. A normal life. It wasn’t like everyone forgot who she was or forgot her existence or anything; the spell just made her undetectable by her mother. She was like a permanently unlisted number. I had permanently separated a mother from her child.

I permanently separated a mother from her child, I thought again. Even though her mother had bad and dangerous taste in men, I was sure she still loved Sabrina deep down. How could she not? And there was always the possibility that one day her love would have been the key to bringing her to her senses, leaving the bad boys behind and becoming a great mother. I’d taken that possibility out of the picture. Well, Cyrus had made the decision, but I was the one who had pulled the trigger.

Well, it didn’t bother me one damn bit. No guilty feelings or anything. I do what I do and then move on. There are women out there who should have never become mothers, and Cyrus’s ex just happened to be one of them. The only consequence for me from the spell was that I now look on Cyrus in a different light because I’d seen into his desires. I’d had magic-users come to me for revenge before, sure, but I’d never had anyone beg to make sure someone else had a happy life. Almost everyone asked for favors for themselves. The fact that this request came from a hardened criminal who I later found out was sending his sister every spare bit of cash to take care of his daughter made it even more astounding.

It was amazing. All because he knew he could only hurt her, Cyrus effectively took himself out of his daughter’s life. He’d sent her to live with a family who hated his guts and wouldn’t let him have any contact with her. That made his sacrifice so much bigger. Who would have thought Cyrus had that much nobility in him? He’d became worthy of my notice from that moment on. He was something beyond my ken, someone who I kept my eye on.

“She thinks your sister and her husband are her mom and dad,” I said quietly.

“I know,” he said, but somehow, the way he said it, I knew he still held out hope for a ghost of a memory of him floating around his daughter’s brain. That if she did ever see him, she would know who he was. “And I know it’s the healthiest thing for her. She needs to think Amanda and Derek are her parents. Better to think that than having a lousy alcoholic as Mommy and a lousy criminal as Daddy.” He turned away.

“Your sister would flip out if she saw you here,” I remarked.

“Which is why I took great pains to stay out of the way.”

“You also took great pains to stick out like a sore thumb,” I said. “Until I came along. Were you secretly hoping your sister would see you and say, ‘Oh, Cyrus, I’ve seen you in the papers, you’ve turned your life around and are hanging with the EHJ now, why don’t you come to lunch and I’ll introduce you to Sabrina?’ ”

“God, you’re such a bitch sometimes,” he said, turning away.

I pressed on. “That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You want Sabrina to see you on television or in the newspapers, saving the day with the Elite Hands of Justice, recognize you and ask Amanda if that’s her real daddy. Then Amanda will see you’re more than just a two-bit villain now, you’re a hero, and will welcome you to visit anytime you want.”

I sympathized so much with him, holding out hope against hope. To delude himself into thinking that was even possible, that someone who didn’t know him would one day wake up and realize how important he was to them? To delude himself into thinking that a happy ending is possible. I know full well it’s not. Delusions are for suckers. I certainly don’t hold on to them anymore, and I wanted to beat that silly optimism out of him.

But, seeing the look on his face while he watched his daughter, that look of fatherly love, even in the face of those hopeless expectations, made me so sad. And a part of me I’d wanted to believe quashed so many, many years ago, related in a big way.

I reached out a hand to touch him gently on the arm. It was a gesture of sympathy, of comfort.

He pulled away roughly, like my touch was fire. “Just stop.”

I was a little hurt that one of the few times I was being genuine and trying to offer comfort got rejected. Fine. He just needed someone to wake him out of his delusion. God knows I’d needed it before, when I fooled myself into thinking that maybe this time things would be different, my father would remember who I was or my lover wouldn’t grow old and die in front of me or wouldn’t just abandon me because he couldn’t handle my immortality. Harsh reality had repeatedly obliged over the centuries.

I stepped in to be the voice of reason before he wasted more fragile time and hope on his own personal delusion. “Cyrus, you do know that’s not going to happen, right?”

“Yes, goddamn it, I know! I’m not completely stupid, Fantazia. I know, okay?” He started pacing. “But it gives me something to hope for, all right? Can I have that? Is it all right with you if I have one thing, just one small thing, that makes me try to be a better person? Or is the idea of being a better person just so abhorrent to you that you have to crush it in everyone you come in contact with?”

I was stung. He kept acting like he knew all about me, that I wasn’t capable of anything more than what I showed everyone. Moments like this reinforced why I acted the way I did, why I kept such huge walls up around myself. I really did feel sorry for him and was wishing there was something I could do. But the moment I let feelings for my fellow human beings come out, I get hurt or at least verbally smacked around. It never pays to invest yourself in another person; you only get pain for your trouble.

I laughed and drew misanthropy back around myself like a cloak, a second skin. I was back to being what I wanted to be more than anything else in the world: Someone above being hurt by others. Someone who no longer cared.

What the hell. I still cling to delusions, too.

“Hope is for losers,” I said stiffly. “And being a hero is overrated. I wouldn’t recommend it. The world is a nasty, hateful place. You know that, I know that. Even the EHJ know. People may thank you for saving the day, but they’re never going to be around when the chips are down. You’re just going to get kicked in the head for your troubles. That’s why I never do anything unless I get something out of it. I’m surprised you haven’t learned the same lesson.”

I shrugged. “Keep your masochistic tendencies if that’s what it takes for you. Subject yourself to this torment for all I care, but do it on your own time. Right now we’ve got a job to do. If your personal life gets in the way, we’re going to have a problem. I’m not someone you want to have a problem with.” I whirled and walked away before he could say anything, heading back to the now-empty parking lot.

Gravel was crunching under my feet before Cyrus caught up. “Fantazia, wait!”

I turned, giving him my coldest stare. “What?”

He came to a stop, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t give me the death-ray look. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for going off on you like that. You didn’t deserve it—for a change.”

I returned the tentative smile he gave me. It wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate his pain. “Well, I’m sure I’ll deserve it at some point in this ill-conceived partnership. You just lose the right to yell at me then.”

He nodded. “Sounds fair. All right. Work to do, work to do.” He glanced at the silver car next to his, then at me in surprise. “Does Lainey know you have this?”

“Not exactly.”

“Have you ever even driven before?”

“Not exactly.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t wreck it?”

“Of course not!” I protested. “And if I did bump it into anything, I might have magically fixed it. But she doesn’t need to know about that.”

He eyed me and then the car. “I wouldn’t pick you as the PT Cruiser type.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t have chosen the color or the baby seat,” I retorted. “I’m thinking something in a red.”

“A Mustang, maybe?”

“Why would I want a horse?”

He laughed, and I felt the tension between us ease. “Let’s go save the world, Fantazia.”

CHAPTER TEN

“So what’s our next move?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat of Cyrus’s car. I was trying to be sensitive and let him lead the investigation, seeing as he seemed a bit depressed. We’d just dropped Lainey’s PT Cruiser off at the EHJ garage.

He revved his engine. “We rattle a few cages, see what we can find. Harass some people I know, harass some people you know. Rinse and repeat.”

“Who would you like to start with?”

“I’m driving, so let’s go with one of mine. Wait. Is today Wednesday?”

I stared at him. “I have absolutely no idea. Does it matter?”

“It does if we want to know where to catch him.” Cyrus rolled his eyes up in thought, tapping the steering wheel as he ticked down the days. “Yep. Wednesday.”

“So glad to know that.”

He looked pointedly at my seat belt. “Fasten up, sweetheart. I like to drive fast.”

“A car wreck isn’t going to kill me,” I said. “I’ll heal.”

“What if we wreck, the roof gets taken off, you fly up and get decapitated? Nothing survives decapitation, Fantazia. Not even you.”

I rolled my eyes. “In the unlikely event of decapitation, you can say I told you so as we’re on our way to the underworld.” But I did as he asked and fastened the belt.

“That’d make for an uncomfortable ride across the river Styx,” he mused. Then he turned a knob on the dashboard, and rock-and-roll music roared out through the speakers. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He put the pedal to the metal, so to speak, whipping me back against the seat, and we peeled out.

“You’re a terrible driver, Cyrus,” I pointed out.

“Why?” he asked. “Because I’m fast? I’d make a great race car driver. Ever think of that?”

“And you have lousy taste in music.”

“You should see my taste in women,” he retorted.

I had nothing to say to that, and so we rode in relative silence—unless you count the blaring music—the rest of the way.

Before too long we were at our destination. Cyrus pulled up in front of a run-down strip mall. We passed a nail salon, a few empty storefronts and a paycheck-cashing place. Faded posters completely covered the windows at the establishment at the end. A small sign declared the business was open, but you couldn’t otherwise tell.

“What is this place?” I asked, getting out of the car and putting a hand up to block the glare of the setting sun.

“Chad’s home away from home,” Cyrus said. “Now, just stay by me and follow my lead. Trust me, you’re going to love this. Hot-looking chick like you is going to be a goddess in a place like this.”

A goddess? I gave a small smile and followed.

He pushed the door open; a bell rang above the door as he did. The inside of the room was relatively dark, lit by several weak fluorescent bulbs above. The room smelled of musty books and sweat. There were several men crouched around tables set up in the middle of the room, and they were playing cards. There were a few other men roaming the store, flipping through some boxes set up along the wall.

I leaned close to Cyrus. “We’re in a comic book store,” I whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back.

All eyes in the room locked on me. Some openly stared; others blushed and turned away. But I definitely had the attention of all the men in the room.

Cyrus turned to the card players. “Where’s Chad?”

“In the can,” one of the players grumbled. He was wearing a T-shirt with a faded picture of a zombie. As I got closer, I could see the cards were displayed in front of them like battle lines and had different types of monsters. Each player had a multisided die. “We had to stop the game for him.”

“We’ll wait,” Cyrus said. Turning to me he said, “Of everyone I know, he keeps up the most with the kinds of things we need to know.”

“That your girlfriend?” one of the card players asked, a youngster who reminded me of Dylan with a case of bad acne. He could barely take his eyes off my chest.

“Nah, she’s a free agent. You interested?” Cyrus asked. The boy blushed red to the tips of his ears and went back to studying his cards, saying nothing.

I walked over to the shelves, perusing the books and action figures on display. There was the usual vampire, werewolf and zombie fare, tales of all the imaginary beings that go bump in the night. There were even a few superhero comics—fictionalized stories, but fully authorized, of course—by heroes who had sold away story and licensing rights. Anything for a buck, I guess.

I held up one with the Elite Hands of Justice logo on the front. “Do you think we should buy this for Wesley?” I asked Cyrus.

“The Reincarnist has never appeared in that series,” said a guy in a T-shirt declaring him a zombie slayer, walking over to me. “Those books stick to the format of the Elite Hands of Justice Morning Hour, which replaced him with a teen sidekick by the name of Buddy.”

“The television executives thought it’d better for children to have a character they can relate to, someone their age and not an immortal magician,” another guy piped up.

I blinked and eyed Cyrus. “What are they babbling about?”

“A cartoon series. On television. It’s quite popular. They’re behind, though. I don’t even think they’ve added Phenomenal Girl 5 to the roster yet.”

I shrugged. “I don’t watch television, so . . .”

The people in the store were starting to mutter, like they suspected we were somehow important but couldn’t figure out who we might be. Then a slightly pudgy blond-haired guy came out of the back and said, “All right, I’m back. Is it still my turn?” He noticed us standing there and said, “Oh, hello, Cyrus.”

“Chad.” Cyrus nodded. “Do you have a minute? I’ve got something to ask you.”

The other guys at the table groaned in dismay.

“—He just got back!”

“—We’ve already been waiting on him!”

“—We’ve got to finish up this hand!”

“—Warsuns is coming on!”

Chad sat down at the table. “We can talk while I play.” He picked up his cards and studied them before saying, “I summon the galactic warlord.” He moved some cards around in front of him and laid down a new one with a picture of a robot. “It’s got a twenty-ten power rating and a irriduliam sword.”

The others started muttering under their breaths and shuffling through their cards.

Cyrus gave Chad a wary glance. “Are you sure? It’s about your . . . other activities.”

Chad waved away his concern. “We’re all friends here. It’s fine.”

One of the other players shook his head. “We know all about Chad’s magical abilities.”

“We’ve warned him he can’t be using his outside skills in this game,” said another player.

“As long as he doesn’t act all high and mighty about having otherworldly talents, we don’t mind. We welcome all players to this table,” said another.

Cyrus shook his head. “Okay, whatever. Have you heard of anyone getting their magic stolen, Chad?”

“Stolen? No.” He moved one of his cards on top of another player’s, who groaned and relocated it in another pile. “But then again, I don’t listen to stories about things that can’t possibly happen.”

“You’re born with your magical capabilities,” said one of the comic book fans, obviously happy to share his opinion. “You can’t gain or lose them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cyrus said. Then to Chad he said, “Two of the Brothers of Power were attacked.”

Chad looked up, blank. “The who?”

“The Brothers of Power. Come on, surely you’ve heard of them.”

Chad shrugged. “Should I have?”

“I don’t know, they’re only one of the most powerful families ever born into the magical community.”

Chad shrugged again. “I don’t keep up. Sorry.”

“And you call yourself a magic-user,” Cyrus scoffed. “Next thing you’re going to tell me you’ve never heard of Fantazia.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be some sort of creepy underworld boss or something?” asked one of the others. “Runs a bar where you can go and ask for magical favors.”

“I heard it was a dude,” said another.

“It’s not a dude.”

Chad silenced them all. “There’s no such person. She’s just a story people make up and then pass along on the Internet, trying to sound like they actually know something. To scare others into thinking they’re big and bad. There’s no such place as Memory Plague.”

I barely suppressed a smile. “Sounds like a good story. I like it when the woman is the scary one and not just window dressing.”

“She’s supposedly ancient,” Chad said to me. “Definitely not window dressing. Like a crone or something.”

Cyrus met my eyes and could barely keep from laughing. “But she’s supposed to be so beautiful.”

“Illusion spells, man. Illusions.”

“She could just not age,” I put in.

They all blinked at me. “That couldn’t happen,” Chad said. “Everyone ages. Even the Reincarnist.”

“How could someone ‘just not age’?” one of the players asked me as if I were a very small child. “It’s just not possible.”

“The gods don’t age,” I pointed out to one of the store customers. “Just because people aren’t foolish enough to worship them anymore and they don’t come down off Olympus often doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Aphrodite was an active EHJ member until recently.”

“Well, that’s the gods,” replied a card player.

“And wasn’t Kate Hughes supposed to be the latest incarnation of Aphrodite? So, it’s not like they don’t age,” another said.

“No, it doesn’t work like that,” I interjected. “Kate Hughes—”

“That Fantazia chick isn’t supposed to be a god, is she?”

I gave up on the argument. Modern people don’t understand the gods. They want to put them in terms they understand, and they only understand human beings born with the ability to fly and the like. It was more believable for these guys to think Kate was someone born with powers like Aphrodite’s than believe she’s an immortal and superpowerful being. But Zeus and his kin really exist, and they have since ancient Greece. Trust me.

“What’s up, Chad?” Cyrus complained. “Every time we’ve talked you were full of info on this sort of thing. How can you not know the biggest hitters? I didn’t expect you to be partying with them, but—”

“Look, man, I barely tested as a level three,” the blond guy replied. “I can do parlor tricks at best. Sideshow carnies have more skills than I do.”

“Okay. But you hang out on those magic community message boards and blogs. Surely you’ve heard something. Everyone’s talking about this.”

“You hear a lot of things,” Chad agreed, watching another player put down a card. He shuffled through his own set and made a play. “Early frost—goes back in your hand, man.” The other player groaned and picked his card up again, muttering something about a wasted turn. “Doesn’t make any of it true.”

“Well, for curiosity’s sake, what have you heard?”

Chad frowned. “Heard that the government’s going to start charging for a license to use magic.”

“That was debunked as an urban legend on that fact-or-lie Web site,” a comic-book fan cut in. “So was the story about our dimension getting dangerously close to one of the others.”

“I wouldn’t count that out,” I spoke up. “We’re always moving closer or farther away from other dimensions.”

They all stared at me again.

Cyrus shrugged. “You should know, I guess. Go on, Chad, what else?”

He sighed. “Hmm. There was something about portents being good for some prophecy to come true in like ten years or something, bringing back some sort of demons or gods or supermagical beings . . . I don’t know, there’s always some nut on one of those boards railing on about an end-of-the-world scenario. They usually just want you to come to their church service or contribute money or something.”

That last one sounded like it could be one of the Dragon’s people. But it also could be any number of other whackos. The kid was right: there are always people spouting off about dark prophecies.

“But nothing specific about the Brothers of Power? How about people ending up in comas?”

Chad grimaced. “Someone was talking about how his college roommate’s in a coma, wondering if he would be able to get a pass for the semester because of the trauma of finding him.”

“That’s definitely an urban legend, man,” one of the other players said.

“Did they say what city?” Cyrus asked.

“No, man. You’re not supposed to give out personal information like that online.”

Cyrus laughed. “I guess not.”

“Scary techno mages may come along and steal your action figures,” I joked. The group looked a bit put out by my comment. Call me a crone, will you?

“There may have been a couple of others,” Chad conceded. “I’ll check when I get home, e-mail you any links.”

“Ask around, too,” Cyrus pushed. “Find out if anyone else you know has heard anything. People’s magic being stolen, them put into comas . . .”

“Them being driven insane,” I put in.

“Oh. There may have been something like that,” Chad said, looking up at me (and not my chest). “Someone mentioned how a friend of theirs lost their shit in school the other day. People just thought he went off his meds or something, but this kid was really concerned. His friend was the only other magic-user in his town, and he was afraid it’d get out and people would think it was something that happened to all magic-users, like a disease or something that would have to be quarantined.”

“Get online. Ask if the friend was near any technology before he lost it,” Cyrus said. “Or if anyone’s heard anything about appliances sucking magic out of people.”

They all stared at him like he was crazy.

“That’s, like, something out of a horror movie, dude,” one of the cardplayers said.

“Wasn’t that an episode of Terrifying Stories?” someone asked.

“No, man, you’re thinking of Terrifying Tales.”

“That was vampire ghosts sucking people dry of blood, not magic.”

“The ghosts lived in machines,” someone else pointed out.

“None of this means it couldn’t happen,” Cyrus snapped. “Just check it out and let me know if you find anything.”

Chad nodded. “You’ve got it, dude.” He looked around the table. “My turn again?”

“This has been helpful. Thanks,” Cyrus said. I got the feeling he was being sarcastic.

Chad shrugged. “I do what I can.”

Cyrus leaned over the pimply kid. “If you use your Werebeast along with that Feat of Strength card, you’ll get extra attack points and no one will be able to use their defense points for the rest of the turn.”

Everyone at the table groaned. Chad threw up his hands and shot Cyrus an incredulous look. “Dude!”

Cyrus shot him an amused grin. “Enjoy the rest of the game, boys. Let’s go, Fantazia.”

At the mention of my name, all eyes in the room flew to me. “Bye, boys,” I said, waving. “By the way, I’m not a crone and this is definitely not an illusion spell. I’m all-natural.” I blew them a kiss. “Bye, now.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Nice borrowing of my car, Fantazia.”

Lainey greeted us as the doors dinged open at the top floor of the EHJ headquarters. We’d spent most of the day bothering small-time magic-users Cyrus knew, and nothing had come of it except my discovery that my reputation didn’t precede me much anymore. Most people thought, like Chad, that I was an urban legend.

“You have several,” I grumbled at Lainey’s annoyance. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“A little thing called surveillance cameras,” she said. “And the huge dent.”

“I glamoured that away!”

She gave me a dark look. “I can see through glamours, Fantazia. I’ve got magic, too, remember?”

“Borrowed magic,” I said. I think I was looking for a fight.

Cyrus stepped in. “I can probably fix it, Lainey, it’s no problem. I’ve pounded a few dents out of cars in my time.”

“Thanks, Cyrus,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“Lainey! There you are!” Selena Curtis ran up, a stylish Amazonian-looking woman also known as Granite, with flawless, chocolate brown skin and snapping dark eyes. Her excitement was visible through her animated movements and breathless speech. “Toby’s going to be on that cable program that makes fun of reality shows!”

“The one with Mr. Cute Host?” Lainey looked confused. “Why?”

“Apparently there’s some new reality show where people compete for an open spot on a team I’ve never even heard of. Mr. Cute Host is going to pretend to want to join, and Toby’s going to be giving him pointers.”

“And Wesley and Paul are okay with this?” She seemed horrified.

“I convinced Paul it would be okay. Fun publicity,” Mindy said, coming up to us. “Wesley agreed because he thinks a television reality show putting people in danger for a chance at fame is a horrible idea, and he wants Toby to say something to that effect. I think Toby just wants a chance to be near Mr. Cute Host.”

Lainey sighed. “Wouldn’t we all?”

“You two are married, and Toby’s with Forrest. If anyone should be near Mr. Cute Host, it should be me,” Selena groused.

“Why is his name Mr. Cute Host?” I asked, grimacing. “Is this another weird hero thing?”

“They’re talking about Todd Matthews,” Cyrus said. “He’s a comedian. He hosts this snarky television show. It’s really popular.”

“I can never remember his name,” Lainey explained. “I always ended up calling him Mr. Cute Host, and the name stuck.”

“An in-joke. How fun,” I said. I hadn’t had been part of an in-joke for years. I still wasn’t.

A beep sounded, and Mindy unearthed a strange device that looked like a combination tentaclelike being and one of those portable—sorry, cell—phones that everyone but me seems to carry. She consulted it, then grinned. “He just texted me. His segment’s coming up after the commercial break.”

I heard Paul call out from down the hall. “Mindy, if you’re going to watch this, you’d better get in here! It’s already started.”

Her phone beeped again. Mindy looked at it again and squealed. “Mr. Cute Host says hi!”

Everyone started down the hallway. Selena turned back and said, “Oh, Cyrus, my computer that I keep all of the schedules in isn’t working right. Mindy said she thought it might have some sort of virus.”

“So you thought you’d send a Virus to catch a virus?” Cyrus chuckled. “I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks!” She smiled brilliantly and walked off to join her friends.

I watched her go. I watched them all go. They’d watch their show and laugh at all their little in-jokes, and it was sweet enough to make me sick. “Aren’t you Mr. Fix-It?” I said to Cyrus. “First cars, then computers.”

“It’s nice to be handy,” Cyrus replied.

“They certainly are awful trusting of you.”

Cyrus sighed. “What would they fear? Really. I was never particularly ambitious as a villain, Fantazia. You know that. I certainly wasn’t an ‘I’m going to amass lots of power and crush everyone’ type. It was . . . well, it was just easier to steal what I wanted than work for it. My laziness is vast and has no bounds.” He gave a wry smile.

“And that’s changed?”

He shrugged. “I stumbled into your place at the right time, I guess. Got pulled into that EHJ caper, helped save the day and found I had a taste for it. I’m lucky the Reincarnist is big on giving people second chances.”

“When he remembers,” I muttered.

Cyrus studied me. “So, when are you going to tell me what’s up with you and him?”

“A quarter after never,” I snapped.

Cyrus eyed me again. “What do you owe him, Fantazia? Did he save you from unspeakable evil? Did he—?”

“I don’t owe him a damn thing!” I crossed my arms over my chest, gritting my teeth, defiance filling every pore of my body just at the mention of my father.

Cyrus stared. “Is he the reason you don’t age? Did he put some sort of spell on you so that you won’t lose your good looks? You asked him to—”

I shook my head. “That’s all you think of me, isn’t it, Cyrus: that I’m so empty-headed I’d purposely do this to myself, put myself through never-ending hell so that I’ll always be pretty.”

To his credit, he flushed. I narrowed my eyes at him. He held up his hands in surrender. “I never said that, Fantazia.”

“You’ve certainly implied it.”

“You know me, I just say whatever’s on my mind, good or bad. I just thought maybe when you were younger, you got it in your head that staying young forever would be cool and went to him for help. Or, hell, I don’t know. Maybe you two were involved and he wanted to preserve your beauty forever.” He held up a hand before I could go off again. “A lot of smart people have tried the ‘fountain of youth’ thing, Fantazia. It’s not a knock against you.”

“It’s definitely nothing like that,” I said, trying to contain my horror at the idea of people thinking I was involved with my father. “I was just born like this. Well, I aged like most people up until my powers kicked in. That was when I was a teenager. By the time I hit twenty, I just stopped aging.”

Cyrus snapped his fingers. “There goes my other theory—that you pissed him off in some way and he put a curse on you.”

I had to laugh. “I’m sure deep down he probably wanted to at some point, but no, he didn’t curse me. Like he’d ever curse anyone. Mr. Do-No-Wrong? Please!”

Cyrus shook his head. “I don’t know, I just have this feeling that the Old One wasn’t always a goody-goody. There’s an edge of something dangerous there, I can just tell.”

“No, you’re way off base,” I argued. “He’s been like this for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. After all,” Cyrus said with a grin, “would you have thought I’d turn out a good guy when you first met me?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not at first. But later, after you came to me for your favor . . .”

He looked uncomfortable. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about her. I just meant that . . . it was a nice thing to do.”

“Yeah, right. Making sure my ex will never see her daughter again? That’s supernice,” he retorted. He looked down and away.

“You were making sure your daughter is safe,” I reminded him.

He looked up when I brushed my fingertips across his arm. His blue gaze locked with mine. My stomach did a strange sort of flip and my pulse quickened. Suddenly, more than anything else in the world, I wanted him to kiss me.

“I don’t get nice requests like that,” I said.

“I don’t get the word ‘nice’ and myself used in conjunction very often,” Cyrus said. “Thanks.” Was it my imagination or did he look like he wanted to kiss me, too? Had to be my imagination; he couldn’t stand me under normal circumstances.

“Well, what do I know?” I teased, stepping ever so slightly closer. “I’m the one you insinuated doesn’t have a brain.”

“I know you have a brain. It’s the most dangerous part of your body.”

“Really?” The edges of my mouth curved up. “What’s another dangerous part?”

He smiled. “Your lips.”

“And, why are my lips dangerous?” I wet them with the tip of my tongue, leaned forward and tilted my head, an open invitation for him to close the space between us. My breath caught in my throat, my body aquiver in anticipation . . .

He didn’t move. All he had to do was inch a bit closer, take advantage of the invitation I was clearly issuing. I wanted it. Oh, how I wanted it. If I could have him, if I could make him like me, that would be the end of my recent surges of desire toward him. I didn’t harbor any romantic delusions: romance never works out for me, and I never let myself get anywhere close to love. Not anymore. But if I could seduce Cyrus, this man who intentionally aggravates and annoys me, who insults me when I deserve it and yet still respects me, who reminds me so much of the warriors of days gone by and who never seems to show any interest in me whatsoever . . . well, if I could seduce him, I think I’d feel a hell of a lot better. For a few moments I definitely wouldn’t be bored. I wouldn’t be lonely.

I lightly bit my lower lip, eyeing him from beneath long black eyelashes. “Why are they so dangerous?”

“Because such vile and devious words come out of them on a regular basis,” Cyrus said.

His comment took all the air out of me. Cyrus was the only man I’d ever met who could completely shut me down and still make me desire him. I moved backward. “Wow. I compliment you and you insult me. Nice. Real nice, Cyrus.”

He shrugged. “I never said I was nice. That was you. Once again, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Oh, I know you. You’re an asshole.”

I didn’t know what I was saying anymore, or why I was so flustered—besides pent-up sexual tension, of course. But that could be easily remedied. Any number of men who hung out in my pocket universe found me attractive, and they were all far hotter than Cyrus. I would get over whatever this particular hang-up was. I needed to do it yesterday, if not sooner.

I started to stalk off, but he grabbed my arm. I glared pointedly down at his hand and back up at his face, but he ignored me.

“If you know me so well, you should know that I hate that little seductive sex kitten act you put on. There couldn’t be anything less sexy in the world, at least to me. God, if you would ever relax and not try so hard to sell it all the time—”

“Then what?” I asked. I yanked my arm out of his grasp.

That dark blue gaze searched mine for a moment and then he looked away. “Nothing.” He shook his head.

“No, you were definitely going to say something. If I’d ever relax and not try so hard, then what?” I challenged him.

He seemed to be considering his words. Finally he sighed and said quietly, “Then maybe people would actually like you. Maybe you wouldn’t be so lonely.”

“Who says I’m lonely?” I snarled.

“No one.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“No one has to. Because it’s so obvious.”

I flinched. It didn’t hurt that Cyrus said people don’t like me; I don’t need people to like me. It’s that he was getting dangerously close to my other issues, issues I don’t even like to admit to myself. “You said I don’t know you as well as I think, Cyrus? Well, you definitely don’t know me as well as you think.” And with that, I turned and walked off.

Wesley looked up when I walked into his bedroom. “Oh, hello, Fantazia.”

“Hi.” I perched on the arm of the small love seat where he sat. The television was on, showing some cartoon, but Emily was fast asleep. She lay across Wesley’s chest, her rosebud mouth half-open. One chubby little arm encircled his shoulder; the other was around his side and her blonde head rested directly above his heart.

It was a sweet picture, father and daughter resting together, but I was so intensely jealous of my sister at that moment I couldn’t see straight. He was cuddling her, obviously loving her so much, while my own father was long gone, buried somewhere so deep down inside that he barely thought of me at all, except when he needed another powerful magic-user. He didn’t remember loving me like this, and I remember it all. I even remember the first time he died, when he was replaced by the very first stranger—the stranger whom I’d taken care of, who thought I was some sort of loyal servant. He’d thought giving me a few extra coins at the marketplace was an act of kindness. He probably hadn’t thought twice when I finally left home. He simply moved on with his life each time, and I was a dusty past long forgotten.

“So, how did it go?” he asked, pausing to plant a kiss on Emily’s blonde head.

“Fine. We started with Cyrus talking to some kid who hangs out with magic-users on computer bulletin boards or some such nonsense. The kid’s checking up on leads and getting back with us.”

“That’s good,” Wesley said. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this—”

“The sooner I’m out of your hair?” I snapped.

He eyed me quizzically. “The sooner it will be safer for everyone.”

“Especially Emily.”

He shrugged. “Well, I want to make sure it’s safe for all magic-users, but yes, I do care especially if it’s safe for Emily. I can’t help but feel like this is somehow tied to the Dragon.”

“Of course you do, because it has to do with Emily. She’s the center of your whole freaking universe. The rest of us can die horribly as long as she’s safe.”

He was staring at me, openmouthed. “Fantazia.”

Somewhere inside myself I had the suspicion I was having a meltdown but was powerless to stop it. “Well, I’m not going to lie down and die for you. I’m still here, goddamn it.”

A look of pain crossed his face and I was simultaneously glad of it—that I had hurt him—and also horrified that I was revealing how much he had hurt me. I was revealing my weakness.

In an attempt to cover up I shook my head. “I’m not a hero. I’m finished here.” Then I turned and stalked out of the room. Speeding down the hallway, I prayed no one would see me or my barely suppressed humiliation.

Just my luck, Cyrus was by the elevators. He stared at me in shock, and I ducked my head, hoping to cover my tears with my hair.

“Fantazia . . .”

“I’m going home,” I said, stabbing at the elevator button. “Away from people who think so little of me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t ever come to my bar again. You’re all off the guest list.”

The elevator opened before I could say anything else crazy, thank God, and I flung myself in and jammed the close-door button. The doors slid shut, and I immediately burst into hot, noisy tears.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Despite what I’d said, I didn’t want to go home. Frankly, thinking about going back to the isolation of the bar was suffocating. I needed to get out, to breathe, and most importantly, to think, so I took the elevator down and walked out into the city streets with little knowledge of where I was headed or even where I might want to go. I just needed to be out. I was having a nervous breakdown. All of my repressed emotions were finally being released.

