“Perfect. Let’s start there then.”

As we walked down the semi-dark hall, music and chatter drifting in from the party beyond, I prayed the door would be open. The room I had in mind was a janitorial closet I’d discovered in fourth grade, when my best friend and I had hidden to avoid our teacher after we’d been caught ducking out of the pottery exhibit and sneaking into the arms and armor one. My fault. I’d loved that gallery, even more than mummies and dinosaurs. Those marvelous, ancient weapons where I could, even at eight, stand in front of the display, close my eyes, and hear the clash of metal on metal, smell the blood-streaked sweat, see the rearing horses, feel the hate, the fear, the panic…and feel my own soul rise to drink it in.

At the time, perhaps thankfully, I’d seen nothing wrong with my “fixations,” nor had anyone around me—at my mother’s insistence—chalking it up to a child’s bloodthirsty imagination.

My second visit to the janitorial closet had no such demonic backstory, only the raging hormones of youth. I’d been with a cute boy and a dark closet held infinitely more attraction than even the weaponry exhibits on a tenth-grade field trip.

If the door wasn’t open, I had a backup plan, but I really hoped—

“Here,” I said.

He waved at the door. “This one?”

I nodded, and he reached for the handle. I slid my hand into my purse, crossed my fingers, and…

The door opened.

“Seems to be a janitor’s closet,” he said. “How far in did you—?”

I pressed the gun barrel against the small of his back. He stiffened, as if recognizing the sensation. At this point, he could call for help, even just cry out, but in my experience, no supernatural likes calling attention to himself…either that or our powers make us cocky when others would panic. Whatever the reason, he did as I expected—only sighed, then walked into the closet. I flipped on the light, and closed the door behind us.

Once inside, the man turned to me and smiled. “Nicely done. An excellent trap, and I admit myself caught. My cuff links are gold, and you’re welcome to them, but if you’d prefer cash, there’s a few hundred in my wallet. No banking or credit cards, I’m afraid.”

“I believe you have something more valuable. Check your inside breast pocket. The left side.”

Surprise darted behind his blue eyes, but he masked it with a laugh. “Well done again. And, again, I surrender and offer my forfeit. Your choice of the bounty.”

He started to reach into his pocket.

“Uh-uh. Hands out,” I said. “I don’t want any of your ‘bounty,’ but I think the museum does.”

“Ah, museum security, I presume. I believe you might find my offer more…lucrative than the pat on the back the museum will give you.”

“Nice try. I’m not—”

“Interested in a bribe? I’m impressed, and I’m sure your superiors will be as well. You see, they hired me to test their security system. They didn’t inform your team, to test you as well, your efficiency and, if possible, your integrity. You’ve outdone their expectations, and I will personally recommend you for a bonus—”

“Stuff it. I’m not museum security.”

He only gave a small smile, still unfazed. “So this is a citizen’s arrest? Very admirable, but police won’t appreciate being called for an authorized test of museum security, so I’d suggest you reconsider…and I do hope you have a permit for carrying that gun because—”

“I’m not calling the police. As I’m sure you already know, our sort have special ways of handling our special problems, ones better dealt with internally.”

Normally this was enough, but he only arched his brows, feigning confusion. “Our sort?”

“The sort who can jump thirty feet and bend metal bars with their bare hands.”

“Ah, that. I can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. Save it for the council.”

His brows arched. “Council? You don’t mean—”

The jingle of the handcuffs as I pulled them from my purse swallowed his last words. I’d heard enough already. He didn’t have anything important to say, but would keep saying it, in every possible form, until I either lowered my guard or got so confused I set him free.

“You carry handcuffs in your purse?” He chuckled. “Perhaps when this misunderstanding is cleared up, we can get to know each other better—”

I drowned him out by snapping open the cuffs. He only sighed and held his hands in front of him, as helpful as could be. That, too, is typical. I’d only “arrested” four supernaturals so far, but three of them had done just this, surrendered and let themselves be taken into custody. The council had a reputation for fairness, and even criminals trusted them. As for the fourth arrest, the witch…I pushed the thought back. That one had been a lesson to me—not every supernatural would come along easily.

“You said council,” he said as I fastened the cuffs. “That wouldn’t be the interracial council, would it?”

“Had some experience with them, have you? Surprise, surprise.”

“And you’re a…delegate?”

“I’m a bit young, don’t you think?” I said as I tested the cuffs.

“No, not really,” he murmured. “So you’re a…”

“Contract agent.”

His brows shot up. “Agent? I hope you don’t really expect me to believe that.”

Figures. He might not be physically fighting back but he sure as hell was going to use what—despite his superhuman strength—was obviously his weapon of choice. I took my scarf from my purse.

He continued, “Perhaps that story works with others, but I’m afraid whoever you’re working for has underestimated my knowledge of the interracial council. They don’t employ—”

I lifted the scarf.

He looked at it. “I’m already cuffed, and I can assure you, I don’t need to be bound in any other way.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

I jammed it into his mouth. His eyes widened. He looked at me, eyes narrowing. Then, with a noise almost like a snarl, he turned his gaze away, and let me tie the scarf.

“Wait here,” I said. “I’m going to make a call.”

One last check to make sure my quarry was secure, then another check—this one outside the door—and I slipped into the hall. I didn’t dare go far, not when I wasn’t sure of his powers.

He wasn’t a vampire. The Samson routine with the metal bars had disapproved that theory. Contrary to some legends, vampires didn’t have superhuman strength. My guess was that he belonged to the most complex of races—my own. I couldn’t recall a half-demon type with his particular skill set, but we were a varied lot, with plenty of rare and poorly documented types, like my own.

One thing I did know. This meeting had been no accident, and I kicked myself for not realizing that the moment Tristan offered me tickets to the gala. Granted, he did that kind of thing often—the perks that came with this job were phenomenal, and I sometimes felt guilty accepting them. I’d told Tristan and, through him, the council, that I didn’t need any extras to boost my job satisfaction. But he assured me they were all freebies, like these gala tickets, a gift from a grateful supernatural that would go to waste if I didn’t use them. Still, this was the second time Tristan had sent me someplace and I’d “stumbled” onto a supernatural crime in progress.

They were testing me. The council wanted to see how good my chaos nose worked, and I guess I couldn’t fault them for that, but when I made that call, I couldn’t help snapping at Tristan.

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “No more tests. Can you blame us, Hope? You’re an Expisco half-demon! We’re like kids with a new toy, dying to see what it can do. And you outdid yourself, as always. Karl Marsten, caught by a half-demon rookie agent.”

“So the council’s been after this guy for a while?”

“They have, which is why I should remind you that you shouldn’t take down targets on your own. That’s why we provide backup. You’re too valuable.”