No one came. Her heart was still racing, but she was here and she was safe.

Did it work, Fee?

Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, Marguerite! You saved my life!

Good, but I’m signing off. If Stannett figures out that you and I can communicate, he might put me someplace even worse.

Okay, but thank you! I won’t forget this … ever!

Fee, I may ask for a favor one day.

Anything, sister. Anything!

Gotta go.

Fiona felt the telepathic thread snap at the very end, like a hang-up. She drew in a deep breath.

She had another message to send. Jean-Pierre, I’m at the landing platform.

Within the space of a heartbeat, he folded next to her and immediately he was touching her arms, her legs, her hips, then back up to touch the sides of her head, then down to her neck. He kept asking her things in French.

“Anglais, chéri,” she finally said.

He huffed a laugh. “Are you all right? How did you get back? I could not reach you. Where did he take you? Was it Rith?”

She shook her head. “It was our friend from Copán. The Upper ascender. His name is Casimir. But Rith was there and two death vampires.”

“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu.” Another string of French followed until he caught himself and reverted to English. “Where did you go? Where did he take you?”

She kept her explanation brief, dwelling on how Marguerite, the newly avowed second leg of their obsidian flame triad, had helped her channel a fold in order to escape.

She met his gaze. “Jean-Pierre, they intended to kill me. If I hadn’t been practicing my channeling ability, I’d be dead.”

He nodded, a brisk series of nods, then dragged her into his arms. “Merde,” he said, one slap of French profanity against her ear. Finally, he added, “But you found your way out. You did this, Fiona. You embraced your power, you kept your head very clear, and you did this impossible thing. Thank you, chérie, more than words can express for coming back to me.”

* * *

Casimir shouted a string of profanities into the cavern. He might have begun the abduction with a casual attitude but by the time he’d ordered the death vamps to finish her off, he wanted nothing more than to eliminate this emerging and terrifying obstacle to his plans.

He’d been so close to seeing her killed. The swords had been spinning in Fiona’s direction—then suddenly her power was just there, an enormous wave of energy. He’d been slammed against the wall of rock. Several of his ribs were broken, which was no doubt what had happened to the others as well.

But each of them had self-healed and he’d already sent the death vampires back to their lair in Geneva, Mortal Earth.

Rith sat on the floor, a hand to the back of his neck.

Casimir stared at him. He and Greaves had already discussed the next step in this journey, for all of them. Rith would have a new role. First he would deliver an invitation to Fiona and her warrior, then he would be delivered elsewhere by Endelle’s faction to hopefully initiate Greaves’s worldwide publicity campaign against Rith-the-scapegoat.

At least in that sense Caz would know some relief.

The man’s smell really did irritate the hell out of him.

He folded an extra-large dog crate into the cavern.

“As soon as you’re healed, Greaves wants you to crawl inside. It’s time we moved our plans forward.”

Rith dropped both hands to his lap and smiled at Casimir. “Just remember what I have said to you. The future streams have been very clear about your future. No, I did not say that correctly. The future streams say you do not have a future.”

Caz wasn’t a Fourth ascender for nothing. He knew that the future was like a prism catching light—and that light split apart and bounced in every direction imaginable. “You don’t get to be my age, asshole, without learning to ignore the future streams.”

But Rith just laughed at him then crawled inside the cage.

* * *

Fiona had her arm around Jean-Pierre’s waist, her hand on his chest, and her face turned into his shoulder.

Seriffe and at least ten more Militia Warriors stood near the landing platform, all with swords drawn.

She was calmer now. Several minutes had passed since her arrival at Militia HQ, but she didn’t want to leave the landing platform area just yet. Jean-Pierre had asked her twice if she wanted to retire to the room they had been using for practice, but she shook her head. For just a moment, she wanted to stay here, feel the heat and strength of his body.

She kept replaying the brief terrifying abduction over and over in her mind. Each time she would come to the moment when she dove inside what she had come to think of as her golden rush of power, and she would marvel at what lived inside her, what existed deep inside her.

She had power now, something she could tap, something she could use to make herself safe, something she could possibly use to keep others safe as well. She looked up into Jean-Pierre’s face. Maybe she could even keep him safe as well?

