Ghostland

CHAPTER 17

ZURAEL caught Aisling before she crumpled to the ground. He swung her into his arms, took the few steps necessary to reach the bed. The coldness of her skin alarmed him, and he hurried to undo his shirt so he could cuddle her against him, warm her with Djinn fire.

She smiled, and it touched every part of him, reached his heart and completely encased it. “It’s done?” he asked, though the corpses on the floor seemed to answer the question.

“There’s one more. Peter Germaine. He was here that night.”

“I remember him.”

Zurael pressed his lips to hers, shared the breath that was Djinn spirit.

The raw feelings of helplessness he’d experienced while she was in the spiritlands with Felipe and Ilka faded with Aisling in his arms.

In his time with her he’d gained a new appreciation for those pledged to the House of the Raven, and the ones who loved them. If the human ghostlands were a dangerous place, then the spirit birthplace of the Djinn would be no less harrowing. He didn’t envy those whose task it was to guide the Djinn back for rebirth.

He deepened the kiss and moaned when her tongue greeted his with a warm slide of heat against heat. Fierce emotion swelled in his chest and he pulled her more tightly against him. He felt so close to her-spirit entwined with spirit-as if they were one being forced to live in separate bodies and unable to find completion unless they were together.

“Aisling,” he whispered when he lifted his mouth, allowed her to take a breath that wasn’t his.

He lost himself in eyes that were an endless blue sky, a deep ocean pool. When her lips parted and she glanced down shyly, suddenly appearing more vulnerable, his heart raced in anticipation of hearing her name what was between them.

“I-” she started, only to stiffen and turn in his arms, her skin chilling against his.

Protectiveness surged through Zurael. He put Aisling in the center of the bed before rising to his feet. With barely a flicker of thought, clear fingernails became black demon talons.

The corpses stood. Felipe’s blank, dead eyes slowly filled, revealing amusement along with a hint of cruelty and madness. Ilka’s held the nothingness of a zombie.

What had been Felipe laughed with John’s voice and touched his neck. His gaze flicked over Zurael, dismissed him in favor of Aisling. “Another deadly pet, beautiful? And I was hoping… Well I’m sure I can amuse myself elsewhere before I’m forced to leave.” He tilted his head toward Ilka. In a stage whisper he said, “Now she’s dead weight, which is a shame, but I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

John grabbed Ilka’s arm, then noticed the studded baton at his feet. He bent down and scooped it up.

“A toy. How fun! Using it on Ilka won’t be the same since she’s not really with us, but it’s the thought that counts, and I will enjoy the thought.”

At the doorway he patted the clothing until he found the key to the room and slipped it into the dead bolt. “I’d suggest you stay here, enjoy your pet. You’ll know when we’re gone for good.”

Demon talons became clear fingernails with John’s departure. Zurael locked the door and returned to the bed. The driving energy to protect gave way to the pulsing desire to possess when Aisling’s firm breasts and hardened nipples pressed against his chest. Except for the soft leather pouch containing her fetishes, she was still naked from the waist up.

The image of her turning, allowing others to see her-the memory of Felipe and Ilka touching her, even briefly, even though it had been necessary-drove all rational thought from Zurael’s mind. She belonged to him.

Zurael stripped her with possessive hands, knowing that the only way to eradicate all vestiges of another’s touch, of another’s glance, was to give in to the hunger riding him with primitive intensity. He shed his own clothing without ever lifting his mouth from her mouth, her neck, her breasts.

Aisling trembled in eagerness beneath him. Opened for him so that when he settled his weight on her, his cock found wet heat and swollen, parted folds.

Her willing submission buffered the rawness of his lust, kept him from rutting like a feral creature. His thighs bunched with the effort to remain still, to savor the ecstasy of being inside her as his tongue mated with hers.

He shuddered when she freed his hair from its braid and it draped over them in a sensual curtain. He did the same to hers and was enthralled by the sight of Aisling’s honey-gold locks entwined with the raven-black of his.

Zurael rolled to his back, taking her with him. He luxuriated in the silky feel of her skin and hair against his flesh. Grew more aroused when her mouth claimed his in a sultry kiss as she bathed his cock in hot, throbbing arousal.