My retreat from the regular world into one of my own choosing had been supposed to help. In my pocket universe I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone, at least not on a regular basis. I could deal with them when and how I wanted. I could prove to the world—and more importantly, to myself—that I didn’t need anyone. I could be the ultimate loner. Because, after all, if you don’t need anyone, don’t depend on anyone for anything, no one can hurt you. Instead, now I was like someone with a third-degree sunburn, where every little nudge made me wince.

I hit the brick wall beside me. After all of these years, I was still letting those parental wounds fester. Cyrus wanted to know why I always put on the “bad girl” routine? It was my armor. It kept the bad people out and kept the scared little girl safe. If I could convince everyone else that I was a hard-ass bitch who didn’t need anyone, maybe, just maybe, I could convince the most important person of all of that: myself. To relax and just be myself, as he suggested . . . well, that would require confronting some serious emotional baggage.

“Screw that,” I muttered.

I suddenly noticed several men I passed a few streets back were following me. Great. Just great. Just what I needed.

I turned and glared at them. There were four, a quartet of louts radiating a dangerous aura from both the way they stood and the clothes they wore. They were predators, and I was meant to be their prey.

“What?” I growled.

They’d obviously expected me to look scared and run, be a good little victim. They would chase me, overpower me and hurt me however they saw fit, do whatever made them feel like big shots or got them off.

“Where you going, baby?” one of them asked.

“Nowhere fast,” I replied. “Funny you should ask. But, this really isn’t a good time, guys.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a good time,” one of them said.

“You’ll make time,” another grunted.

“We’ll make you scream.”

So they were planning to rape me. Awesome. The EHJ would grab these guys and bring them all in for justice. I just wanted to go home.

I aimed for the biggest, probably the leader, and stared into his eyes. That alone was enough to give him pause. He eyed me warily, like he didn’t understand what was happening but knew that it wasn’t right.

“Sweetheart,” I said, in a voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “Use the big head on your shoulders and not the little one in between your legs. Somewhere in there, something inside you has to realize that I am not someone to tangle with. You might be dangerous, but I’m just a bit more. Every good predator must learn to size up his opponent and run when overpowered. Walk. Away.”

There was quiet in the alley. One of the other men cursed.

The leader seemed torn, not wanting to either lose face or take on someone so clearly tougher than himself. At last he took a step back.

I turned to walk away. It was a mistake. He grabbed me, whirled me around and snarled, “Bitch.” His face had gained a bit of cockiness, now that he had shown both me and his friends that he wasn’t scared. Pulling out a knife, he thrust it right at my chest.

The blade hit me. The moment it did, it shattered into a million pieces, like glass striking concrete. I stared down at what was now really just a hilt clutched in a shaking hand, and glanced back up at him. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set.

“You cut my shirt,” I said.

The look on his face went from swaggering assurance to sheer horror. The other members of his entourage were slowly backing up, as if afraid any sudden movement would set me on them.

“And you tried to kill me,” I continued. I took a step forward, closing the distance he was now desperately trying to create. “You don’t know how much that pisses me off.”

“W-what are you?” he blubbered.

“Something old and horrible,” I said, mentally calling up my magic. “You don’t know the half of it.” Power washed through me. I reached for the would-be attacker, not touching but still controlling him in a noncorporeal grasp. “And I think I’m going to be doing all of womankind a big favor. I probably should have done this the moment I saw you, and maybe this will make you think about picking on people smaller than yourself next time. We’re not always weaker.”

I batted my hand toward the wall. Instantly, the goon’s body went crashing into it. His friends went running off in the opposite direction, but I just smiled and smacked him against the unforgiving brick again. Again and again and again. It was awfully cathartic.

“What the hell is going on?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Cyrus. He was standing on the street, watching with an open mouth.

“He asked for it,” I said, turning to face him. I kept my bloodied assailant magically pinned to the wall. “He wanted to rape and kill a defenseless woman. He just picked one who wasn’t so defenseless.”

“I know. I saw that part,” Cyrus said. “And I also saw the part where his knife shattered against you.”

I dropped the bully in disgust. He didn’t get up. While he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t in good condition. Probably needed a hospital. A good person would take him to one. I’m not a good person.

“Remember when I said I’m immortal, Cyrus? You just got visual proof.”

“How did you do that—a force field spell?”

“No.” I ran a hand through my hair. “The wards, remember? I have a djinn paint wards on my skin to protect me from weapons.”

“I’ve heard that before. The story I heard, actually, is that someone tried to shoot you to try to avoid paying for one of your favors.” Cyrus was looking at me very strangely. “So, they’re not tattoos.”

“Nope. With this kind of ward, you have to change the runes up every so often, use different ones. They can’t be permanently attached because they won’t work forever. Hence the painting. Not tattoos.”

He seemed slow to process the concept. “So, they’re not tattoos you glamour away, make them disappear from the human eye?”

“No,” I grunted, annoyed.

“So, how are they working when they’re gone?”

Too late I remembered that I’d magically wiped them off earlier at the ball field, not wanting to stick out. My whole face contorted in horror. I cursed under my breath.

Cyrus was staring like he’d never seen me before. “What’s the real story? Some sort of permanent indestructibility spell?”

I shook my head, defeated. “I was born like this.”

“You’re naturally indestructible, like Selena?” He shook his head. “So, only magic can hurt you. But that’s strange. I didn’t think people born with the ability to use magic ever got any extra powers. Like, magic’s more than enough for us. But I guess you got the nonaging thing as well, so why not this, too?” He was clearly trying to remain nonchalant while also looking like he was realizing what I was: something terrible and different than himself.

“This effect kicked in at the same time as my magical ability. When I was a child, I was once almost killed by a chariot. Now . . .” I shrugged. “No mortal weapon can hurt me.”

He frowned but then said, “ ‘Mortal’? What’s that supposed to mean? You think you’re a god?”

“I didn’t say anything like that!” I snapped. “You don’t live as long as I have and be as powerful as I am without learning a few things about Aphrodite’s family. I’ve even tangled with a few of them in the past. The gods have made weapons they use to fight and, on occasion, kill each other. If someone took one of those to me, yes, it would probably take me out. But I don’t go picking fights with gods, so I haven’t tested that theory.”

“Why didn’t you flaunt this?” Cyrus asked. “You’ve always seemed like you get off on your power kicks. The magic, this whole immortality thing . . .”

I turned away, just wanting out of the conversation. “Whatever.” I started walking away, leaving him and the unconscious would-be rapist behind.

“Why did you hide it?” Cyrus demanded, catching up with me. “Why’d you let us think those wards are what really protects you?”

I stopped walking and gave him a fierce look. He took a step backward. “Look, the not-aging thing makes me different enough. This was just too mind-bogglingly different.” I glanced back at him. “People can’t handle it. As evidenced by you backing away from me right now.”

He had the consideration to stop but he repeated, “I thought you like having everyone scared of you. Why would you care if we’re freaked?”

“I don’t know!” The tears from earlier had begun to brew again. In frustration, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned, shooting him my darkest glare. “What does it matter, anyway? What are you doing here, besides witnessing what kind of freak I am?”

“Looking for you,” he said.

“Wanted to save the damsel in distress?” I snorted. “Can’t handle myself out here on the mean streets? Can’t handle myself in this big bad world of—”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know you were in trouble until I stumbled upon all of that. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh? What more did you want to tell me, Cyrus? I think you’ve said enough. You think I’m a horrible person who no one likes. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it. I get it.”

“It’s nothing to do with that,” he said. “You just looked really upset when you left. I . . . I’ve never seen you look like that.”

“And you thought it was something you said.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I figure it’s something the Old One said.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to cry on your shoulder, Cyrus. Nor am I going to confess any more deep, dark secrets. You’ve already learned way too much about me. If all this is just you wanting to satisfy your curiosity, we’re done. You’re barking up the wrong tree. You’ll have better luck getting Wesley to spill his secrets.”

“That’s fine. I don’t care to know,” he said. At my dubious look, he shrugged. “Okay, I’m dying to hear what upset the toughest woman I know like that, but I didn’t come all the way out here for it.”

“So, what did you come for?”

“I thought you needed a friend.”

I stared at him in shock. I think my mouth dropped open.

“Since your list of friends doesn’t seem very long, I figure I’m probably all you’ve got. Or at least that I’ll do. So, you don’t have to say anything, you don’t even have to do anything. Just . . . I’m here for you. Especially after what just happened. If you want to simply stroll around the city in silence, well, I’ve got my walking shoes on. After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do. Even if I’m rough on you sometimes.”

I shook my head. “You’re the strangest man I know, Cyrus.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Go ahead and insult me.”

“No one else manages to be both a nice person and also a mouthy asshole at the same time.” I tucked my arm into his. “Let’s walk.”

He smiled. “Whatever you say, Fantazia. But you might want to fix your shirt, so you don’t give every guy walking down the street a thrill. Unless you really are some kind of crazy exhibitionist.”

I glanced down. There was a large slit in the chest of my tank top where my assailant’s knife had cut the fabric. My bra had narrowly missed damage, but a lot of cleavage was showing. I changed the garment into a blue halter top that was mostly backless but covered up to my neck.

Cyrus shook his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how you conjure up clothes like that. Do you make them out of nothing?”

“Let’s just say somewhere a store lost a bit of inventory.”

“You’re as much of a thief as I am.” He grinned. The expression almost looked flirty. There was no chance he was flirting with me after all of this. Was there?

“Careful there,” I said, making sure to keep my tone light. “You wouldn’t want to go around complimenting me. After coming out here to ‘be my friend,’ as you put it, you might make me start to believe that you don’t hold me entirely in contempt. I might believe you actually like me.”

His eyes stayed strangely unreadable. “I might actually like you.”

“Well.” I didn’t know what to say to that—I like you, too? If that didn’t sound childish, what did? I have a strange urge to pull you into an alley and do very naughty things to you? That would definitely ruin the moment, since he hated it when I put on the sex kitten act. Except that with him it was starting to not be an act. I really did have that urge. But he wouldn’t take it that way.

I decided to say nothing, and felt the awkwardness between us ratchet up a notch.

“So, if you won’t tell me what made you sad,” Cyrus said, breaking the terrible silence, “tell me something that made you happy in your life. Not something that pleased you momentarily, but something that made you life-changingly happy.”

I glanced over at him. Seeing his expression, I snorted. “You thought I was going to say sex, didn’t you? That’s why you put in that bit about nothing that ‘pleased me momentarily.’ ”

He laughed. “I was actually thinking you would say shoes. The women in the EHJ, they can talk about shoes for hours: the colors, the heels . . . and they use adjectives like ‘lickable’ in relation to them.” He paused and gave me a wicked grin. “Sex can make you life-changingly happy. For all your talk, I would have thought you’d know. Sorry to hear you’ve been with the wrong men.”

Damn him. I knew he was just trying to tease me, but considering the thoughts I’d just been having, instead of being insulted I was even more driven to take him somewhere secluded and test his theory about happiness. In fact, forget the seclusion. I was willing to go at it right here and now, which was definitely a sign that something was wrong with me.

“Nothing comes to mind,” I said, trying desperately to put away thoughts of tearing cloth, sweaty skin and the feeling of a brick wall against bare flesh.

He frowned. “Oh, stop that.”

My eyes widened. “Stop what?” He hadn’t picked now as a time to become psychic, had he? Or had I said those things out loud?

“The whole, ‘I’m depressed, life is horrible and meaningless’ shtick. It’s played out.”

“That’s not . . . I wasn’t . . .” I didn’t want to explain why I was so horribly distracted, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “When I came to America. The first time.”

Cyrus nodded. “Go on.”

“I’d lived in Europe for so long and had way too many memories attached. There was so much history there, had been so many lifetimes lived, it just got to be too much.”

Cyrus was studying me. “There was a guy, wasn’t there?”

I flinched. This was definitely a piece of my past I didn’t like to revisit. Why had I brought this up to begin with? Probably because when I was with Andrew, I’d kidded myself into thinking that I could be life-changingly happy. “Yeah, there was a guy. A guy who got sick, who I couldn’t save.” I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened over this little trip down memory lane. “No one could save him.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead to get through it. “Story of my life: everyone but me dies eventually. He just went quicker. After he was gone, I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave. So I hopped the first ship headed here and . . .” I allowed myself a small smile as the memory came back: “I was standing out there, on the deck, and I got my first look as the land came into view. I felt like that weight from the past just lifted off of me. I had the first fresh start ever. It was that promise of a new beginning. That potential made me life-changingly happy.”

I waited for him to speak. He watched me, not commenting.

I sighed. “That was probably the last time. You would think a whole country was big enough to avoid the one person you want, but you’d be wrong.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Nope, you’ve been that happy again. I’ve seen you smile like nothing else could make you happier.”

I cocked my head. “Really? When?”

“When you’re playing with Emily. When she first sees and yells for you.” He laughed. “You get a look like I imagine you had on that boat.”

I was pleased but didn’t want to show it. Instead I said, “Potential. When you get to be as old as I am, potential is endlessly amazing. Children are nothing but pure potential.”

“That’s probably true, but there’s more to it.” Cyrus narrowed his eyes at me in concentration. “It’s motherhood, isn’t it? She probably reminds you of a child you had and who’s now probably old enough to be my great-grandmother. Or maybe with the guy whose death wrecked you?”

I stared at him, surprised both that he had picked up on how badly Andrew’s death had affected me and that he assumed I’d been someone’s mom.

Seeing the look on my face, he turned shame-faced. “Shit. Now I’ve stepped in it, reminding you of that guy and the kids you’ve had who’ve aged and died while you haven’t.”

I shook my head. “You’re way off base, Cyrus. I never had a child.”

He gave me an incredulous look. “Please. After all of these years, you never had a kid? There’s no way you’re the oldest virgin of all time, and there’s no way you could have mastered birth control that well. Especially not back in the dark ages when they were using sheep intestine.”

It was my turn to give him a look of disbelief. “Mastering birth control is pretty easy when you just can’t have children.”

His expression helped soothe my pain. He looked absolutely miserable. “I’m so sorry. I’m . . .” He trailed off. “I’m a stupid asshole.”

I gave him half a smile in acceptance of the apology. “Guys don’t normally think about stuff like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That you can’t, I mean.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is. By now I’ve dealt with it.” With my usual coping method of repression and displacement. Very healthy. “The universe doesn’t want my unique blend of crazy genetics passed on.” I donned a fake smile. “Besides, can you see me as a mother? Not everyone has the instinct, you know.”

He saw through me. “Oh, I know. My ex is definitely missing that gene. But you’re not.”

I bit my lip but said nothing.

“I think you would have been a good mother,” he continued.

I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see what that meant to me. “Thanks.”

Neither of us seemed to know what to say next. What was there to say? I shook my head ruefully. “God, I won’t blame you if you want to cut all of this short. I won’t even blame you if you avoid me entirely after this glut of information.”

He chuckled. “I don’t want to avoid you.”

“Are you sure? In the space of one night you’ve found out I’ve got scary powers of invulnerability, can’t have children and apparently keep having bad sex, since I didn’t immediately list it in my life-changing happiness category.”

Oh. My. God. Why the hell did I just say that last part? My cheeks were actually burning with humiliation. And I never blush. This cinched it. I was going to have to do something to put my strange attraction to Cyrus to rest forever. I just had to figure out what that would be.

“And now you’re thinking I’m crazy,” I muttered. Maybe I was.

He met my gaze calmly, like I hadn’t said anything potentially humiliating. “That’s not what I’m thinking at all. I was actually thinking maybe it’s time I finally settled my curiosity about the one thing I’ve wondered since the day I met you.”

I shrugged. “Why not? This evening’s been strange and humiliating, so here are the answers you probably want to know: Yes, they’re real. And no, those rumors are not true, I wasn’t having an affair with that president, nor did I kill his mistress in a jealous rage and cover it up by making it look like she overdosed on pills. I never met either one of them.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “None of that, though, thanks for the information. No, since I’ve met you, I’ve always wondered”—his voice dropped to a low, throaty growl—“what it would be like to kiss you.”

I stared at him, not sure I’d heard right. “Yeah, right. Because hearing about my lousy past is such a turn-on.”

“Maybe it is.”

He moved forward slightly, looming over me a bit, starting to invade my personal space—in a good way. My heart sped up and my breath quickened in anticipation.

He stared into my eyes and I felt like I was drowning in them; there was no way for me to look away. “When I first met you, I thought you were incredibly hot. You know that. Everyone thinks you’re incredibly hot. But you changed my mind with your attitude. So harsh, so angry. Always trying to lord your sex appeal over us. But right now you’re not wearing one of those over-the-top outfits. You’re talking about your lousy past, talking about a guy you loved and lost, which means you’re taking a chance and actually letting down a bit of that huge wall you always keep up. And you’re doing it around me.” He reached out with a hand to brush my hair away from my cheek, his fingertips tracing my jawline, tipping my face up to just the right angle. “That is a big turn-on.”

My heart was crashing in my chest. I didn’t know if he was playing me or not. But I knew one thing: I had to get this sexual tension out of the way so I could concentrate around him again. He had my entire world spinning.

More importantly, I wanted to satisfy my own curiosity of what it would be like to kiss him.

I moved forward, leaning forward just slightly to bring my lips closer to his. But I couldn’t close the gap. I wanted him to be the one to initiate the kiss, because he wanted to, not because I forced it on him. I just stood there, helpless, waiting to see what his next move would be. Would he kiss me or not? It was a strange experience for someone so usually in control.

He closed the distance. Lowering his mouth to mine, he brought his other arm around my waist to crush my body to his. I melted into him with a sigh of pleasure.

All of my senses were heightened by the contact. The sound of our quickened breathing was impossibly loud, the cotton of his shirt as my fingers tightened around it incredibly soft. The scent of him was indescribable yet would be forever burned into my brain as Cyrus. The taste of his lips and tongue against mine was faintly like cinnamon. His mouth was a firm pressure on mine, but yielding as well. All this mixed together into one forgone conclusion—there was no way in hell I was going to be able to concentrate around him now.

But then he was pulling away. I was involuntarily moving toward him, trying to follow. Stay with me, I practically pleaded. Make love to me. Show me how life-changing happiness feels.

“My phone,” he said against my mouth.

I pulled back and opened my eyes, reality rudely settling in. “What?”

He seized the distance I’d relinquished and moved away enough to fumble in his pocket. “My phone’s ringing. No one calls me at this number unless . . . That was quick.” He pulled the contraption out, and now I heard the tinny sound of some recorded song that someone other than me might recognize as more than screeching guitars and pounding drums. “Hey, Chad.”

“Cyrus, what the hell have you gotten me involved in?” the person on the other end of the line practically shrieked. I jumped at how close he sounded.

“Chad? What’s going on?”

The only response was a loud screech, one that caused Cyrus to drop the phone and me to back against the wall. It might have been my imagination, but I could swear a wisp of something curled up around the phone, like magical smoke. It went silent.

“What the hell?” I gasped.

“Can you transport us over there?” Cyrus asked.

“If you know where we’re going.”

“I can track him.” He punched buttons on his phone, whispering something that sounded like an endless repetition of zeroes and ones. I recognized it as a techno mage spell, but I didn’t know enough about such magic to know what he was attempting.

“Coordinates.” He punched more numbers into the phone, and then showed me a tiny map with a dot on the display. “Can you go here?”

“It’s a good thing I always carry the right components for this. Hold on.” I nodded, pulled a small leather pouch from my pocket and began to cast.

We disappeared from the street and appeared again in a small, cramped apartment. Chad lay at its center, body still twitching, a chair half-under him like he was sitting and got knocked down. His eyes were focused hazily on the ceiling, almost like he was looking through it. There was a burned smell, something metallic, and a cell phone was still clutched in his hand.

There was also a weird feeling in the room, and every hair on my body stood on end. It took me a moment, but I finally recognized what the sensation was: the spiritual residue from a very powerful spell. The room still felt charged, which meant the magic had just been cast.

I knelt next to Chad, feeling for a pulse. He still had one, though it was erratic.

“Can you hear me?” I called.

He didn’t blink, just continued to stare up at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes and tried to work a tracing spell; the magic here was so freshly evoked that I might be able to follow it back to its caster. What I got for my trouble was the annoying feeling of trying to recall something just beyond my grasp, like trying to remember the name of an old aunt you were introduced to at a family party twenty years ago.

“Someone’s running interference,” I realized. I said to Cyrus, “A confusion spell. Someone besides the first magic-user is helping. He’s making sure no one finds out who’s casting these spells. It’s someone very powerful.”

Cyrus frowned. “More powerful than you?”

I was uncomfortable admitting it, but: “Maybe.”

Standing up from where he knelt by his friend, Cyrus pointed to the computer. “Well, they might be able to block us magically, but let’s hope they can’t hacker-wise. Chad was on his computer when this happened. He must have stumbled across something he wasn’t meant to see. Let’s hope whatever magic took him didn’t damage his system beyond repair.”

He picked up the boxy rectangle that was the blond-haired man’s computer and gave it a glance. “It might take a bit of time and work, but I just might be able to find out what he wasn’t meant to see.”

There came a pounding on the apartment door, and Cyrus and I both jumped. “Circuit breaker popped again,” we heard from the other side. “Chad? You home? I need to come in to fix it.” We heard the jangling of keys.

Cyrus yanked the computer free of its cords. “Get us out of here now!” he whispered.

I nodded and worked the spell. We were disappearing just as an older man came through Chad’s door . . . and then we were back in the building of the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters, standing next to the elevator bank downstairs.

We stood in silence for a moment, not sure of what to say next. Everything had happened so fast.

“I’ll see what I can do with this,” Cyrus said, indicating the computer with a slight lift.

“I’ll go back to my bar, see if anyone comes in. Maybe they’ll have information,” I said. “You never know when someone’s going to decide to brag or have heard someone else bragging.”

He nodded. “I’ll let you know if I get anywhere.”

“I’ll do the same.”

But neither of us left. We seemed to be silently circling the kiss and trying to figure out the best way to respond to it.

“Weird way to end the night, huh?” Cyrus finally said.

“Weird ending for a weird night,” I agreed quickly.

“Yeah.” Cyrus cleared his throat. “Just so you know, Fantazia . . . it exceeded expectations.”

My heart sped up. “Oh?” I said noncommittally.

“Yes, and it made me curious about other things.”

But before he could say anything else, the elevator doors dinged open. Wesley stood there. As soon as he saw me, his face changed to a mask of mixed hurt and pity. “Fantazia—”

“I’ve got to go,” I said quickly. “See you, Cyrus.” And I teleported myself home as fast as I could.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It seemed prudent to avoid my father for a bit after my meltdown. Heck, I needed to avoid all the members of the EHJ. God knows Wes probably told Lainey about what had happened. If he told Lainey, chances are good that she told Selena and Mindy, her two best buddies. And if Lainey told Mindy, Mindy definitely told Paul, being one of those women who feels the need to tell her husband everything. One of them probably told Toby, who probably turned around and told his boyfriend the politician, which meant chances were good the whole United States government knew I’d cried because Daddy replaced me. Granted, I wasn’t likely to meet any of the government, and I doubted they really cared, but I didn’t look forward to walking back into EHJ headquarters and getting looks of pity. Better to let a little time pass, let the heroes get wrapped up in their squabbles and their crazy villains of the week and have all thoughts of me go away. Just like usual.

I wasn’t sure how to act around Cyrus either. We’d shared that hot kiss at the end of a very bizarre and emotionally trying day. Maybe we’d both been a bit out of our heads, in our own particular dramas, and now that a little time had passed we would both feel a bit awkward. Or maybe we had just gotten the sexual tension out of our systems and could move forward as uninvolved acquaintances. At least, I assumed he felt one of those two ways. He hadn’t spoken to me since that night and it had been a few weeks.

I was sure he’d been busy. He was supposedly working on that computer of Chad’s, trying to unlock what exactly it was the poor guy saw before his brain got fried and his magic stolen; unsurprisingly it had been the exact same type of attack as took the Brothers of Power. And I’m sure if the EHJ needed someone extra for one of their battles he was called out of his hidey hole to go play the big hero, just as he seemed to enjoy these days. But we were supposed to be working this case together, damn it. Shouldn’t he have come to my bar by now to discuss our next move?

Okay, I’ll admit it. If I was really that into the case, I’d have hauled my little bum down to headquarters and barged right in. I wanted the magic thieves caught, sure, mostly for the sake of Emily. But this was really more about whatever was going on between myself and Cyrus. While I don’t have a lot of use for romance, I like it when a guy chases me. I like it when a kiss isn’t enough and he has to come back begging for more. On a rare occasion, I’d submit. I like to be the one with all the power. Throughout my past, it’s always been like that. This time, things just didn’t seem to be adding up.

I didn’t sit around on my hands and just wait for him to come back, though. I don’t wait for any man when it comes to business; never have, never will. I did a little investigating my way. I listened closer at the bar, to the whispers and the rumors. There still wasn’t much to go on, but an increasing number of stories were turning up of magic-users being attacked. This put me in a unique position. Just like usual, the lesser mages began coming to me for help. I did what they couldn’t with wards of protection, magical amulets and the like, all in return for their help. Now they were the ones scouring the city, tracking down rumors and innuendo, going to the sites of the attacks and trying to find the pattern.

Cyrus calls himself lazy? I’ve got him beat. But I get results.

Unfortunately, whoever was casting the confusion spell was doing a damn good job. The attacks were virtually untraceable; it was also impossible to find out where all of the power and the will were going. It had to go somewhere, but I’d be damned if I could figure out where. Seemingly nothing was being done with that power, so they were doing it for no apparent reason. All I was coming up with was these few facts: Someone was casting the magic of the attacks. Someone else—definitely a separate entity—was covering it up. I could only hope that Cyrus was further along. Of course, I wouldn’t know because he hadn’t come to see me and I was too stubborn to go to him. Especially not at EHJ headquarters.

Nope, I wasn’t going to the EHJ. Not now. I couldn’t bear to hear another stammered apology from the Reincarnist about how he’s forced to live multiple lives with multiple families. I know he feels guilty, but it seems more guilt at not caring as much as he should, like he knows he should regret hurting me more than he does. Not just me either, but all of my other half siblings. My father gets a fresh start every time. The rest of us don’t.

Intellectually I understand where he’s coming from. Hell, truth be told, maybe I’m a bit jealous that he gets an easy way out. He gets to age and die and start over again without any links to his past except his intellectual expertise. I don’t get that luxury. I have to remember everything that’s happened over my long life, and that includes Andrew, the guy I loved and couldn’t save, and Victor, the guy I loved that couldn’t handle my never growing old—those and every single other person I let into my heart only for them to inevitably leave.

My father, too. It’s a simple fact that with each passing life I become less and less of a family member and more and more just someone my father met a long time ago. Over the years, as his appearance and personality change, he becomes less and less my father and more of a guy I kind of knew way back when. If only that stopped those times where the little girl in me rises to the surface and, seeing that Daddy has moved on with his new family, just wants him to notice her again. He’s all I’ve got. I’ve lived so long there’s no one else left. The Reincarnist, no matter how forgetful or removed, is at least some link to the past. He sort of cared once.

God must have a strange sense of humor.

I sipped my drink and kept a wary eye on all my bar’s patrons. They were doing the same thing. The mood was definitely tense. I watched the familiar faces at the card game in the corner, each player giving the others worried glances over the tops of their cards. There were no more easy card games or conversations, just strained, going-through-the-motions awkwardness.

“Excuse me, madam,” one of my djinn servants said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Someone is here to see you.”

“Cyrus?” I looked around but didn’t see him. I tried not to acknowledge either my excitement at the thought of him or my deflation when it wasn’t.

“No, ma’am. Adam Grayson.”

It took me a moment to recognize the name. Howard’s grandson. Howard, my friend, one of the people who was playing cards the night Joseph first mentioned the magic-draining spells. Howard, who was also very powerful but who’d asked for my protection if it came down to it. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t say, ma’am, only that he wants to meet you in private.”

I nodded. “Give me a moment and then send him back.”

Moving to my VIP suite, I nodded to the djinn sentry. Taking a moment, I let myself fall back into character, into the person Adam expected to meet. I hadn’t been the same since hanging around Cyrus, especially after that kiss. Damn him.

“Adam, darling!” I purred as one of the djinn ushered him in. I opened my arms to receive him. He came forward hesitantly but let me embrace him. “Good to see you again.”

The tension was radiating off him, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or something else. He looked exactly as Howard had back in the day: tall, over six foot, with broad shoulders, wavy auburn hair, a sleek mustache and a distinct presence that made people sit up and take notice. It almost hurt to see him, because doing so brought back all my memories of Howard before age began to devour him. Back when I’d led him a merry chase and he’d willingly done the chasing.

There were differences I could see between Howard and his progeny. Where Howard had been loud and congenial, Adam was more reserved. “H-hello, Fantazia,” he said, looking about the room as if he expected something to jump out at him. “Granddad sent me.”

The pit of my stomach burned. I tried to remember if I’d seen him since the day Joseph and the others were attacked.

“Is everything all right?” I asked carefully. Maybe he was sick and needed a healing spell. But I quickly dismissed that idea; Howard was powerful enough to cast his own healing magic, and in the more major spells he could be assisted by Adam.

“I think so,” the young man said. “But he’s really upset about something. He’s been going on about it all day. Something to do with these attacks. He wouldn’t tell me—said it might put me in danger—but he wanted you to know the truth. He thought you might take care of it. He’s too worried to fight back on his own.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not sure I understand, Adam.”

Howard’s grandson looked around. “No one can hear us, right? What I say won’t go out of this room?”

I shook my head. “I put a silencing spell on it.”

He looked pointedly at the djinn guards. “What about them?”

There was another way in which they differed: Howard was never this much of a drama queen.

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “Boys, can you give us a moment?” I asked the djinn. They nodded and took themselves outside, though not so far that they couldn’t be summoned back.

“Now, we’re all alone and no sound is getting out of this room,” I said, realizing how scary that might sound under the right circumstances. But I didn’t fear Adam, only that he was never going to get to the point. “What does Howard want? What does he know about the attacks?”

Adam’s dark eyes bored into mine. “Who’s doing them. And he wants you to stop them.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Did he say who it is?” I asked Adam for the fifth time as he drove us toward Howard’s house in a gold-colored version of Lainey’s car, the PT Cruiser.

“He said it was safer for me to not know, that once you knew you could take care of it.”

Great, I was a superhero for the magic set all of a sudden? I briefly wondered what had changed that made them think I might sweep in to save the day. Granted, I was probably the most powerful of them, but when was the last time I’d done anything remotely heroic?

I turned back to Adam and said, “He couldn’t come to my place to tell me because it’s someone we both know.”

Howard’s grandson nodded. “He was afraid this person would see him there and suspect him. He apparently stumbled on something he shouldn’t have seen. He acted like he didn’t see anything, but if he suddenly shows up at your place—”

“This person will get suspicious. I get it. But, why couldn’t we just teleport to Howard’s?”

“Same reasons, I guess?” Adam blanched. “I’m as much in the dark about this as you are, Fantazia.”

I frowned. “If this is a trap, Adam, I will kill you.”

“He said you’d say that. He also said to say he’d never try to trick you. He values his life and my life too much to try.”

I smiled. That sounded like Howard.

We pulled up to a modest house in a nice section of town. It was a quiet, secluded neighborhood, away from the hustle and bustle that was Megolopolis proper, but still close enough that a trip to the city wasn’t too bad of a commute. The neighboring houses were all like Howard’s, well-worn but dignified and homey. They needed paint jobs or a new roof here and there, and the cars in the driveways were older makes, but everything was routinely maintained.

