"I live to serve."

His lips curved into a familiar half-smile. "Somehow I deeply doubt it."

Grace sat into the other chair and sipped shockingly hot tea, liberally whitened by cream. Liquid heat flowed through her. His magic brushed her again, but she had flown over miles bathed in it and she accepted his touch without protest. She was so very tired. "This is a dream. I'll wake up, and all of this will be gone. And I'll go back to my quiet little job."

"What is it you do?"

Grace shrugged. He knew, of course. His clan had been keeping tabs on their family for years. When you own something, you want to pay attention to its maintenance. He probably knew what size underwear she wore and how she preferred her steak. "Why don't you tell me?"

"You're a headhunter. You find jobs for others. Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's boring at times and stressful, but I get to help people."

"You didn't know about your family's debt, did you?" he asked.

"No." She refilled her cup.

"When did you find out?"

"Three days ago."

"Was it sudden?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I always knew about magic. I was born able to feel it. At first I was told I was a very sensitive child, and then, once I was old enough to realize I needed to keep it to myself, more complicated explanations followed. I live in a world of very small magics. I can sense if I'll miss the bus. In school, I could usually foretell my grade on tests, but I could never predict anything else accurately. If I concentrate very hard, I can scare animals. A dog once tried to chase me, and I was frightened and sent it running."

She drank again. "Small things, mostly useless. I thought that all magic users were like me. Working their little powers in secret. I never imagined people could fly in the open. Or walk through crowded airports without being seen. My mother is a fabric buyer. My uncle's a mechanic who really likes weapons. My dad's normal in every way. My mother and he divorced when I was eighteen. He runs a shift at a tire repair plant."

Grace drank more tea. Her head was fuzzy. She was so comfortable and warm in the soft chair. "When Uncle Gerald told me this half-baked story about blood debt, I didn't believe him at first."

"What convinced you?"

"He was terrified. Uncle Gerald is like a rock in the storm: always cool under pressure. I've never seen him so off-balance." She yawned. She was so drowsy. "I think my mother hoped I would never have to do this."

"I can see why," Nassar said softly. "We live in constant danger. I would think any mother would want to shield her child from us."

"I would." Drowsiness overtook her. Grace set the cup down and curled into a ball in the chair. "Even though your world is so..."

She vaguely saw him rise from his chair. He picked her up, his magic cloaking about her. She should have been alarmed, but she had no resolve left.

"So?"

"So magical."

He drew the canopy aside and lowered her onto the bed. Her head touched the pillow and reality faded.

* * *

Nassar stepped out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Alasdair waited in the hallway, a lean sharp shadow, with a robe draped over his arm. Nassar took it from him and shrugged it on, absorbing the last of his feathers. His whole body hurt from too much magic expended too quickly. Walking was like stepping on crushed glass.

"Is she asleep?" Alasdair asked.

Nassar nodded. They walked down the hall together.

"She's pretty. Chestnut hair and chocolate eyes - a nice combination."

She was also calm under pressure, smart, and willful. When she looked at him with those dark eyes, Nassar felt the urge to say something intelligent and deeply impressive. Unfortunately, nothing of the kind came to mind. It seemed her eyes also had a way of muddling his thoughts. The last time he felt that dumb was about fourteen years ago. He'd been eighteen at the time.

"You like the girl," Alasdair offered.

Nassar leveled a heavy gaze at him.

"Lilian said you tried to be funny in the car. I told her it couldn't possibly be true. The moment you try to make a joke, the sky shall split and the Four Horsemen will ride out, heralding Apocalypse."

"How droll. Did you double the patrols?"

Alasdair nodded his dark head and stopped by the ladder. Nassar walked past him, heading to his rooms.

"Did you?" Alasdair called.

"Did I what?"

"Did you joke with the girl?"

Nassar kept walking.

"Did she laugh?" Alasdair called.

"No."

Nassar entered his room. He hadn't expected her to laugh. He was grateful she didn't collapse in a hysterical heap. Her uncle had been scared to within an inch of his life – fear had rolled off of him in waves. In Gerald's life of some fifty odd years his services had been requested only twice, but the second time had scarred him for life. In the zone he would be useless.

Grace's mother, Janet, was always meticulous and formal. She took no initiative. Working with her was like being in a presence of an automaton who obeyed his every order while being grimly determined to dislike it. Taking her into the zone, even if he could compensate for her age and health, would be suicide.

He was never comfortable with any of them. He was never comfortable with the whole idea of the bonded servant and took pains to avoid requesting their presence. But this time he had no choice.