Karl had been tracking Jason. As for how or why, he wasn’t about to waste time on explanations. He’d left Hope behind, and when Jason got into a car in a crowded lot, he’d noted the license and make, then hurried back for her. She was gone, and the spot where he’d left her had been rife with Jasper’s scent.

Karl’s black mood only darkened when he realized this revelation—that Jasper and Jason were alive, and coconspirators—did not surprise us.

Griffin said, “So Hope left with this guy and you know she was kidnapped because…”

“Because I know Hope.”

“Are you sure?”

Karl swung on Griffin. Griffin’s cheek twitched—the “tell” that he was activating his armor.

“There are other reasons Hope might go with Jasper,” Paige said.

Karl stiffened, and I knew Paige had been right about the nature of Hope’s developing relationship with Jasper Haig.

“She wouldn’t,” Karl said.

“What I meant is that she might have seen him and followed for a better look. Or maybe he approached her claiming he needed help and, still believing he’d been kidnapped, she went with him. Or maybe she realized he was behind this, and thought playing along was the best way to stop him.”

“She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

Paige flushed and I knew she was thinking of the times she’d done something “that stupid” trying to stop a crime.

She hurried on. “Whatever the reason, she’s with him and we need to find them.”

“No one’s even going to bring it up, are they?” Griffin said. “Maybe he—” a thumb jab at Karl, “—doesn’t see it, but we can’t go rushing in to rescue the girl without considering that she might not want to be rescued. Or that it’s a trap.”

“Hope isn’t involved,” I said. “Now, we need to make a list—”

Griffin strode in front of me. “Did you ever hear what happened with Dean Princeton, Lucas?”

“Yes, I did.”

“So you know? And that doesn’t change anything?”

“No, it does not.”

“Who’s Dean Princeton?” Paige asked.

“It’s not imp—” I began.

“Expisco half-demon,” Griffin cut in. “The only one who’s ever worked for a Cabal. When he was Hope’s age, maybe a few years younger, he was the nicest kid. Wanted to be a bodyguard, but everyone told him he wasn’t tough enough. He worked at it, though. Took a job in security. Got promoted to backup guard for Lionel St. Cloud.

Then they started finding the bodies.”

“Dean Princeton has nothing to do with Hope Adams,” I said. “And to draw an analogy based on racial type is nothing short of prejudice. You cannot—”

“His racial type is what turned him into a killer! Are you saying that’s not relevant? Hope Adams is Lucifer’s daughter. She’s a chaos demon. Did you actually read the reports on Princeton, Lucas? Did you see what he did to those people? Hear all the witnesses testify about what a sweet kid he’d been once? Maybe you’re right, maybe this girl’s demon is still sleeping, but it’s going to wake up, and I’m not sure we should be in such an almighty rush to save—”

The last words were a strangled cough. Karl had Griffin by the throat.

“Hope is not Dean Princeton,” Karl said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I could trot out twenty man-eating werewolves for you. Does that mean all werewolves should be killed at birth…just in case? Where Hope is concerned, you stay clear. You don’t spread your stories about Dean Princeton, especially to her. If you don’t want to help find her, then don’t. But I’m going to and you won’t stop me.”

“We’re going to help you,” Paige said, laying her fingertips on Karl’s arm. “He’s thinking of us, not Hope, and we understand that. It doesn’t change—”

A cell phone ring. I murmured an apology, then realized it was Paige’s.

She frowned at the display. “A pay phone? Probably a wrong number. I’ll take this outside.”

HOPE: VISIONS OF MADNESS

Joan of Arc saw visions of God. Believing she was the messenger of the Almighty she mustered the will and the passion to rally the French against the English invaders. Touched by God? Or by madness? History is filled with tales of visionary madmen, and I had no doubt Jaz was mad, with a fire that burned through self-doubt and moral qualms.

A few days ago, I’d reflected on that impulsive side of Jaz, how he pursued what he desired without fear.

I’d chalked it up to a charming lack of self-doubt and self-consciousness. It was a lack of something all right…

Listening to Jaz, I remembered those moments in Benicio’s panic room, where I’d been unable to comprehend that Troy’s death would be wrong. I’d wanted it. It would serve me. Therefore, it should be.

The demon in its purest form. Ego ruled by id. That was Jaz.

I remembered too my thoughts on first walking into his apartment. I’d reflected on how his cheerful, impulsive nature was kept in check by cold sense, leading him to save money while he had it. That observation, too, came back to haunt me now.

For most people, that lack of self-doubt and conscience would be their undoing. The first time their goal exceeded their reach, they’d do something foolish and die pursuing their mad dreams. But not Jaz. He was crazy enough to hatch impossibly grandiose, destructive schemes and brilliant enough to carry them through. And if he went too far? He had Sonny to pull him back in line.

This hadn’t been the slapdash plan of two brazen young supernaturals. They’d been plotting this for years, taking a job at the Cabal and studying Carlos—the brother least likely to succeed, but the one they could best impersonate. Then they’d infiltrated the gang, seducing Guy with Jaz’s wild visions, swaying them into allies and, finally, into tools to execute their plans.

Kill the most prominent members of the Cortez Cabal family, then take the place of the remaining one?

Madness.

What if Benicio hadn’t planted me in the gang? What if Karl hadn’t called in Lucas? Would Jaz and Sonny have still failed? Even in failure, they’d achieved half their goal, and had a backup plan for the remainder.