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  The next room toward the front of the house wasn’t lit, but a glow from the opposite side provided enough to get me through. Once I crossed to a longer hallway, I heard something clink from the direction of the light. Ice in a glass. A cabinet door opened and closed. Liquid poured. Someone was enjoying a late drink.

  I crept down the hall and hesitated just outside a lit doorway. Drawing a shallow breath, praying I was as invisible as I thought, I leaned far enough to see into a kitchen. And found Trevor.

  He’d clearly been roused from sleep. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes bagged and bloodshot. The thin jacket he wore didn’t match his button-down linen shirt—not at all like Trevor to commit crimes against fashion. Stubble flocked his jaw line and accentuated drawn cheeks. He still wore Shamil’s pendant. Even without the marks of exhaustion, he looked mad enough to bite through bricks. He leaned against a counter and clutched a short glass full of amber liquid. A quarter-full bottle of Scotch stood on the surface behind him.

  He seemed to be arguing with himself. And losing.

  “Too soon,” he murmured. “It’s only been five hours. We can’t force him.” His brow furrowed, and he drained half the glass at once. “We’ll find him. First thing in the morning.”

  His eyes widened. The glass shook in his hand, slipped out, and shattered on the stone tile floor. Trevor followed it down, dropping to one knee with a choked gasp. He fisted a hand and banged it on the top of the counter.

  What the hell was in his drink? The bizarre performance almost made me think he’d poisoned himself, but I had to discount that idea. It’d be a stroke of luck for me.

  Trevor coughed a few times and struggled to his feet again. “Don’t do that,” he said, his tone hollow and forceless.

  I’d known he was insane, but this transcended normal lunacy.

  A muffled ringing hailed from Trevor’s pocket. He fished out a cell phone and keyed it. “Whatever it is, deal with it.”

  The pause that followed sent Trevor from annoyance to his typical ice-calm demeanor, which meant someone was about to die. “A bounty hunter. He’s looking for what?”

  I filled in the gap myself. Quaid had followed through on his promise. Dudley Do-Right strikes again—and now Trevor would take him out.

  “Send him through. We’ll meet him at the door.” Trevor hung up and called for his thugs.

  I pulled back just before Trevor swept out of the kitchen and followed him through the house. Now I’d have to save Quaid’s ass, too. I reminded myself to thank him later for ruining a perfectly good impossible plan.

  CHAPTER 31

  I stood behind a potted tree in the entrance hall and prepared to watch Trevor play Quaid like a royal flush.

  The two thugs behind Trevor remained poker-faced while he opened the door. On the porch, Quaid appeared alone and ridiculously unprepared, though he didn’t seem nearly as vulnerable as he should have. Still, I knew he failed to understand that his reasonable attitude wouldn’t score any points with Trevor.

  “Mr. Maddock, I’m sorry to disturb you at such an inconvenient time.” Quaid produced a small cream-white card with a magician’s flourish.

  Trevor accepted the card and looked from its surface to Quaid. “My associate tells me you’re looking for a thief.”

  “I am. His name is Gavyn Donatti, and I have reason to believe you’ve had dealings with this man. I’d like to discuss a few things with you on behalf of my employer.” Quaid nodded at the card.

  “I see.” Trevor motioned, and one of the thugs stepped forward. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Mr. . . .?”

  “Quaid will do.”

  “Will it, now.”

  I wondered if Quaid could see the shark swimming behind Trevor’s smile—because I could sense it through the back of his close-shaven head.

  “All right, Quaid. Before we proceed, I’ll have to insist that you remove any weapons you may be carrying.”

  The bounty hunter’s easygoing expression faltered. “I don’t see why—”

  Trevor stepped aside. The nearest thug slipped past, grabbed Quaid in mid-sentence, and shoved him face-first against the wall. “Policy, my good man,” Trevor said while the thug began his treasure hunt. “You wouldn’t believe how many visitors I’ve had who were intent on harming me. One can never be too careful.”