There were no nosy neighbors hanging around outside, no kids playing in yards. Somewhere off in the distance a lawn mower could be heard, and birds sang in the trees overhead while cicadas buzzed from somewhere hidden. No cars other than ours had pulled onto the street—which wasn’t enough to make me think anything was unusual, especially since I hadn’t been out and about this much for ages, but my brain was buzzing that something wasn’t right.

Adam seemed unaffected as he got out of the car. He headed for the door and knocked, and I got out of the car and looked around. Was it my imagination, or was it quieter here than was normal?

Adam knocked again. “That’s strange. He knew I was coming right back.” He tried the handle as I came to stand next to him. “Oh, good, he left the door open.”

Opening the door, he stuck his head in, yelling, “Granddad? I’m back!” He stepped through the door, paused and shivered briefly, like the air conditioner was a bit too cold, then continued on. “I brought Fantazia.”

As soon as I crossed the threshold and followed him inside, all of my nerves began burning, like someone had thrown an ice-cold bucket of water over me. I gasped and staggered back. Someone had set a massive concealing spell on this house, which was why everything seemed a bit too quiet. Someone was going out of the way to make sure no one noticed anything going amiss here. Was Howard this terrified, or was it something else entirely?

“Adam,” I whispered, calling him back. “Wait!”

He turned. “What?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“Someone’s been doing a lot of magic in this house. Also, that concealing spell we just walked through.” The atmosphere was so heavy it almost felt like a lightning cloud, and I had a vague taste of iron on the back of my tongue. That was never a good sign.

“Granddad probably cast it.” He didn’t look convinced.

He tiptoed to the door of the next room and through. There came a sharp intake of breath, so I hurried inside myself. The scene made me stare in horror. The atmosphere here was ten times as heavy, and I had a feeling that trying to switch on the television, lights or other technology in the room wouldn’t work. Someone had performed the same spell that I had witnessed with Donald and Chad. But that person hadn’t stopped there. Howard lay on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding his head like some sort of horrible halo.

He was making a horrible choking sound. His cane lay nearby, its heavy knob covered in blood.

“Granddad!” Adam wailed. He rushed to his grandfather’s body, half slipping in the blood, and made to reach for him.

“Don’t!” I cautioned. “Call the hospital.” But even as I spoke I knew it was way too late for human medicine. Possibly even magic.

Adam staggered to the other side of the room to pick up the phone. He immediately started telling someone on the other end of the line about his grandfather’s attack.

I knelt next to Howard and assessed the damage with a spell: a skull fracture and a crushed larynx, for starters—so he couldn’t tell what he knew. The assault had brought on a heart attack. Also, he’d had his magic drained. He was as bad as I’ve seen anyone in eons.

As I looked into his fading gaze, I knew he wasn’t long for this world no matter what I did. He was so far gone that I was amazed he’d lasted this long. It was a testimony to his strength.

“Howard,” I said softly, leaning close and trying to impart a feeling of calm. “It’s me. It’s Fantazia. You wanted me, I’m here.” I smiled, trying to act like nothing out of the usual was going on. “What did you want to tell me?”

His hazy eyes focused on me for a moment, but a choked noise came out of his throat. He couldn’t speak.

“Shh. Not that way. Like this.” I brushed a light hand over his lips and then traced a pattern lightly over his brow. Never mind the blood. “Unisci la mia mente alla tua.” My mind to yours.

I couldn’t tell how much damage had been done to his brain by the skull fracture, never mind the spell, but I stared right into his eyes, willing him extra clarity for this one last moment. Howard. Focus on me. Who attacked you?

The lizards corrupt.

I felt my heart sink. He was talking nonsense, like Donald.

Howard, I pressed. Who did the lizards corrupt?

Memory . . . I felt him start to drift away. He was going so quickly. I bit my lip in frustration, but someone less jaded would have cried.

Howard! I practically shrieked in his mind. Stay with me!

He wasn’t even sending me word-based thoughts now; I saw flashes, flickering pictures in his mind. Memories? Yes. I saw a flashback of a weekend he’d spent with me back when he was Adam’s age. I smiled. That had been a good time. Then there was a flash of him leaving me after that weekend, a slashing grin and a jaunty wave.

I understood the implication. Yes, I know you’ve got to go, I thought back gently. But before you go, tell me who did this to you.

Our connection was fading, going black around the edges. I got one last flash: someone at my bar, sitting at one of the tables—

There was a sudden glare of brilliant light; it seemed to sweep in and consume both Howard and me. I had a sense of happiness and peace . . . and then something tore it away from me. Its loss was like a sledgehammer of realization. It was perfect peace. It was the end of a life. It was something I would probably never experience.

I had the sense of Adam pushing me away from Howard’s side. I stumbled to my feet and made it to the trash can on the other side of the room, but then I heaved. A good friend of mine was gone, dead and traveling to someplace I’d never visit. And I’m not talking Heaven versus Hell, I’m just talking Peace. My insides were torn up from having lost yet another friend, and for that friend go in such a terrible and violent way. I also was jealous of his passing.

In the distance I could hear Adam crying, but I felt as disconnected from him as ever. Then the tension in the room expanded and there came the bright flash of a teleportation spell.

Four people stepped out: one woman and three men. All were pretty nondescript—you would pass them on the street without a second glance—and all were wearing simple black garments that left their arms exposed. They’d clearly dressed this way on purpose just to show off the markings of the Dragon, the tattoos they all took when they joined his service. The lizards corrupt, Adam had said. That was for damn sure.

My first thought was that my father was going to be weirdly pleased to be proven right; the Cult of the Dragon was behind this! My second thought, on the heels of the first, was that none of these was the leader. These were all obviously minions sent to do some dirty work. Since the Dragon was still locked away in the DarkLands, courtesy of my father, it couldn’t be he.

“Well, at least I know what the deal is with the magic stealing and the will draining now,” I announced. “You’re trying to gain enough power to perform a spell.” I shook my head. “Well, tell your boss this—he’s still not going to be powerful enough to let the Ancient Ones out.”

The female cultist gave me a nasty smile. “We’re not trying to skip ahead quite that far, love.”

Before I could reply, one of the men cast a spell. It was a blast of power strong enough to obliterate a normal magic-user, and it would have obliterated Adam if I hadn’t shielded him from it. This made me revise my previous assumption. Minions these might be, but our nameless enemy was sending out some heavy hitters.

The spell hurt me like hell.

I glared at the quartet. “Not powerful enough, junior.” And before he could say or do anything else, I unleashed on him the power he’d used on me.

He went down quick, his body convulsing as it hit the ground. The other three cultists scowled hatefully and launched attacks at the same time, magically dogpiling me. I gritted my teeth in concentration, managing to get a new shield up at the last possible second. The cultists were powerful, not a huge threat on their own, but working together they gave me a run for my money. My shield was weakening, and when it went down they might take me out of the game long enough to do to me what they’d done to Howard.

Would physical damage coupled with such powerful magical damage be enough to kill me? I wondered for a brief moment and, God help me, part of me remembered that moment of peace I’d seen of Howard’s and longed for the end. It had an effect on my shield. I dropped my guard just enough that the cultists pushed all the way through.

I began to sink to the ground, my mind shutting down in the face of all the pain. Off in the corner I dimly recognized Adam picking up his grandfather’s cane . . . He took a swing at the nearest cultist. The man’s head twisted back in a mix of blood and teeth. I felt the pressure of his magic vanish even as I saw Adam swing again at the second.

The female cultist seemed torn between helping her fellow members and continuing her assault. When it became evident that Adam wasn’t going to stop until the both her companions were down, she turned her attention to him.

“Fantazia, get out of here!” Howard’s grandson called out. A moment later she blasted the cane out of his grasp. He took the full brunt of her magical attack and went down.

The cultist’s head whipped in my direction. “Fantazia?” As if on cue, ambulance and police sirens started to wail; the help that Adam had called for was arriving. The cultist grabbed up her bloody friend and wobbled over to where the other two lay. With one last hateful glare, she teleported them all away.

For a moment I considered tracking her, considered magically giving chase, but jumping into a situation where I was vastly outnumbered and injured didn’t hold much appeal. My moment of suicidal contemplation gone, I now wanted to come back with reinforcements to avenge Howard. I wanted to find out which of my bar’s patrons was now working for the Dragon.

Unfortunately, we were dealing with my father’s archenemy. While that meant I could probably expect whatever help I possibly wanted, it also meant I’d have to talk to the EHJ again.

I cast a quick glance at Adam, who was still holding the bloodied cane, visibly shaking. Maybe I’d deal with the stuff here first.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After answering multiple questions from the police back at the site of Howard’s murder, I was emotionally drained but knew I still had work to do. Summoning all my courage, I popped back to the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters. I was ready for Wesley to give me an I’m-so-disappointed-in-you look for wandering off in a snit after I said I’d help out. I was ready for Cyrus to have returned to his normal self, tormenting me with heavy doses of sarcasm about my attitude, denying any feelings left over from whatever we’d shared. And the rest of the EHJ wouldn’t care less. No one would be welcoming me back with open arms.

Well, maybe Emily.

Instead of the “look what the cat dragged in” welcome I was expecting, I was met with something else entirely. The entire roster of the Elite Hands of Justice was gathered in their war room, all except Wesley. Computer monitors were everywhere, and they flashed in urgent supplication.

“Have you gotten in contact with anyone else?” Paul was barking orders like usual, good little leader that he is.

“Some, but nothing good,” Selena said, talking on a strange headset. “Everyone’s busy. There’ve been some riots. People are freaking out.”

“Nothing’s hit here so far,” Lainey said, looking away from one of the monitors and nudging Emily away from a keyboard. “I’m monitoring several channels, keeping an eye out.”

“If we need a presence out there, take Toby and go,” Paul said. “Don’t stop to ask, just go.”

Lainey nodded. “Anything from Forrest yet?”

Toby shook his head. “They won’t let me through to him.” He put his cell phone back to his ear. “No, this is not a personal call. I’m not calling as his boyfriend, I’m calling as a representative of the EHJ. Yes, I know he’s in a meeting. That’s why I’m calling. It’s a meeting we need access to. He’s not just the Presidential Secretary of Heroes, he’s also acting government liaison to the Elite Hands of Justice. We’re the Elite Hands of Justice. He needs to be liaising!” He rolled his eyes in frustration, barely even taking in the fact that I was watching from the background. “Bureaucrats.”

“Something going on?” I asked innocently. They all ignored me.

“Every team on the map is jammed up putting out fires or standing around waiting to see what happens, same as us,” Mindy said, a hand over her earpiece. “Once that message hit, everyone went into panic mode.”

“We’re going to need to put in calls to inactive members, then,” Paul decided. “We’re going to want all the help we can get if this thing goes the way I think it’s going. This is no time for their self-exploration nonsense, we’re going to need Sensei and Aphrodite back as soon as possible.”

Mindy stared at him. “You’re going to call Kate?”

He made a face. “No, you are.”

She gave him a look. “You’re going to make your wife call your ex-girlfriend?”

“Fine. Selena can call both of them.”

Selena gave him a sharp look. “I can call my ex, but you can’t?”

Paul threw up his hands. “Can’t we be grown-ups in the middle of a crisis?”

“Babe, what team have you been on for last twenty years?” Mindy asked.

Paul sighed. “Give me a headset.” When his wife tossed him one, he started dialing. “It’s going to take forever to track down where they’re both—”

“Luke was in Tibet last time I talked to him. Kate is still with her brother and sisters in Olympus,” Wesley said, appearing in the doorway. He moved quickly forward to stand in front of a man hunched over a computer to my left. Cyrus. His back was to me.

“Do they get cell phone service on Olympus?” Paul muttered.

“You can’t get phone service in my pocket dimension, so what makes you think you’d be able to reach Olympus?” I asked. They all ignored me.

“Any luck, Cyrus?” Wesley asked.

“Possibly, but it’s going to take a while.” He still had his back to me. “Whoever sent this is taking great pains so it can’t be traced.”

“Is the world ending?” I asked, just a bit louder than before. “Or can I interrupt with my own possible doomsday?”

Wesley stopped what he was doing and glanced at me. “We’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands right now, Fantazia.”

Cyrus swiveled in his seat to look at me. “Where have you been?”

I threw up my hands. “Where do you think I was? I was in my bar where I said I’d be. Where have you been?”

“Stuck here trying to break into Chad’s computer. At least, I was before this mess. Why didn’t you contact me?”

“Why didn’t you contact me?” I retorted. “This partnership thing works both ways, you know.”

“I was working!”

“So was I, in my way.”

“Sending other people to do your dirty work?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Exactly. And I’ve learned a thing or two.”

Cyrus gave me half a smile, which did strange things to me despite our argument. Strange, glorious things.

Paul interrupted. “Can you two not do whatever this is right now? Some of us are trying to work.”

“Yeah, what exactly is going on here?” I asked the EHJ leader. “You all look to be in crisis mode.”

“A few moments ago two messages were sent out across the Internet, radio and television stations,” Cyrus said, clicking several keys. “The first only hit a select number of systems. The last was broadcast worldwide.”

A hazy image came up on his monitor. It was a shadowy figure, hard to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice was obviously warped so as not to give any extra clues.

“I am working with an organization that plans to bring change to the world,” the figure announced. “Up until now, we have only targeted magic-users. That ends today. A few moments ago I sent out a broadcast. Those who saw it are probably lying in drooling masses on the floor somewhere, as you ordinary humans are a lot less sturdy than we magic-users.”

The figure paused for effect. Several of the EHJ glanced over to see my reaction before the mad magic-user continued.

“Do not fear! My associates want you to know that this sacrifice is not in vain. You droolers will help usher in a new world, an age beyond the ken of mortal men.” The figure chuckled, and the noise sounded even more twisted, electronically modified as it was. “That’s all well and good. I’m all for change and progress. But for me . . . ? Well, I’m a bit more capitalistic. So, here’s the deal. We’re going to have to make another withdrawal from the human race in order to usher in this new world, and I can take more of you than we really need. This first time I only hit 1 percent. Unless you want me to make it 50 percent of the world’s population, you’ll pay me the sum of five trillion dollars. You have until the end of the week.” The transmission ended.

I glanced at Cyrus. “What’s the first transmission?”

“Can’t show you,” he said. “Every ordinary human who so much as heard or glanced at it instantly went insane. It’s the same spell as before, kicked up a notch or twelve.”

“I’m not ordinary,” I said.

“They are.” He motioned to the EHJ surrounding us. “And they’re kind of necessary right now.”

“The government is trying to decide what to do next,” Wesley said. “And a number of criminal teams have sprung up to take advantage of the chaos.”

“We’ve got to go,” Lainey said, rising and pulling Toby along with her. “There’s a big mess downtown.”

She handed Emily off to Paul. The child whined but settled back down for her father, who came to collect her. “Be careful,” he said, pulling Lainey down for a kiss. I looked away so the display of affection wouldn’t burn my eyes.

“Always am,” Lainey said with a smile.

Toby tossed Paul his cell phone. “Forrest is going to be calling as soon as he knows what the government is planning.”

“Probably just going to pay the bastards off,” Wesley muttered.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s a good con,” Cyrus said. “Simple, direct . . . Get everyone into a state of panic by threatening to drive practically everyone mad, then offer to make it all go away for money. What’s five trillion bucks these days?”

I nodded. “Except, whoever’s working with this person will turn around and make people insane anyway.”

“Oh, of course,” Cyrus agreed. “That’s a given.” His eyes met mine for a moment and we shared a look of common understanding. We who have played for the wrong side of the law know something that heroes always have to learn the hard way: bad people just don’t fight fair.

“So, what did you find out?” Wesley asked, turning to face me. He looked tired. “Something brought you back here.”

I nodded. “I think I know who this organization is—the one this person’s helping.” I gestured to the now-blank computer screen. “You’re going to love it.”

Wesley frowned. “The Cult of the Dragon.”

“Yup. You know it. I was attacked by a group of them.”

“Someone attacked you?” Cyrus spoke up. Was it my imagination, or did he look concerned?

“They were able to attack you at your bar?” Wesley asked.

I shook my head. “No. A friend of mine contacted me, asked me to come to his place. Said he knew who was behind these attacks. He didn’t want to come to me because the culprit was supposedly someone I know, someone who hangs out at my bar. But—wouldn’t you know it—by the time I got to him he was dead. That was when the Dragon’s cronies attacked.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t drain you,” Wesley said.

“My bad-ass reputation scared them off,” I joked. “As soon as they heard who I was, they scattered to the four winds.”

I was hoping for a reaction, but Wesley just nodded, lost in thought and forgetting about the rest of us. “So, what are they doing it for?” he murmured.

“You heard yourself: it’s not all for one thing. Whoever’s casting the spells is in it for money,” I said. “The Dragon’s people are in it for something else entirely. I figure they want to bring back the Ancient Ones.”

Wesley scoffed. “There’s no way they can. Even if they do get all of the energy from 50 percent of the world’s population, it’s still not going to be enough to open that portal.”

“Only the Dragon can, and only at the appointed time?” I said.

Wesley shook his head. “No. Only Emily can, only at the appointed time. That was the point of the Dragon’s spell. He can’t open the portal directly, just like he couldn’t cast the magic directly. He can only influence.” He looked down at Emily, who was sitting happily on his lap. She had no idea we were talking about her destiny.

“So they’re wasting their time?” Cyrus said.

“No.” I shook my head, coming to a sudden realization. “I made a mistake. The woman said they weren’t trying to get the Ancient Ones, but I didn’t believe her. I do now. They’re not trying to get the Ancient Ones out.”

Wesley eyed me, realizing the same thing. “No. They’re trying to get the Dragon out.”

“Can they do that?” Cyrus asked.

Wesley shrugged. “It’s possible. I put him away, but someone with enough power could breach the DarkLands wards and free him. That’s why they’re amassing the power: a giant jailbreak.”

We all let that information sink in.

“So.” I surveyed the two of them. “What’s next?”

“We’ve got to find Hacker’s location,” Wesley said. “Stop him before he or she or anyone else can use that magic and willpower they’re draining to open the door for the Dragon.”

“Wait. Hacker? Is that what this person’s calling him or herself, or what you’re calling them?”

“That’s the name they used in the broadcast,” Cyrus said.

I sniffed. “Even I know how completely unoriginal that is.”

“No one ever said us tech types were creative when it came to aliases.”

“I noticed—Virus,” I teased.

“You’re one to talk—Fantazia.” But his eyes twinkled.

“If we find his location, we can put a stop to his spell,” Wesley said, deftly ignoring the strange flirtation going on under his nose.

I looked at him. “Only this new spell, right? There’s no way of undoing the damage that’s been caused so far.”

“She’s right,” Cyrus said. “There’s no way of restoring the magic that’s been stolen.”

“No. But the will, the life energy that was taken from people—that was taken through magical means and can be restored to its proper owners,” Wesley replied.

I glanced at him. “Only if we put a stop to the caster. Permanently. Even if we capture him. You’re endorsing that we kill this person, no matter the outcome?”

He met my gaze. I shivered, though his expression was perfectly bland. “If it’ll put a stop to the plan to bring back the Dragon, yes.”

I couldn’t hide my disbelief. “You, who lead the most righteous hero team in the country, one that definitely lives by the ‘Thou shalt not kill’ line? You want to kill at all costs?”

Wesley sighed. “I should have killed the Dragon when I had the chance. I chose benevolence, and look where that’s gotten us.”

I don’t know how benevolent it is to lock someone away in the DarkLands, a place that would gave Dante’s depiction of Hell a run for its money, but I didn’t say anything. Nor did I mention the fact that I didn’t like what was lurking behind my father’s eyes.

“Why don’t we worry about finding Hacker first?” Cyrus interrupted. “Then we can debate the ethics of killing him.”

“Who’s debating?” I said grimly. “I was just a little surprised.”

Cyrus nodded. “So, I’m not sure, but I think what Chad found is an early version of the transmission Hacker sent—the ‘virus,’ if you will. If it’s pure enough, I can try to trace it back to its source.”

“You can’t do that with what was broadcast today?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Blocked.”

“Of course.” I sighed. “What about just finding the Dragon’s cultists? Can’t we go grab a few, bust some heads?”

Wesley looked displeased. “We could grab some low-level slobs who won’t know anything, but I doubt we’ll get anyone valuable. They move their central location often enough to stay hidden from us. They’ve definitely moved after this. They’ll expect us to be looking for them.”

“I love a good dead end.”

Paul rushed up. Addressing Wesley, he said, “We’re going to have to go out there. Toby and Lainey need us. A group of villains are teaming up, taking advantage of the panic. I happen to know Doctor Chaos and Assault-R are already wreaking havoc in Covo City.”

“So we’re getting little time to deal with the Dragon cult. It’s a little tough when crisis after crisis keeps piling up. I suppose that’s the idea.” Wesley sighed and handed Emily to me. “Stay here and take care of her. Remember, she’s their ultimate goal. There’s always a chance they’ll come for her.”

“No one’s ever going to forget that, least of all me,” I said.

Mindy sighed. “I’ll be battle coordinator. As always.”

“You want me out there?” Cyrus asked.

“No. Stay here and see what you can do about tracking down either Hacker or the Dragon cult,” Wesley said. “You’re our best chance.”

“But keep a communicator on just in case,” Paul commanded; then he and Wesley headed out.

“This is such a mess,” Mindy said. Toby’s cell phone rang, and she snatched it up. “Forrest! What did you find out?” She motioned to the monitors and looked at Cyrus, who nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. She walked out into the hallway, talking on the phone.

I glanced at Cyrus. “I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”

He winked. “Admit it—you love it. The danger of being associated with a group of heroes is that we get sucked into all of their crazy misadventures.”

Didn’t I know it.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day I allowed myself to get so tangled up in this crap.” I shook my head. “See what happens when you do someone a favor and let them crash at your place?”

He laughed. “Hey, I was kidnapped by the EHJ so I couldn’t tell where they were hiding out, remember?”

“I think they prefer the term ‘detained.’ ” I turned my attention to Emily. “Honey, why don’t you go play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to Cyrus? Then I’ll be right in to check on you.” I needed a moment to express my concerns, and somehow, some way, Cyrus had become my confidant. Maybe it was the sexual tension that kept creeping up between us. Or maybe it was as he said before: he was the closest thing I had to a friend.

My sister nodded. “Kay, Fay!” She toddled off, hopefully not to get into too much trouble.

“From bartender to babysitter,” I said with a sigh. “Where did I go wrong?”

“I think it’s more: ‘where did you go right?’ ” Cyrus said. “You’re being a hero. I think this has been good for you, Fantazia, getting back in touch with society again. Doing what you can to help the EHJ. Hanging around me.”

I glanced up at him and saw he was watching me with a warm glint in his eyes. Unbidden, my mind went back to that hot kiss we’d shared and my stomach flipped. He wasn’t the usual kind of guy I flirted with, and maybe that was why wanting to kiss him led me into dangerous territory: the attraction wasn’t just my simple need for male attention but was something different, something deeper.

I eyed him. “You’re a good influence now, Cyrus?”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I think the EHJ are good influences, when they’re not bickering amongst themselves. I’d go as far as to say that they’ve made you better. You’ve become much more . . . I don’t know, real, since all of this started. When I first started coming to your place, you were more like some mythical goddess than a human being.”

I chuckled without humor. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

He smiled at that. “A tricky goddess. But since all of this started, you’ve gradually come down from your pedestal. Got back in touch with us mere mortals. Made friends that you aren’t trying to use, friends you’re actually trying to help save the world. It’s surprisingly noble.” He moved a bit closer to me, his voice lowering into a more intimate growl. “And, more importantly to me . . . you’re more real now. Even if I happen to know you’ve got some pretty impossible powers.”

“I-I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” I said. I never liked feeling vulnerable, and that’s how I was feeling now, although with a healthy bit of lust, too.

“Trust me, it is a good thing,” he said, meeting my eyes.

Uncomfortable with whatever passed between us in that moment, I looked down and said, “Is this what happened to you, too? You, who used to take what you could get in whatever way you could get it? You’re fighting for the same noble cause. Do you remember how that happened, exactly?”

He shrugged lazily, staying near me. “What can I say? I drank the Kool-Aid. Becoming a part of something like this, a group that’s not just a team but also friends and family who come together to fight for something better, even when it’s not in their personal interests and will probably get them killed . . . It’s made me happier, like I think it’ll make you happier. And—God, I hate to say this, but you’re right: I do like playing hero in the hopes that Sabrina will see me and somehow know. I . . . I want her to someday be proud of her dad instead of sickened.”

I was surprised he shared that with me, since I had sort of come down on him last time we talked about it. Tearing him down was the last thing I wanted, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know that yet. I also wasn’t ready to drink his Kool-Aid.

I took a deep breath and admitted, “I don’t know how much happier I’ll be, feeling like I have a responsibility to these people. Hell, I already feel that way.”

He grinned. “Thinking of joining the club?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just starting to realize that I need to keep a watchful eye on this team, because eventually this will all go pear-shaped.”

He laughed without humor. “You’re an incurable optimist.”

I shook my head, fixing him with a serious glint in my brown eyes. “I’m a realist. And I’ve been around long enough to know how this will all turn out. Everything’s fine and dandy, and it will be . . . until something goes horribly wrong. Then, even the closest of friends turn on each other. Why do I want to sign on for that?”

Cyrus threaded his fingers together in frustration, and I felt all the sexual tension that had been building vanish from the room. “Still waiting for the other shoe to drop, huh? The EHJ have fought people like the Hacker before. Hell, they’ve even fought the Dragon. They won. They’ll come through this okay.”

“It’s not just ‘this.’ ” I sighed. “I just don’t trust people. The EHJ mean well, and they will continue to do so until things start going bad for them personally. What if Paul has to choose between himself and the world . . . or Mindy and the world? What if Lainey does? And no matter how this battle turns out, the final test is still a long ways off. It’s not going to end here. It’s not going to end until Emily has her day and decides to choose good or evil. Then what?”

“Didn’t know you believed in prophecies, Fantazia.” Cyrus seemed to be taking my points more seriously, and not just taking everything as me being a pessimist.

“This one I do. Wesley does, too. He’ll do anything to protect Emily; you heard him. He’s ready to kill this Hacker just to protect her.”

Cyrus nodded. “As it should be. A man should protect his daughter.”

I fought back pain. “Yes, I know what you did for yours and I respect it, as I already said. And Wesley’s going to be just the same. But just wait until someone like, I don’t know, Mindy dies in some fight with the Dragon, likely trying to protect Emily. How do you think Paul’s going to feel? How’s that kid she’s carrying going to feel, knowing her mom died because the boss was fixated on protecting his daughter? This team’s eventually going to be at each other’s throats, because at some point everyone’s for themselves. Why do I want to sign on for something that’s eventually going to rupture?”

Cyrus shook his head. “It’s just not like that, Fantazia. These are heroes. That’s the point! For one thing, it’s not just about protecting Emily, it’s about protecting the whole world. Everyone’s working together. They’ve committed to something bigger.”

I sighed. “There’s nothing bigger to Wesley. Didn’t you see the look in his eye?” I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Cyrus’s face was a mask of denial, so I said, “Never mind all of that. I don’t know why I’m arguing. I’m not bailing on anything; I’m just worried about the outcome. I’m worried about Emily first and foremost, since she’s just a kid. Let’s think about how this will all turn out for her. Wesley is so determined to keep her on the straight and narrow because he’s worried about the Dragon influencing her. Can you imagine how her childhood is going to be? Someone’s going to have to be there for her. Someone not under her father’s power.”

Cyrus looked amused. “And that’s Fay’s job? Assuming we all survive this current attack?”

I nodded. “I’m beginning to see that it is. It’s going to have to be. This team needs someone outside to keep an eye on them. To remain objective.”

“So, you’re not planning on moving into the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters anytime soon. Even if we beat this cult.”

I shook my head. “No. But I can’t go back to hiding away in my own little world anymore either.” God, how I hated that fact, but it was true.

Seeing the way he was looking at me, I put on a fake pout. “Being a responsible person sucks.”

“It took a long time for both of us to grow up, Fantazia.”

“Some of us longer than others,” I murmured.

He smiled. Suddenly, all his warmth and attraction were back. “We’re getting there.”

Mindy walked back into the room. “Kate just called, and she’s on her way to help out in the field. Luke’s hopping the next flight back.” She gave us a wan smile. “Prepare for the tension around here to jump ten notches. Too many exes, and too little space. Everyone’s going to be thinking of their own personal awkwardness in the situation.”

I looked at Cyrus but said nothing.

Cyrus shook his head. “C’mon, give us some credit, Mindy. You’re all too mature to let that get to you. There are bigger fish to fry.”

Mindy gave him a dubious look. “What planet have you been living on?” She shook her head. “Ah, for the naivety of the new guy.”

I laughed, feeling the same way. “You two have fun. I’m going to go check on Emily, make sure she hasn’t torn the place apart.”

“Hey, Fantazia,” Cyrus called as I turned and headed for the hallway. I stopped so he could catch up.

“What?”

“It probably doesn’t mean much, but I was just going to say that I’m glad to hear that you’re going to be sticking around. I mean, at least you’re not going back to your pocket universe. Not right away.”

“You mean you like having someone around to argue with, someone to remind you of your criminal past so you won’t get a swelled head? No problem. I can oblige.”

He laughed. “Well, that, too. It’s just nice . . . having you around. That’s all.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. The attraction was still there, as strong as ever, but now didn’t seem a time to do anything about it. I wondered if there would ever be a time. “Thanks. Let’s not make a big thing about it, especially not in front of Wesley or the others. I want my reasons for sticking around to stay quiet. Just keep it between you and me, okay? You’ll be the only one unsurprised when I’m available next time there’s a world crisis.”

His smile grew. “Sharing secrets with me and only me now, huh? Oh, how the times have changed.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

“And you haven’t tried to seduce anyone lately.”

“I could if you like,” I said, dropping back to the breathy, flirty voice I’d once used so often to get what I want, and tossing back my long, dark hair. “From whom would you like information?” I definitely wouldn’t mind if he named himself my target.

He winced at the return of sexpot me. “Please don’t.”

I laughed, watching him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge what he was thinking, and more importantly, how he felt about me. I knew he didn’t like the sexpot version, but how did he feel about this one? After a moment I said, “There are still parts of me that are bad, Cyrus. It was never all just an act.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. You’re still plenty scary, Fantazia.”

I shook my head, fixated on his glittering blue eyes. There was a slice of green in those depths, just around the pupil. How had I never really noticed how gorgeous they were, how they crinkled at the edges when he smiled, how that smile made me feel like I was the only woman in the world? My heart was thudding in my chest and I could no longer hold back. “I didn’t mean that. What I meant was . . . I’m still capable of doing something like this.” And in a quick movement I leaned forward, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to me. My lips met his.

His surprise was obvious from the tension in his body, but he recovered a lot quicker than I expected. For a moment I was afraid he would take it the wrong way and push me away, but then his posture changed from one of surprise to one of command. He turned, putting my back against the wall, not letting me escape. His kiss turned from one of shock into one of barely contained passion, something at the edge of control. His hands slid down my body, setting every bit he touched on fire, and I had the sudden insane notion of jumping into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist. Instead, I settled for pressing my body into his, angling every curve so that I fit against him just right and giving a little moan of need.

He tore away from my lips at that moment, and his mouth went to my neck, dropping light kisses there and nuzzling my jawbone, making me gasp. His hands went to other, more interesting places. “Why are you doing this to me?” he growled hotly into my ear.

“What is it that I’m doing?” I asked, my head spinning. Although, pressed against him like this I had some notion of my effect.