His hands roved over her body, palmed her breasts and buttocks. He swallowed her moans of pleasure and arched off the mattress when she began rocking, rubbing her clit against his abdomen, fucking herself on his cock with excruciating slowness.

It was too much, the raw pleasure more than he could bear. He put Aisling underneath him again, and this time he didn’t fight the savage urge, the frenzied need to couple with her, to take her body and soul, and reinforce his claim to her heart.

Afterward he held her, buried his face in the gold of her hair as she clung to him in exhausted sleep. He traced the delicate line of her spine, contemplated the future and what he might say to The Prince, to Malahel of the House of the Spider, and Iyar of the House of the Raven.

He would die for Aisling. The realization should have filled him with terror. Instead it brought only determination to finish what needed to be done so he could fight for a future with her.

Zurael’s thoughts strayed to the Hall of History, to Jetrel, the first of The Prince’s sons, the one who had turned his back on the House of the Serpent and chosen to live among the alien god’s creations instead of the Djinn. Idly he picked up a lock of Aisling’s hair, finally understanding what had driven Jetrel to make such a choice.

The sun-shaped amulet glowed at her wrist. His attention was drawn for a moment to the amulet pouch. In his mind’s eye, Zurael saw the tapestries in the House of the Spider, the erotic images of intertwined humans, angels and Djinn. And for the first time, he wondered if the Djinn might reclaim the land that was once theirs through alliance instead of bloodshed.

Noise beyond the door drew Zurael from his contemplations. Shouts of “Vote! Vote! Vote!” pulsed through Sinners like an electric current.

Zurael eased away from Aisling. She didn’t stir as he dressed, didn’t wake when he dressed her in case they needed to leave quickly.

He slipped from the room and locked the door behind him. The halls were empty, but the buzz of conversation told him those on the second floor were gathered at the front, where bay windows provided a view every bit as good as the one on the ground floor.

Anticipation clung to the air, rose and fell like a beast inhaling and exhaling. Zurael braided his hair as he walked.

There was a ripple of excitement as he reached the front rooms. Dressed and semi-dressed men and women crowded forward, murmured and whispered, their voices running together.

He stepped closer, not bothering to listen to their words. He didn’t take pleasure in what he saw on the street beneath him. But there was a savage satisfaction in watching as werewolves and feral dogs tore apart the abandoned corpses of Felipe and Ilka Glass.

THEY emerged from the locked room shortly after dawn. In the gray light Aisling saw the thin tracery of lines that defined the boundaries of the physical self and contained the spirit in every person she looked at-save for Zurael.

She refused to believe he was soulless, settled instead on the explanation that because he could become formless, his spirit wasn’t contained the way a human’s was.

But even letting the weblike lines fade from sight and leaving Sinners didn’t obliterate the terrible certainty that all it would take was a touch, coupled with a thought, and the gossamer strands she could see when she willed it would blacken and dissolve into nothingness, separating soul from body.

She wanted a shower and breakfast, a chance to come to terms with the events in the spiritlands, with the horrible gift of her birthright. But when they rounded the corner onto her street, Elena was waiting for them, pacing next to her chauffeured car.

“She might be able to help us get to Peter Germaine,” Aisling said, balling her hands into fists, willing herself forward.

Elena was tapping her foot impatiently by the time they got to her. Her gaze shifted back and forth between Aisling and Zurael, until finally settling on Aisling. “I need to speak with you, privately.”

A step took her to the car. She opened the door. When Aisling hesitated, Elena said, “If you no longer want my business, then you can give me back the silver pieces.”

Sweat broke out on Aisling’s skin despite the chill of the early morning air. Her stomach tensed with worry as the conversation with Father Ursu played out in her mind. She would need those coins to find a safe place to stay.

Instinct rebelled against getting in the car with Elena, but reason dictated. The engine was off and Zurael was close.

Aisling slid onto the backseat. Elena followed, closing the door behind her.