  Quaid offered no reaction as Trevor’s goon relieved him of enough hardware to subdue and capture the population of a small country. A thick leather roll, tied in the center, contained at least a dozen of his paralyzing darts and a segmented blow-tube. Not one or two but four sets of cuffs were turned out, along with a length of rope and some plastic zip ties. He had mace, chloroform, a handheld GPS tracking unit, night-vision goggles, a genuine stun gun, and a small velvet pouch full of crushed leaves that resembled pot but probably wasn’t.

  By the time the search ended, Quaid had lost his coat, his boots, and any trace of good humor.

  Trevor gestured the other thug into action. They flanked the bounty hunter, one to an arm, and awaited further orders. “It’s interesting that you have questions for me,” Trevor said. “I have a few for you myself. They concern Mr. Donatti and his tall friend—I’m sure you must have met him. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “The police will be here soon, Mr. Maddock,” Quaid said. “There’s still time for you to be reasonable.”

  Trevor laughed. “Well, if they bother to show up, I’ll just have to reduce their bonuses. They know better than to disturb me at this time of night with wild accusations.” He picked up the stun gun from the pile and examined it. “I’ve been meaning to get one of these. You don’t mind if I try it out, do you?”

  The thugs released Quaid seconds before Trevor pulled the trigger. Two projectiles shot from the barrel and latched onto the bounty hunter’s shirt. A loud zap, a few sparks, and Quaid fell to the floor convulsing.

  Trevor calmly detached the wires. “Bring him downstairs and make him . . . comfortable. I’ll be along to talk with him soon.”

  Downstairs was bad. Very bad. I wished djinn could read minds, so Ian could hear me screaming at him to hurry the hell up.

  Trevor left first and disappeared into the house somewhere. A small comfort, but it gave me a few extra seconds. The thugs hefted Quaid’s limp form and dragged him past me. “Heavy son of a bitch, ain’t he?” one of them said. The other just grunted.

  I waited as long as I dared. The scuffing sound of Quaid’s legs sliding across the floor would have to suffice for cover. I grabbed the roll of darts, freed two of them, and followed the thugs through darkness and into the sitting room.

  There, I closed the door after us.

  One of the thugs turned with a wary expression. “The hell was that?”

  “You really want to ask?” the other one said.

  “Fuck, no. C’mon, let’s get this over with. I’m trying to watch Exit Wounds.”

  “Ain’t you already seen that fifty times?”

  “Yeah, but it’s always—ouch! What the—”

  He slapped at the dart I’d planted in his neck. I skirted around and went for the other one, no longer caring about any sound I might make. While the unaffected thug watched his buddy fold to the floor with a baffled expression, I thrust the second dart in near his collarbone.

  Without support, Quaid toppled over and groaned. Both thugs made loud, garbled sounds. I sprinted to the dry bar, grabbed a solid metal mixer cup, and delivered knockout blows to their temples. It took longer than I wanted.

  “Who’s there?” Quaid spoke with difficulty.

  “Shut up,” I whispered. After a few seconds passed and no one burst into the room ready to shoot me, I stopped trying to be invisible and hauled Quaid away from the unconscious thugs. “Can you walk?”

  He stared at me. “How did you—”

  “We can play twenty questions later. Can you walk or not?”

  Quaid tensed and relaxed with a gasp. “Not.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” No way could I
drag him down the basement stairs alone. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Heal Quaid. The pain of using magic didn’t last long. I hoped that meant he wasn’t too damaged, and I still had some mojo left. “How about now?”

  Frowning, Quaid pushed off the floor and stood. “What did you do to me?”

  “Never mind. Come on.” I headed for the opposite side of the room, stopped, and turned. Quaid wasn’t following. “Can you move a little faster? I doubt we have much time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I almost felt bad for him. He’d finally realized that he wasn’t in control anymore. Still, I couldn’t spend the next hour or so explaining everything to him. “Look, it’s simple,” I told him. “If you don’t want Trevor to torture you to death—or just put a bullet through your skull—come with me. I’ll get you out of here. And if you still want to bring me in after this is over, feel free.”

  Quaid blinked. Just when I thought I’d have to try dragging him after all, he took a step. And another. Soon, he was practically running.

