“Why on earth would you say that?” Ysolde asked, carefully picking her way over to Bee, Baltic at her side. Around them, sirens began to wail, while the noises of the city, normally a constant background, slowly began to filter through the residual ringing in Constantine’s ears. “The part about the curse, I mean. Didn’t the Venediger already have the sword? Aisling’s demon, Jim, said you tried to break the curse and failed, but I don’t see how that would lure Bael out of hiding. He certainly didn’t seem concerned about the curse at all.”

Constantine noticed Baltic hunting among the rubble. A chill clutched his guts. “What are you looking for?” he asked quietly.

Baltic turned a stricken face to him. “The light sword. It was in my hand when I was knocked backward, but it is not here.”

The two men stared at each other in horrified comprehension.

“That’s one,” Constantine said finally.

“One what?” Bee asked, moving over to where they stood.

Both men were silent for long enough that Bee poked Constantine in the side and repeated her question.

“Bael has the light sword,” he admitted.

“Oh, no!”

“I suspected he’d gotten it after blasting us nearly to kingdom come,” Ysolde said tiredly. Immediately, Baltic moved to her side.

Bee stroked his arm in an obvious attempt to comfort him. “I’m sorry, Constantine. Yes, I know it wasn’t my fault, but I’m sorry that he got the sword after all. It just means we have to keep him from getting anything else he can use to build power. If only we’d gotten here earlier, perhaps we could have saved the Venediger and the sword…”

A shout from behind them had Constantine lifting his hand in acknowledgment. People had begun to gather outside the remains of G&T, as well as the buildings on either side, both of which were missing walls. “The deaths are not anyone’s fault but Bael’s,” he said, giving her a quick reassuring squeeze. “They are regrettable and will not be forgotten by anyone in the Otherworld, but they do not stain our souls. We must leave. The mortal police will be here shortly, and we have much work to do.”

“Yes, we do, but the most important thing we can do is right here and now.” Bee unbuttoned his shirt, making Constantine both instantly aroused, and mildly shocked.

“You wish to make love now?” he asked, glancing around. “I must tell you that I do not find such acts in public places exciting. Outside, yes, but I really must demand a little privacy. Others watching is unsavory.”

Bee gave a little laugh, shook her head, and looked startled when a small bit of wood flew out of her curls. “I’m not into voyeurism, either, so as good as it is to know I won’t have to fight you over that, I wasn’t actually trying to seduce you. I need to see the curse to Charm it.”

A little frown pulled his brows together. “We do not have a talisman.”

“Oh yes we do.” She leaned forward, brushing her hair back in order to stare at his chest and belly, finally putting a finger on a spot on his side. “Right, let’s see if I can do this without any other catastrophe.”

“Did you steal something from Bael?” Ysolde asked, looking around them. People on the street started to work their way through the debris and rubble, calling out questions. In the distance, sirens grew louder. “Or did he leave something behind?”

“You could say that,” Bee said, her focus on Constantine’s chest as she traced the pattern seared into his flesh. It was like being touched by a hummingbird’s wings, soft and light and fleeting, but with each passing second, he felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted off of him. “The talisman is Constantine.”

“You’re kidding,” Ysolde said at the same time that Constantine shook his head. “Bee must have struck her head as well.”

“I did no such thing.” Bee slid a glance upward at him, and inexplicably grinned, warming him down to his toenails. “Think about it—what is a talisman but something that has a strong relationship to the person in question? Often it’s a possession, but it can just as well be something that is a part of that person. Well, you’re Bael’s son. You can’t be more a part of something than related by blood.”

“That’s really smart thinking,” Gary said, somewhat muffled since Bee still held him clutched to her front. “And to think that Connie was the answer to the problem all along!”

“But why didn’t it work the first time, if that’s the case?” Ysolde asked.

“Most likely because we didn’t just use Constantine alone—we had Asmodeus’s talisman as well, corrupting things.” Bee was frowning now, her attention focused on his chest, her hand shaking a little as it traced the pattern of the curse.

He watched her for a moment, concerned by the strain that was showing in her tightened lips. He was about to ask her if she was all right when he noticed that her finger had turned black, an inky color that moved slowly up her flesh as if it was a flush. Her hand shook harder as she struggled to unmake the curse. He wanted to stop her, but he knew it had to be done. After a moment’s thought, he placed his hand on her arm to give it support, and breathed fire onto her hand.

She gasped and looked up at him, a flash of gratitude in her eyes. The dragon fire sank into her flesh, driving back the black stain until it was confined to just the tip of her finger.

He stroked her arm, aware that it was cold, ice cold. She continued unmaking the curse, the blackness leeching up her hand until he drenched it with more fire. And so it went on for several minutes until she straightened up, her gaze intent on his chest as she followed the swirls leading up to his collarbone. “Almost done.”

He bathed her entire arm in fire, not liking how the chill was creeping up her flesh. “If it is too much for you—”

“It’s not,” she said quickly, taking in a shuddering breath. “I blame myself for not thinking of you earlier, to be honest. I got there in the end, but I just wish I could have done so before the Venediger and Guillaume were killed. Is everyone ready? I’m coming to the heart of the curse. I don’t know what it will do when it’s broken, but I want everyone ready for some reaction.”

Constantine braced himself as Bee’s finger finished tracing out what appeared to be an overly complicated Celtic knot on his right shoulder. Just as she traced out the last curve, her eyes met his.