Automatic locks engaged. The driver started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Where are we going?” Aisling asked, fighting the panic welling up inside her by telling herself Zurael could easily follow them by taking another form.

Elena shifted restlessly in the seat, fidgeted. She played with the rings on her fingers and the bracelets on her wrists, reminding Aisling of the junkies she sometimes encountered in the spiritlands.

“I overheard Bishop Routledge telling Luther you went into The Barrens and because of it the Church incurred a heavy debt to the guard. Were you looking for the man who sold Ghost to me the night I was taken from Sinners?”

“He’s dead,” Aisling said but didn’t reveal the Ghost seller’s connection to the Church, that the brands on his hands were given to him for consorting with demons. “Was Luther’s brother, Peter, at Sinners the night you were taken?”

Elena snorted. “You’ve met him?”

“No. I saw him there, the day you visited and hired me. Later I found out who he was.”

“Hypocritical zealot. He claims visiting the clubs is part of his job as deputy police chief and Church liaison. But it’s the only time I’ve ever seen his cock pressing against the front of his pants. He’s particularly fond of visiting rooms where the women are tied and gagged. I’ve met plenty of men like him. He believes women are inferior and weak, but at the same time sees them as seductresses who lead men astray.

“Peter despises me. He claims Luther will wind up in hell because of his affair with me-as if Luther hasn’t had plenty of other lovers besides that cold, religious bitch he’s married to. Peter would think it divine justice if I was sacrificed to the devil. But he wasn’t at Sinners the night I was Ghosting. And he hasn’t got the balls to act anyway. Peter never does any dirty work himself. He’s convinced Judgment Day is right around the corner and he doesn’t want to taint his soul.”

Aisling looked down at her own hands. She’d killed with them. And at her feet lay even more bodies. The burden of their deaths weighed heavily on her.

Death drapes you like a billowing cloak, Raisa had said as she stared at the tea leaves. It writhes at your feet and twines around you like a nest of serpents, so your touch becomes its harbinger.

Yet as Aisling remembered those who’d come for Felipe and Ilka in the ghostlands, she realized she didn’t fear for her soul as she once had. The ability to rive spirit from flesh might be her terrifying and unwanted demon birthright, but if those she touched were claimed by dark places that could be labeled hell, it was a result of the choices they’d made in their lives.

The car entered into the red zone. They drove through an area containing sex shops and brothels where prostitutes lounged naked behind windows. They passed the street where the row of Victorians lined either side, then began traveling along a wall that stretched for so many blocks Aisling lost count of them.

“This is The Maze,” Elena said. “There are cameras set up all through it, with feeds to some of the betting clubs. Convicted criminals are offered a chance to run it in order to escape a tattoo or death sentence. Others run it for money.”

Aisling’s hand went to her amulet pouch. “What’s in The Maze?”

Elena shrugged. “I don’t know. I imagine it depends on what can be captured or purchased. I’ve never been there or to the betting clubs connected to it. Gambling on blood sports doesn’t appeal to me.”

The car slowed to a stop in front of a house set well apart and secluded from its neighbors. “I want you to meet an acquaintance,” Elena said.

“Who?”

“Does it matter? I hired you and so far I’ve gotten nothing for my money.”

The chauffeur opened the door and Elena slid out. She scowled impatiently at Aisling, began worrying her rings and bracelets again.

“Would you prefer to return the silver coins and the paper money I gave you? I’m perfectly capable of taking the matter to court.”

Aisling shivered. Her stomach knotted with tension. She understood the game Elena was playing, but she had no choice but to participate.

Uneasiness settled on her as she left the car. Her spirits were lifted only a little bit by the warm breeze that swirled around her, smelling of the desert.

Elena didn’t knock when she reached the front door. She stepped inside, seemed to care only about whether or not Aisling was following her.

The furniture was functional, the walls left bare. The sound of their footsteps traveled in front of them down the hallway. At the end of it a heavy door was propped open.

Warm air flowed past Aisling’s arms. Elena stepped through the doorway first. Aisling followed.

A flash of red was the only warning Aisling had of a trap snapping shut. She saw the statuette from Javier’s shop just as arterial spray from Elena’s throat jetted onto the tile flooring and Javier began chanting.