  TAKING THE STAIRS THREE AT A TIME MIGHT HAVE HELPED MORE if Ian had been conscious when I reached the basement.

  I rushed over to the heap on the floor at Shamil’s feet. Ian had lost his shimmer, so I assumed he was visible. “Ian,” I whispered, dropping next to him and shaking his shoulder. “We gotta move. Come on.”

  His eyes opened. “I broke the seal,” he murmured. “Cut him down. I’ve not the strength to heal him.”

  “Okay. I will,” I lied. We’d have to come back later for Shamil—if there was a later. I grabbed Ian and started hauling him toward the mirror. He struggled to move with me and managed to stand.

  Quaid stood by the table of flickering candles, his gaze riveted to the alcove. The light didn’t reveal the full extent of Shamil’s injuries, but it was enough to catch glimpses of his eyeless face. “My God,” the bounty hunter whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Ian stiffened. He glanced at Quaid and back to me. “Troublesome human,” he rasped. “What business has he this time?”

  “Suicide, apparently.” I helped Ian prop himself against the wall. “I’m going to have to send him through first. Far as Trevor’s concerned, he’s expendable.”

  “Be quick, thief.”

  Although Ian didn’t protest, his expression clearly insisted that Quaid was expendable to us, too. But I couldn’t leave him here. It’d be the same as killing him myself.

  “Quaid, come here,” I said.

  He approached slowly and regarded Ian with vague unease. “Generally, calling someone human would indicate you’re not. Human, that is.”

  “Yes. The mind boggles,” I snapped before Ian could reply with something less than helpful. “Like I said, we can worry about all this later, okay? Just be quiet and cooperate for a few minutes. No more questions.”

  To my amazement, there weren’t.

  I fumbled the knife from my pocket and sliced a finger before my brain caught on to what my hands were doing. Concentration wouldn’t be easy to come by, though I remembered the rest. Symbol, words, intention. I scrawled blood in the corner, drew a breath, and tried to envision Jazz and Lark and Tory. Trees and grass. And most important, not Trevor’s basement.

  “Insha no imil, kubri ana bi-sur’u wasta.”

  Relief accompanied the image of moonlit woods that filled the mirror. Within seconds, Tory’s concerned features swam into view. “Has he freed Shamil?”

  Quaid stumbled back, his complexion the color of chalk.

  I grimaced. “Er, mostly. There’s been a slight complication . . . no time to explain. I’ve got a bounty hunter here, too. I’m sending him through first. Uh—don’t hurt him, all right? That’s not code. He’s okay.”

  “Fine. But hurry.” Tory offered a deep frown and moved away.

  I motioned to Quaid. When he didn’t move, I grabbed him and pulled. “Hurry means fast, Quaid. Come on. Do you want to live for the rest of the night?”

  He shook himself and came forward. A grim determination had replaced his alarm. “Sorry. What should I be doing?”

  “This is a gate.” I pointed at the mirror. “You go through it. Now.”

  “Through the mirror.”

  “Yes. Look.” I gripped his wrist and shoved his hand into the image of forest. He shivered. “It’s a little cold, but it won’t last long. Now go.”

  He stared at me. “Thank you.”

  Before I could reiterate that we were kind of in a hurry, he caught a quick breath and plunged through. The surface darkened to black, then faded into a mirror again.

  The first wave of exhaustion hit me hard. I managed to keep from collapsing in front of Ian. Clear certainty that three bridges were at least one too many for me to make lurked in the back of my mind. I ignored it. “Okay. Your turn,” I told him, already going for the knife.

  Ian touched my wrist. “Take a moment,” he said gently. “Rest.”

  “I don’t think we have a moment.” Still, I dropped to one knee and closed my eyes in a futile attempt to regain a little stamina. “Trevor’s really lost it,” I said in the general direction of the floor. “He was up there fighting with himself. Wasn’t going well for him, either.”

  Ian shifted instantly to full alert. “Explain.”

  I repeated the one-sided conversation I’d heard and described Trevor’s choking act. The more I talked, the angrier Ian became. Finally, he said, “Lenka.”

  “What, the snake dude?”