The snakes that writhed in the bottom of her stomach stopped moving, then shriveled to the size of peas—then simply vanished. She had done this thing today. Through her own effort, she had escaped another horrible abduction and now she was back with her man. Maybe she could have a life on Second Earth, a real life. Maybe, just maybe she had sufficient power to stay alive and to live.

Could she therefore have a life with Jean-Pierre?

He met her gaze and frowned slightly. What is it, chérie? he sent.

Movement on the platform shifted her gaze in the direction of the Militia Warriors who still stood battle-ready and waiting.

“Incoming,” one of the men shouted.

Fiona drew in a sharp breath.

The next moment a cage appeared, a supersized dog kennel with an enormous gold metallic bow on the top.

In the cage was … Rith, bound and trussed.

She understood. A gift from Casimir.

The lead warrior moved toward the kennel. He turned back to Seriffe. “There’s a letter here.”

“Give it to me.”

The warrior plucked it from the top of the kennel and handed it to the colonel. Seriffe glanced back at her. “It’s addressed to you, Fiona.”

She left Jean-Pierre and went straight to her son-in-law. She withdrew the elegant card that bore Casimir’s name in raised black script on the front. She turned the card over.

May you enjoy your newfound powers. As for Rith, decapitation then cremation on separate pyres. Best wishes, C.

She handed the note to Seriffe. A moment later, he muttered, “Jesus H. Christ.”

Her gaze fell to Rith, who lay on his side, his hands bound, his ankles bound, and his knees drawn up tight.

Rith, her enemy. The one she had been seeking all this time. Casimir had simply offered him up.

Why?

She knew the question needed answering, but right now all she could do was stare at the man who had kept her prisoner for over a hundred years, who had month after month seen that she was drained for her dying blood then brought back to life.

Rage suddenly boiled through her, rising from so deep within her body that she didn’t need to be told that her aura was on fire. She could feel the heat all over her skin, and a golden glow now enveloped the room.

The Militia Warriors all started talking at once, commenting on her aura. The alarms shrieked once more, evidence no doubt of the sudden surge of power she emitted.

Seriffe was on the com talking to Bev, and within seconds the alarms stopped.

She moved close to the cage. “Rith Do’onwa,” she called out in a strong voice, “you will answer today for the women you murdered in the Burma facility where you held me captive. What do you have to say to me?”

“That I murdered no one,” he responded. “The women were weak and chose death. They died when they lost the will to live.”

Splitting fucking hairs.

She put her hands on the cage. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She thought maybe she would pick it up and throw it against the wall.

Instead she dropped to her knees, put her hands in her lap, then held his gaze. Again, in a strong voice, she said, “I am Fiona Gaines, the first woman taken into your captivity and used by both you and Greaves to harvest the first vials of enslaved dying blood.

“I am Fiona Gaines taken from Boston, torn from my husband of eleven years and from my two children, Carolyn and Peter.

“The second woman to come to your Burma facility, but this time to die, was named Mary Sisk. She was from Virginia. She had six children, six who grew up without their mother or ever knowing what happened to her.

“The third was an elegant African American woman you took from Mississippi. She had just given birth and left behind an infant daughter. She died heartbroken, craving the feel of her baby in her arms.

“The fourth woman to live and die under your hand came from Barbados. Victoria. She was just seventeen, newly married. She died soon after. Most of the women in the early years couldn’t take the hand-blasts to the chests. Your hand-blasts, remember?”

And on she spoke, detailing the lives of those she held in her heart and in her mind, a living memorial to the dead in Burma.

* * *

Jean-Pierre had remained near the back wall, perhaps twenty feet from Fiona. He used his warrior phone to call Carla at Central Command.

“Carla here. How can I help?”

“We have a situation at Militia Warrior HQ.” He explained what had happened then added, “Please advise Endelle and Thorne. We’re not sure what to do with the prisoner but I feel certain Endelle will want to be involved in this. If she desires to come, please have her fold to my position.”

“You got it.”

He didn’t try to explain that Fiona had begun a recitation that could take a very long time. He certainly did not feel it would be right to disrupt her, but he also needed Endelle to witness what was happening.

Endelle folded to the doorway barely a minute later. He caught her gaze just as she opened her mouth, no doubt to say something inappropriate.

He shook his head and gestured to Fiona.

She drew close to Jean-Pierre and in a surprisingly quiet voice, her brows drawn into a knot, she asked, “What the fuck is going on here? And is that Rith in a dog cage?”