“Ash, there’s someone at the door.” Jim nudged my hand with its cold nose.

I turned to look at the man facing the outer door to the hall that led to the three apartments that graced the top floor of the building.

“I am not done with you,” I warned Rene as I hurried over to the man, hoping it was the delivery of all my belongings cleared at last through customs.

“I will be around,” he called after me. “You have my mobile number, yes?”

“Yes,” I called back as he put the car into gear and merged into the busy London traffic. “Sorry. Are you the man with my boxes?”

“Boxes? No.” He turned to face us.

“Oh. Rats. Well, I’m afraid there’s no one in the apartments now. One of the tenants is off on his summer vacation, and the other one is in Liverpool for the day.”

The man held a business card in one hand and a pen in the other, evidently having been in the process of writing a note. A sharp, gray-eyed gaze swept over me. “A Guardian.” He moved on to Jim, a slight frown pulling his dark brows together in a darker frown. “And a sixth-class demon.”

“Yes, I’m a Guardian,” I said, my hackles rising for some intangible reason. In the few months since I had found out there was a whole other paranormal side to the world I knew, including my own role as what amounted to a demon wrangler, I’d learned that appearances were more than a little deceiving. The man in front of me might look like a perfectly normal Englishman—high forehead, long face, prominent nose, gray eyes and brown hair—but power crackled off him, leaving the air static-filled around us. I’d also learned, however, that sugar would get me a lot farther than vinegar, so I slapped a pleasant smile on my face and prepared to make myself friendly. “Well, to be truthful, I’m a Guardian in training, but hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m a full-fledged active member of the Guardians’ Guild.”

The man cast a glance at Jim again, his gaze sharpening. “You are Aisling Grey.”

“Yes. Er... how did you know who I am?”

“All the Otherworld has heard of the infamous Aisling Grey, the woman who has the dubious honor of being a demon lord, Guardian, and wyvern’s mate all at the same time,” he answered, handing me his card. I gave it a quick look. On the front was his name—Mark Sullivan. Below it, in small, discreet print, was one word: investigations.

“Yeah, dubious honor just about sums it up. You’re a private eye? A detective?”

“No. I am the chief investigator for the L’au-dela committee. I have been asked to look into possible inconsistencies with Nora Charles, Guardian.”

“Inconsistencies? What inconsistencies?”

Mark Sullivan gave me a long look that spoke volumes— of nothing.

“Nora is my mentor,” I explained, my hands automatically drawing a ward of understanding on him. Maybe that would help. “She’s training me to be a Guardian.”

“Not anymore she isn’t,” Mark said, pulling a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. “This is an order prohibiting Nora Charles from acting as a mentor. Please see that she receives it as soon as she returns. From this moment on, she is forbidden to teach anyone anything—including her current apprentice. Good luck to you, Aisling Grey. I fear you are going to need it.”

2

“I hate it when people do things like that,” I grumbled as I slammed shut the door to Nora’s apartment.

“What, act polite?”

“No, do that horrible foreshadowing thing that everyone around me seems to do.” I tossed down Jim’s leash and went to check Nora’s answering machine to see whether there were any messages from the shipping company. “Just once I’d like someone to walk up to me and, instead of predicting disaster or bad luck or any of the myriad other unpleasant happenings that have been predicted for me, say, ‘Aisling, you’re going to win the lottery today. Or lose ten pounds overnight. Or fall madly in love with the next man you see.’ Anything but foreshadowing.”

Jim sighed. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? Never thinking about anyone else; only concerned about your own happiness.”

I glared open-mouthed at the demon as a knock sounded on the door. I hurried toward it, glad I’d left the outer door unlocked for the delivery guys. “That is so totally off base, and you know it!”

“Fine, you want to be that way .. .” Jim scratched a spot behind its left ear, then considered its crotch as it said, “Aisling, you’re going to win the lottery today, lose ten pounds overnight, and fall madly in love with the next man you see.”

I opened the door on the last of its words.

The man standing in the doorway raised an eyebrow. “Hindsight, so they say, is twenty-twenty.”

My jaw dropped. My heart speeded up. My lungs seemed suddenly airless. And my stomach wadded up into a small leaden ball.

A small fire burst into being on the nearby area rug. Jim ran over to stomp it out.

“Drake,” I said on a gasp, air rushing once again into my lungs. “What are you—”

“You are hereby summoned to attend a synod of the green dragons tomorrow. Attendance is mandatory.” Drake slapped a stiff black portfolio into my hands and turned to leave.

“Hey! A synod? Wait a minute—Jim, there’s another one near the curtains.”

Drake spun around again, his green eyes blazing with emotion—eyes that I knew so well, that had once seemed to hold everything I wanted. But that was before he betrayed me...

“Do you refute your oath of fealty to the sept? Do you refuse to honor your commitments, mate?”

“No,” I answered, lifting my chin. I’d known all along that I was bound to the dragon sept that Drake ruled as wyvern. Even though we were no longer together, technically I was still his mate, and until I could find a way to undo that, I owed them my help when needed. I’d been braced and ready for this ever since I’d left Budapest. “No, I am not refuting my oath to the sept. I will attend the meeting as your mate. I simply wanted to know ...” The words died on my lips.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you want to know?”

Whether he missed me? Whether his heart hurt as much as mine? Whether he regretted betraying me like he did? Those were the first three things that came to mind, but there were others. All of which were questions that I would ask over my cold, lifeless corpse. So to speak. Luckily, before I had to try to think of an impersonal question, Jim stepped in to the rescue.