  “He is controlling the human. Trevor is nothing more than Lenka’s puppet.” Ian’s jaw clenched. “Of course. Why did I not see this before?”

  My brain entered a sickening spin. “Does that mean Lenka is here somewhere?”

  “It is not necessary, but it is possible. Likely, in fact. Proximity gives us greater control—but we do not practice such magic.” Disgust twisted his features. “To take over another’s soul is the basest form of evil. He must be destroyed.”

  “Right. But I think we’ll have to survive in order to do that. We really should—”

  A soft click sounded from the vicinity of the stairs. The door? No footsteps followed. Surging adrenalin brought me to my feet, and I faced the mirror again.

  Ian sent a grim look at the stairs. “Leave me,” he whispered.

  I clapped a hand over his mouth. Shook my head. And went back to business. Symbol, words, intention. With one ear tuned for movement, I reopened the cut and squeezed fresh blood. Scrawled the symbol—squiggle, dot, crescent. And tried to concentrate.

  The first footfall sounded as loud as thunder. More followed—measured, unhurried.

  I glanced at Ian. His lips formed Go.

  My mind shuffled through options at warp speed. I could open a bridge only once before we were discovered. So I had two choices. Push Ian through, stay here, and die. Or go through myself and kill him.

  I chose option three, with a big heap of I’m-gonna-regret-this.

  Turning from the mirror, already going for the see-through look, I grabbed Ian and hustled him back. Away from the stairs. His expression went from shock to fury in zero seconds, but he didn’t speak. He must have understood at least part of my plan, the not-being-seen part. Unfortunately, that was as far as I’d gotten. With an arm around Ian as if we were entering a three-legged race, I flattened us against the wall and waited.

  Trevor reached the bottom and headed straight for Shamil. Halfway across the room, he stopped. Turned. A cold smile registered on his face.

  “Gahiji-an. Could you really be that stupid?”

  Ian stiffened. I urged him toward the stairs, but he didn’t move.

  “You have broken the seal, yet Shamil remains bound. Did you lack the strength to cut him down? I know you are here, Gahiji-an.”

  I silently willed Ian not to move. Maybe we could still skin out.

  Trevor approached the mirror. He stared at it, reached up, and swiped a finger through the blood symbol. “You will not slip past me this time. Fool
. And I thought you had learned to leave your wounded behind.”

  At once, I understood these were Lenka’s words, delivered in Trevor’s voice. A grotesque puppet show featuring a living, breathing marionette. I’d heard it once before, when Ian had rescued me from this place. When Trevor had said I feel you . . . Gahiji-an. And it hadn’t even occurred to me to wonder how he knew Ian’s real name.

  Trevor-Lenka moved back to the stairs and blocked them. “Visible or not, this is the only way out. I know you’re still here, and I will find you.” He pulled out a gun. “You may as well show yourself,” he called out. “You’ve lost, General. You are an army of one. Prince of nothing.”

  Ian practically vibrated. I squeezed his arm hard, attempting to stop him from doing whatever stupid thing he had in mind. And I reached for my own gun. Maybe I’d have to shoot the bastard after all.

  “Show yourself, and I will let Akila live.”

  A sinking feeling lodged in my gut just before Ian lunged from my grasp. I clamped my mouth shut against a protesting shout. One of us had to leave this place alive. Ian knew that—and he’d decided it would be me.

  Damn him.

  He walked out in clear view. “Lenka, you are the worst of cowards. Hiding behind a human. I’ve shown myself. Why do you not face me on your own?”

  I read his intentions instantly: distract Lenka’s control, and I might be able to take out Trevor, or at least get the tether from him. Unfortunately, Lenka read them, too.

  “In good time, Gahiji-an,” he said. “You will see me before you die. But after four centuries of the chase, I intend to savor this capture.”

  “That will be your mistake.” Ian kept his gaze on the figure blocking the stairs. “Why delay victory any longer? Destroy me, and claim your prize.”

  “No, Gahiji-an. You will suffer first. And you know full well I require your tether. Of course, you would not have brought it here—or would you?” The cold smile widened. “We shall find out.”