“Tormenting me like this.”

“This is torment?” I pulled his head upward to kiss him again, pushing my tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste all of him.

“You’re not . . . This is . . .” He pushed me to arm’s length so I would stop kissing him and he could form a coherent sentence. He looked as dazed by lust as I. “It’s not nice to tease the computer geek, Fantazia, into thinking this is actually going to happen.”

“It’s not?” I asked quietly. “Who says?”

Whatever his response was going to be, it was drowned out by the voice suddenly screaming in my head: Fantazia, I need your help!

I groaned, futilely throwing my hands over my ears. “Jesus, London!”

Cyrus eyed me. “This is an interesting way of distracting me.”

I gave him a dark look, wincing. “No, someone is telepathically screaming in my ear!”

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what they all say.”

I ignored him and concentrated on London. What’s wrong? What do you need help with?

Coming for me . . . Hacker’s coming for me. He knows I know. Please find me. She faded out.

“London? London!” I called, also trying to reach her telepathically.

“What was that all about?” Cyrus asked.

“London, one of the people who hangs out at Memory Plague. You know her, I’m sure.”

He shook his head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Woman that dresses like a Victorian Gothic undead?”

“Oh, her.” He nodded. “What did she want?”

“Says the Hacker is after her because he knows she knows—who he is, what his big scheme is . . . I don’t know, she didn’t say. But she wants me to come to her.”

Cyrus looked doubtful. “Let me get this straight. Just a little bit ago you went to another magic-user’s house, at his request, because he knew who was behind these attacks and was afraid of that person coming after them.”

I nodded.

“When you get there he’s dead, and you get jumped by Dragon cultists.”

“Basically, yes.”

“Now you’re getting another call from another magic-user who wants you to come find her because she knows who’s behind the attacks and is afraid that person’s coming after her?”

I nodded again.

“So . . . you know it’s a trap, right?”

“Oh, definitely.” I rubbed my hands together. “And I can’t let a good trap go to waste.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“It’s possible they’re trying to lure you in to drain you,” Mindy said. I’d gone to let her know what I was planning, and to make sure Emily got the protection she needed. She was trying to get me to wait until the others came back.

I nodded. “It’s possible.”

“It’s possible they want to kill you like your friend.”

I laughed. “They’re welcome to try. We all know how hard that is to accomplish.”

Cyrus frowned and said, “You’re not taking this seriously, Fantazia.”

“I am,” I replied. “I’m just ready to go and get this over with and not sit here and obsessively plan it.”

Cyrus and Mindy exchanged looks of exasperation. Emily just furrowed her brow and frowned at me.

“Fay go bye-bye?”

“Yep, gotta go help someone—like your mommy and daddy do on a regular basis.”

“Unlike your mommy and daddy, Fay’s rushing in without thinking,” Cyrus said to the little girl. He turned to me and said, “If you’re knowingly walking into a trap, you’ve got to plan ahead.”

“Like you planned ahead for your various schemes?”

Cyrus threw up his hands. “And look where it got me! Jail time, for starters.”

“Look, I have to go,” I said. “I’m not scared of the Dragon or his little groupies. People like that want you to fear them; they get off on it. I’m not going to give them what they want. I’m going to help London. If it’s a trap—and it most likely is—then I’m going to fight my way out. I may win, I may lose, but I don’t have time to wait around for backup.”

“Take Cyrus,” Mindy said. “You can’t knowingly walk into a trap without any help. That’s, like, self-defense 101.”

“Too bad I’m not a hero and didn’t go to school for it like the rest of you people,” I retorted. “If Cyrus goes with me, I might not find London. What if they’re using her as bait for me alone? Think of the information I might miss. Or, what if they attack and Cyrus is caught in the crossfire?”

“You’re concerned for my well-being?” Cyrus asked. I detected a hint of hope in his voice amid the incredulity.

I ignored him and continued. “There’s also the vague possibility that this isn’t a trap. What if London really does need my help because someone’s coming after her, but she won’t tell me what it is if I show up with Cyrus? Again, no information for us.”

“Uh, just ask Cyrus to go and wait outside.”

“Seriously?” Cyrus said. He looked annoyed.

“You could always take one of my transporters,” Mindy mused. “Then you can transport out if things get hairy, or maybe have Cyrus transport in if you need him.”

“I can do the same thing with a teleportation spell,” I pointed out. “Of course, if I really need help, I won’t have hands free to push buttons, work spells or any of that kind of thing. So I better get going. Alone.”

Cyrus’s eyes brightened. “I’ve got it! This is what we do. Mindy, do you have a spare communicator lying around? One of those really tiny ones?”

Mindy nodded. “There’s one in the weapons cabinet, left over from when either Kate or Luke was still working here. I’ll just take a look.” She went over to what looked like a closet on the other side of the room and opened it up to reveal all sorts of crazy devices, some that looked like weapons and others that looked like computers mixed with toaster ovens. She dug around for a while before coming up with a small black box. “Here you go. One communicator.”

“Can you lock it so that it’s continuously transmitting?” Cyrus asked, watching her gently lift what looked like a clear stamp out of the box. It hung delicately from one of her fingertips.

“Yeah, I think so. The programming will only allow a one-way conversation, though. She’ll only be able to talk and not hear us.”

“That’s okay. Like she’d listen to us anyway.” I childishly stuck out my tongue at him, but he just winked and added, “We can use this to monitor the situation. If we hear something bad going on, I can jump in there and lend a hand. This way we don’t have to scare her friend, and we don’t have to hurt her ego about being the biggest, baddest, lone-wolf magic-user in the world.” He gave me an amused look.

Mindy nodded. She brushed my hair back and placed the square of plastic behind my ear, just below the lobe. “It sticks to the skin,” she said. “Usually you’d push the button to talk and then release it to listen, but I’ll fix that.”

She messed around for a few more moments, pushing the device on my ear, then holding up what looked like a small phone and pointing it at my head. Pushing buttons on it, she frowned. Finally she nodded. “Looks good.”

Her voice was echoed in the speaker near one of the monitors lining the room. As I moved a bit closer, it squealed with feedback.

“Definitely working,” Cyrus said, holding his ear in pain. He motioned to me. “Go on, do what you gotta do. But be careful. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a shout.”

“Are you concerned about my well-being now?” I teased.

He gave me a long look. “If I say yes, would you hold it against me?”

“ ‘It’?” I asked. “Which bit of me’s that?” He just stared at me, so I shook my head and said, “I’d never do that.”

“Then, yes.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Be careful.”

It was oddly comforting, that kiss, in the wake of the one we had just shared in the hallway. This gentle display of affection was like a glass of cold water on a hot day, and I enjoyed it for a moment, then glanced over to see Mindy openly gaping. It had probably been a shock for her to see us go from good-natured bickering to whatever this current interaction was. It was a bit of a shock to me, too.

She noticed me eyeing her and looked down, as if the computer monitor in front of her was the most interesting thing ever.

I was touched by Cyrus’s comments and gesture but tried not to make a big deal of them. “What’s the big deal?” I said. Though I didn’t believe it, I added, “I’m not that easy to kill, and this is probably just London overreacting. The EHJ will spank both the Dragon and this Hacker person and we’ll all be laughing about this over drinks in no time.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Mindy said. “Be careful, Fantazia.”

I gave them both a mock salute and cast my teleportation spell.

The next thing I knew I was standing in the hallway of an apartment complex. London’s apartments. She was a player in the magic community, but somehow this hadn’t translated into wealth—either that or she was cheap and didn’t spend any of her profits. She lived in a small, cramped and dirty building that was once an old hotel and restaurant. I’d heard her say once that pretty much all the developers did to make it residential was knock out a wall or two between hotel rooms and replace the extra bathroom with a mini fridge and a tiny stove.

The hallways were barely lit, and there were dark stains on the carpets that could have been dirt but were more likely blood or vomit. The walls seemed paper-thin: I could hear a television blaring from one room, a baby crying from another and a couple screaming at each other in a third. The smell of boiled cabbage permeated the air, and I took a deep breath and held it, trying to keep from breathing too much of the noxious fumes.

I headed toward the apartment that was London’s. No matter what I had told Cyrus and Mindy, I’d purposely teleported myself one floor below, so I could get my bearings and not leap directly into the fray. No one was roaming the hallways on this floor, so I went to the stairwell and pushed open the heavy door.

It clanged shut behind me, the bang echoing off the concrete walls, and sickly fluorescent lighting did nothing to help the ambience. I headed up the stairs, keeping a wary eye out. I heard someone walking around above, but they disappeared out of the stairwell and into the complex. I shrugged and gently pushed open the door to London’s floor, giving a quick glance out before entering the hall.

“So, why are you calling her, then?” a woman shouted, and it was then that I noticed a couple standing at the end of the hallway.

“It wasn’t anything! Why are you making a big deal about it?” the man yelled back.

They continued fighting as I walked to London’s door, still on my guard. Seemingly, the only people around were the bickering couple, but the hair on my neck was still standing on end.

I knocked once, then a bit louder so London could hear me over the argument. I glanced over at the angry couple, who now seemed to be in some sort of embrace. “That was fast,” I muttered, and took advantage of the silence to knock again.

There came movement from inside the room. Was London really in trouble? What if an assailant/murderer had already shown up? What if someone had already used the Afieral spell on her? Why had I wasted time talking to Cyrus and Mindy?

I was about to blast the door off its hinges when I could hear the sounds of turning locks. The door opened to reveal an extrapale London. “You came.” She looked shocked, but her voice betrayed nothing.

“Well, yeah. You called. You screamed in my head, to be more precise.”

She winced. “Sorry about that. I panicked.” She stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Thanks. Nice neighbors you’ve got here,” I said as I passed.

I gave a quick look around her place. Standard cheap apartment: a medium-size living room, a hallway that likely led to a kitchen, another that likely led to the bedroom and bath. London seemed to go for the minimalist approach; she had a couch against one wall, a television against the opposite and not much else. The back of the room was probably designed to be the dining area, considering the light fixture that purposely seemed to hang low to light a table, but there was nothing but a small bookshelf with a few books.

Considering I could see most of the small place from where I stood and I sensed no particularly strong emanations of evil magic, it seemed a safe assumption that no Dragon cult members were lurking about. There couldn’t be that many places for them to lie in wait, not in here. So, maybe there was no trap and I was just being superparanoid.

Yet, how much of a coincidence was it that I’d gotten Howard’s call and fought the cultists at the same time Hacker had come out with his message? Then London gives me a distress signal when I’m probably the absolute last person she would naturally turn to for help? No. There weren’t enough coincidences in the world for that to be possible.

“Oh, yeah, the neighbors. Never a dull moment.” London gave me a wan smile as she shut the door. I listened for the sound of turning locks but didn’t hear any. So, at least I wasn’t locked in. Maybe she’d thought that would raise suspicion.

She seemed extra fidgety, like she was on edge after drinking one too many espressos. She seemed to be unable to look me in the eye.

“So, who is he and what does he ‘know that you know’?” I asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. There was no sense dancing around, making small talk and waiting for the trap to be sprung. I was ready to deal with whatever was coming.

London winced at my directness. Too bad. I didn’t want to play games with her, watch her hem and haw around. “It’s about that guy, the Hacker that transmitted those messages earlier this morning. Him.”

I nodded, not wanting to wait any longer. “Go on. So, who is it?”

She hesitated. I ground my teeth. She’d started this, taken the situation this far, and now she didn’t want to spill? What the hell was she playing at?

“Goddamn it, London, tell me what you know!” I exploded. I made sure to put a bit of magic in my exhortation, too. The light fixture at the back of the room rattled, and the room’s illumination brightened and dimmed. London’s eyes darted to and fro. She looked paler than usual, if that was even possible.

“It’s Dylan,” she blurted. “Dylan’s the Hacker.”

I stared at her in shock. “Dylan? Our Dylan? From the bar?” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “He’s nothing to be scared of. He isn’t smart enough to make any sort of take-over-the-world plans, and even if he is, he isn’t powerful enough to pull them off. There’s no way he’s powerful enough to scare you like this . . .” I stared her down. “Or to kill Howard in cold blood.”

Her eyes bulged out of their sockets. “He’s killed Howard?”

I shrugged, acting nonchalant and unaffected though I felt anything but. Better she think I was still above that kind of thing.

“Howard called me earlier, panicking. Much like you,” I said, frowning. “And then he was dead and there were a few of the Dragon’s men showing up.” I cocked my head. “Anything you want to tell me, London?”

London blanched. “No. But if Howard’s dead, I’m surely next.”

I laughed without mirth. “Jesus, listen to you people! It’s Dylan! For God’s sake, Dylan couldn’t cast a high-level spell if his life depended on it. He’s never shown any sort of techno magic that I’m aware of.” At the same time I made a mental note to ask Cyrus later. With luck he was listening in on this conversation back at EHJ headquarters, taking the initiative and looking up everything to be learned about the guy. Because, as much as I was blowing smoke, it was beginning to sound like I didn’t know Dylan as well as I thought.

London shook her head forcefully. “You don’t understand. He’s different now, Fantazia. He’s hooked up with some really scary people. Powerful people. They’ve boosted his magic a hundredfold.”

“Someone’s helping Dylan grow stronger? Who? Why would anyone do that?”

“I-I don’t know. All I know is that it’s happening.”

“Well, all I know is that I’m going over there to hurt him—badly,” I said. Then: “Portami da Dylan.”

I cast the spell to take me directly to him, but nothing happened; I was somehow blocked. Someone was taking high-level precautions, and I was willing to bet it wasn’t Dylan. His mysterious benefactors had great power at their disposal.

London saw the shock on my face and realized, “You can’t get to him. They’re protecting him, aren’t they? You can’t find him, he’s hiding somewhere where nothing can detect him. He just shows up when he wants to take someone’s power. They’ve somehow gifted him with techno-mage powers, which I didn’t even know was possible. You know as well as I do that he never used to be able to cast that kind of spell, but he can now. He can now . . .”

Tears welled up in her eyes, which was scary in and of itself. I’d never seen London cry.

“I was with Joseph’s brother when Dylan came for him,” she continued. “W-we’d been seeing each other for a while. It was even starting to get serious. Poor Johnny.”

I know my mouth dropped open at that. London and Johnny? The Victorian Goth queen who never smiled and the most happy-go-lucky Brother of Power? No way!

Her body was racked by sobs. “He didn’t stand a chance. We were at his place when Dylan showed up. Alone. Dylan took Johnny out alone—one of the Brothers of Power for God’s sake! He took him down without so much as an eyeblink. Just said a few words and everything in the room—the television, the CD player, the video game system, hell, probably even the microwave and the toaster oven—everything just seemed to be draining him. His magic, his life, everything.”

She made a small keening noise. “It was horrible. And I was just paralyzed, I couldn’t do anything to help him or to stop Dylan. He just stepped over Johnny’s body when he was done and came at me, grabbed me by the hair.” She shuddered. “I thought for sure he was going to rape me or something, but he just held me so that I had to look him in the eyes and he said, ‘Bet you wish you were nicer to me now, don’t you?’ When I said yes, he laughed and let me go. He said he was going to let me go for old time’s sake and to show he had some mercy—at least for now. But he wasn’t going to be as generous with everyone. And he didn’t want me to tell anyone.” She twisted the skirt of her long dress in her hands. “Johnny’s still in a coma and no one expects him to ever come out of it.”

“Well, it sounds like you were lucky he didn’t drain you, too,” I said, still waiting for the shoe to drop, for her to spring the trap. “Why do you think he let you go, London?”

Her eyes darkened, as if she realized that I didn’t wholly believe her and was playing along for some other purpose. “Why do you think, Fantazia?”

“I think he left you alone so that he could use you later. Like, for luring an unsuspecting and very powerful acquaintance into a trap by begging and groveling for her help.” I flashed an evil smile. “Because you believe there’s no way I could resist groveling.”

All the fire remaining to London seemed to leave her. Her body visibly sagged, and she nodded. “You’re right. But you know that already, don’t you? You always know everything. You’re always right, Fantazia.” She said the last with bitterness.

I shrugged. “It’s a gift.” Though not always a happy one.

London looked me in the eye. “Well, you’re right. He finally got to me. Got to my family, to be more precise. He said he’d kill my sister and my niece and nephew if I didn’t trick you. My niece is three, and my nephew’s just a baby. I couldn’t let him hurt them, Fantazia. I had to do what I could to protect them. I know you don’t understand that, but—”

“Oh, I understand all right,” I snapped. “Dylan wants to kill me to prove how big and bad he is, and he’ll use anyone he can to do so. I get it. I’m the biggest and baddest, so naturally I’m a target. If I wasn’t, I think I’d feel slightly insulted.”

She shook her head. “If he had his way, he’d leave you alone. That’s what he said, at least. He’d stay far away from you. But it’s not him in charge, I guess. He said one of his associates needs you and he has to fulfill his end of the bargain. I’m just the go-between.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “The Dragon?” What did the Dragon need with me?

“I-I don’t know who. Dylan never said.”

London reached out a hand, and I took a step back to stay out of her reach. She looked hurt, but too bad. You don’t get to set me up and then get all touchy-feely afterward because you’re guilt-ridden.

“I don’t know if you’ll believe me or not, but I’m sorry, Fantazia. I truly am. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want my family to be safe.”

“You’re right, London. I don’t believe you,” I said. “But I always knew everyone’s out for themselves.”

For a moment I thought she was going to cry. Then I heard the door open behind me, and I whirled to see who’d come in. The couple arguing in the hallway now stood there, smiles on their faces and the Dragon’s brand on their arms. So it looked like the Dragon had decided that he needed my specific magic for his nefarious plan.

I glanced at London, keeping my back to the wall. “You were worried about Dylan and his cronies, London, but did you ever worry what would happen if you crossed me?” Her eyes went wide, and I could tell that she was just realizing she’d made a powerful enemy if I made it through this. She’d better hope I didn’t.

I turned dismissively away from her, illustrating how little a threat she was in my eyes. Instead I focused on the cultist couple. “I suppose you two are going to try to steal my magic for the glory of your boss?”

The woman shook her head, surprising me. “Nothing of the sort. You are needed elsewhere. We were called to bring you in.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Bring me where, exactly?”

“To see our boss. Well, one of them, anyway,” said the man. “Your presence has been requested. It would be better for everyone if you came willingly.”

“And if I don’t?”

He smiled, an expression of cold malice. “We were told to bring you in alive. It wasn’t specified that you be unharmed—or that your little EHJ friends are to be left unharmed. I don’t think our boss will mind if we mess with them. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Especially that sweet little girl?”

I bristled but tried not to show it. I wasn’t going to let them know they had anything on me. And yet, here clearly illustrated was another reason why I should never enjoy friends or family and should keep people at a distance: it’s harder to be leveraged with innocent victims and hostages when you’ve shown little affection for the human race.

I returned the male cultist’s malicious smile. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere with you willingly.”

He glared at me hatefully.

I turned to address both of them. “If you want me, you’re going to have to work for it. It sure as hell isn’t going to be easy to take me anywhere against my will, especially not alive. And there’s no way you two are going to be able to do it on your own.”

“Oh, we know that. And we’re prepared.” The woman snapped her fingers. “Boys!”

A portal opened and people began pouring out. There were too many to count, and they were rapidly filling up the tiny apartment. London shrank back in fear, sobbing. I found myself not caring what happened to her at the moment.

“This is so not good,” I said to myself—and to Cyrus back at the EHJ headquarters. “There are way too many of them and there’s no space to fight.” Looking at the group amassing in front of me, I commanded, “Tornate indietro.”

The Dragon’s minions staggered back as if shoved by an unseen force, but more were coming at every moment. The group behind pushed everyone forward.

“Abbiate paura,” I called out, and several fell to the floor, weeping and shrieking in fear. I threw a shock spell at others, and an earthquake caused the floor to shake and knock a surging group off their feet. Things rattled all over London’s apartment. The books on the shelf toppled to the floor. But there were still enough cultists to surround me.

Someone launched a shock spell. I threw up a shield just in time but was still rocked backward by the force of it. Someone made a grab for me, and I managed to throw my own version of shock spell at them. Then another spell struck, some sort of drainer. It hit my shield and weakened it severely. Someone else’s arm lunged out to try to capture me. I dodged, but barely. It was getting too hard to defend and attack at the same time and still stay out of grasp. Where was Cyrus? Hadn’t he heard that I needed help?

Someone grabbed me by the arm then and I snapped, “Bruciate.” They pulled their hand back with a shriek, but not before I saw their blistered and burned hands. Served them right. But, hard as I was fighting, the odds were stacking up against me. I had to get out of there.

“Aprite il portale,” I said, but no portal opened before me. My momentary shock caused my defenses to weaken again, and someone hit me with some sort of spell that I couldn’t readily identify. It tingled and burned at the same time, a strange white-hot feeling that suffused my left side, mostly my arm and shoulder. The whole arm went numb. I hissed.

The woman from the hallway grinned. She was the one who had thrown the spell, and the little bitch was so going to pay for it.

“We’ve already locked down this floor,” she said. “No one can teleport in or out. So sorry. And just so you know, even if you do manage to escape, I just put a tracer on you. No matter where you go, sweetie, we can still find you and take you to our boss. So you might as well give up now. Make it easier on us, but more especially on you.”

I had to get out of there. I wasn’t going to be caught by these freaking cultists. No way. For starters, my reputation would be totally ruined. Secondly, I wasn’t ready to die. Not when I had things to explore with Cyrus. Things I hadn’t felt in many years.

I gave a quick look around the room for a means of escape. There wasn’t much. There seemed to only be one way in or out of the place, and that was the front door. London lived in an apartment with no windows, unless she was hiding one in the bedroom, and I didn’t feel like fighting in there to find out. So, the door was my best bet. It wasn’t too far away from me, but there were still enough people blocking the entrance to make it seem miles away. Yet, it was my only shot. If I could get away from this room, then I could get to another floor and get the hell out of here.

I faced the nearest cultist between me and the door and narrowed my eyes. Time to play hardball. “Non puoi respirare,” I told him. He dropped to the floor, face turning purple. It wasn’t a nice spell, cutting off someone’s oxygen like that, but these people weren’t exactly trying to be my pals. Maybe they’d start expending their magic trying to help their friends.

I looked at the next person and did the same thing. Unfortunately, the flood of bodies didn’t seem to ebb. Someone punched me in the back of the head hard enough that I saw stars. I dropped immediately to the floor next to my victims, and as my spells broke they began gasping for breath. It hadn’t been long enough for them to die. I suppose that’s a good thing. Probably. My father once would have said it is.

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs but didn’t have time to try the spell again. Someone else tried to grab me. I smacked their hand away, but this time a cultist grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet. I hissed in pain as they pulled me back from the door. And I had made so little headway!

Suddenly the door to the apartment flew open and Cyrus joined the fray, punching the two nearest cultists in the face, who both dropped to the floor, blood spraying from their shattered noses. It distracted the man holding me enough that I could kick backward, hitting his knee. He howled in pain and let go of my hair.

“It’s about time you got here,” I said to Cyrus, fighting my way toward him.

“I had to come from the floor below. Had to run up the stairs, and I’m hopelessly out of shape,” he puffed. He reached out for the nearest Dragon cultist, a man unsheathing a knife, and snapped his neck. Hard-core. Who knew that Cyrus could be this dangerous? Fighting evil men like this, he was such a warrior. It was so hot.

He reached out to grab my arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait, London,” I turned back trying to find her in the crowd. I couldn’t leave her there, even if she did try to serve me up the Dragon’s people. She had been trying to protect her family. “London!” I couldn’t find her anywhere; she must have bailed out of there the moment the Dragon’s people showed up. Someone tried to grab my arm, but I just managed to evade. I pushed the attacker into the others, and a large mob of them fell down. Cyrus yanked me hard, and I stumbled along behind. We burst into the hall.

“Wait!” I pointed to the open door. “Bruciate,” I whispered. It burst into flame.

Cyrus pulled me again, and we reached the fire alarm in the hallway. He yanked the handle down, and alarms started going off everywhere. People started peeking out into the hallway, clearly scared of the noises from London’s apartment but more scared of burning to death. Sprinklers went off overhead. Cyrus and I took advantage of the chaos to head for the stairwell.

“After them!” I heard the woman from the hallway shriek.

“This is one trap you should have left alone,” Cyrus grumbled as we ran down the stairs, pushing other occupants of the apartment building out of our way. One glance back proved that several Dragon cultists were hot on our heels.

“I promise I won’t walk into any more traps after this.”

Cyrus flung open the door to the lower floor and we rushed through. The air suddenly felt less heavy, lighter.

“We’re clear of the antitransport spell,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“We’re going back to my place,” I said. “Aprite il portale.”

Before we were safe, the last thing I saw was the members of the Dragon cult throwing open the door and rushing for us.

CHAPTER SVENTEEN

We burst into my bar with a crash. Normally, to access my universe a magic-user would have to know where the door is: down a dark alley in Megolopolis, behind a biker bar named The Watering Hole. Portals to another reality are the ultimate club security, better than scary bouncers or secret passwords, though I have used both of those as backup from time to time. Since I own the place—or to be more specific, found the place and set up its protective magics—I know how to bypass its security. I can open the metaphysical bathroom window, so to speak.

I’d shut the bar down when leaving with Adam, which had turned out to be a good move. Had it really only been hours ago? I’d sent my djinn and the patrons on their merry ways, as I didn’t like the bar running without me. Not that I’m a control freak, exactly—okay, I am—but I also don’t like the idea of people roaming around my house when I’m not at home. I’d never been happier to have that phobia than now.

As I stepped inside, the bar was silent and empty. Shadows were everywhere, and every noise we made seemed to echo louder than the din when the place was crowded with casters. It had always been a bit creepy unoccupied, and I always felt a bit on edge when I was here alone—which was probably why I’d ended up eventually breaking down and bringing it closer to the regular world again.

But, I wasn’t completely alone here. Not now.

“Thanks for the help back there,” I said to Cyrus, panting after the fight and then the run down the stairs and hallway. What? You try doing all of that without getting winded at more than 2,000 years old, especially in a cocktail dress and high-heeled boots!

“No problem,” Cyrus said, sounding just as out of breath.

“We should be okay now,” I announced. “I’ve never seen any of those guys around my place, so I kind of doubt they know where we went.”

“Unless they followed your teleportation signature,” Cyrus said.

That, of course, was when the loud metaphysical bang sounded on my front door. It was a warning of sorts, as cultists then started trying to push into my reality.

Since my wards were what protected this universe, and because I was so magically tied to this place, all damage they did was reflected to me. I cringed at the ensuing white-hot shear of pain. The walls around me shuddered like they were going to collapse; the cultists weren’t at the doorway between realities, which they could have easily accessed and not hurt anything, but were trying to follow me by other means. They were trying to push through the walls, which was extremely painful.

I whirled on Cyrus. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like I told them to do it!”

“No, but you practically willed it to happen by saying it!” Too late I remembered the spell they’d cast that turned my arm numb. “They marked me with some sort of tracer spell. Quick, see if you can take it off.”

Since those kind of spells are notoriously hard to take off oneself, I turned my attention to pushing back the cultists’ attempts to get in. I gritted my teeth and spoke quick words in Italian, but another wave of pain hit me. Damn it! If they got through, I would sustain a significant amount of damage; I probably wouldn’t be any help to Cyrus in fighting them back. They could cart me off to wherever they wanted, and I’d be helpless. I spat out the words to a ward. No way was that going to happen.

Cyrus took my arm in his grasp and started tracing symbols on it, all while whispering what seemed an endless stream of numbers. The feeling of his finger running up and down my bare arm was doing strange things to me, making me shiver but also be too warm at the same time. It was seriously distracting me from my fight against the cultists.

I shook my head to clear the spike of lust. Now was not the time for attraction.

A spasm of pain wracked me, and I could see a slight flicker from the other side of the room, like a crack starting to open in this reality. I cursed under my breath.

“I can’t break it without a spell book,” Cyrus said. “I don’t know the counterspell and this tracer’s on too tight.” He dropped my arm and saw the light. “Oh, shit. Fantazia!”

“I see it,” I said, teeth gritted.

“Lock it down!”

“I’m trying! Siamo vicini.” But telling our assailants that we weren’t open for business wasn’t helping, and they pushed their way in farther. Every inroad felt like a punch to my stomach.

I doubled over in pain just as I saw Cyrus hurry over to the other side of the room. He punched one of the cultists who had somehow made it halfway inside. They scuffled momentarily; then Cyrus got the upper hand and pushed the cultist out.

“Shut it down!” he hissed.

“What do you think I’m trying to do? I’ve already tried hanging out the closed sign, but it’s not exactly working.” I was beginning to see stars from the pain.

“Then try something else!”

“The only other thing is kind of drastic.”

“Will it keep them out?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then do it!” He pushed another cultist outside.

The pain and stress had gotten to me. “Fine,” I snapped. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Ce ne andiamo.”

As the words left my mouth, the walls shuddered horribly. The rift disappeared, causing Cyrus to fall over from the sudden end to his shoving match. The transmitter Mindy made for me squealed with feedback and then went silent. I ripped it off and set it down on a table. But . . . it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I leaned against the nearest table for support and breathed deep.

Casting the spell had taken a lot out of me, as did the aftershocks of the cultists trying to break in, so I sank to the floor exhausted but relieved. From my position there I could see that someone had stuck gum under one of my tables. Nice. I suddenly wished I had better chairs than these strange but stylish abominations scattered around the bar. I could use magic to change them, I supposed, but I’d done enough casting for one day. Especially after that last spell. I decided to just lie on the floor and collect myself.

“You did it!” I heard Cyrus say across the room.

“Yes, I did,” I agreed. “But at what cost?”

I could hear the frown in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sighed. “I took us away for a while. My last spell did, anyway. I moved the pocket universe away from reality so no one can access it for a while. Nor can we leave.”

I heard scrambling as he sat up. “You’re kidding!”

Sighing, I dragged my tired body into a sitting position. I could see him getting to his feet. “Sorry, but I’m not,” I said, using the table to help force myself upright. Maybe I didn’t want to stand up, though, considering the way he was frowning at me.

“For how long?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Until that tracer spell dies. A day. A week. A month. For however long it takes. I built my spell on theirs. And when we do get back, I’m going to have to change the locks,” I realized. “I can’t have cultists busting in here to kidnap me when I sleep.”

I sighed, realizing a few other things. “The door everyone used before is permanently shut down. Talk about bad for business. None of my good customers are going to be able to come around for a while—at least, not until I get them a new address. Of course, one of my good customers is trying to kill me, so . . .” I shut off the steady stream of babble when I saw his eyes darken.

“Well, what did you do it for, if it’s going to cause so much trouble?” he blasted. “Surely there are other spells you could have used.”

“Not any I could think of. Not with you pressuring me to hurry!” I frowned at the irritation he was projecting. “Listen, you were the one getting all bossy back there and telling me to do whatever I could to make them go away. I did, and now you’re getting grouchy? If you can do better, next time you cast the spells and I’ll punch the cultists!”

“The last time you did that, I had to come to the rescue!”

So he had. And, as terribly old-fashioned as it was, that he had come to my rescue was a huge turn-on. I hadn’t been rescued in years. I kind of loved it.

At the same time, it made me mad that he’d reminded me of it. A combined rush of exhaustion, lust and anger made me flustered. “Well . . . you’re . . .”

“I’m what?” he challenged.

“You’re . . . being such a guy right now,” I snapped.

He looked surprised. I guess he’d been expecting a better comeback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means.” I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore; all I knew was that I was so tired and irritated that I was practically punch-drunk. But my biggest distraction was being turned on by Cyrus having burst in and save the day like that. Even now, bickering back and forth, I couldn’t help but notice the dark glint in his blue eyes, the way his rumpled shirt tightened around his shoulders and biceps . . . My weird attraction to him had only grown, and now my ancient blood craved him like a drug.

