Dr. Kostich wadded up the bloody tissue and flung it onto a nearby table. “Then I will simply track him down as I have tracked you down. You are under arrest, May Northcott, and wyvern’s mate or not, you will accept the punishment meted out to you by the council!”

“No,” I said, shaking my head a second time.

Dr. Kostich stared in surprise at me for a moment.

“You go, girl. Don’t let that arcane bully push you around. You’re my twin! He can just stick that in his—”

“That’s enough from the peanut gallery, thank you,” I said hastily, giving Cyrene a quelling look that she completely ignored. “Dr. Kostich, I recognize the fact that you feel it’s necessary for me to pay for alleged crimes, but I am—Oh, what now?”

Through the partially opaque bulletproof glass that lined either side of the front doors I could see the shapes of two men as they pounded the knocker. A sudden familiar sense struck me just as Nathaniel went to answer the door, an awareness that I recognized came from the dragon shard, not me.

“No, don’t—” I started to say, but at that moment Nathaniel reached the door. It was flung open with a violence that sent the dragon flying backwards into Maata, who had rushed forward to stop him.

A man stood in the doorway, dark-haired, dark-eyed, large, and imposing, his long dark chocolate hair pulled back from a widow’s peak.

“Baltic,” I said, my breath caught suddenly in my throat.

His ebony eyes lit on me, amusement filling them. “Mate. I thought I would find you here.”

“I am not your mate. You would think after I’ve told you that so many times you’d begin to understand that. Would it help if I wrote it out on flash cards?”

“I understand more than you can possibly conceive,” he answered with typical dragon arrogance.

“Who is this?” Dr. Kostich demanded to know, his eyes narrowed on the newcomer. “Who are you, sir, that you would interrupt official L’au-delà business?”

It was clearly up to me to make the introductions. “This is Baltic, Dr. Kostich. Sometimes referred to as the dread wyvern Baltic, although I believe that title was granted him in the past, back when he was leader of the black dragon sept.”

“Baltic.” Dr. Kostich frowned as he tried the word a couple of times. “Baltic. I believe I remember something about a dragon with that name.”

I smiled to myself at the irritated look that flashed for a moment in Baltic’s eyes. It was interesting to see that even the cool, collected Baltic had an ego that could be prodded.

“Wasn’t there some business concerning you that ended with the death of a wyvern? A female, one who fought against you. Had a French name.”

“Ysolde?” I asked, trying to think of anyone who could fit that description. My knowledge of dragon history wasn’t that great, but I had read what I could find about the silver dragons.“She was a wyvern’s mate, not a wyvern.Although she did have a French name: Ysolde de Bouchier.”

“That’s it,” Kostich said, giving a curt nod before considering Baltic again. “You destroyed a wyvern’s mate.”

Baltic’s face grew dark. He stalked over to Dr. Kostich, whom I had to admire for not even flinching in the face of a furious dragon. “I did not destroy Ysolde. Constantine Norka did that!”

I felt my jaw sag a little as I slid a glance toward Maata. “Ysolde was killed by the silver wyvern?” I asked her in a whisper.

Her face was impassive as she watched Baltic. “That was before my time.”

Typical dragon nonanswer.

“I thought you died,” Dr. Kostich asked, flicking a piece of lint from his arm with studied nonchalance. I might be a master at presenting a calm appearance in a highly charged situation—or rather, I might have been before the dragon shard embedded itself in me—but I had to give Dr. Kostich kudos; his indifferent, placid expression made me look like an amateur. “I am sure they told me you were killed by one of your own sept members.”

Baltic’s jaw tightened as he gave Dr. Kostich an assessing once-over. “You have the smell of alchemy about you, mage. I assume you received your quintessence back again?”

“Again?” I asked, curiosity overriding my better sense. “No, I think that’s far enough, Baltic. Gabriel won’t be happy to hear that you forced yourself into his house; he’ll be furious if you insist on coming any farther than the front hall.”

“You want us to throw them out, May?” Maata asked softly, her body language relaxed, but she stood on the balls of her feet, ready to pounce.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Whatever you have to say to me, Baltic, can be said here. And your little buddy can stay outside.”

The man who stood silently behind Baltic, as dark and menacing as his leader, stiffened at the insult. All three silver dragons stiffened with him, just as if they were panthers about to spring. Baltic lifted his hand and his man backed down, taking a few steps backwards until he was on the front steps leading up to the house.

“If you don’t mind, what exactly do you mean by again? Was the quintessence stolen recently?” I asked.

Unexpectedly, a little smile quirked the corners of Baltic’s mouth. “You should know; the word is that you stole it.”

“And returned it promptly the next day just as soon as was humanely possible,” I said quickly, glancing at Dr. Kostich.

To my extraordinary relief, he was still focused on Baltic. “I know they said you were dead.”

The muscle in Baltic’s jaw jumped again.

“The word ‘again’ implies it was stolen before. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in alchemy, too, would you?” I asked Baltic.

He shot me an irritated look. “I am no glorified chemist playing with potions.”

“But the quintessence—”

“May be the focus of an alchemist’s interest, but I have no use for transforming matter at all. He can keep his precious quintessence,” he interrupted with a particularly wolfish smile. “I have come for my shard, mate.”

Dr. Kostich sucked in a breath, his fingers twitching. Mages frequently drew elaborate runes in order to access their power. Although he stood in a relaxed position, with his hands apparently calmly at his side, I could see that his fingers twitched and jerked in what I realized was a subtle pattern. He was drawing a rune.