Before Aisling could react, Javier’s assistant was behind her with a knife, the blood-slick blade pressed to Aisling’s neck preventing speech or movement.

Horror, regret, an agony of love pounded through Aisling as Zurael shimmered into sight, a band of sigils forming like a collar around his neck.

He struggled, naked except for flowing, nearly transparent trousers. His face contorted and his throat worked as if he screamed, though no sound emerged.

The chanting didn’t stop until Zurael stood motionless, covered in sweat, muscles rippling and breath short. His eyes burned with the same terrible rage and hatred she’d seen the night she summoned him.

“A crude way of binding a demon by your standards, beautiful Aisling, but effective,” Javier said.

She opened her mouth only to have the knife’s blade draw blood. Javier shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to speak until I’m certain we understand one another. Aubrey will kill you if you struggle or attempt to summon help. I’m hopeful it won’t come to that. As I said during our all too brief lunch, I believe we can be very good together. And I’m content to share nothing more than a working relationship with you. In fact, at some point in the future, I’ll even be willing to let you have your lover back.”

Aisling forced her body to relax. She willed her heart to slow. Fought the panic that too easily scattered her thoughts.

She became aware of the fetish pouch hidden under her shirt. It felt as though icy shards pierced the soft leather and burrowed into her skin.

The crystal amulet representing the being she now thought was her father grew heavy, making her remember the day she’d found it, when Aziel named her most powerful protector and told her he wasn’t bound by the spiritlands. She could call upon him with a thought and pay whatever price he demanded-except Zurael was helpless and he’d already named her father his enemy.

As the cold radiating from the crystal filled Aisling’s chest, clarity came and brought hope. She thought of the horrifying birthright she’d gained when she forced Felipe and Ilka into the spiritlands, and the beginnings of a plan formed.

Her mind calmed. She saw Aubrey’s arm, held high to keep the knife in its deadly position, a tanned limb covered in silken metaphysical strands of gray.

It would only take a touch. A thought. But despite the knife in Aubrey’s hand, she wasn’t the greatest threat. Aisling met Zurael’s eyes and saw the helpless rage in them, knew that with a command, he would become Javier’s weapon against her.

She exhaled on a shaky sigh, and Javier nodded. “I believe you can ease up just a bit, Aubrey. At the moment we have more than enough blood for our purposes.”

Aubrey relaxed her grip. Blood trickled down Aisling’s neck, her own and Elena’s.

Javier glanced down at the circle around him, then over at where Elena lay in a pool of blood, the jets of her arterial spray having triggered and powered a larger circle, the one used to trap Zurael until he was bound.

“It’s quite ironic, really. The Church-operating under the erroneous assumption they own me and therefore I can’t possibly have anything to do with the dramatic increase in black magic ceremonies-whispered in my ear that I should make it known there’d be financial compensation if the mayor’s little Jezebel ended up as a sacrificial lamb on a certain night.” Javier chuckled. “Their plan was clever in some ways. Dear Luther coughed up the money to have you brought to Oakland, so their interest in you wasn’t obvious. Father Ursu was probably beside himself with joy when he caught a glimpse of your aura. I did warn you about his special talent. No doubt he was expecting it to be a waste of time, but people with your gift, and who might be considered disposable, aren’t that easy to come by.

“And Elena? I hope you don’t feel sorry for her, Aisling. Raisa spotted her leaving your house the other day and unwittingly told me about it, thinking it harmless gossip. It piqued my curiosity, as you can imagine.

“Elena was never really interested in learning why she was taken from Sinners. It took all of three minutes in her presence to figure out she wanted to make a deal with whoever was creating Ghost, form a partnership where she offered the services of her captive shamaness for guided tours into the spiritlands. It took another minute to convince her you’d figured out how to make Ghost. And by our fifth moment together, I’d sold her on the idea that you could be persuaded to cooperate if she only brought you here.

“It’s a shame I can’t risk letting you speak, Aisling. Unlike the vast majority of magic practitioners, I’m not in love with the sound of my own voice. But perhaps we’ll break the monologue up a bit by letting your demon talk. I’m curious. Beyond curious actually. I’m fascinated. And envious.”