Deep down, I knew why he did it for me. I could admit it now. When I looked at him I didn’t see a dangerous, brutish thug. I didn’t see a former villain, or even someone whose true nature was all about looking out for number one. I saw the real Cyrus, and I liked what I saw. I saw the man willing to give up everything for a child who would never know him. I saw a warrior, someone who would fight until the death if need be for whoever was at his side. It was making me rethink my entire attitude toward mortals. Though I didn’t relish the thought of watching him grow old and die. But he wasn’t going to do that at right this moment.

“Well . . . you’re being a woman.” His comeback turned out as lame as mine. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he was saying either. I suppose neither of us was in any shape to argue. I had gone from drop-dead tired to straight-up ogling, and the way he was starting to look at me was anything but congenial. It was more like he wanted to rip off my clothes here and now. Maybe he was even wound up enough that he would.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one thinking very dirty thoughts right now,” I whispered, moving toward him. When had my breathing sped up? I prayed he wouldn’t react like he had the other times I’d come on to him. Although he hadn’t exactly pushed me away during that last kiss . . .

“It’s not just you.”

“We’re locked in here together,” I said carefully, closing the distance, “for who knows how long. At least twenty-four hours.”

“This is true.” He didn’t move as I approached him, just eyed me with caution, like I was wild animal that might turn on him at any moment. Maybe I would.

“There is something we could do to pass the time,” I said. “Something we probably should have done a long time ago.”

“But we’d still have to find something else to do for the other twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes.”

That did it. I burst out laughing.

He just smiled.

“God, don’t be disappointing me like that, Cyrus!” I said, taking his hand and leading him toward the bar. “Weren’t you the one that promised me a life-changing experience?”

I didn’t say another word but skirted the bar and walked to the curtained-off area that was my domain. I brushed the heavy black drape aside and set about turning on the lights—not the off-putting spotlight I usually kept here, but a softer and diffuse magical light, as if there were many candles scattered around the room.

Cyrus dropped my hand but followed me in. I closed my eyes and cast the last spell I would for a while. It was the magic I usually cast at the end of the night, changing my throne room into a bedroom. Gone were the two facing couches, and in their places was my large, lush bed. It took up most of the space. I turned to see Cyrus watching me with a strange, almost wistful look. What was that about? Weren’t we both about to get what we wanted?

I decided to ignore it, and with a sexy grin I reached behind me to the zipper of my dress, sliding it all the way down. He didn’t move. I went to slip the dress off my shoulders, letting it fall into a pool at my feet, watching him the whole time. His eyes glittered with barely controlled heat, and I could see his jaw move, but he stood frozen, like a statue.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his jaw tight, like he was practically biting off the words. It was strange: I was getting naked for him, and he was getting mad?

“Because I want to . . . ?” I didn’t know why he was asking or entirely how to respond. It was my turn to watch him cautiously. I had a sudden thought that I’d gone too far, overplayed my hand, and he was going to mock me and leave. Except, he couldn’t.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cross between a laugh and a growl. “Come on, Fantazia. Look at you and then look at me. Women like you do not seduce guys like me. You don’t follow through. Women like you don’t have sex with guys like me unless you’re extremely drunk or have an agenda.”

I was confused. “I’m not drunk, Cyrus . . . so, are you saying I have an agenda?” I put a hand on my hip and stared at him. That seemed to unnerve him, and he looked down. But then he met my eyes again and we locked gazes.

“Before I knew you this well I’d have said yes, you always have an agenda. I used to think that was why you flirted with me all the time just like you do with everyone else: to get the upper hand, to get power over me. It was all part of your persona. But now . . .” He shook his head. “Now I have no idea. Because you’ve had power over me for a long time. And I have no idea why you practically jumped me in the EHJ headquarters earlier. Because I cannot for the life of me figure out what you’d want with someone like me.”

“You get on me for being distrustful of the world, and look who’s even more distrustful.” I walked over and put my hands on his upper arms. Ooh, nice biceps. I ignored the momentary distraction and pressed on. “I’ll explain my motivations as clearly as possible, Cyrus. I want what everyone wants in this situation: Sex. An orgasm. And I want it with you. At this point, that’s my only agenda.”

He burst out laughing. “Jesus. Leave it to you to be that direct.”

“You’re the one asking what my agenda is.” I trailed my fingertips from his arms to his chest and stomach. Nice. Very nice. People mistakenly think Cyrus is soft, but they’re wrong. I found a wall of solid muscle.

His body was incredibly tense, like he was barely holding himself back. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and when he spoke his voice was rough. “Come on. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know what I look like, Fantazia. I can’t just walk into a bar and have my pick of the women. I’m not hideous, but I’m no pretty boy either.”

“Thank God,” I said.

He gave me a disbelieving look. “Women like pretty boys. Don’t act like you’re any different. I’ve seen the guys you’ve flirted with here.”

That stung. I took a step back. “That’s because you’ve never seen me with any guy I was actually interested in. I kind of gave up on all of that after Andrew died. I chose flirting with the pretty boys because I knew I’d never get serious with any of them.” I kept my gaze steady. “I’m old, Cyrus. Very old. I’m from a time when ‘pretty’ wasn’t a big attraction for a woman. The pretty boys weren’t going to protect you from an invading army. Pretty boys might be nice to look at, but they’re practically useless when it comes down to the rough stuff. The necessary stuff. The only men I’ve ever really been interested in were soldiers and warriors.”

He was staring at me like I spoke in tongues. “You think I’m a warrior?”

“If you weren’t my particular brand of kink, Cyrus, I wouldn’t keep throwing myself at you—especially not when you’ve shown absolutely no interest in me all these years. It’s not like that’s not humiliating or anything.” I motioned to my state of undress. “Much like stripping down and then getting rejected yet again.”

“I’m not . . .”

“Yes, you are,” I snapped. And this was why I didn’t like to let anyone close. They would inevitably hurt me. The one guy that I’d let myself like—I wasn’t getting anywhere close to the other L word—in a really long time wasn’t into me. It was painfully obvious, and I didn’t need to be hit over the head with the fact. Not anymore.

“At least I’m not getting dumped for a vestal virgin this time,” I muttered, picking my dress up off the floor.

He yanked it out of my hands and tossed it off to the side in a movement so quick it barely registered. I stared at my now-empty hands and then at him. He was stripping off his shirt.

“Does it look like I’m rejecting you?” he asked.

“No,” I said, enunciating the word carefully. But I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I reached out a hand to touch his chest, to make sure all of this was real.

“Damn straight.” He grabbed me, gathering me up in his arms while at the same time his mouth bruised mine, giving me a bone-searing kiss that set every nerve in my body tingling. He dropped onto my bed with me under him. Our tongues tangled. I clung to him, wrapping my legs around his hips, forcing him closer. I rocked my hips encouragingly against his, wanting more, needing more. I hadn’t needed anything this badly in eons.

His mouth tore from mine and he moved out of my embrace, catching my wrists and pinning me to the plush bed. Every patch of bare skin on my body immediately seemed hyperaware. “Hold still,” he growled with a half smile, and then he kissed me again, a deep and hungry kiss that I returned just as eagerly, saying somehow what neither of us was able to vocalize.

His mouth left mine to visit my neck, kissing along my jaw to my earlobe and down to the hollow in my throat, pausing to lick there. I shuddered in delight and tried to pull my wrists out of his grasp, wanting to get out of the way all of the remaining uncomfortable clothes between us, but he held me firm. He trailed kisses down my body, mouth hot through the thin fabric of my negligee, causing me to release a soft moan of frustration.

“Please, Cyrus.”

That spurred him on. He let go of my wrists. But I immediately missed the contact and reached up and pulled him to me, kissing him hard, plunging my tongue into his mouth. He reached between our bodies to shuck his pants. I started to slide out of the thin garment I still wore, but he knocked my hand away and got rid of my negligee just as easily as he had his own clothes. He froze then, just staring at me lying naked beneath him. I smiled at the appreciation I saw in his eyes and did some checking out of my own. How had I misjudged how attractive this man was for all these years?

He brushed aside a strand of hair across my cheek. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous,” he said, his voice a reverent whisper.

The look of pure devotion and warmth in his eyes promised an emotion I wasn’t quite ready to face. It did strange things to me: I felt a tear start to burn in my eye. So he wouldn’t see, I sat up quickly and recaptured his mouth. His bare skin met mine and we both became too distracted by need to think of anything else.

I brought one of my legs up to unzip my boot, but he reached out and stopped me. Our eyes met. “No,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Leave them on.”

I grinned wickedly. “Whatever you want, Cyrus. Whatever you want.”

“Want? I want to fulfill your agenda, sweetheart,” he said, kissing me again. “And we have a lot of time to do so.”

Some time and several fulfilled agendas later, I was lying blissfully on my back on an extremely rumpled bed. In a near comatose state, I was having a new ward painted on me in henna.

“You’re moving.”

“It’s tickling!”

“Do you complain like this to your djinn?” Cyrus asked, dipping the brush into the henna again before going back to work on my lower abdomen.

“They paint on my arms, not anywhere I’m ticklish.”

“There.” Cyrus sat back and admired his painting. “Now, don’t move until it dries.”

I tried to lean upward and read it but couldn’t and quickly gave up. From what I could see there were just numbers, much like the numbers on his arms.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“I’m not telling you. Not right now.”

“But you’ll tell me someday?” I teased as he lay down next to me.

“Maybe. If you’re good.” He kissed me.

“If it’s not actually a ward and is just something dirty, tell me.” I laughed. “I’m not going to get mad. It washes off.”

“Maybe I should convince you to get it tattooed for real, then tell you what it means,” he suggested.

“You can’t tattoo wards, remember? They lose effectiveness eventually.”

“This one won’t.”

“Besides,” I continued. “I’m fairly sure tattoos won’t work on me because of the invulnerability thing. Another mystery of being Fantazia,” I joked.

“Speaking of mysteries . . .” He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger. “Were you doing magic at some point during all that?”

I felt a wave of embarrassment flood me. “N-no. That wasn’t magic talk.”

He smiled. “I had a feeling it wasn’t. I’m just going to have to learn Italian then, to know what you’re saying when you’re talking dirty.” He dropped a kiss on my throat.

I relaxed a bit. “That was a very old dialect of Italian.”

“Ancient dirty talk. I love it.” He kissed my neck again. “I’ll have to ask the Old One what it means.”

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” I said, brushing a finger over his lips. “He’ll figure out where you heard it.”

“So?”

“Well, I kind of doubt it’ll get him pissed off, since we’re not that close anymore, but it’s bound to weird him out. I certainly wouldn’t want to hear any details about him and Lainey doing it. Emily’s enough evidence of that.” I shivered. It’s a definite mood-killer, thinking of your father’s sex life. Especially when you’re kind of angry at your father anyway.

Cyrus was looking at me strangely. “Not that close anymore?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s been much of a father for years. Still, I doubt he wants details of you sleeping with his daughter. That’s all I’m saying. It’s bound to be a bit strange.”

Cyrus stared. “W-what?”

I eyed him blankly. “What do you mean, what?”

He sat up. “You’re his daughter?”

I’d forgotten he didn’t know. Then again, to be fair, my mind was elsewhere—on agendas and things like that.

“I thought for sure you knew,” I muttered. “All of the rest of the EHJ know.” I processed the surprise on his face. “Wow. You really didn’t know. Yes, I’m his daughter. From an extremely long time ago, obviously. Possibly from his first life, though no one is certain just when that was. Didn’t you ever wonder about the shared Italian, about the shared magic?”

“I just thought you two were together at some point.”

“Ew!” I squealed. “Why does everyone’s minds always go there? Why didn’t you process the not-aging thing? Why didn’t you think, ‘Oh, the Reincarnist lives forever, and so does Fantazia. She must be his daughter’?”

“Toby’s related to him and no one in his family does that.”

I shrugged. “I’m different.”

Cyrus lay back on the bed. “Holy shit. I’m in bed with the Reincarnist’s daughter.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“He’s going to kill me!”

I gave him an annoyed look. “I doubt it. Even if I wasn’t thousands of years past having a curfew, he doesn’t care that much.” At Cyrus’s incredulity, I shrugged. “We haven’t been close in a very long time.”

Cyrus shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’re still his daughter. He’s going to be weirded out.”

“No, he won’t,” I repeated. “He forgot me. The moment his life as my birth father ended, he came back as a new person who thought I was just some servant girl. I let him think that. We moved so he could get a fresh start, and this was right around when my powers started kicking in. He became my magical teacher, but I couldn’t handle that was all he thought I was to him, a servant and a pupil. When I left home, he didn’t try to stop me.” I bit my lip because I was not going to cry about this. Not now.

Damn it! Stupid life-altering sex. It was making me soft.

“Sweetheart.” Cyrus brushed a tear from the corner of my eye but wisely said nothing about it. “This explains so much.”

I shrugged. “What? Why I’m such a mess? Sure, why not. It’s the oldest story in the book: I have Daddy issues.”

Cyrus looked concerned. “Whatever he believed in that first reincarnation, he knows now. He knows now that you’re his child. You said yourself that he wouldn’t want confirmation about me sleeping with his daughter.”

I laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That was my doing. I got depressed one day when another bit of history came back to bite me in the ass. I went to see him. Maybe I was wanting a daddy, or maybe I just wanted to hurt him because he was off having another new and perfect life, like always. So I told him who I am . . . He got all upset and was wanting to make amends. I just bolted. I figured I’d hide until he died and forgot me again.”

“Jesus.” Cyrus shook his head.

“Unfortunately, that was around the time he got the bright idea to start writing things down so he wouldn’t forget them. That included me. So, there’s no escaping him and all the centuries of awkwardness between us. Not unless I come here.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“ ‘That sucks.’ That’s about all you can say.”

“That sucks,” he said seriously.

I laughed. “I’ve gotten used to it. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Cyrus shook his head again. “Why is it I don’t buy that?”

I took a look at him, glanced down at him lying naked and glorious in my bed and decided the time for chitchat was over. “You know what? I’m not talking about my depressing life anymore. In fact, I’m going for a nice distraction.”

“You’ll smear the paint!” he said as I kissed him, pulling him toward me.

“You can redo it,” I said against his mouth. “We still have plenty of time.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

About twenty-four hours later the walls of the bar shuddered, and with them the walls of this reality. It could only mean one thing.

I sat up in bed with a start. “The spell’s down. The tracing spell must have worn off.”

“Just ten more minutes,” Cyrus mumbled sleepily beside me. “Hit the snooze alarm.”

“There’s no snooze alarm on spells,” I snapped. Standing, I whispered some Italian to get myself dressed, producing clothes out of my transdimensional closet, in this case a pair of tight jeans hanging low enough to perfectly display the top of the new ward Cyrus had painted, and a tank top with a slightly Grecian look. And I wasn’t going anywhere without some killer stilettos.

I glanced down at the painted tattoo again. “So, are you going to tell me what this means now?”

He studied me. “Are you going to tell me what you said in Italian last night?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He shrugged. “Me neither. Not yet.”

We seemed to be at an impasse. I glared down at the tattoo again, absently running a finger over the tops of the numbers, and wondered why I had said what I had last night in the first place.

“We can get out of here now,” I announced, changing the subject. “Mindy’s got to be wondering what happened to us, since her transmitter probably stopped working the moment we came through to this reality.”

“Thank God for that.” Cyrus laughed. “Otherwise she’ll be scarred for life. Or getting ready to leak a sex tape onto the Internet.”

“The transmitter also blew up,” I said. “Right after I cast that spell to take us away.”

“Good to know.”

He got up and threw on his clothes. I watched. He liked to be self-deprecating about his appearance, but there was nothing wrong with the show. Not from my perspective. He was all man.

He noticed me watching. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He shook his head at my obvious interest. “You’re a strange sort of woman, Fantazia.”

“You should be glad of that,” I replied.

“Believe me, I am. So . . .”

“So,” I repeated warily.

There was tension in the air, something I’d known was going to happen eventually. Everything was different now between us, and there would be no going back to simple friendship, at least, not without wading through a bunch of awkwardness first. Now was going to come a feeling-it-out phase, where we both tried to discern what the other truly wanted. There would be hints dropped, veiled discussions and strange looks until one of us finally got up the courage to ask the questions neither of us wanted to face.

Cyrus eyed me directly, his blue eyes boring into mine. “So, when we get back to the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters, is this staying behind us and becoming The Incident of Which We Do Not Speak, or are we going to play it by ear and just see what happens?”

Leave it to him to just power through to the difficult stuff.

“What do you think?” I asked, throwing the ball back in his court.

“I think I don’t know what goes on in your mind, Fantazia,” he said, sliding a hand out around my waist to rest on my hip. “But I also think I want to stick around to find out.”

I’ve never been the lovey-dovey type. I don’t go around holding hands or cuddling up or anything, but I smiled and relaxed, taking a moment to rest my head against his chest. I briefly realized I could possibly get used to it. “That’s a good answer.”

“I rehearsed all night,” he joked. “I also have a backup, in case that one didn’t work.”

“Which is?”

“ ‘No man, especially one who looks like me, is ever going to kick you out of bed before he has to,’ ” he replied.

I crossed my arms in mock seriousness. “Not bad, but it lacks a certain something. And I don’t know, for someone who was so resistant of my charms to begin with . . .”

“I’m beginning to see them in a different light,” he said.

He ran his hand down along my butt, and I resisted the urge to throw him on the bed and have my way with him. Barely. “We should probably go check in.”

“The EHJ can wait,” Cyrus replied, his hands now drifting under my shirt.

“They’ve waited twenty-four hours!”

“Then another won’t kill them. It’s not like we’re part of the team, anyway. Not officially. They don’t need us to fight Hacker and the Dragon cult; they just use us when it’s convenient. Did you notice how they never bring me along, even though I’m always trying to be useful? Now, please let me get my groping you out of the way so I don’t mess up and do it in front of your father and get myself killed.”

He continued to touch me in ways that would indeed get a man murdered by a parent. At least, by a parent who cared. “D-don’t mention him right now,” I gasped.

“If you want me to shut up, you’re going to have to make me,” Cyrus teased.

I did. I kissed him hard, stopping his mouth, and I realized all of our getting dressed had been in vain. But he was right: the EHJ could wait just a bit longer, and neither he nor I was a hero. We had slightly more realistic priorities.

“Nice of you to join us again,” Paul growled as we popped into the EHJ headquarters.

“I kept trying to call you on the transmitter,” Mindy said. “You just dropped out of existence!”

“Got waylaid by cultists,” I explained.

“I saved her.” Cyrus spoke in a deadpan. “There was an epic battle. You should have been there.”

“I heard that part,” Mindy retorted. “Then there was nothing.”

“We went back to my place,” I said, wincing at the truth implied by that statement. “The cultists tried to follow us, and I had to make us untraceable for a while.”

“You could have gotten word to us somehow,” Paul said.

“If we could have, we would have,” Cyrus interjected. “The only way we could get away from the cultists was to just get away from everyone.”

“Look, in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t work for you,” I snapped at Paul. I didn’t need Cyrus trying to smooth things over. “I don’t owe you anything. I don’t have to call in and tell you where I’m at. I’m not your teenage daughter breaking curfew, for God’s sake!”

“No. You’re not my daughter.” Paul shook his head. “Thank God. We’ve got way too much other pressing business to deal with your lack of empathy.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

I stared after him, not sure what to say.

Mindy cleared her throat. “All I could tell him was that someone named London set a trap for you with the Dragon’s people because some other mysterious power wants you. Oh, and that some kid named Dylan who you never saw as a threat before is working with the Dragon. He got that girl London pretty quick and she’s been cooling her heels in high-security jail ever since. He’s been trying to track down Dylan ever since.”

“Why would Paul care so much?”

Mindy gave me a look like I was a dunce. After a moment she said, “I was talking about Wesley.”

The reaction hit me strangely. Was Mindy saying that the Reincarnist was upset, thinking I’d been horribly killed, and that he was trying to track down the perpetrators? Was that why Paul was giving me a hard time for not checking in, saying I lacked empathy? Because I had unduly upset my father?

Mindy continued: “Thank God we called Luke and Kate back, because it seems like all hell’s broken loose since—or, just continued to break loose, actually. The government’s about to cave in to Hacker’s demands.”

“Big surprise there,” Cyrus mumbled. “I’m sure they just want it all to go away. Too bad it won’t.”

Mindy nodded. “Forrest convinced them to let us have until the end of the week, but if we can’t stop Hacker’s plans by that time, they’re paying the money.”

“He’ll just go ahead and do it anyway,” Cyrus repeated.

“You know that and I know that, but governments like to believe bad guys will play by the rules. Then they always turn around and act shocked when things go wrong.” Mindy sighed. “It isn’t helping matters that every available villain is taking advantage of the chaos. It’s had us and every other hero team hopping. Lainey, Toby and Selena have been out trying to keep the peace since you left. We haven’t had a lot of sleep. That’s probably why Paul’s so grumpy.”

“Do you need me out there?” Cyrus asked, perhaps a bit guiltily.

Mindy nodded. “Probably. Go catch up with Paul, he’ll tell you what needs to be done.” She glanced at me. “I know you just did what had to be done, but you really put him into a tailspin.”

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“You do that.”

She turned back to her monitor and touched a button on her headset. “Paul? Hold up, Cyrus is on his way to help.” She was quickly engrossed in a conversation.

Cyrus glanced at me. “That’s my cue.” He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Off to play hero?” I teased halfheartedly.

“Something like that. Want to give me one last kiss? You never know, I could be killed in the line of duty.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said. My heart beat faster.

He winked at me, and started to walk to the door. “Your loss. But I don’t want to hear any regrets in the afterlife.”

“Hey!” I called.

He turned. In that moment I met with the bizarre urge to fling myself into his arms, to give him a bone-searing kiss just in case he was right and this was my last chance, but those kinds of thoughts always make me really uncomfortable.

“Yes?” He eyed me expectantly.

“What’s it mean?” I asked, pointing to my new ward.

“What’d you say last night?” he asked.

I bit my lip, not wanting to go there, though the answer was on the tip of my tongue, buzzing in the back of my brain. If I could think the words, why could I not say them in any language not so ancient that pretty much I was the only one able to understand them? But, I don’t like to acknowledge my feelings, let alone say them out loud, especially under these circumstances.

Cyrus shook his head. “You’d better hope I come back in one piece, Fantazia.” He gave me a mock salute and walked out the door.

I crossed my arms protectively over my chest and shivered. What were we doing?

Turning, I saw Mindy staring at me. I frowned. “What?”

She shrugged. “You’re really stepping in it, aren’t you, Fantazia? First with Wesley and now with Cyrus. I guess you only get out of your pocket universe once in a blue moon. Have to live it up, eh?”

“Does it look like I’m enjoying it?” I snapped. I turned and stalked off in search of my father.

It turned out I didn’t have to look too hard. Following the sound of a loud television, I found myself outside of his and Lainey’s bedroom. The door slid open and I saw Emily sitting in a mess of stuffed animals, happily playing some sort of tea party game. A popular cartoon show played in the background, but not the one that had been driving me bonkers. Wesley sat in front of a computer, equally surrounded by piles of ancient-looking books. Every odd interval he’d flip through one.

Emily saw me first. “Fay!” she shrieked, jumping up to run over. Wesley’s head jerked up at the mention of my name, and he stared at me as if I were some sort of ghost.

“Hey, kiddo!” I said, sweeping my half sister up in a hug.

“Daddy’s sad,” she said in an overly loud whisper. “He and Mommy talk about you. You in trouble?”

“Sweetie, when is Fay not in trouble?” I said in a light voice.

“I love you,” she said, plopping a big wet kiss on my cheek.

Even I, coldhearted as I am, teared up. “I love you, too,” I said softly, glad she didn’t know how hard that was for me to admit. I gave her a big squeeze and couldn’t meet Wesley’s eyes, though I felt them burning into me. “You go ahead and play with your toys, and I’ll talk to Daddy.” I set her back down.

“You’re all right?” Wesley asked softly.

“I’m all right. With Cyrus’s help, I escaped from those cultists with just a few cuts and bruises. I had to lock up my pocket universe, though, which is why I couldn’t get word back to you guys.”

He nodded at that, but didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know where to expect the next attack from. Well, other than from Dylan, but I was led to believe some other power player wants me more.”

“So Mindy said. I’ve been trying to find anything out about this Dylan character, but nothing’s coming up no matter where I look. Someone’s cast a very powerful concealment spell around him.”

“You probably wouldn’t have found out much anyway. He wasn’t a force to reckon with before all of this began. At least, he hadn’t lived up to his potential. Now, with all the extra magic they’ve given him . . .”

“I suppose the Dragon’s people wanted him to recognize his potential,” Wesley reflected.

“But”—I shook my head—“if someone had all this power to give, why give it to some pimple-faced kid? Why find an underachiever? Why not just use whatever magic you’ve collected to break the Dragon out yourself?”

“That’s a major question I’ve been asking myself,” Wesley said.

“Any theories?”

“The most likely answer is that this person can’t cast his spell directly, like the Dragon having that restraint on himself. But theories are useless. We won’t know the truth until we get our hands on this Dylan kid, on a major associate of the Dragon’s or the caster himself.”

I nodded. “Any other questions we should be asking ourselves?”

Wesley eyed me. “How does this mystery person benefit? What do they get from helping the Dragon escape?”

“World domination?” I suggested.

“They’re just as insane as the Dragon if they think the Ancient Ones are going to share the world with them. Once the Dragon lets them loose, then . . .” He shook his head and trailed off, his eyes getting a faraway look. After a moment he said, “Emily’s not the only person in the world that I’m concerned about, Fantazia.”

My nerves were immediately on edge. “I know. You have Lainey, too, and every member of the Elite Hands of Justice. And, of course, you have that whole I’ve-got-to-take-care-of-the-world complex.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it.” I shook my head. “The only thing I know is something we both do: that you ceased being my father sometime before Christ. We both know that.”

“I know that in every single life I’ve led since you told me who you are I’ve tried to make amends. And every time you’ll have none of it.”

“It figures you’d write that down,” I grumbled.

“I’ll admit that this time around I’ve been a bit more distracted. I’ll admit that this time around we seemed to rub each other wrong right away. But I’ll admit something else: when Mindy couldn’t get hold of you after you willingly walked into that trap, some half-remembered fatherly instinct kicked in. I wanted to find those cultists, the Dragon, anyone involved in this, and I wanted put a stop to them permanently. No longer just because of Emily, but because of you.

“I know I change looks with every life, Fantazia, and I lose memories with every life, especially the most personal ones. I even change superficial likes and dislikes. But there is something deep down, something essential inside of me that never changes. It’s what makes me, me. Call it a soul, call it whatever you want, but it exists.” His gaze bored into mine and I shivered, almost able to see my father again, the father who used to hold my hand as we’d walk together and would cuddle me on his lap before I would go to bed. “It’s that part of me that will always love you, Daughter, even if I don’t recognize you without help from a book. It’s the father who would have recognized you years ago if you hadn’t run and hid from me.”

I yanked my gaze free, closing my eyes and turning away. “Don’t,” I said. The emotional walls I’d carefully constructed felt like they were crumbling, and I could feel tears start to burn in my eyes. “Just don’t.”

“I’ll always care what happens to you,” he continued. “Just like I did for Ben Rath and for all of my other children, names and faces now just ghosts in my mind. Just like I will for Emily,” he said, glancing toward her.

He got up from his seat and strode over to take me by the shoulders. “All the children I’ve sired over the years have grown old and died. All except you. You act like you’re meaningless to me, when the truth is that you might be the person with whom I can share the deepest connection, other than Lainey, who shares a part of my soul. You’re the one constant in my life, Fantazia. Every other child but you, even Emily, will one day pass on. For whatever reason, you remain a constant, living and unchanged. I don’t know why—I don’t know if you even know why—but I’m glad to have you.”

I bit my lip so he wouldn’t see how affected I was by his speech. “Just lucky, I guess.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how many times we’ve had this conversation over the years, but I want this to be the time we finally resolve your pain. You’re the one thing I’ll always have, Fantazia, no matter what, and I don’t want to live any further succession of lives with you hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I blurted. “God, how can you think I hate you? It’s stupid to be like this after so many years, when I’m thousands of years old, but damn it, there’s part of me who’s just a small girl who wants her daddy.” I was actually crying. Apparently I’d bottled up this emotion for far too long and now it was all bursting out and I was powerless to stop it. “We both look like we’re the same age, but I still look at you and think, ‘That’s my father.’ And you’re right, I am the one constant in your life, while you’re inconstant in mine. Which means I get to be hurt by you over and over again. I really needed you when Andrew was dying, Dad. I tried everything and couldn’t stop it. I guess some diseases can’t even be healed by magical means. I tried to come to you . . .”

He stared. “I don’t remember reading about this.”

I sighed. “It just so happened that it was during one of your newly reincarnated periods, and you’re not so helpful when you first come back. By the time you’d gotten it together to help, it was too late. He was already gone.” Tears burned my eyes. “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t be relied on to be there when I needed you. I . . . Well, eventually it just got easier to act like I hate you in order to avoid the hurt and disappointment.”

At some point he’d switched over to hugging me and I hadn’t even realized. He smoothed my hair like I was little child. “I know. And I’m sorry,” he said against my temple. “If I could change it, I would.”

“But you can’t. This is a cycle we’re doomed to repeat. You’ll forget me and I’ll react with distance. I have no one. And unless the Dragon, Dylan and their unnamed pal get their way and eventually bring back the Ancient Ones, we’ll be doing this again in, oh, about sixty years or so.”

“Only twenty years last time,” he reminded me wryly. “But I get your point. I wish I had a way to fix things, but I don’t. Still, can’t we call a truce for the next sixty years or so? Can’t we enjoy the time we do have?”

I looked into the eyes of my father and knew one thing: too much fighting was going on around us, and I just didn’t have the energy or will to continue this battle. If I was going to be involved with the Elite Hands of Justice, or even with my sister Emily, which I wanted, I couldn’t maintain this anger anymore. He was right that a truce was in order. At least for this lifetime.

Wow. Something was severely wrong with me. I was rapidly making my way toward working with superheroes to save the world, was getting close to admitting feelings for a guy, and now was trying to reconcile with my father. What had happened to the selfish bitch I’d used to be?

“All right, Wesley,” I said. “Truce.”

“Good.” He gave me another squeeze and then let go.

“Now,” I said, looking forward to changing the subject. “I can’t take any more of this family drama, so can we talk Dragon cultists?”

He relaxed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We began discussing the cultists, me telling him about the various spells I’d seen them cast during their assault, and we didn’t stop until he heard the sound of voices in the hallway. The members of the EHJ were back. And they apparently had a few old friends tagging along.

“Thank God you showed up when you did,” Paul was saying to a tall man with cocoa-colored skin and a body that would make most women swoon. Wearing dark-colored martial-arts robes, he was nodding seriously. It was Luke Harmon, also known as Sensei.

“I thought we were doing a pretty good job on our own,” Selena said, giving Paul a pointed look.

I gave her a second glance. Considering her past with Luke, she was coming up a bit in my estimation. There was something about the way she stood: a bit of iron in her posture that bespoke not only outer strength but inner power as well. I wondered if she might be worth knowing better.

“It was a good thing we were all there,” Paul amended, giving Selena a wary glance and trying to keep everyone calm, as usual. “Every pair of hands was needed. It’s like every jail harboring a world-class villain lost all of its residents in a matter of minutes.”

