“Soror Seléne.”

“Keep it down,” I cautioned, quickly glancing across the room. “If the FBI comes knocking at my door because of your indiscretion, I’ll hex you before the oath spell even has time to shut your mouth.”

An idle threat. I really didn’t know much about hex spells, but whatever.

“Frater Hadler couldn’t hear me if he was a foot away. He refuses to wear the hearing aide that his doctor prescribed,” Kantor replied. “Anyway, back so soon? Does this mean you’ve reconsidered my offer? I’m quite skilled in the art of tantric sexual rites, you know.”

“Okay, seriously. Let’s pretend we’re normal people, not magicians. If you saw me in a coffee shop, would you really think that you had a chance with me? I’m not trying to be mean, just realistic.”

He gave me a confused look. “Ritual sex does not require a mutual attraction between partners, you know.”

“Are you deaf, or can you really not imagine a life without magick?”

“Why should I? You’re here, I’m here, we’re both talented magicians.” He ran his fingernails through the blond, cropped hair over his ears. His nails were too long. Disgusting. I wanted to find a nail clipper and chop them off.

The Grandmaster interrupted us before I had to endure him any longer.

“Sorry, temple business,” she said wearily.

For a second, I wondered if she and Frater Kantor had ever engaged in ritual sex; maybe they got it on with her husband right here in the temple. Nothing would surprise me.

“Can we talk alone?” I asked, shaking that thought away.

“Of course. Frater Kantor?”

He bowed his head obediently and turned to leave, but not before winking at me as he exited. I might not be able to hex him, but I could brew up something that would knock his ass on the floor for the better part of the day. If only.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with the caliph,” I said once we were alone.

“Look, Seléne. I’m going to be frank. No one in the Florida lodge knows where Caliph Superior is. Not his children, his assistant, no one. He disappeared three days ago.”

“What?”

“I’ve sent my guardian to find his, but he’s warded and refusing communication. The elite mages at the main lodge have sent out servitors. Only one has returned, and the transmission was too weak to decipher much of anything. All we can gather is that Caliph Superior is in San Diego.”

“The Luxe Order?”

“We believe.”

I clicked my jaw. “Kidnapped?”

“Not exactly. He was stubborn about trying to find a solution to your problem, and I personally think he went there willingly to try to negotiate in secret. No one in the order would have allowed him to go if he had told someone beforehand.”

“They won’t hurt him, will they?”

“No, no. Not yet, anyway. The council they offered us was binding. They’ll stick to their word until the final date. Which is seven days away, by the—”

“Yes!” I snapped. “I know damn well how far away it is. Do you think I’m not trying? That my parents’ lives being at stake—my own life—isn’t motivation enough?”

She ignored my rising anger. “Do you have anything to report?”

Total attitude.

Suddenly furious, I realized that I didn’t trust her or Frater Kantor or anyone in that damn lodge one bit. I had planned to ask her advice about Riley Cooper, and the strange green dot that had appeared in my servitor transmission … I had even planned to tell her about the glass talon. Not now. No way in hell.

“Nothing that I can tell you,” I said coldly. “When you get an update on the caliph, you call me immediately instead of waiting around for me to come to you. Otherwise, I’ll speak with you before the final date for the council.”

“Of course,” she said with forced politeness, inclining her head.

It probably wasn’t the brightest idea for me to piss off my last possible link to the caliph, but I didn’t care anymore; I was tired of being nice to people I didn’t like.

17

I was still fuming and stressed over the Grandmaster’s news when I pulled into Lon’s driveway after lunch. He greeted me at the door in his typical stained T-shirt and faded jeans that had holes in both knees. Not fake deconstructed holes made in some factory, but the real kind. I wondered how many years of wear it took to get them. He was on his cell, so he waved me inside and pointed me to a set of sliding glass doors at the far end of the living room that led out to a patio.

I made my way across the room and dumped my purse on an olive-colored sectional sofa. A plush area rug was here, along with a couple of leather chairs that looked comfortable and inviting. I glanced around looking for examples of Lon’s photography; I hadn’t noticed any the first night I’d been here. Just a couple of large paintings and a colorful 1920s print advertising a circus. I spotted a few small photos hanging high above the sliding glass door, but before I could examine them closely, I became distracted by what lay on the other side of the glass. Amanda had been so excited about Lon’s property; now that I was witnessing it in the daytime, I understood why.

I slid the door open and stepped outside onto a deep patio covered by matching modern cement ceiling that sheltered it from the weather. Where the patio stopped, a large, wraparound redwood deck started, with three tiers of long steps that led down to a narrow yard filled with native California plants: small palms, lavender, coastal sagebrush, and several stunning Monterey cypress trees with their unusual wind-sculpted trunks that curved beneath the flattened evergreen tops. The verdant patch was well tended inside curving stone borders that wrapped around the side of the house.