Javier stepped to the boundary of the small protective circle he was in. His hands slid from the folds of his black robe. One of them was wrapped with white strips of cloth, dotted where blood had seeped through.

“Where to begin?” he asked, steepling his hands so the fingertips rested on his lips. “A name would be appropriate. I don’t need it with this particular entrapment spell, but I know just how much demons hate giving up their names.”

He touched a band of sigils circling his wrist. The forms were the same as those around Zurael’s neck. “Give me your name.”

Aisling ached as she watched Zurael fight the command. Sweat beaded on his temples, rolled down his cheeks and made her aware of the tears on her own face. What tiny bit of hope she’d held that he might be stronger than the spell binding him faded when he said, “Zurael en Caym.”

“An interesting name. I have volumes upon volumes of texts naming demons, and yours doesn’t resemble any of them. What type of entity are you?”

Zurael struggled against answering. The night Aisling called his name on the spirit winds, he’d seethed and raged, known true terror for the first time in his life. He would have killed her without a second thought. But now he realized how gentle her summons was, how much of his own will he’d retained compared to the compulsion of Javier’s spell.

He fought to remain silent. But the answer formed over and over, looped through his mind, growing louder and louder.

Javier grew impatient and asked a second time. Then a third.

Zurael became disassociated from his physical self. He became a spectator, watching as his lips parted and the words left his mouth. “I am Djinn.”

His eyes met Aisling’s and his heart wept at the sight of her tears, the guilt and anguish he read in her face.

Javier’s eyebrows drew together. “The word is vaguely familiar. I’m sure I’ve run across it.” He shrugged and tilted his head to the side. “Time enough to explore it later. What I’m interested in seeing is your true demon form. By all accounts you made quick work slaughtering my students. And then there are rumors Aisling was ejected from Sinners along with her companion-you, I suppose-which would explain the werewolf carcasses and the fact she lived through the experience. Show me what you look like.”

Because he was in his truest form, Zurael felt no compulsion to change. But he took on the demon image, hoped to be able to use the sharp talons and deadly tail to free Aisling.

If she broke the larger circle, the one containing him, it might free him from the entrapment spell. And freed, he could kill Javier without the fear of becoming ifrit.

“Impressive,” Javier said. “Can the Djinn take possession of a human body?”

“No,” Zurael said, conserving his strength by not forcing Javier to repeat the question for a second and third time.

“Too bad. I’m curious. How did Aisling summon you?”

Zurael fought against answering this. He didn’t want to reveal anything about her. But in the end he couldn’t prevent himself from betraying her. “She called my name on the spirit winds.”

“How is that possible?”

She is deeply connected to the ghostlands. She was born of them and can call the spirit winds at will.

Malahel en Raum’s words rang in Zurael’s mind. They grew louder and louder, until, with a third repetition of the question, he couldn’t contain them any longer.

Excitement lit Javier’s eyes. He hesitated only a second before leaving the small protective circle he was in and going to a table draped with a black cloth. He leaned down and pulled a wire cage from underneath, where it had been hidden by the dark material.

Aisling gasped despite the blade pressed to her throat. A fresh wave of fury swallowed Zurael at the sight of her pet, his fur matted with blood, one front paw tucked against his chest, unable to bear weight.

Javier lifted his bandaged hand and made a show of studying it. “Strangely enough, Aisling, despite an amazing collection of witches’ shadow books, not a single healing potion or spell has worked on the wounds I sustained capturing your ferret. I hadn’t intended to leave your house in such a state of destruction, but it hardly matters. You’ll be moving in with me. Think of it as a get acquainted period as we begin working together.”

He retrieved a gunlike weapon from underneath the table. Zurael didn’t immediately recognize it, but Aisling’s whimper of distress transmitted her horror and anguish at the sight of it.

Javier pressed the end of the barrel against the open mesh of the cage and pulled the trigger. A dart connected to thin wire struck Aziel. He jerked, cried, convulsed as electric charges pulsed into him until Javier released the trigger, leaving Aziel lying on his side, still except for his rapid breathing.