“Do you think it could have been a coincidence?” Wesley asked, walking around me. “Just criminals taking advantage of the situation? Or do you think the Dragon and his people were behind their escapes?”

“It’s worth checking out every angle,” Paul said.

“I’ll run a patrol around the jails and see what I can find out,” Selena offered.

“I’ll go with her,” Toby piped up.

“That’d be great,” said Paul, clearly relived that some of the tension would now dissipate.

“And I can start researching through our computers—or through Wesley’s musty books of crazy prophecies and the like,” Mindy said, walking up, her pregnant belly preceding her. “God knows I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good to see you again, Mindy,” said a woman whose beauty rivaled my own. She’d been in the rear of the pack but she stepped forward now, flipping back long dark hair. With bright blue eyes and a body that looked like a starlet’s, Kate Hughes—Aphrodite, really, the goddess of love—was able to attract all the attention she wanted, male or female, without using her powers of love and persuasion. But her powers wouldn’t work on anyone already in love, and the one man Kate wanted had been torn from her grasp. Too bad she hadn’t recognized his value until he was happy with a woman who didn’t cheat on him. It was another source of tension.

She studied her rival. “You’re looking . . . pregnant.”

Mindy nodded. “An astute observation.”

The awkwardness between the two women was palpable. No wonder Toby and Selena were bailing for the first assignment announced. It was going to be like walking on eggshells around this place for a while. Joy. Why had I returned from my pocket dimension?

“It’s been tense like this since those two showed up,” Cyrus said, glancing at Luke and Kate. He’d come over and leaned down to speak softly into my ear. “I swear, they were more violent in the field than I’ve ever seen, and that includes the times I was on the other side of things. I swear, put exes in a single room and watch the fireworks fly.”

A thrill rushed through me at his nearness, which I fought to contain. “Glad to see you didn’t die,” I said in a carefully casual tone.

He shrugged. “You lucked out.”

“I’m the luckiest girl in Megolopolis,” I agreed, giving him an eyelash flutter like a damsel in distress.

“I’m not sure how they’re dividing the rooms up,” Cyrus mused in a low tone. “There’s always the possibility that I may end up sharing a room with Luke.”

I patted him on the arm. “Thanks for the offer, but even with my reputation I’m not into ménage à trois.”

He made a face. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I’m definitely not into sharing. I’m old-fashioned and greedy; I want my woman all to myself. I don’t share well with others.”

I tried to keep my panic off my face. What was he suggesting? Were we a couple now? Were we going to do couple things? Did I have to ask him before I made plans? Were we going to plan dinner parties and double dates with Mindy and Paul? What the hell was going on?

Fighting my blood pressure back down to normal levels I said in a cool voice, “You’d be surprised how much sharing went on in olden times.”

“Well, then, I’m not that far back old-fashioned. I’ll just stick with greedy.” He gave me a wink.

Flustered, I continued. “Besides, it’s getting a bit crowded in here.” I motioned to all the tense figures. “You guys are near capacity for drama. I don’t think the building could physically hold any more without spontaneously combusting. I’ll just go home tonight and come back in the morning. It’s a quick commute after all.”

Cyrus shook his head. “The more things change, the more they stay the same. Right, Fantazia?”

I sighed. “Don’t be like that. I just . . . need some space, that’s all. It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Any other trite phrase you want to stick in?”

“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had any sort of relationship. A long time. Cut me a bit of slack.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “And I don’t suppose you’ve considered being alone might not be a good idea. Not right now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You want to be alone in your pocket universe? After what happened yesterday?”

I shrugged. “I’ve got the only ‘key’ to the place. That other door is all boarded up, metaphysically speaking. No one’s getting in or out without my say.”

“And if they break in?”

“I’ll give a shout for you to come rescue me,” I laughed, throwing in an eye-roll. “I’m a big girl, remember? I’m a lot older than you. It’s not like I’m walking into a trap, like I was when I went to see London. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I can still do it. Alone.”

His face darkened. “Yeah. Don’t I know it. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and walked down the hall.

I sighed, not knowing if I should follow or just leave him alone. Finally I decided he could work it out himself.

I straightened my shoulders and gave the tense group a cheerful wave. “Well, if two’s a party and three’s a crowd, this many people is simply chaos waiting to ensue, so I’ll just be off. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Everyone ignored me except Wesley, who stepped out of the group with a frown. “Wait. You’re going? Where?”

“Home.”

“Alone? After what just happened?”

“I feel like I just had this conversation with Cyrus,” I growled. “Yes. I’ll be fine. If not, and if the Dragon gets me, you can do an I-told-you-so dance on my grave.”

Wesley glared. “That’s not funny.”

Too late, I remembered it probably wasn’t. Not considering his son Ben, who’d been killed by the Dragon. Even though he’d been a doctor and an old man by that point, his loss had been hard for my father to process.

“Well, just be careful,” he snapped and turned around, going back to discuss something with Paul.

I sighed and cast the spell to take me home, wondering all the way if I’d really gone and stepped in it the way Mindy thought, and if I could ever handle well my feelings for my father or Cyrus.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I wasn’t magically attacked, so I spent a relatively uneventful night sitting around my strangely silent bar, wondering how badly I was going to keep messing up the burgeoning relationships in my life. In the morning, I transported myself back to the EHJ headquarters building and went up the elevator to check on the troops.

Surprisingly, all was quiet. The doors opened, and I was greeted by absolute hush. No computer monitors with feedback or noises of battle, no alarms blaring. There wasn’t even the sound of a loud television playing hyperactive cartoons. As I stepped out of the elevator, the only sounds were those of my heels clacking down the hall tiles.

“Hello?” I called, starting to feel a bit spooked. Had the Dragon shown up and killed everyone? Was I at any moment going to trip over the bodies of my friends? And, were they my friends? Why, too, did my mind go immediately to morbid places instead of just expecting they were out at breakfast or something?

But, this silence was unnatural. My heart sped up. Something was definitely happening.

“Hello?” I called again, hating how shaky my voice sounded. “Where are you guys? Someone’s here, right? Guys?”

I thought I heard a noise down the hallway. Cautiously I followed it, a tinny something just below comprehension. Every single one of my nerves was on edge; my whole body felt like a spring ready to uncoil. As I turned the corner, I was ready to have all sorts of horrible things jump out at me. The noise was coming from Cyrus’s bedroom.

I paused at the door but then quickly hit the button to open it, not sure of what I was going to find. Decapitated bodies? Torture victims? A scary clown doll, like I’d seen in the one movie I ever bothered to sit through?

I found Cyrus in front of his computer, furiously typing. He was wearing those sound-canceling headphones, great big things that covered his whole ear. As I got closer, I heard blaring heavy metal music.

I wanted to hit him for causing me worry, but I checked that impulse and instead leaned over him and pulled one headphone away from his ear to say, “Hi there.”

He jumped about a mile, causing me to stumble back to avoid getting knocked over. He quickly spun in his chair to face me. “Jesus! You scared the hell out of me,” he said, like I’d been skulking around the place purposely to give him a fright.

I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “You scared the hell out of me, not answering as I’m walking around these empty halls. Just where the hell is everyone?”

“They all went to Washington. They’re having a big meeting with the president and his staff to try to calm everyone down so they don’t do anything foolish, like pay up to your little friend in the hope that he’ll be nice and go away.” He shook his head. “Honestly, when has any villain ever just gone away after getting what he wants? They just come back with some other demand, or they try to blow up the world for kicks anyway.”

“All of the EHJ went to this meeting?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “They thought it’d be better if the whole team made an appearance.”

I eyed him pointedly.

He shrugged, catching my meaning. “I was told that since I’m just on the reserve roster I get a pass to continue working.”

I smirked. “More like they didn’t want you saying anything bad in front of the president.”

“That, too.” He grinned. “Probably why they didn’t invite you either.”

“So,” I asked, ignoring his gibe. “What are you working on?”

“I’m back examining what Chad was working on before he got taken out,” Cyrus said, pointing to his monitor. “I’m trying to find and hack it, so maybe we can trace it back to the source. From there we can get to Dylan.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Considering who it’s already taken down, sounds like it’ll just drain you and kill you.”

“What’s life without a little bit of danger?” Cyrus muttered, continuing to work.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be looking for that virus and spell this way,” I continued. “This is likely what happened to Chad: he saw it and it got him. Those civilians saw it and it got them, remember? Therefore, if you see it, it will get you,” I reminded him. It wasn’t like me to be so bossy, but he didn’t seem to be thinking this through very well.

“I’m being careful,” he said.

“People always say they’re being careful when they’re not, and then something bad happens.”

“Well, I am being careful, and nothing bad is going to happen.” Cyrus continued clicking his keyboard. “I’m going to hack this site, but at the same time I’m running a protection spell so I won’t be affected by what I find.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Cyrus said. “You should watch me walk and chew gum at the same time.” He squinted at the screen. “Almost there.”

I looked at him. “I really don’t think—”

That, of course, was when it happened.

The computer’s speakers erupted with some sort of horrible, squealing feedback. I almost turned to look where the sound was originating but checked the impulse just in time. Cyrus’s body jumped and writhed, like he was being electrocuted—or being drained like the other victims. Strange words were pouring out of his mouth, and it took me a moment to realize that it was an endless loop of numbers in a number of foreign languages. He was speaking binary code, which was how he cast major spells.

I took immediate action, even though I knew Cyrus would be furious with me if he lived through this. Picturing the computer and its monitor in my mind—there was no way I was risking actually looking, even with all my protections—I thundered out the word, “Esplodi.” A loud pop sounded, and then the building fire alarms went off.

Cyrus’s body slumped back in his chair. I risked a glance in the direction of the computer to make sure it was handled, and it was indeed a charred and inactive mess thanks to my spell-driven explosion. Thank God.

I turned to Cyrus. He was lying still in the chair, head and shoulders slumped down, almost like his body had caved in on itself. His eyes were closed. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Hesitantly, I crept over to lean closer. Barely breathing, I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.

“Cyrus?”

His eyes flew open and he jumped up, causing me to shriek and crash backward to the ground. He was spouting off binary code again, flailing wildly, reminding me of what had happened to Donald. “Still there! Still there!” he shrieked, rubbing at his skin like there were bugs crawling over it. He started in on the binary code again.

“Nothing’s there, Cyrus! There’s nothing on you!” I said, scrambling to my feet to get away from his flailing. At the same time, I wanted to calm him.

“Virus is still in me. It’s draining me off. I can’t hold it off much longer,” he said. Then he went right back to speaking the binary, his eyes wild.

I swore and started running through every spell I knew. Casting them all, I found nothing helped. This was a tricky and powerful spell—once again, something Dylan shouldn’t be able to cast. I mentally cursed the Dragon and whoever was helping him, and I narrowed my eyes at Cyrus, trying to magically see what was happening to him.

I finally threw everything I had into one order, one enormous exertion of my personal will. “Smettete di sanguinare.” Stop the bleeding.

It felt like a giant weight went out of the room. Cyrus slumped down in his chair.

Using so much magic in all of my spells in rapid succession had taken a lot out of me, and the utter terror of the last few minutes had combined to give me a splitting headache. I dropped down on his bed with a groan and lay there, trying to will away my pain or at least get enough magical power back to heal myself.

“Finally got you into my bed, I see.”

“On it, at least.” I sat up to see Cyrus eyeing me from his position in his chair. He looked like he’d been sick for days, white and clearly drained of energy.

“You got it to stop for now, but it’s still there,” he announced. He splayed his hands over his chest, like he was suffering heartburn or a heart attack. “I can feel it.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” I squinted at him and could almost see the evil out of the corner of my eye. It was like an attached parasite. “It’s like you had an artery cut. I put a heavy bandage on it, which is slowing down the bleeding, but if we don’t get that artery repaired—”

“I’ll die. Got it.” Cyrus looked paler. “It’s definitely still draining off my energy.”

I nodded. “Energy, magic . . . hell, this sucker could be taking parts of your soul as we speak. It’s an insidious little spell.” I got slowly to my feet, though I felt like I might puke from the pressure in my head. “It conceals itself well, which is why I couldn’t see it at first. This is a step up from what was done to those other magic-users. That was this spell’s baby brother or something. If this is what hit Chad and those civilians, we’re in big trouble. This doesn’t attack in one blast; it keeps feeding off of you until it finally kills you.”

“Continue giving me good news, Fantazia,” Cyrus grumbled.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “A draining spell can in no way be this powerful. And what was cast on those other magic-users wasn’t this powerful . . .” But then I smacked my head with realization and winced from doing so. “Damn it! Why didn’t I think of it before? No wonder I couldn’t shut it down. This isn’t a garden-variety spell at all!”

Cyrus stared at me as if I had lapsed into Italian. “So what is it?”

“A hex!” I said triumphantly.

He stared at me blankly. “What?”

“Well, it’s really called a heculous diondo. It’s a powerful and ancient type of sorcery that I’d thought pretty much the whole world forgot about, but obviously someone out there still knows. It’s also extremely dark magic. No one I’ve ever known has wanted to mess with that kind of magic because it’s so dangerous. It’s the kind that will not only blacken your soul but also the souls of your great-great grandchildren.”

“It’s black magic, then.”

“Blacker than black.”

“Pitch? Noir?”

I gave his weak joke a smile and was heartened when he returned it. But: “A hex is beyond my capabilities, which is why my patch-up job is elementary at best.”

“So, whoever’s working Dylan’s puppet strings is more powerful than you?” Cyrus asked. At my nod, he let out a whistle. “So we’re just screwed is what you’re saying.”

“Well . . . maybe with Wesley and myself working together we might stop them.”

“That’s a big might.”

I shrugged, not wanting to agree. But he was right: it was a big might. Despite myself, I felt a secret thrill of meeting someone more powerful than myself. It had been a long time.

“So, if someone is powerful enough to wield this kind of sorcery, once again, why not just break out the Dragon by himself? Or the Ancient Ones?”

“I’m willing to bet Wesley’s right: it’s because they can’t. There must be some sort of proscription on them setting whatever this is into motion, so they need to find some other person to be their puppet.”

“Magical prophecies are insane,” Cyrus muttered.

“Tell me about it.”

Cyrus eyed me. He was as bashful as I’d ever seen him. “So, I suppose I should admit that you were right: I shouldn’t have been messing around with that spell. Or hex. Whatever it is.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agreed. “At the very least, you should have let me be the one to mess around with it.”

“Why you?” Cyrus asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Because a hex is so powerful. I don’t think you understand how horrible one is. It’s even beyond my capabilities, and I’m the most powerful sorceress I know . . . which is why I should have been the only one to mess with it.”

“Why would you want to mess with it at all if it’s beyond you?”

I looked away. “It might be what defeats me.”

“So, you’re tired of being all-powerful and want a taste of humility?” Cyrus joked. Then he studied me. “Wait a minute. That’s not what you’re saying at all, is it? You would have messed with it because it’s something that could kill you.”

I didn’t say anything, but he took my silence as confirmation.

“Goddamn it, Fantazia! Don’t say shit like that,” Cyrus growled.

“You try living for eternity and see what a picnic it is,” I snapped. “See if you don’t start yearning for everything to be done and over with.”

“That’s not what you really want, and you know it,” Cyrus snapped. “You like to pretend you’re disconnected from the rest of the world and everything’s oh so tragic, that the end would be welcome, but that’s not what you really want.”

“How do you know what I really want?” I snarled back. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Cyrus. No matter what we’ve done together.”

His icy blue eyes burned into mine. “I know what you said the other night. And furthermore, I know why you said it in another language.”

I stared at him in horror. “What? Did you ask Wesley? I’m going to kill him if—”

He shook his head. “I didn’t have to. I may not know ancient languages, but I can read people pretty well. I know exactly what you meant. I also know that you said it in a way I wouldn’t understand because you’re too scared to admit it to me—and more importantly, to yourself. You’re still clinging hard to the illusion that you don’t care about anyone and don’t need anyone.”

“So if you know, why do you keep asking?” I retorted.

“Because I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you admit it to yourself. I want you to realize that you need someone.”

I didn’t answer for a moment. When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “So, what’s the tattoo mean?”

“It’s my personal signature,” he said. “It means you belong to me.”

I glared at him. “You’re saying you wrote ‘Property of Cyrus the Virus’ on my body.”

He laughed. “Not in the way you’re taking it, no.”

“Then in what way could you possibly have written it?”

“In the same way a guy gives a woman an engagement ring,” he said.

I stared at him.

“I’m not as commitment-phobic as you are, Fantazia. I’m not afraid to admit when I want to be with someone. Maybe it’s because I have an average life-span, but I know life is short and at any moment something can take it all away. It’s better to have my intentions out there in the open. It drives me insane how you blow hot and cold: first you’re all over me and acting mad that I’m not showing any interest, and then you’re pushing me away because I’m getting too close. You’re going to have to decide what you truly want. Do you really want to be left alone for all eternity, or do you want to be with the rest of humanity? And you’re going to have to decide pretty damn quick.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because I think my bandage is about to burst.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I stared at him. “What?”

“It’s hitting me again,” Cyrus said, and started babbling in binary. Then he pitched forward onto the floor.

My heart leaped in my throat as I scrambled to his side. “Cyrus, hold on,” I begged. The edges of panic were settling around me. “Just stay with me.”

He snorted. “Oh, now you want me to stay with you.”

I don’t know how he was holding on to his sanity enough to joke; it was a testament to the strength of his will.

“Give me a chance to figure something out,” I said, cradling his head in my lap. “I could go get Wesley . . .”

“And what’s he going to do? You’re more powerful than him and we both know it. And you’ve already said this thing is beyond you.”

“He might know of some way to slow this down, buy us a bit more time.”

“He’s got a faulty memory, Fantazia.”

“You can’t just give up on me!” I snapped.

“Why not? You were ready to give up on me, saying this thing should have killed you instead of me and sounding happy about it.”

“That’s because . . .” But the words stuck in my mouth and just wouldn’t come out, despite how much I felt them.

“Because why?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” I finished lamely.

He spasmed again and started mumbling more binary. I held on tight, shutting my eyes, hoping against hope that the hex would stop itself. Mentally I tried to reach out to my father, to call him back here. Surely he would have an idea of something to do to save Cyrus. Less magically gifted than I, faulty memory or not, he was our best chance.

Cyrus finished twitching, and he grabbed hold of my arm hard. Startled, I glanced down.

“Quick. Before it hits again, we’ve got to do something.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve got to help me to be able to concentrate hard enough to try to hack this spell. Sorcery. Hex. Whatever it is.”

“Hack it? What are you talking about?”

“I want to do what I was originally trying: trace it back to its roots so we can find the source of this mess. It’s Dylan, or whoever’s controlling him.”

“That’s how you ended up like this in the first place!” I said.

“That’s right. And now the hex is inside of me. If you can help me clear my head, maybe hold the hex at bay for a few moments, I think I can follow the line of it back from inside me to wherever it’s coming from.”

“I’d have to connect my mind to yours.”

“That’s probably true.”

“The hex could jump from your mind into mine.”

He nodded. “It could. And it might just kill you. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

I actually felt a chill. “That’s not funny.”

“I never thought it was.”

His words dug into me. I hated to admit it, but he was right. If I really did crave death, as I said, why was I scared when he mentioned it?

I spoke carefully, making sure I understood what he wanted. “So, you think if I link my mind to yours and help you hold back the hex, you might be able to trace it and tell me where it’s coming from so we can go permanently stop whoever’s running it?”

“That’s the plan,” he said. He gave me a weak smile.

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“It doesn’t work.”

“Metaphysically poking around at this thing might just make it worse.”

“It might,” he agreed.

“It could kill you,” I said, shivering.

“It might. But before it does, I might be able to get the right information for the Elite Hands of Justice to stop this thing. So it’d be worth it.”

“But you’d be dead!” I said.

“So?” he asked.

I felt my eyes tear up. “Stop it. You know I would care.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I would,” I snapped. “Because I . . .” I trailed off.

“Because you what?”

“Because I care, okay? Isn’t that enough?”

He sighed. “No, it’s not, but I’ll take it. We don’t have time to hash this out anymore. I can feel it coming back.”

I took a deep breath and put a hand on either side of his head, resting fingers on his temples. “I don’t know that this is going to work,” I muttered.

“It’s our only hope,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

He started speaking in binary again. I closed my eyes and started to work my own spell.

“Unisci la mia mente alla tua,” I said, and began to feel the magic take effect. The spell made us able to communicate telepathically. I couldn’t wander around in his mind, but he put me where he wanted me to be.

Cyrus’s mind immediately opened to where the virus lay quivering inside him. Before I could see it, I felt its darkness. The hex was like an icicle driven into my stomach, an unearthly coldness, a sense of something horribly wrong and evil.

The dark malevolence inside him, this pulsing sorcery, turned its attention to me. It reached out a tentacle of darkness, but I mentally pushed it away. I directed myself to fight the thing, my tongue spitting out a constant barrage of Italian, much like Cyrus’s binary code, as I pushed as hard as I could against the hex. It barely budged. Not to be outdone, I gritted my teeth and pushed again, throwing more of myself into it. I felt the spell give a bit more, and I quickly spat out a few more incantations to further cement my intention: to create a temporary door in Cyrus’s mind that would slow the evil’s progress.

The hex, for lack of a better term, growled. I slammed a sorcerous door in its face and threw myself against it, holding fast even as it tried to break through.

“Now,” I growled to Cyrus, both physically and mentally. “Do it fast, whatever you plan on doing!”

I felt a difference as soon as he stopped working in his own defense; it seemed like my mental barricade was already giving way. Knowing I couldn’t fail, I braced myself and held on as tightly as I could.

“I’m almost there,” Cyrus whispered, though I couldn’t tell if it was in my mind or aloud. “I can almost reach it.”

My defense was giving way. I felt the coldness of a tentacle from the hex reach out for me. I swatted it away but said, “This isn’t going to last much longer.”

“Almost there . . . Almost there . . . I’ve got it!” he crowed, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of a building I didn’t recognize and someplace beautiful and otherworldly. And then my door holding back the black magic burst open and the hex lurched forward.

I dropped the mind-linking spell between me and Cyrus. As the connection ended, so did the hex’s attempt to make the leap into my mind. I fell physically backward, bouncing my head off the floor. The jolt was enough to jar me, and my eyes flew open, just as I heard the sound of something breaking on the ground next to me. I winced at the pain from both the fall and working the spell.

“Ow,” I groaned, struggling to sit up. But then a wild-eyed Cyrus was atop me.

“You can’t forget memory. It can’t be done!” he said, his voice pitched weirdly and not entirely his own. I wasn’t sure what messing with his hex had done, but it definitely wasn’t good. His eyes were dead, like Cyrus himself was gone and something else was working the shell of his flesh.

“Cyrus,” I said, hesitant.

“It’s not so hidden anymore. It’s coming up more and more to the surface. And it will again, once he’s set free.” Something continued to speak in that strange, almost singsong voice. I didn’t know what was talking, but it wasn’t Cyrus.

“Set the Dragon free, you mean?” I asked.

“Serpents be lowly. They hug the ground on their bellies. The Brethren are above everything.” The voice changed again, became a growl. Cyrus’s eyes seemed to see again, but it was still someone else behind them. “Bet you wished you were nicer to me now, huh, Fantazia?”

“Dylan?” There was something about the tone and speech pattern that was recognizable.

“Am I man enough now for you?” He used Cyrus’s hands to grope my body.

I struggled. “Stop it. Let Cyrus go!” I demanded.

“He touched us. We touched him,” the strange voice said again.

“I own him now,” Dylan said. “He shouldn’t have tried to find us. He should have known that if he could reach us, we could reach him. I’m inside him now, beautiful.”

One of Cyrus’s hands closed around my throat, and the other felt around the carpet for the shattered remains of a glass picture frame that had gotten knocked off the wall. “I’ll cut your head off,” Dylan’s voice said.

I struggled against him, trying to break free even as the darkness threatened to swallow me whole and stars danced before my eyes. There seemed a real possibility that I could die, and I didn’t want it. I magically lashed out as I felt my strength starting to give. I’d used up way too much magic and didn’t have enough oxygen to think straight.

Suddenly, Cyrus let go. I gasped for air, my lungs sucking in as much as I could take.

“They let go,” he said, clearly amazed. When I met his eyes I could see that he was back. “At least temporarily.”

“We’ve got to somehow make sure they can’t take you over again.”

“I’m not going to be the one who kills you, Fantazia. I’m not,” Cyrus commanded. “If that happens again, you have to stop me. One way or another, you’ve got to stop me. You’re the only one strong enough to do it.”

“Are you saying you want me to kill you?” I asked, horrified.

“If that’s what it takes to permanently stop them from controlling my body, yes. Just do it quick, because I can feel them coming back.”

“I’m not . . .” I felt tears run down my face. “No. You can’t ask me that!”

“Now’s the time to remind yourself that you don’t care about anyone. That you didn’t mean what you said the other night, what you said in another language. The other night never even happened, if that helps. I don’t care what you have to say to make yourself stop me, just stop me,” he begged, his eyes wide with panic. “Please do it.”

“No!” I shrieked.

He grabbed me by the arms, squeezing tight enough to leave bruises. An expression of agony took over his face and he let go, but then he was looking away from me, at something I couldn’t see. “Oh, God, it’s ripping through me. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” He wasn’t even seeing me anymore. Zeroes and ones spilled from his mouth like a sermon.

I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, finally summoning the only words that would stop him. I loved him this much, no matter what I was unable to say. He’d begged me to do this; I had to do something.

The room went silent. I slowly opened one eye. Cyrus lay on the floor, staring at nothing.

My whole body was racked by a sob. Against all hope, I called out for the one person who could help.

“DADDY!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A flash of light seared the room and Wesley appeared, clearly having teleported in from DC. He gave a swift glance around, his eyes burning a bright blue. “What is it? What’s happened?”

I threw myself into his arms and sobbed, clinging to him like a hurt child. His whole body stiffened, like he was in shock, but then he relaxed. Some ancient fatherly instinct must have kicked in. He stroked my hair and leaned his head against mine.

“Shh. It’s okay. Va tutto benne.”

I cried even harder at hearing him tell me everything was all right. All the emotion that had been stuck inside me for so long seemed set on coming out in the face of this tragedy.

“Sweetheart, what’s happened? What is it?”

With one shaky hand, I pointed to the floor and burst into a fresh batch of tears.

Wesley followed my finger and gasped when he saw Cyrus lying there. “What happened? What have you done to him?” He left my side to check Cyrus. For once, I didn’t mind not being the focus of attention.

“Was the Dragon here?” he asked. He waved a hand over Cyrus and cast a small diagnostic spell.

I shook my head. “Not physically, anyway. Cyrus was trying to hack into the source of that spell Dylan used on the civilians, or at least what he assumed was the source. He was using what he thought was the prototype spell. But . . . it’s not a spell. It’s a hex.” I quickly explained the sequence of events just past, then ended the synopsis with a shaky breath. “I can’t do this anymore. I am so tired.”

“What are you tired of?”

“Life. It goes on and on and hurts so goddamn much. And it never stops.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “And it never will for us.”

“I can’t do it anymore. I want to go away.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Where life can’t reach me anymore. Where I can’t be hurt anymore.”

“There are very few places like that, Fantazia,” he said, “in this world or in any other. Besides, you tried it before. Did it help to be away from everyone?”

“No, I was so lonely,” I sobbed. “But it was better than this. I can’t keep doing this over and over again, caring about someone and then losing them. First with Andrew and then Victor and now . . . God, you don’t know how lucky you are that you get to forget.”

His face darkened. “Oh, yes. I’m blessed. Ask Lainey how much it hurt her to see me walking around not knowing who she was. For me to have suspicions of why she acted like she hated me only to have her confirm it later: that I replaced the man she loved.”

“It worked out for you,” I retorted.

“This time,” he said. “She decided she loves this new me. But I’ll never know how many people left because they couldn’t deal with the pain. And that’s a whole new agony to deal with.”

“It’s better than this,” I said, motioning to Cyrus. “To seeing one of the few people I’ve let myself care about die right before my eyes, then to never forget it. To never forget. Having to deal with that pain again. Forever.”

Wesley studied me. “You . . . care for him?”

“Yes.” The admission was like tearing out my own entrails. “Great, eh? Look what it got me.”

“Love,” Wesley said.

I met his eyes. “What do you mean? The fact that you and I buried the hatchet?”

He shook his head. “No. I meant that he was in love with you.”

My throat felt like it was going to close. “He said that to you?”

Wesley shook his head. “He didn’t have to.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s reciprocated.”

“Oh, no. If you want the gory details, Pop—”

“Not like that.” He shook his head, amused and a bit exasperated. “That’s not love. Love isn’t sex—”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“—though sex is like icing on the cake of love.”

I winced. “Wow. You were a poet in one of your lives. Not this one.”

“The very fact that you’re making smart remarks is telling,” Wesley said. “You’re trying to avoid the subject.”

It was true; the discomfort of the situation was getting to me. “So, who’s still around that could work a hex?” I asked, deftly changing the subject.

From the look he shot me, I wasn’t quite as deft as I’d hoped. “Besides you and I?” He quirked an eyebrow and I nodded. “I’m not sure.”

“Is there anything you can do?” I asked, looking over at Cyrus. He was still lying motionless, eyes open and seeing nothing.

My father sighed. “To try to figure out who’s doing all this, to trace the drain spell back and try to put a stop to it, or to help save Cyrus? Which are you asking for?”

I shrugged. I really meant saving Cyrus, but I supposed they were all extremely important.

“The answer to all three is a resounding, ‘I’m not sure.’ ”

“Wow. Not the answer I was looking for,” I muttered.

“That’s all you’re going to get I’m afraid,” he said with a sad little smile. He eyed Cyrus. “I’m impressed, though. It’s not often you see a freeze spell so effective on a human body.”

I gave him a sad smile of my own. “It’s multilayered.”

“How so?”

I didn’t want to admit to this, but . . . “There’s more than just a freeze spell. I froze him so he couldn’t flail around. That’ll wear off before too long and I’ll have to decide on a different fix.”

“And the other layer is?”

I ignored my father’s question. “I froze him as he was. The magic infecting him was too strong, there was no way I could take it off. Only the original caster can—or it’ll end when his or her life ends.” That option was sounding pretty good right about now. If I could get my hands on the magic-user who’d done this, the remainder of his or her life would be pretty short. Like, ten seconds or less. “He’ll just stay the way he was right before I cast the spell. He won’t get sick. He won’t age, and I hope the hex won’t progress any either . . .”

My father looked amazed. “I don’t even know how you would begin to do that and keep him alive.”

“It’s a rather familiar trick,” I said. I didn’t want to explain any further, though I had a feeling I’d have to.

“What do you mean?”

“Who else near and dear to you is also frozen in time, staying one way forever and ever, never aging, never dying, never changing . . . ?”

Wesley stared. “Did you do what I think you did?”

“Don’t look so aghast,” I said, processing his shock. “You did it with Lainey.”

“I gave her a tiny bit of my soul so she wouldn’t be corrupted,” he said, his features turning white. “She was whole otherwise, no other problems. She wasn’t rotting on the inside, some sort of very black magic destroying her.”

“So I gave him a bit more than a tiny bit.”

“How much more?” Wesley looked like he was going to be sick.

“I don’t know. Maybe a third.”

“A third!”

“Give or take.”

“What the hell!” Wesley blasted. “A third? You have absolutely no idea what that’s going to do to you! Or to him!”

“Well, I had to give enough to actually keep him alive, so—”

“Holy shit.” Wesley put his head in his hands.

“Wow.” I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear like that.”

“You’re going to hear it now.” He was shaking his head. “Oh, my God.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” I shrieked.

“That much is obvious.”

