“Demons and magicians, natural enemies,” I said lightly.

“You’re certain you don’t have any Earthbound further back in your bloodline?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, you’ve got something rather Æthyric bonding with your DNA or you wouldn’t have a halo.” He tilted his head to the side, pondering. “You were born with it?”

“Yes.”

“I have seen one or two anomalies in my thirty-some years of practice. Tell me this: have you yourself conjured anything Æthyric?”

Of course I had. It was just oddly chilling to talk about it with someone outside the occult community. “A few Æthyric demons, a Hermeneus spirit.” Poor Priya, my lost connection to the Æthyr. The Hermeneus spirit who was once my guardian promised that it would regenerate and link itself to me again, but it could take years. . . .

Dr. Spendlove crossed his legs and leaned into one side of the chair. “Fascinating! So you know firsthand that there are indeed other Æthyric beings besides demons.”

“People in my esoteric order believe there are multiple Æthyric planes and that demons inhabit only one of them,” I said. “Then again, who knows how accurate that is. Most magicians don’t even believe that Earthbounds exist, because they can’t see halos.”

“But you can,” he stated, studying my face.

“Yes.”

“She co-owns the tiki bar in Morella,” Lon said.

“Ah! So you’re that girl. Yes, I’ve heard people make mention of you from time to time. Beat and bind, as they say in fencing, yes?” His cheeks were ruddy with interest.

“En garde,” I replied flatly.

He laughed like Santa Claus, minus the jiggling belly. “Indeed, indeed. Lon’s always shown a sharp interest in magick—since he was a small child, in fact. So it doesn’t surprise me that he’d connect with someone like you.”

A thrumming panic was surfacing. Not out-of-control panic, but it was there. Sweat was beginning to make my hair itch at the nape of my neck. Lon reached for my hand and threaded his fingers through mine.

Dr. Spendlove didn’t seem to notice my fear. “I once had a young patient from a small town in northern India with a dark orange halo,” he said, circling his hand in the air around his own in demonstration. “Never having seen another person with a halo, he lived his whole life thinking he was mentally ill. Had been prescribed antipsychotic medications. When he was eighteen, he came to the states for a job, right here in La Sirena, and voilà!” He clapped his hands together then spread his arms dramatically. “Halos, as far as the eye could see. He began seeing me to wean him off his medications, which I did. But I was never entirely convinced that he was demon. Earthbound like the rest of us, yes, but Earthbound what, exactly?”

He paused dramatically, arching a brow, as if reading the tagline for a movie featuring a nefarious conspiracy theory.

“That’s . . . interesting, but I think my halo is related to magical ability,” I said, “and not some long-lost Æthyric race.”

“Have you met other magicians with halos?”

“No,” I admitted.

“You know,” he said, “many ancient cultures didn’t believe in a distinction between demons and gods. They saw them as a higher level of beings. About twenty years ago, I read an essay theorizing that the origin of magick stemmed from godlike beings called Sekhmets, who taught their skills to a select group of ancient Egyptian priestesses.”

“Sekhmet is an early Egyptian war goddess,” I corrected.

“Or”—he leaned low over the desk, eyes dancing with intrigue—“was she merely named Sekhmet after another race of beings? A race who shared with humans their specialized knack for harnessing Heka, to prepare them for a prophesied future war between the planes?”

He slowly nodded his head, as if he was certain that he’d just blew my mind. He hadn’t. I’d already heard every crazy crackpot esoteric theory out there. Most of the people in my order went a step further, proclaiming that magicians were gods, or at least descended from them. A King Kong–size ego was necessary for at least two positions of power in this country: presidential candidates and upper-echelon officers in any magical organization.

I shrugged my shoulders high. “I doubt it’s something we’ll ever know, but I didn’t mean to get us sidetracked,” I said, generously, since I wasn’t the one who’d gotten us on this tangent. “I’m sure you’re busy, so let’s talk about Jupe.”

Dr. Spendlove grinned, then enthusiastically slapped his palm on the edge of his desk. “Yes, certainly, my dear.” He pulled the computer keyboard toward him and typed as he talked. “So, the last time I saw Jupiter, he was three years old—but little Jupiter isn’t so little anymore, is he? I ran a few standard tests on him . . . coaxed some truth out of him . . . and it appears his knack is manifesting a year or so early. Not unheard of. About ten percent of Earthbound children manifest before the age of fifteen. On the other hand, a quarter of all Earthbounds never even manifest a talent at all—did you know that?”

I certainly didn’t know the percentage was that high. Lon didn’t either, from the way he shook his head.

“These figures are based on my own studies, mind you, combined with figures from a few of my colleagues.” Spendlove typed, squinting at the screen in front of him. “However, what’s more interesting about Jupiter isn’t the timing but rather the knack itself. Now, you are an empath, Lon. And according to Jupiter, his mother was a beguiler.” He paused and looked up. “I do remember her. Was she really that lovely, or was it all ‘allure’?”