A fury unlike any Zurael had ever known filled him. He fought the entrapment spell until he was panting as hard as Aziel.

Blood poured from Aisling’s neck where she’d tried to get to her pet. Javier shook his head. “This won’t do at all.”

He made a show of adjusting the settings on the gun. “If you force me to pull the trigger, Aisling, it will most likely kill your pet. Do not speak unless I specifically ask you a question. Do not move unless I tell you to.”

Javier glanced at his assistant. “Aubrey, go ahead and release her.” Aubrey stepped away from Aisling, keeping the knife in front of her as if she felt vulnerable without her hostage. Zurael would have struck willingly, but wasn’t given a choice. Javier said, “Kill Aubrey,” and he did in a quick slash of tail and talons.

It was the instant Aisling should have rushed toward Javier and touched him before he could command Zurael to stop her-but she couldn’t do it. Love for Aziel held her in place and the opportunity was lost in a spray of blood and crack of bone.

“I hate to waste a promising and very willing student,” Javier said, “but I’m afraid that given the circumstances it was unavoidable. Students can learn too much. Now then, Zurael, I want you to take Aubrey’s position behind Aisling. There’s no need for you to bother with a knife. Your talons against her jugular should be sufficient.”

It took three commands. But in the end Zurael complied.

Familiar heat swamped her as he held her back to his chest. The sharp tips of his nails pressed to her throat and she shivered with real fear-as she had the first time she’d felt them on her skin-and not the erotic fear she’d experienced since then.

“Make her bleed,” Javier said, not bothering to pause before issuing the command twice more to force Zurael into obedience.

Aisling stiffened. Tears flowed freely down her face as sharp talons dug into her, sending rivulets of blood trailing down her neck.

“That’s enough,” Javier said, apparently satisfied that despite having once belonged to her, Zurael was now completely under his command.

Javier used his bandaged hand to pull the black sheet off what Aisling thought was a table, but now saw was an altar. A clay tablet lay on top of it, next to a rectangular urn placed on its side.

She could feel shock ripple through Zurael. She could feel him fighting to release her, and though she couldn’t be positive, she thought it was the sight of the tablet that caused his reaction, and not the urn.

Javier stood the urn up. It was covered in sigils. He pulled a stopper out and set it on the altar. “I’ll admit, I haven’t had much success in confining demons. For most of us they’re extremely dangerous to summon in the first place, much less order into a containment vessel. And then of course, there’s the risk of offending whatever demon lord they call master. But given Zurael’s apparent devotion to you… well, I’m feeling good about my chances of being successful. Bring her closer.”

Aisling barely glanced at the altar. Her attention went to Aziel.

Fresh blood was smeared across the metal floor of the cage. His breathing had steadied, but his eyes remained closed.

She wanted to weep at the sight of him. Instead she curled her hands into fists, readied herself to act when the chance presented itself.

“I’m almost embarrassed to share this with you, Aisling,” Javier said. “And I suspect your skills, perhaps coupled with the application of Ghost, will make me feel as though I’ve wasted years of my life-and quite a few of my students’ lives-trying to gather all the missing pieces of this tablet and translate it into something useful.

“Lately I’ve been so sure that a little tweak here, an educated guess there, and the incantation would work. Unfortunately all I’ve ended up with are empty bodies and, more recently, slaughtered students who brought me unwelcome attention from their wealthy families.”

Aisling glanced at the tablet. It was old, broken, still missing small sections. An empty shape at the bottom captured her attention. Her thoughts flashed to Tamara’s dead lover, his hand inches away from a flat piece of stone with writing etched on it, its shape the same as the one in front of her.

Some of the recovered pieces fit together tightly. Others crumbled at the edges, distorting the symbols or leaving blank spaces.

Vague memories stirred as she scanned the text. Ancestral memories perhaps, though some of the curves and shapes reminded her of those Zurael had drawn in the dirt. A cold shiver slid down her spine when she came to the sigils she did recognize, the ones she’d seen painted on Elena and later on Nicholas.

Javier ran his fingers over a line of text. “I won’t bore you with all the details of how I’ve acquired the missing pieces over the years, but as you can see the tablet is ancient. In fact if you believe some of what’s written in the moldy tomes the Church has in its possession, it was given to an elite priesthood by God himself, much like the commandments were handed to Moses.

“Instead of laws though, what’s inscribed on the tablet gave mankind-or at least those deemed worthy by the priesthood-dominion over demons and other spirit beings. It’s ironic when you think about all the heretics and witches and black magic practitioners who have been burned at the stake or otherwise killed by the Church and its religious predecessors. Most of them were working with faulty, weak spells and incantations, developed by man, while the Church once had in its possession god-given instructions. But I digress…”

He turned slightly, shifting his focus to the cage at his feet. “If she attempts to summon help, Zurael, kill her.”

Javier pulled the Taser barb from Aziel with a jerk of his arm. The ferret cried, tried to stand, fell to his side again.

“Good,” Javier said, putting the gun on the floor, then unlatching the cage. He waited a minute before reaching in to pull Aziel out by the scruff of the neck. “I asked you a question over lunch, Aisling, but you declined to answer. Perhaps you’ll reconsider now and confirm what I already know is true. Could you summon a spirit and require it to possess the body of someone foolish enough to Ghost?”

Fear for Aziel churned in her stomach. Nightmare images from her first trip to Sinners crowded in. “Yes.”

“Excellent. See, we’re already starting to work well together. Now for a tougher question. Can you summon a spirit and require it to possess someone who is dead?”

Aisling’s throat closed in on itself as she remembered John’s voice coming from Felipe’s corpse. Her heart thundered in her ears. She shook her head. Lying.

“Wrong answer, I think,” Javier said. “And truthfully, you’re of little use to me if you can’t do that. Ghost is difficult to obtain, and there’s always the possibility it’ll wear off at an inopportune moment or become unavailable.”

From the folds of his robe Javier retrieved an athame. And as quickly as Aubrey had slit Elena’s throat, he did the same to Aziel.

“Prove you can be useful to me,” Javier said, dropping Aziel’s carcass onto the altar. “Bring your pet back to life or fill his physical shell with another entity.”

Aisling shook with grief and rage.

Her throat burned.

Her heart felt as though it had been ripped from her body.

Even the knowledge that Aziel had died before, when he wore other bodies, didn’t lessen the anguish of having witnessed this death, of knowing he’d suffered.

Through tear-filled eyes she saw the spiderweb strands crisscrossing Javier’s face and hands. She forced aside the wild pain crashing through her heart.

“I have to touch him,” Aisling said, the words barely a whisper. “And unless you want Zurael’s spirit to take over Aziel’s body, he can’t touch me while I do it.”

Javier’s eyes turned to black ice. “Is she telling the truth, Zurael?”

“I don’t know.”

Javier hesitated a moment. He studied Aisling closely, then finally nodded. “Release her. But my earlier command stands. If she tries to summon help, kill her.”

A shaky breath escaped from Aisling when Zurael’s deadly talons dropped away from her neck. She took an unsteady step forward, kept her head down and tried not to broadcast her intentions.

Javier backed away from the altar. The athame remained in his hand, as if, like Aubrey, he felt vulnerable without a hostage in front of him.

Aisling blinked away tears and tried to appear as if her only focus were her dead pet. She was small and Javier was armed, confident not only in his personal strength but at having Zurael under his command. He never expected a physical attack, hadn’t thought to command Zurael to prevent anything but a cry for help.

With each step Aisling reinforced the desire for Javier’s death, just as with each swing of the owl fetish in her workroom, she’d desperately wanted her assailant to perish.

When she was close enough she lunged forward, and felt the slash of the athame blade across her palm as he instinctively defended himself. But if anything, the gift of her blood only ensured that his soul was delivered to those whose names she called upon in the spiritlands.

As soon as she touched him, his eyes widened in disbelief. They filled with horror in the instant she felt his soul part from his body, cut through cleanly like a scythe through wheat.

Raw emotion surged through Zurael as the entrapment spell dispersed. He reached Aisling before Javier’s corpse hit the floor, took her in his arms and held her as she gave in to the anguish of losing Aziel.

“Aisling,” he whispered, eyes burning as he pressed kisses to her wet cheeks, her lips, to the places on her neck where his talons had pierced her skin.

Fear for her, the fury and terror of being enslaved and forced to hurt her, to watch helplessly as she was hurt-all of it paled in comparison to the wrenching agony of witnessing her heartbreak and knowing he had to leave her.

He had to take the tablet and return to his father’s kingdom. It wasn’t just his honor at stake, but a future with her.

His chest grew tight with worry and fear. The task she’d accepted in the spiritlands wasn’t complete. Peter Germaine still lived.

Against his chest her sobs gave way to tremors of pain, to shuddering gasps. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, told himself she was safe at the moment and he wouldn’t be gone long.

“Aziel will come back,” Aisling whispered against his chest, repeating it several more times, each time with more certainty, as if saying it would make it so. She pulled away then, lifted a face ravaged by sorrow, and Zurael found her exquisitely beautiful, utterly compelling in her vulnerability.

He brought her hands to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her palms in silent acknowledgment of what she’d done, saved them both. He understood now her silence since returning from the spiritlands after taking Felipe and Ilka there, could guess what had happened, what terrible price she’d paid for a gift she wouldn’t welcome.

“I need to leave, Aisling,” he said, and was barely able to endure the pain slicing through his heart when tears formed in her eyes.

She exhaled a ragged breath and gave a slight nod of understanding. “You want the tablet.”

He leaned in, kissed the tears away. “I want you, Aisling, only you. If I hadn’t promised to return to the Djinn as soon as I gained possession of the tablet, then I wouldn’t leave you, not even for a moment.”

His lips took possession of hers. His tongue sought hers, spoke of the things he hadn’t yet put into words, the emotions she elicited, what she’d come to mean to him.

“I’ll return to you,” he said when the kiss ended.

Every instinct fought leaving her. But honor and duty demanded it.

He pulled away, turned to the altar where Aziel’s lifeless body lay and felt a renewed surge of fury. The sting of failure.

Zurael gathered the tablet pieces. And when it was done, he kissed Aisling again, promised again, “I’ll return to you,” then gave up his physical form and went back to a place that was no longer home.

Silence settled around Aisling, heavy and thick, like the numbness making it hard to think, to know what to do next. Slowly she became aware of the metallic smell of blood clinging to the air, the death stench of voided bodies.

Elena. Aubrey. Javier.

Aziel.

The tears started flowing again. She wouldn’t leave him here with the others.

Aisling picked him up, intending to escape the house. But as she stepped past Elena, she felt the phantom prick of Aziel’s claws in her shoulder, the warm imagined brush of his tail against her cheek, as if even in death he served as her guide-reminding her of the promise she’d made to Sinead in exchange for being led to where Nicholas was bound to the altar.

It wouldn’t wait. As dangerous as it was to travel to the spiritlands in this house where magic had been raised by human sacrifice, Aisling knew the longer she waited, the more treacherous it would become to locate Elena and reunite her with Sinead. Even so, she might have delayed performing the task, convinced herself that with no one to stand guard over her physical shell, it would be better to wait, perhaps seek shelter with the Wainwright witches until Zurael returned and Peter Germaine was dead. But the heavy feel of the crystal amulet in her fetish pouch, the cold still radiating from it-so different than Zurael’s heat-made her feel as if the being it represented was aware of her plight and stood ready to protect her.

She left the room where the corpses lay as they’d fallen. The house had the quiet, empty feel of abandonment.

It was in the red zone. She wondered if that would protect her from being arrested or if she should step forward and claim to be a victim before the bodies were discovered. Elena’s driver could testify she hadn’t come willingly.

Aisling pushed her worries aside for later, for after she’d paid her debt. She slipped into a small room, an office with a door that locked. She knelt on the floor without ceremony and fixed the name of her most powerful protector in her mind, though she didn’t summon him as she slipped into the gray world of the spiritlands.