“I just did the first thing that came to mind that might work. I wasn’t sure, of course, that this would freeze the spell, but—”

“Well, we’re going to find out pretty soon.”

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“Why am I so mad?” he repeated. “I don’t know, maybe because you just powered something up that no one will be able to stop. You did it without thinking. If you went mad, there would have been no way to stop you. Magic-wise, you’re the most powerful being on this whole planet.”

“Was,” I amended. By giving Cyrus such a large part of my soul and performing that spell I burned myself out. I was now, like Wesley, a shadow of my former self.

“Was,” he agreed. “Before this mess.”

“And before whoever’s behind Dylan’s scheme showed up.”

“Whom we have no chance of stopping now.”

“Like we had before.”

He sighed. “But that’s not our worst problem. We’d better pray that if this thing goes south, Cyrus dies. If that thing inside him wasn’t frozen like you hope . . .”

“Thanks. That’s cheerful. All my sacrifice in vain.”

“Well, the alternative is that our enemy can still control him and he terrorizes the city. Or the world. And there’s always the unfortunate side effect of madness. What if Cyrus is mad and you’ve given him a third of your life force?”

“You did the same thing for Lainey,” I pointed out again.

“I gave a tiny part. You gave a damn third!”

“You’re swearing again.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to continue to swear until Cyrus wakes up and we see what happens.” He stared at Cyrus. I followed his gaze. He glanced back and said, “Guess that answers my question.”

“What question?”

“About whether or not you love him. It’s completely obvious.”

I sighed. “I never said anything. Not to him.”

“I never said anything to Lainey either,” Wesley said in a quiet but friendly tone. I glanced over and noticed a small smile on his face. “I gave her that part of my soul without telling her. I’d go around using endearments in another language that she didn’t understand so she wouldn’t know how I felt and I wouldn’t have to admit it.”

I shook my head and gave him a wan smile. “God, I am so your daughter.”

He nodded. “Well, make sure you find a way to tell him how you feel. If he lives through this. You don’t have my problem, at least, so you won’t have to go through a new life and a new memory.”

“No.” I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find my own unique way to screw it up.”

Wesley sighed. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “Hold on to love and happiness for as long as you can, Fantazia. Hold tight. They’re the only things that make life worth living, especially lives like ours.”

Our conversation ended as I felt my freeze spell wear off. “It’s gone. He should wake up soon.”

We both held our breath, waiting. Neither of us was attacked, so we slowly turned our heads to look. Cyrus still lay there, immobile.

“What’s happening?” I said. My voice was barely a whisper.

“Maybe your soul transfer didn’t work.”

“It worked. Trust me,” I said, running a hand over my chest. I could feel a phantom pain deep inside, the ache of a ruptured soul.

“Oh. Well, maybe the hex finished him off anyway.” My father went over and bent down, saying a few quick words in Italian: another diagnostic spell.

I held my breath. “Well?”

“Well . . . it seems like your spell worked. Somewhat.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means he’s in a coma, just like some of the other drained people fell into.”

My heart sank. “So he’s going to be in a coma forever? I risked everything for nothing?”

“I didn’t say that.” Wesley studied me. “There may be one way around it.”

“And that is?”

“You’re going to have to wake him up.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Oh, wake him up. Sure. And how exactly do I do that?” I asked. “Shake him and yell, ‘Wake up’? Or do you know of some other trick that medical science is missing about coma patients?”

He gave a tolerant sigh. “This is a magical coma, so it’s a bit different. We approach the cure differently. What’s going on here is that there’s a disconnect of the spirit—soul, will, whatever you want to call it, whatever the hex was feeding off—to the body. But we can go in and magically reconnect it.”

“Great. Do that,” I said. “I’ll help however I can.” I paused expectantly, waiting for him to whip out old, moldy spell books or something.

He shook his head. “Other way around, actually. I’ll do what I can to help, but you’re going to be doing all of the heavy lifting.”

“How?” I asked.

“You’re going to have to go into his mind and make him wake up. More importantly, you’re going to have to make him want to wake up. These spells . . . the draining does something that just makes the victim give up. If you can call him back, reconnect his mind and body again, he’ll come to and be fine. Well, at least he’ll recover from the coma. I’m still not sure of the side effects of your other spell.”

“And why do I have to do it?” I asked. I was feeling particularly incompetent.

He eyed me. “Firstly, the soul spell you did. It’s created a link between you and Cyrus that can’t be severed. Lainey and I have one because I gave her that little part of my soul; yours is going to be much, much greater. In fact, if Cyrus dies, there’s a very great possibility that you will go with him.”

“Good,” I said. “Life’s been too long anyway.” But I didn’t mean it.

Wesley shook his head, rolled his eyes and ignored me. “Secondly, it’ll be easier to bring him back out of this if he’s given something to live for.”

“I’m not good at motivational speeches.”

“This one will be easy.” Wesley grinned. “Just tell him how you feel. I think that’ll be enough.”

I bit my lip. Tell him how I feel?

“You can do this, Fantazia. I have faith in you.”

“Glad someone does,” I muttered. Taking a deep breath I said, “Okay. What do we do first?”

I helped Wesley gather the materials for the spell, the spell books from his room, and to move Cyrus to the bed where the ritual would be easier to perform. All the time, my heart was pounding. Would I really be able to do this? I had a sinking feeling it would be more difficult than anything I’d done for millennia.

Wesley finished painting some herbs onto Cyrus’s forehead and speaking an incantation that I wasn’t processing. He glanced at me and said, “All right, your turn. Come lie down next to him.”

“On the bed?”

“It’ll be easier to connect you two,” Wesley said, nodding.

“Somehow it’s a little weird, lying on a bed with a man with my father standing over me, staring,” I admitted.

“Just don’t forget I’m here,” Wesley joked, and began painting the same herbs onto my forehead.

I closed my eyes as the cold, wet muck slid across my face. Ew. I tried to clear my mind as he’d instructed, breathing deeply, trying to put myself into a relaxed state, forcing my body to grow heavier and heavier. I could barely hear Wesley’s words, and I concentrated on clearing everything, all of my worries, all of my guilt, all of my pain, and just be a slate of nothing.

The world around me changed. It became a strange gray mist that stuck to everything, making it impossible to see the ground, my surroundings, and that seemed to burn in my chest as I breathed. Except, I wasn’t breathing. Not really. Just as I really wasn’t walking. My body seemed dimly aware that physically I was still lying back in the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters, but the rest of me was elsewhere, in a strange, foggy limbo.

There were shapes in the mist, things that formed and then dissipated, that grew and then shrank. As I moved closer, one began to take on more substance and form. And then I could hear voices.

“Can’t you just stay home for once?” a male voice asked, sounding weary. “You don’t have to go out to the bar every night.”

“I work hard all goddamn day, unlike you, who sits around all day pretending to look for work. I deserve a break,” a hostile female voice said. “You’re the one who just sits in front of the television, drinking yourself into a stupor.”

“At least I do my drinking at home and don’t go out to the bars dressed like a cheap whore,” the man growled, and I could almost see him, a stocky figure with a scowl on his face and a receding hairline, although the finer details were a bit unclear.

The woman was a tired-looking blonde, who turned and seemed to notice me.

“Great, you woke him up,” she said. Turning full attention on me she said, “Go back to bed, Cyrus. Mommy’s going out for the night.”

What the hell? It took me a moment, and then I realized what it was I was looking at. Memories. Cyrus’s memories, to be exact. The couple launched into another fight, and the scene began to fade from my view, though I could still dimly hear it.

A new scene started to materialize, and I squinted, trying to make out the shapes. I heard voices, and then children’s shapes gradually began to come into focus. There were scowling faces, and I felt the pain of being kicked and hit. Cries of “Sissy!” and “Baby!” punctuated each blow. I curled up to avoid the attacks—

The scene shifted, and I saw one of the same children, except now he was grown up into a teenager with acne and some sort of letterman jacket. He took a quick punch, his nose exploding into a fountain of blood.

“My sister is not a slut,” I heard Cyrus say, his voice a bit higher-pitched in youth. “Don’t you call her that again.”

“She’s just taking after your mom,” one of the other boys sneered. “Everyone knows she hangs out at the bars, banging anyone who will buy her a drink.”

“You’ll pay for that,” I heard Cyrus say, and then the fight was really on. A pretty, young blonde girl, one who looked vaguely like a younger and less tired version of the woman from a moment before cried out, “Don’t, Cyrus! You’ll just make it worse!”

Those shapes began to fade away, too, and soon I was looking at the gray mist again and could hear only the strange echoes of teen voices. I kept moving, kept catching glimpses of scenes here and there, whispered words or shouts. I saw what I presumed was Cyrus’s first heist—an ATM machine that he had somehow rigged to spit out all of its money—and then when he teamed up with a minor villain I didn’t recognize. I laughed as I saw Cyrus fight members of the Elite Hands of Justice, all younger or members of the team who’d now cycled out, watched with glee as he managed to escape their clutches.

I averted my eyes as he met and seduced a gorgeous blonde who I assumed was Sabrina’s mother. My suspicions were confirmed when she glumly told him, “I guess I’m pregnant.” The scene changed again, this time to the blonde woman shouting, “He’s better than you at everything! He’s a better provider, he’s a better criminal . . . and oh, yeah, he’s better in bed!” There was a screaming baby in the background.

I wanted to see more, wondering how Cyrus reacted, but the next thing I knew there was a fight happening with some random hero I didn’t recognize, and then a scene before a judge. Cyrus was getting out on bail, but it wasn’t going to last. I knew what happened next. I also knew I didn’t want to see it from this angle.

The next scene was a very familiar bar, upholstered all in leather and velvet, an air of seduction and excess. Androgynous waitstaff floated by, one of whom beckoned me to follow him to a room off the bar that was dark and lit by a single spotlight. Draped across the couch in the center of it was me.

It was disconcerting, this view from the outside. I saw myself how Cyrus saw me, and it wasn’t pretty. I was gorgeous—he clearly thought so—and stuffed into a tight little black dress that a dominatrix would wear, along with my usual high black boots. My makeup was bordering on garish, with the too-red mouth, heavy dark makeup around the eyes and henna tattoos. I looked like some sort of mad and malevolent goddess.

“Sit down,” the memory me said, motioning to the other couch with a wicked smile. “So, what can I offer you?” I bent over to give a full view down my shirt, a tacky and distasteful display in my opinion. Was I really that trashy?

Cyrus began telling me about how he’d finally been taken down and was going to jail. And then came the part that had floored me: his request. Not to escape, not to make people forget the evidence, but to protect his daughter, especially from her mother’s latest boyfriend.

“I don’t care what happens to me, but I have to protect my little girl,” I could hear him saying. “Bad enough that she’s saddled with a criminal for a father and an addict for a mother, but you know the kind of things Syn will do if he gets his hands on her. And he will get his hands on her. Jessica won’t do a damn thing to stop him. Not that she could, even if she wanted, but . . .”

I watched with a sick feeling as my other self smiled and said, “Of course I’ll help. It’s going to cost you, though. A lot. And you know it.”

That’s all I’ve ever cared about. What I can get out of people. I’m awesome.

“All right, fine,” Cyrus said. “Whatever you want.”

“Whenever I want.” I could see myself using my wiles on him, playing all the little games I always did with men, keeping them only interested in one thing, keeping them at a distance, far away, forever, so that I couldn’t be hurt.

“Stop,” I said, closing my eyes to the vision even though I knew it wouldn’t help. “I don’t want to remember this. I get it, I’m a lousy person. I thought we were here for Cyrus.”

The voices from the past seemed only to get louder, so I continued to walk, trying to put distance between myself and that memory. The sounds were a cacophony that burned my ears. I also felt like I was wandering lost, that I would be stuck inside this mind forever, entangled in Cyrus’s memories.

And then I saw. Sitting at the center of the maelstrom, safe in the eye of a tornado, was Cyrus. The Cyrus I knew. The real Cyrus—or as real as anything could be in a place like this.

The mist around him seemed to thicken, and I swiped at it, stumbling forward. “Cyrus!” I called, nearing. “Cyrus!”

He was staring at something I couldn’t see, lost in memory. As I got closer, I saw what it was and I cringed. He was watching recent events: him saving me from the Dragon cult. Our night together. My voice, saying those words in Italian that I couldn’t bring myself to speak in English. Him painting his expression of love on my body. Then me trying to distance myself from him.

“Cyrus, it’s me,” I said, walking up behind him and putting my hand on his shoulder. “It’s me. I’m here.”

The scene before me shifted to the moments before he was hexed, him trying to hack the spell and failing, me holding him, trying not to cry. “Stop looking at that,” I said, a bit more forcefully. “I’m here now, right now. I’m here for you. I helped you. I’ve done so much to try and save you.”

“What’s it matter?” he said.

“We’ve still got the world to save,” I prodded.

“Why bother?”

“You want to make your daughter proud, remember?” I said. “You’ve still got work to do. You’ve got to come back with me.”

“The world’s got the EHJ. It doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, it does,” I said. “Your daughter needs you, especially.”

“My daughter doesn’t know I exist,” he snapped, finally turning to look at me.

We both stared at each other. Everything about him was the same but different. His eyes were just a bit bluer, his face a little less lined with age. His every movement seemed a bit more fluid. But there was something else I could see: the warrior in him, the power behind him, everything I’d been attracted to but wasn’t apparent in the normal world.

He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes; he was in a strange mix of techno garb, like a cyborg from a movie, and leather, like a gladiator. The tattoos that usually adorned his skin seemed to writhe on his body like a second armor. When I looked closely, I saw tentacles attached to his chest. The black magic was still in him; it permeated his consciousness even here. But another part of him seemed to glow like gold. That part was familiar.

It was me, I saw—the part of my soul I had given up for him. I realized then that I was actually seeing him, not just the shell of his body, but what he really was.

He was staring just as hard. I worried at what he was seeing, if he was seeing me. Something cold and dark? Something horrible?

“Wow.” He seemed enthralled, as if he observed something wonderful. So, he definitely wasn’t seeing me.

I glanced behind me but could only see gray mist. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he breathed, like it was some sort of prayer. “You’re really something else, aren’t you?”

I’ve never felt more naked in my life. “S-so are you.”

He reached out a hand, brushed my cheek with a faint caress. “And what about you?” he said.

I shivered. “What?”

“Do you need me to come back?” His hand found my waist.

“Yes. Of course,” I said.

“Why?”

My heart fell. I couldn’t say it. There was no need, anyway. “I . . . just think it’d be better if you came back. Your daughter—”

The glow went out of him. His hand left my waist and he started to turn away. “Just go, Fantazia.” The fog seemed to rise, growing thicker and surrounding us.

“No, Cyrus. Come on. Please. You’ve got to come.”

“If you can’t say it here, you can’t say it anywhere.” He turned away and made to stride off.

“No, wait!” I said, pulling on his arm, dragging him back. He turned reluctantly. “You have to come back, because . . .”

“Because?”

I took a deep breath and met his gaze, drowned in eyes that were so much bluer here than in the real world. “Because I love you.”

I pulled him close and kissed him. His arms were suddenly around me, his lips on mine, and I felt the most at home that I’ve ever been in my entire life. I didn’t feel scared anymore. I wasn’t alone anymore. Cyrus kissed me like we were the only people in the universe, like I was the only thing that mattered in the whole damn world.

We were still kissing as we came back to reality. I opened my eyes slowly, taking in my surroundings. We were in Cyrus’s room at the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters, on Cyrus’s bed. I was lying on top of him and he was staring up at me with a strange but peaceful smile on his face. Wesley sat to the side in a chair.

“I told you not to forget I was here,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“I know where Dylan is,” Cyrus said to Wesley.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. I was still reeling from the shock of everything that had happened. Cyrus sat nearby, though maintaining a respectable distance in front of my father. Even at our age, I guess no one wants to be caught in an impromptu make-out session by a parent. “And the Cult of the Dragon. They’re getting ready to let him free.”

“We’ll get there and stop them,” Wesley promised. “Give me the coordinates and I’ll speak to Paul about strategy.”

“I’m coming with you,” Cyrus said.

Wesley nodded. “We’re going to need everyone—including Fantazia.” He looked at me with hope in his eye, and I nodded assent without any negotiation. “But we can’t go into this without a plan, especially against the Dragon. And . . . you need to take a few moments for recovery.” He seemed to be watching Cyrus carefully, as if he still wasn’t sure what my spell had done to him.

“I’m fine,” Cyrus said. “I—”

Wesley cut him off. “You and Fantazia need to talk.” His eyes burned into me as he turned. “About what she did to save you.”

“I’m going to,” I spoke up, if a bit testily. It wasn’t like he’d spilled the beans to Lainey the moment his incident happened. But time was of the essence, and after everything Cyrus and I had just shared, I might as well come clean about just how far I’d gone. I’d gotten firsthand knowledge of his deep, dark secrets, so in some ways this only seemed fair.

Of course, our soul link was far greater than anything Wesley and Lainey had, so who knew how much Cyrus already knew?

“Take a few moments and join us when you’re ready,” Wesley said, patting me on the shoulder as he passed to go out into the hallway. “The Dragon isn’t out yet, so there’s still time.”

The door swished shut behind him, leaving Cyrus and me alone. I looked to Cyrus, who watched me intently but with a smile on his face. I smiled back. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

My smile broadened. “Not entirely a newsflash.”

“No, I mean, you are. When you came to see me inside my mind, I saw the real you. What’s on the inside.”

My smile fell a bit. “Definitely less gorgeous.”

“No,” he said. “Gorgeous isn’t a big enough word for what you are. You’re something else—like an angel. You glow.”

I just stared at him.

“I’m not doing you justice. You’re just . . . you’re indescribable.”

God help me, but my heart actually fluttered. “You don’t have to work so hard. I already love you. No need to flatter me. No need to sweeten the pot.”

He grinned. “Say it again.”

“No need to sweeten the pot?”

He moved closer. “The other thing.”

I pretended innocence even as I stretched out on the bed beneath him. “You don’t have to work so hard?”

“You’re such a tease,” he said, moving to kiss my neck.

I moved my head to whisper in his ear. “I love you.”

He stopped and stared deep into my eyes and said, “I love you.” And then he kissed me, hard and passionate.

It was clear exactly where this was headed. I said against his mouth, “But you’re supposed to be recovering.”

“This will be a great way to recover.”

“And I’m supposed to be talking to you . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be saying things. Maybe even in a variety of languages.”

I laughed and succumbed. After all, I hadn’t loved anyone in forever. It felt good, and there was a lot of catching up to do.

A short time later I was beginning to wonder how Wesley and Lainey ever got any work done. Soul connections are amazing things! Then I remembered that theirs was a much smaller connection than what Cyrus and I now had. And then I remembered all thoughts about the logistics of their love were something I was avoiding.

“Maybe it’s just having come back from the almost-dead, but wow,” Cyrus said next to me. “Just . . . wow.”

“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” I joked, trying to keep it light.

“If that’s the aftereffect of a hex, I think there’ll be a long list of people waiting to sign up after I publish my autobiography.”

“It’s not the hex,” I said, getting serious. “That’s still there, though. I don’t know if you can tell. There was no way to take it off—not without the help of the original caster.”

“Yeah, I can still feel it.” Cyrus absently rubbed a hand across his chest. “But it’s not doing anything.”

“No. I took advantage of your last coherent moment,” I said. “They had ahold of you. Did you know that? Dylan and whoever is working with him.”

Cyrus nodded. “Yeah, I know. I couldn’t stop them. I was trapped inside my body, powerless to do anything.” He shuddered. “It was horrible.”

“Well, that last moment when you were still you, I grabbed it. I froze you.”

He looked confused. “I don’t feel frozen.”

“Well, you are.” I was suddenly afraid he was going to get mad or freak out. “I’m sorry. It was the only thing I could think of to do.”

“I don’t understand, how do you mean, ‘froze’ me?” he asked. “I’m still walking around, moving and talking. You mean you froze the hex?”

“That, too. That magic is frozen; it can’t drain you anymore. But you can’t get any better either. Even if we find the person who cast the spell, they can’t take it off.”

Cyrus frowned but then shrugged. “Well, as long as it’s not doing any damage, it’s not a big deal. Right? It’s like a tattoo but on the inside.”

“Well, there’s more,” I said.

“More?”

“You’re frozen.” I bit my lip, suddenly scared to death of his reaction. “You’re not going to age. You’re not going to get sick. It’s likely you’re never going to die, though I wouldn’t go out of your way to test that theory, because you’ll still feel pain.”

“How in the world did you do that?” He looked a bit scared. “What did you do?”

“The hex was eating your soul.” I took a deep breath. “So I gave you a part of mine. A rather big part, actually.”

He was quiet, just looking at me like he was still trying to digest this piece of information.

“So,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “that’s why you’re somewhat like me now. You’re frozen in time like I am. And that’s also why everything is more intense between the two of us. We’ve got a soul connection, because we’re sharing part of the same soul.”

Again, he didn’t speak.

“It’s not all gravy, if you’re thinking it is.” I hoped he was pleased by what I’d done, but I’d made an enormous decision without his consent. Wasn’t I the one bemoaning my immortal fate only hours ago? He needed to know the whole truth. “It also means—or likely means—that if one of us is hurt, so will be the other one. Wesley said it’s possible that if one of us is killed, the other would pass on, too. I don’t really know for sure, because no one’s ever done anything like this. Not that I know of. Lainey has a small part of Wesley’s soul, but you’ve gotten a sizable chunk of mine.”

Cyrus finally broke his silence. “That took a lot out of him, when your father cast that spell. That’s when he lost a lot of his powers.”

I shrugged. “It was really more the resurrection spell he cast on Lainey, but I’m sure the soul donation didn’t help.”

“How much did you give?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, though. But . . . I’m definitely not the most powerful magic-user on the planet anymore. I’m down on a level playing field with the rest of you.”

He shook his head. “Wow, sweetheart. When you go for the grand gesture, you go for it big-time.”

I couldn’t read his reaction. “Are you upset?”

“Why would I be upset you did all of that to save me?” He shook his head. “If anything, I’m wondering if I’m worth the effort. If I’m worthy of the sacrifice you’ve made.”

I gave him a little smile. “I think you are.”

He smiled back. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You’re stuck with me. Forever. Quite literally, too, unless we find out that we can be killed.”

I hadn’t thought about that, exactly. “Well, let’s try not to find that out.”

“It’s an awfully big commitment,” he said.

“I know.” But I was also aware of something else: I wasn’t alone anymore. I had unwittingly made myself a companion, someone who wasn’t going to age and die. Someone who wasn’t going to leave me. Well, not unless he wanted. Would he want to?

“I’ve got to warn you, I’m a bit terrified of commitment,” he said.

I understood. “Look who you’re talking to.”

He grinned. “Want to give it the first hundred years or so and see how it goes?”

I couldn’t help the smile on my face. “A century sounds great.” A century with Cyrus seemed like the best thing that had happened to me in millennia.

We sealed our pact with a kiss. And then another and then another. And then, when it seemed like we were headed back into territory that would keep us occupied for far too long, considering what was happening with the EHJ, I said, “We’d better be getting back with my father and the others. We’ve still got to try to get to Dylan before he can get to the Dragon.” Part of me was enjoying the idea of helping the world now. It seemed there was so much more to save.

Cyrus shrugged. “I know exactly where he is, and we still have time.”

“We have other things to do, too,” I reminded him. “There’s just the Cult of the Dragon to get through before we have to fight him.”

“Only that,” Cyrus agreed amiably.

“And the kid’s hopped up on powers not his own. Neither of us is powerful enough to stop him.”

“Well, we’ll be able to wear him down, maybe. Or perhaps we can punt him into another dimension or something, like what Wesley did to the Dragon. It’s not like he can kill you or anything. Did you give up enough of your power to be scared?”

I sighed. “I always said it’s possible things can kill me. Like, a weapon meant to kill a god could likely hurt me, and . . .” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Oh. Oh, my.”

“Got an idea brewing?”

I jumped up and started throwing on clothes. “Kate’s here, right?”

“Last I knew, yeah.”

“Then I wonder if she would make a quick trip home . . . to possibly borrow one of her father’s weapons.”

Light dawned in Cyrus’s eyes. “Because if we get our hands on a weapon forged by one of the gods, powerful enough to kill another god . . .”

“It’ll definitely be enough to take out one super-powered kid. But we’re going to have to get in close to use it.”

Cyrus grinned. “Leave that to me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Is everyone clear on what they’re doing?” Wesley asked.

“We’re going to beat the Cult of the Dragon into submission. Not much to misinterpret,” Toby said.

“Try not to die in the process,” Lainey put in.

“Lather, rinse, repeat,” Paul said.

Luke shook his head. “It’s still off-putting when you do that, Paul. I’m too used to the overly serious version of you.”

“See what you’ve missed?” Selena said.

Wesley smirked. “Fantazia, Kate and Cyrus are going after Dylan. We’re the big distraction. But should they need us, we go in on the assist.”

“Let’s just hope that whoever’s guarding Dylan is lovelorn,” I said, taking another look at Kate and remembering her powers. She could only coerce the unattached.

Kate shrugged. “I’m not above using my fists, sweetie.”

“Good to know.”

“Everyone keep your headsets on at all times,” Mindy spoke up. “I’m supposed to be battle coordinator, and I can’t be coordinating if I can’t hear you.”

Forrest glanced around at us. “You all scare me a bit,” he said, eyeing Toby nervously. He was in town to help and supposed he would assist Mindy in monitoring every location with combat. “We’re talking about life-or-death situations, in which you could all possibly be killed, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.”

Toby smiled sadly. “Honey, it is no big deal to us. We do this on a daily basis.”

“The joys of being a mundane with a hero,” his boyfriend said, giving him a quick kiss. “Just be careful out there. All of you. But you especially, hon,” he said to Toby.

“It doesn’t get better if you’re both heroes,” Mindy spoke up. “I worry just as much.” She winced and put a hand on her stomach. “And worrying seems to wind this kid up. If only I were going out—”

“It’s no better when you’re in the field,” Lainey said.

“Everyone, we’re trained professionals. We’re all going to make it through this, just try to concentrate on what needs doing,” Wesley said. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but our concerns for our teammates should be at the back of our minds instead of the front. We need to get there before they release the Dragon.”

I turned to Cyrus. “Does Dylan know we’re coming?”

“You turned off the link between us, so I don’t know for sure, but he knows we have his location. You do the math.”

I nodded. “We’d better move fast. Everybody ready?”

Everyone nodded.

“You need me, you call,” Wesley said to me. Then, to the others: “Let’s go. It’s a good plan, Fantazia. Thanks for thinking of it.”

Using Mindy’s latest transportation device, we all teleported. In the moment between the EHJ headquarters and nothingness, I felt a shift in the atmosphere, like the whole world tilted. It was something that only another magic-user could feel, and it wasn’t good. Then we appeared in front of the Cult of the Dragon’s secret lair.

I stood upon a small hill overlooking an unassuming old warehouse at the edge of Megolopolis. The building was long abandoned, fallen to wrack and ruin. Nothing about it felt right, and something extremely significant felt wrong.

I groaned. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, shit,” Cyrus growled.

“What?” Lainey asked, looking sick.

Wesley’s face was a mask of determination. “The Dragon. He’s out.”

The nonmagical members of the team stared at us in horror. I felt the same.

“He knows we’re here, doesn’t he?” Lainey asked, sounding terrified.

As if in response, an army of cultists came flooding out of the warehouse. They were led by a darkly handsome man with crimson hair. He called out across the field between us, “Old One. We will have words. And I will have your friends’ blood.”

Wesley stared at me. “Get in there and stop Dylan.”

I stared back. “Dad, you’re going to need our help. You’re going to need all the help you can get. Everyone.”

He shook his head. “Just go.”

Kate grabbed my arm. “Listen to your father, Fantazia. But I’ll be of more help to them than to you.”

“No need for seduction in there,” I agreed. “We’ll just hack our way in.”

I held up the sword she’d gotten me from Zeus and checked to make sure the dagger she had given me was stashed away in case I needed it. Cyrus raised a large broadsword that had been his gift. “Let’s kick some ass,” he said.

I smiled. “You look so hot with that. A real warrior.”

“Likewise.” He grinned. “So, Dylan’s still in that building; that much I can tell. You ready to do this?”

“No. So let’s do it quick before I change my mind.”

He took my hand and we teleported inside.

I felt several wards shudder in protest as we entered, but the gun we used was potent; we managed to appear intact. “Ooh. Science trumps magic,” I laughed. It was the first time I was glad of such an outcome.

“Mindy was right: wards can keep out magical teleports, but they can’t do squat against travel based on science. The people here severely misjudged,” Cyrus said, peering around. The room wasn’t very big, and there weren’t many places for Dylan to hide. He cocked his head to glance at the rooms above. “Upstairs?”

“He’s got to know we’re here now,” I said. “He had to feel the wards shift.”

“He’s just hiding,” Cyrus said. “Because he’s too scared to come out and face us.”

Ah. Cyrus believed Dylan was listening, so I joined in on the baiting. “Like a little boy. Because that’s all he is.”

“No! I’m much more now!” Dylan’s voice rang out, echoing through building, and I shot Cyrus a look of triumph. “I’ve been remade into something else entirely. Something powerful.” He stepped out of the shadows, flanked by several guards, and I saw that he was right about one thing: he looked different. He was no longer the slouchy, gangly youth I’d known in the bar; he now walked with confidence and projected potency.

Of course, that only made me want to mock him even more. “Powerful, huh?” I said, with a barely concealed sneer. “So powerful you have to have paid goons watch your ass.”

“Just like you’re so powerful you need to paint protective wards on your body,” Dylan replied.

“No, I never needed those wards; they were only for effect,” I said. “But you’re all show, Dylan.”

He ignored me. “You had to bring your little boyfriend for backup? Really, Fantazia. Cyrus? He’s always been a second-rate loser.”

“I take exception to that,” Cyrus spoke up. “I’ve always been a first-rate loser.”

Dylan ignored him. “You could do so much better, Fanny.”

I laughed, though my throat was dry. “Like you, a pubescent boy who got sucked into doing the dirty work of the Dragon because a more powerful person isn’t available? You’re nothing but a glorified lapdog, Dylan, and you know it.”

He frowned. “Shut up.”

“What in God’s name did they promise you, Dylan? World domination? I’ve got news for you, kid—if the Dragon brings back the Ancient Ones, they’ll destroy the Earth. There’s not going to be anything for you to dominate. And do you really think the Ancient Ones would let you share any of their power? If so, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

“Once the Dragon gets his way and the Ancient Ones reclaim the world, she’s going to take me back to her world,” Dylan said, in an almost reverent tone. “It’s a place beyond compare. It’s beautiful and perfect, nothing like this crappy place. No mortal can even set foot there, but she’s been changing me, making me into something new so that I can go with her. Well, not something new. Something ancient.”

“ ‘She’? What are you babbling about, kid?” Cyrus asked, casting wary glances at Dylan’s cronies, who seemed to be advancing.

“Have you ever heard of a demigod?” Dylan bragged. “Because that’s what I’m becoming. Back when gods roamed the Earth and were pretty much worshipped by everyone—not ignored like they are now—if one of them took a shine to a mortal, she would bestow gifts upon him to make him more like her.”

I scoffed. “One of the gods is stupid enough to try and make you a demigod?”

Dylan glared. “Don’t call her stupid! She loves me. She saw the potential in me and changed me.”

“If you think one of the gods loves you, you’re the stupid one. Whoever it is, she’s just using you to get what she wants. Though, why she didn’t just let the Dragon out herself—”

“She can’t!” Dylan crowed. “She needed me. And she saw my potential and—”

“Why did she need you if she’s so powerful?” I asked. Kate could probably have let the Dragon out anytime she wanted. Scary thought, but true. Had Dylan truly hooked up with one of the lesser gods?

“Her powers are based on inspiration.”

I felt like a knife punctured my stomach. “Inspiration? W-who? Which one?”

Cyrus was staring at me, confused. “You know what he’s talking about? It’s all nonsense to me.”

“A Muse. He’s hooked up with a Muse.” I turned back to our enemy. “Which one, Dylan?” Please don’t say her name, please don’t say her name.

“Mneme.”

“Goddamn it!” I swore violently and threw in an extra few curses in Italian for emphasis.

“Who’s Mneme?” Cyrus asked.

“The Muse of remembrance. Older than her better-known sisters. And a crazy bitch.”

“She was much more complimentary regarding you, Fantazia,” Dylan said.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Dylan laughed. “I wanted to kill you, but she said no. I sent the Cult of the Dragon to get you, and she got angry. She was in a real snit about it, wouldn’t have sex with me for days. Got pretty mad at me when I had control of Cyrus earlier and threatened to take your head. Don’t know how mad she’ll be after I kill you here, but I’ll tell her it was in self-defense.”

“Dylan,” I warned. “I’m give you this one chance. Walk away now, before I’m forced to kill you.”

“Funny. But you see, I’m the one with the power here, and I’m not nearly that generous.”

He and his minions attacked. Cyrus took on the minions, somehow managing to cast a magic-blocking spell and also charging at them with his sword. “I’ll take care of them, you take care of Dylan,” he called. The minions looked for weaponry of their own.

“That’s going to be easier said than done,” Dylan replied, blasting me with some sort of draining spell. I raised a shield just in time, but felt it waver. “I’m a demigod now!”

“You’re still no match for me,” I said, flinging a bolt of energy. It should have knocked him off his feet and into the wall behind him, but he only took one small step back. I was definitely down, power-wise. But I was also unwilling to give up, so I quickly added an oxygen-stealing spell, wrapping it with a few words around his head.

He brushed it away like a cobweb from his face. “You want to try again?” he asked, mocking me.

I took a different approach, trying to affect his mind with a spell that summoned all of his worst nightmares—or should have. He frowned. “Being naked in school without remembering to study for a test? Hardly your best work, Fantazia.” He gave me a nasty look. “I’ll give you one more shot.”

I cast the most brutal spell I know, one that reached inside his body and caused his heart to stop. Nine times out of ten it kills whomever it’s thrown at, so I don’t use it very often. This time, it was a complete fizzle. Dylan just brushed it off his chest with a chuckle.

“That tickled,” he said. Then he gave me a fiery look. “My turn.”

With a growl, he threw a blasting spell at me. It was more powerful than any attack I’d ever faced, and it obliterated my defenses and knocked me off my feet, sending me crashing into the wall. More importantly, it knocked the sword from my hand and sent it clattering across the floor. The edges of my vision started to go black. I heard Cyrus call my name. I could barely move, but turned my head to see that he’d gotten rid of Dylan’s cronies.

The effect of our soul bond was hitting him, though, and he was curled up in pain on the floor. So, Wesley was right: Cyrus and I would die together.

Dylan walked over to where my sword lay and nonchalantly leaned down to pick it up. “Poor Fantazia,” he said. “Not as tough as you used to be. Maybe it’s because you gave a big part of yourself to this no-talent loser. I’m betting you wish you could rethink that, huh?” He hefted the blade and gave it a few experimental swings. “Let me give you a little hint, though. This weapon?” He held it out. “It wouldn’t have worked on me. See, a human can wield a weapon made by the gods against a god, but they can’t kill one with it. You don’t think the gods would be that stupid, do you? To let humans get their hands on such a weapon? A mere human can’t kill a god.”

“You’re not a god, Dylan,” I choked out.

“I’m a demigod, and that counts for this, Fantazia. While you’re just a human.” He started to swing the sword down at me.

I moved as quickly as I could, lurching upward and plunging the dagger Kate had given me straight into his chest. “Oh, sweetie,” I crooned into his ear, holding his body for leverage. “I’m not human.”

I gave the dagger another hard shove, and the light died in his eyes. He crashed to the floor, dead. After all of these many years, having to kill someone that’s turned evil never gets any easier, but sometimes my hand is forced. Yet another reason why I separated myself from the rest of humanity.

My sword fell beside him and I picked it up. Knowing it had to be done, with one quick motion I took off his head. Instantly I felt the weight of magic slip out of the room. Whatever spells he’d cast were finished, but I wasn’t sure that helped. Not now. The Dragon was already loose.

Cyrus walked over and eyed my grisly handiwork. “Seems like overkill.”

“Had to make sure,” I said. “With demigods you never know. Always a good idea to take off the head.”

“Done this before, have you?”

“A time or two,” I admitted.

“Good thing he was wrong.”

I glanced at Cyrus. “About what?”

“About these weapons being useless in the hands of a human. Against gods, I mean. They worked just fine against his cronies.” He motioned to the bodies of Dylan’s minions.

“He wasn’t wrong,” I said. Glancing at Cyrus I said, “I knew when I asked Kate for them: had anyone else on the team tried this, it wouldn’t have worked.”

Cyrus looked flabbergasted. “I don’t understand. Your father’s human. I know he’s got more power than most magic-users and the whole reincarnating thing, but they’re still just powers. And maybe your mother was a great magician like he says—”

I laughed. “You trust his shoddy memory? Who do you think told him she was a magician?” I gave Cyrus a wry smile.

He was shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

“No, but you’re going to.” I put a hand to my headset. “Kate? If we’re lucky enough that the Dragon’s dead or if my father can spare you, I need to borrow you for a second.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I don’t think it’s a good idea leaving the battle like that,” Cyrus was saying, following me. “Dragging Kate out of it, too . . .”

“We’ll only be gone a second. Literally. Where we’re going is kind of out of time as you folk know it,” I said.

“I’ll be back before anyone notices I’m gone,” Kate agreed. “Possibly with reinforcements.”

Cyrus mouthed, “ ‘You folk,’ ” giving me a strange look. Then, staring at the wall in front of us he asked, “Are we going to another pocket universe like yours, or did you drag me to this corner to look at advertisements for musical theater?”

“Last time I try to broaden your horizons,” I joked.

We were standing in front of an abandoned playhouse. Someone had painted the wall with an advertisement for the work last performed here, some corny musical romp that seemed to center on boy meets girl with a bit of magic thrown in. Looked delightful. But while we were many years too late to attend the play, we weren’t interested in the actual playhouse. Cyrus was right, sort of; where we were headed was a place akin to my pocket universe. There were portals to it, interdimensional doors that only certain people could see, mainly its inhabitants. Hence, me bringing Kate. She knew where the dimension’s owners, metaphorically speaking, hid the key.

She frowned, studied the wall and then walked forward and started to press her hand onto it. Instead, her hand went through. “It’s been a while since I used this doorway,” she admitted. “I’d almost forgotten about it, and I figured everyone else had as well. But someone’s used it recently.”

“Mneme,” I grumbled. “She’s been using this door to sneak out to see her little boyfriend Dylan and wreak havoc.”

Kate shook her head. “Mneme? This is so confusing. Why is she doing this? She’s always been so unassuming. We forget she’s there half the time!” She studied me. “And how did I not know and you did?”

I brushed away her concerns. “We can go over all of that later. Right now we’re going to put a stop to her before she destroys the world with whatever harebrained scheme she’s running.”

Kate gave me another long look, then passed through the wall without another word. I followed, taking care to grab Cyrus by the arm and pull him afterward.

We were met by a wave of cold that seemed to chill us to our very bones. There was complete darkness, and then a bright light. Things gradually began to slip into focus again.

“Where are we?” Cyrus whispered.

“Olympus,” I said. “The realm of the gods.”

Everything exuded an otherworldly glow. There were buildings, roads and even trees, but everything seemed made of a combination of crystal, glitter, diamonds and gold. Everything was just so bright—and off. I didn’t know how the gods could stand it.

Kate touched my arm. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been scared of her in a long time.”

“I’m going to go talk to him, so he’s aware of the situation,” she said, motioning toward the biggest and brightest building of all. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“You know where to find us,” I said.

“Last place on the left,” Kate said, and hurried off.

I hefted the sword I still carried and started off toward Mneme’s house. Cyrus followed after me, surely confused. He was hiding his frustration well.

“I take it that you and this Muse of remembrance go way back?”

“Waaaaaay back,” I said.

“And you don’t get along?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“So, we’re going to show up at her door, surprise her with your unwelcome presence and then tell her to stop her evil schemes or . . .”

“Or I cut off her head. Yup, that’s pretty much the plan.”

“So, she’s the one that put the hex on me.”

“Yep.”

“She’s pretty powerful then.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And we’re not.”

I eyed him and shrugged. “But we have one advantage.”

“Which is?”

“We’re sane.”

He shook his head and laughed. “That’s debatable, considering that we’re charging in like this. And being sane isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”

We stood in front of the final building. It was done in the style of Grecian nobility, all columns in glittering white. I turned back and brought my lips to Cyrus’s, giving him a long, lingering kiss, one that he returned wholeheartedly, which seemed a good sign. If you can’t make out in the face of death, when can you?

“Hey,” I said softly, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“God, I hope so.”

I winked at him. Then, without another word, I turned and blasted the door with a spell.

Sword at the ready, I rushed in and faced the woman inside. She was gorgeous in the way that all goddesses are, with that strange, ethereal quality of perfection that makes people nervous, especially because it never changes. Like me, she would never age. What she looked like now was what she would look like a hundred years from now.

Her skin was like flawless cream. A faint blush swept her cheeks, and her eyes were a warm brown, wide like a doe’s and framed with gorgeously thick lashes that most women would need three tubes of mascara to perfect. Her lips were a natural cherry, perfectly plump in a way that never would require collagen. Long, wavy brown hair cascaded down her back and shimmered as it caught the light, warm hues of amber, chocolate, auburn and blonde.

She was wearing a long, flowing white gown in the typical Grecian fashion that dipped low enough to flaunt her perfect cleavage and clung to her curves to show off a tiny waist and hips. A slit went up the side of the dress, showing an indecent amount of thigh. Women everywhere would weep at her perfection, knowing they would never be anywhere near as beautiful, no matter how much dieting and plastic surgery they suffered. Men would commit murder just for the chance to be with her.

I just glared.

Her gorgeous mouth curved into a smile, despite the fact that I’d just knocked down her door. “Why, hello, my darling!” Her voice was just as I remembered it: almost ordinary, despite coming out of that perfect body.

I gave her a malicious smile in return. “Hello, Mom.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Cyrus stared from me to her. “ ‘Mom’?”

My mother gave me a cool look of appraisal. “The last time we saw each other, you swore that if you ever saw me again you’d kill me.”

I hefted my sword. “The day’s still young.”

She frowned. “You really think to harm me? Me? A god?”

“I took out the little boyfriend you were grooming as a demigod. I could work my way up to something a little bigger.”

She glared at me. “You’re the one who killed Dylan? He was so easy to manipulate, so eager and willing to do whatever needed to be done. You don’t find that often nowadays. Nasty girl, always spoiling Mommy’s fun.”

“Seems fair,” I replied. “You weren’t exactly protecting my fun. You left me to take care of Dad as soon as he became inconvenient. That’s all you’ve ever done: when it gets the slightest bit tough, you bail and look for something less complicated. That’s why you were with Dad to begin with, I know. You played human because you were tired of life here with the gods, but that didn’t work out and you came right back here. As soon as the future looks anything less than perfect, you run.”

“Same as you, Fantazia,” my mother said.

I winced. I hated to admit it, but she was right. As much as I’d never wanted to be anything like her, how had I been acting for the last century or so? When life got a little too real, a little too rough, I’d run for my pocket universe and kept everyone at bay with mercenary thinking and cold calculations. I’d staved off friendship and family, camaraderie and love . . .

But I was trying to change. I was working with the Elite Hands of Justice now, helping save the world. I was trying to mend fences with my father, and I was trying to have a real relationship with a man—one that inadvertently looked like it could be deliciously long-term. I was starting to care more for other people than myself. I wasn’t a selfish person anymore, concerned only with my own wants and needs and not caring a damn bit for how my actions affected others.

“I’m nothing like you, Mom,” I said, staring her down and dropping the sword. “I’m not a selfish bitch.”

Her smiled widened spitefully. “Such words to your mother.”

“ ‘Mother,’ ” Cyrus repeated coldly behind me. “That’s a title that has to be earned. Some people are little more than egg or sperm donors. Abandoning your kid for a lover or because life got complicated . . . you’re no parent. Not a real one, anyway.”

He was clearly thinking of his ex and how she put their daughter in jeopardy by choosing Syn, but I also knew it was a jab at Mneme. Cyrus should have saved his breath. My mother didn’t have a conscience like normal people. Gods were like spoiled, selfish children, only concerned with their own wants and needs. You couldn’t shame them by pointing out their bad behavior; they wouldn’t recognize it as wrong.

My mother just smiled at him. Not a good sign. “This is your lover?” she threw back at me. “You certainly elevated him the hard way, my dear. Does he know he’s part demigod?”

“You tried to kill him with your magic,” I snarled. “I should have known it was you when I saw it. You always were good at hexes.”

“So”—she shook her head—“you killed my lover out of vengeance for what I did to yours? Such a spiteful child. And after I told him and the Dragon not to hurt you. This is the thanks I get.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And both the cult and Dylan tried to kill me, so there’s not much to be thankful for.”

“Dylan may have been a bit . . . overenthusiastic,” she amended. “He wanted to impress me, you see. He wanted to prove he was worthy of being the consort of a god, which meant getting much more power than he needed to free the Dragon.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” I said. “That’s what’s got me so confused about this whole mess. Dylan wanted to impress you and become a god. Okay. The Dragon wants to be released from bondage, from his banishment to the DarkLands.”

Mneme shrugged and smiled in agreement.

“But what do you get?” I asked. “You had to use your gifts to inspire both of those men to do what you want. But what is it that you want? You never do anything unless it benefits you in some way. How in the world is letting the Dragon out going to benefit you?”

“He’ll let the Brethren out again, and that will restore him to his former glory.”

“The Brethren?” Cyrus looked at me. “Does she mean the Ancient Ones?”

“Ah, yes, ‘the Ancient Ones,’ the mortals called them, back when they knew the truth. We gods called them Titans.” Her eyes looked more than a bit fanatical. “They were brothers of pure magic, never mortal-born, not god-born . . . something else entirely.” She glanced at me. “Being in the presence of his brothers will restore what I stole from him for my family. I took away the glory and majesty that rightfully belong to him, and I helped the gods bend and twist it into something else. Something they could benefit from.”

My heart sped up. “Him? Who are you talking about?”

She smiled angelically. “Your father, of course.”

Horror stole my breath away. I stood there stunned, my poor brain stalled out as it tried to comprehend her meaning. But she was crazy. Surely she didn’t suggest . . . “No.”

She continued to smile.

“Oh, God,” I moaned. “It’s not true. This is one of your little fantasies.”

“You should have seen his true form,” she continued in a creepy, wistful voice. “He was almost painful to look upon. A mortal brain couldn’t comprehend such a shape, which is why Titans were so feared. Mortals called them demons, but they were not. They were something else entirely, beings of pure magic. Nothing was their equal.”

She sounded enthralled. Like a groupie worshipfully touting the grandness of a band or singer, or like a cultist. Very much like a cultist.

“When they decided that they would rule this world, there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. My father, his brothers and sisters stood up, but they were outmatched. They joined together with the magic-user mortals of the world, but still nothing could stop the Titans. How could our magic be of any use against those made entirely up of it?” She laughed shrilly. “But that’s when one of the Brethren decided his brothers were corrupt.”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, God.”

“He joined forces with the mortals, with my father and his siblings to push the Titans out of this world. He locked them up in another dimension so they couldn’t escape. It wasn’t easy, and it drained much of his power, but he risked it all for the people of this world.”

“Sounds like him,” Cyrus muttered. “I guess the Old One was always a Goody Two-shoes.”

I shot him a look.

Mneme continued, her voice harsh. “So, how did my father and his siblings repay yours? They turned on him, of course. Attacked him and beat him down. They couldn’t take on all of the Titans, but one, alone and wounded, they could. They were frightened of the power that he wielded, that he would turn on them. And they wanted to be the ones with the power. They drained off his magic, taking it and creating . . . all of this.” She gestured around us. “Olympus. A place where they go to rejuvenate and bask in power that is not their own.”

I groaned, shaking my head. The gods as a whole were known for their selfish behavior, but this took the cake. And yet, I didn’t put it past them. I’d always thought that Kate and some of the others were doing the hero thing as a way to bring better reputation to the family, but maybe it was more because they were tired of being ignored by humanity for millennia and the heroes were getting all the fame and adulation. This was the closest they could come to being worshipped nowadays.

My mother continued. “But you can’t kill a Titan, no matter what you do. He just kept coming back. Each reincarnation, the gods feared more and more that he would want revenge for what they stole and for how they’d repaid his kindness. They wanted him to forget. So they came to me.”

“The Muse of remembrance,” Cyrus said.

“My father had me cast a hex on your father to make him forget everything: what he was, who we were, everything. I didn’t want to, but my father can be very persuasive when he wants.” A ghost of a bad memory seemed to dance in her haunted eyes. “And it worked; he forgot. He thought he was an ordinary mortal, a magic-user, and we let him think that. We sent him back to your dimension. We gods decided to live in this stolen paradise, created from the very power they stripped from him. Everything was going all right.”

“Marvelous,” I muttered.

“Then there was . . . an incident. It was in ancient Greece. A group of worshippers, much like this Cult of the Dragon now, was intent on bringing back the Titans. In order to do so, they corrupted an entire town. Your father joined forces with a group of mortals to stop them, and they succeeded, but the cultists came very close to victory. Their magic, their presence . . . it all began to radiate out of the cultists’ dimension trap. Being so close to his brothers again caused the enchantment to waver on your father. For one brief moment, he was himself again. And he was glorious. Terrifying.” She smiled as if remembering the best day of her life. “When he was done, the rift between this dimension and that of the Titans was closed, but the town and all his mortal allies were destroyed. By your father.”

I noticed my mouth was hanging open. Quickly, I shut it.

“My father was fearful again. Zeus, the great father of the gods, was quaking in his sandals at the thought of what an enraged Titan might do.” She smirked at the thought. “So he came to me again, and he asked me to go to Earth and pretend to be mortal in order to set the hex straight again.”

“You didn’t have to get this close,” I grumbled.

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t be here, darling,” she pointed out. “What can I say? I was charmed by him. All of that power walking around in its little human shell, not even aware of its backstory.” She shivered. “He was delicious. I was so charmed that I decided to stay. The most powerful being in the world was in awe of me, because I showed him I was a goddess and he thought he was just a lucky little mortal. And then I had you.”

“You make me sick,” I whispered.

“Everything was wonderful for a while. But then he had to go and die.” She frowned. “He forgot everything. My hex was still working,” she grumbled, “and it affected more than I wanted. He had no idea who I was or who you were.”

“It wasn’t any fun anymore, being saddled with a kid and a mortal-seeming husband who didn’t worship the ground you walked on,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “So you bailed.”

“My father noticed,” she replied. “He wasn’t too thrilled about your existence.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve kind of seen how the other gods hate me or pretend I don’t exist. They never send me birthday cards.”

She gave a wry chuckle. “That’s because they fear you, dear heart. You’re the daughter of a goddess and a Titan. You’re extremely powerful. You can make universes bend to your will, like that one with your seedy little bar.” Her eyes glittered dangerously. “If you can do that, think of what you might do to them.”

I shook my head, unable to process all of the information. “So, if Dad’s really as scary as you say, why would you want him to remember everything?” I asked, barely believing the words coming out of my mouth. “Won’t he just destroy the gods and probably the entire world?”

“He might,” she said. “But he also might not. He might be persuaded just to rule it all—with me by his side. Your father and I . . . Well, we had something.”

I stared for a moment without comprehension, then laughed. “Oh, my God. You have got to be kidding me.”

She frowned. “What?”

“You’re doing all of this to try to get Dad back?” I laughed again. “Mom, he is so over you. It’s been thousands of years. He has Lainey now.”

She frowned. “I don’t give a damn about his mortal women; he’s been with multitudes over the centuries. This one’s no different from the rest.”

I shook my head. “Um, yeah, Mom. This one is.”

“He’s had many mortal wives and many mortal children. They all fall to dust. Only you and I are different. We’re never-ending, like him.”

“He gave Lainey a piece of his soul,” I said softly. “He’s never done that for any of his other mortal wives. He even eventually remembered his past with her. That’s never happened before. It means something. I think it’s true love.”

Her face darkened. “I’m the only one worthy of him!” I half expected her to stamp her foot, like Emily does when she’s throwing a temper tantrum.

“He loves Lainey and Emily,” I repeated.

“Don’t you dare bring her up,” she spat. “It’ll be poetic justice if she’s the key to delivering him instead of the Dragon.”

I fought off another laugh. “Even if Emily does somehow bring the Titans back, even if they do lift your hex and he goes back to being whatever scary thing he was before, he’s still going to prefer them to you. He’s not going to want you back. Ever.” I was deliberately taunting her now, but I didn’t care. Of all her harebrained schemes, this one took the cake.

Cyrus edged toward me. “Is pissing off your crazy mother a good idea?”

“The best,” I said.

“I’m doing all this to restore him to what he should be,” Mneme snarled, her voice rising. “When he finds out all I’ve done he’ll be grateful.”

“Your family turned against him after he helped you. They beat him down and then stole his power. For all of this.” I motioned around us at all the glitz. “They profited from his downfall. Then, as the final straw, you took away his memory. You tricked him into thinking he’s mortal, that you’re something he should worship, and then, when he was at his weakest, you left and never looked back until now. All Lainey’s ever done is stand by him, even when times were tough. Gee, if I was known as one of the wisest beings in the universe, I know who I’d choose. I also know who’d be the target of my revenge.”

She glared at me. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

“No, we won’t. Because the Titans aren’t getting out. We’re going to stop the Dragon. We’re going to throw him into the DarkLands again, and Dad’s never going to know about this.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She smiled maliciously.

“What do you mean?”

“The Dragon’s getting close to letting the Titans out. Their power’s radiating through into this world again. The last time that happened, it was a sight to see.” She shivered beatifically. “My hex’s wearing down already. I can feel it. It may not take the Titans’ return to snap your father out of his shell and back into what he was. All it might take is for me to walk up and whisper the truth in his ear.”

I glared at her. “Well, you won’t.”

“You think not? You’re sadly mistaken, my dear.”

I shook my head. “You’re not going to do it.”

“Oh, darling, do you really think you can stop me?” She patted me on the head. “Because, child of a Titan or not, you just gave up part of your power to your lover. Before, you might have been able to stop me. Now . . . ?” She shrugged. “Now you’re just another goddess. And I’m quite a lot older—and more powerful.”

“I know,” I said simply. “I know I can’t stop you.”

“That’s right, you can’t,” Mneme crowed.

“So that’s why I told on you to Granddad.”

She stared at me as if not comprehending. “What?”

“Aphrodite’s telling Zeus you’re trying to let the Titans out. She’s probably doing so right now, and I wanted to keep you busy while she relayed the whole story. I’ll bet he’s not too pleased about it.”

My mother’s face went white.

“No, he isn’t,” said a great booming voice.

We all turned to see a powerfully built man with snow-white hair, a chiseled body and an air of frightening power. It was Zeus, father of the gods, my grandfather. He stood flanked by several of his guards and most potent warrior-gods.

“Mneme,” his voice boomed out. “You have wreaked havoc not only in the mortal world but on our plane as well. You are going to pay for that. For a long while.”

She dropped her head like a chastised child. “But, Father—”

“And now I’ve got to clean up the mess you’ve made.” He turned to Kate and motioned to his followers. “Take them back with you to the battle. Put a stop to this ‘Dragon.’ Should you need me, just call.”

Kate nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Zeus eyed me. “You cannot be here, my child. It is too dangerous.”

I frowned. “Thanks so much. Good to feel welcome. Like always.”

He sighed and amended, “Dangerous for us. Because of what you are. Especially with him here.” He motioned to Cyrus. “Since you gave him a part of your soul, and therefore a part of your power . . . The two of you together, well . . . your power could unmake the very fabric of our reality.”

“Yes,” Mneme breathed, almost orgasmically. Zeus shot her a warning look and she quieted.

“I’m not saying what we did was right,” Zeus said to me. “But I’m afraid we’ve gone too far to turn back.”

“Isn’t that always the story,” I growled. Taking Cyrus’s hand, I hefted my sword. “We’re going back to the battlefront. We’re needed there—and wanted.” Looking directly at my mother, whom Zeus had by the arm now and was leading away, I said, “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

My grandfather shook his head. “I won’t.”

“You do, and I will come back. And maybe next time I’ll bring my dad.”

My mother beamed. “Please do!”

I shot her a glare. “I’ll make good on my promise, Mom. Next time I see you . . .”

She looked unintimidated. “I’ll be waiting.”

Zeus fixed me with his eyes. “He can never know the truth, your father. There’s a chance that even hearing about this could undo your mother’s magic. If that happens . . .”

“Terrible things. I know,” I said.

“If he seems to be unraveling,” Zeus warned, “if he starts to gain more power, or if he starts remembering things he shouldn’t . . . please come to me, Granddaughter. My brothers and sisters and I may be the only ones who stand a chance of stopping him before he destroys everything.”

“So, you want me to bring him back to the ones who essentially murdered him?” I growled. “You, who haven’t exactly been kind or generous to me in these past thousands of years, though you’ve known who I am? Yeah, no thanks. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of him.”

Zeus frowned. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I countered. “Look, I don’t know what happened between all of you, but I do know this: he’s my father. I also know how he’s acted every day I’ve been alive. He may not have remembered me personally, but he’s never shown anything but compassion and goodness—an overdeveloped protectiveness, if you ask me—for the people of this world. He’s not the kind of man who gains power and suddenly goes off the deep end. He knew his brothers were evil, which is why he joined with you in the first place. He’s one of the world’s protectors, not its destroyer, and I stand with him.”

“And maybe you don’t know him at all,” Zeus said as I turned to leave, Cyrus in tow. “Maybe that’s just the facade with which we cursed him. Maybe that’s all he thinks he is. You never really know another person; you only know what they show you. Let’s pray you’re not wrong.” And with that, he turned and walked off, leading my mother. She followed behind, never once looking back. I hadn’t expected her to.

Cyrus faced me. “If I ever questioned why you have so many issues, that’s all cleared up. But if it helps, I’m here for you.”

I squared my shoulders, letting all the family drama fall away and getting back into the proper mindset for battle. “It helps tremendously. Now, let’s go kick some ass.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The old saying “You can’t win them all” is very accurate. Sure, I managed to stop Dylan. I managed to send my mother into a long-lasting time-out with a little help from my grandfather; and the Elite Hands of Justice, along with a little help from Kate and some of her brothers and sisters, sent the Cult of the Dragon packing before Cyrus and I even arrived. Enough of them were now either dead or in jail that it was going to take a long while for them to become a factor again. But the Dragon himself was still on the loose.

He’d managed to evade the Elite Hands of Justice when the battle didn’t go as planned; or, more specifically, he evaded Wesley and the combined power of the gods. He must have picked up a few new tricks during his time in the DarkLands, because he suddenly was able to cloak himself better than ever. No one could track him after he disappeared. He’d clearly vowed to live to fight another day, and was still lurking in the background, a fuse to the powder keg that was Emily and the prophecy of her possibly setting free the Ancient Ones, which had all sorts of new meaning for me now.

When I finally saw him coming off the battlefield, Wesley looked ready to collapse. It was so strange seeing him now, after all I’d learned; it was like I was looking at a different person yet again.

“Thank God you’re all right,” he said, surprising the hell out of me with a hug. I was momentarily shocked but then gave him a tight squeeze in return.

“I was able to stop Dylan,” I said. “And his puppet master.”

“Who was it?” he asked.

“Just one of Kate’s crazy relatives,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Wesley frowned. “Why not? If they’re powerful enough—”

“Zeus is taking care of it,” I explained. “She’s in detention, let’s say, and she won’t be getting out anytime soon.”

“We should still keep an eye out. I’ll go back to headquarters—”

“Dad, it’s okay,” I said, not even wanting him to hear my mom’s name. Just in case. “Trust me.” I was suddenly worried about the world. Weird.

He gave me another worrisome look. “Well, we need to get back home as soon as possible. Heroes’ work is never done. We need to check to see what other damage has been done by the Dragon’s people. Report in to Washington, tell them this scare is officially over. See if any progress has been made fixing those wounded by the media attacks, especially the Brothers of Power. Make sure the cultists we sent to jail actually make it there. And . . . I need to check on Emily.”

I nodded. “I understand. We’ll be there shortly.”

My father studied me. “You will?”

I shrugged. “Where else am I going to go?”

“From what you said before, I figured that after this was all wrapped up you’d head back to your bar, back to your little world of scaring information out of sorcerers.” His lips twitched into a smile.

“Yeah, well . . . that life was kind of interrupted,” I said. “And, maybe I’ll do that on odd days. You folks would be surprised the amount of dirt I can dig up for you,” I said. “But I might stick around a bit, too. After all, someone’s got to keep an eye on Cyrus.” I bumped him with my hip.

He bumped me back. “More like someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

“You up for that?” I turned to look at him. “Because that’s probably a challenge that’ll last some time.”

He grinned. “Oh, hell yeah.” He leaned down and kissed me in a way that was completely inappropriate in front of my father.

Wesley closed his eyes. “I’m still here, you know.”

I just smiled.

Lainey rushed up. “We’ve got to go. Paul just took off—Mindy’s in labor.”

“It never stops around here, does it?” I said to Wesley. “There’s no vacation days from saving the world.”

“Afraid not,” my father said. “But we’re glad you’re with us. I’m glad you’re with us.”

I didn’t even pretend to hide the tears that filled my eyes.

As Wesley rushed off to accompany his wife, Cyrus glanced at me. “It’s insane to think that he’s a being that could destroy us all in an eyeblink.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“Are you going to say anything about it?”

“To him? Oh, hell no. Just in case my whack-job mother was actually right. And besides, he’s happy right now. I’d like to see that continue as long as possible.”

“What about Lainey? Paul? Shouldn’t we tell them? Don’t they have the right to know?”

“And chance them somehow letting something slip?” I shook my head. “It’s between me and you now. Well, and I guess Kate. We’re the world’s last line of defense against complete destruction.”

“The world is doomed,” Cyrus muttered.

I laughed. “This is one secret she knows to keep.”

“So . . . we’re sticking around to be heroes,” Cyrus mused. “Saving the common man and keeping an eye on the Reincarnist, all at your request.”

I fought back amused annoyance. “Looks like it.”

“Well, I hope we take an occasional vacation to go play dark mistress of magic and her handsome boy toy. The patrons of your bar would never forgive you if you just vanished.”

I snorted. “Well, then, I suppose we must indulge them.”

“Oh, yes, we definitely must indulge. I want my opportunity to play handsome boy toy.”

“Fine,” I said. “And I don’t see why we couldn’t arrange for a visit with a certain softball player. I think between the two of us we have enough magical resources available to keep it quiet.”

He stared at me in wonder. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “She needs to know her father’s a hero. Fathers are important.”

He hugged me tight. “Thank you.”

I hugged him back. “We’re in this together now.”

He nodded. “You and me. Forever.”

I pressed against him and leaned in for a kiss. “I like the sound of that.”

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title

Dedication

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven