Not of something so paltry as a slicboard, anyway. The next thing I would steal would be a life.

My left arm felt cold and clumsy. The scar throbbed, holding back the chill from the Gauntlet. I wished I had time to figure out how to take the damn thing off.

He made a slight, pretty moue with his sculpted mouth. "You do not trust me?"

"I'm getting to the point where I don't trust myself. If you really don't know where Japhrimel is-"

"He should have been with you, belle morte, guarding his prize. If he has left your side, it is something extraordinaire." Tiens took one graceful backward step, making a fluid gesture with his hands, expressing surprise and resignation all at once. The flat sheen of an alleycat's eyes at night closed over his blue eyes as he contemplated me, folding his arms. "I think we shall go slowly, for your sake."

I took a deep breath, struggling with irritation and the fresh urge to draw my sword. "Just tell me where the Nest is, and I'll go. You can do what you like."

"If I am to do as I please I shall accompany you, pretty one. A pleasant job in a world full of unpleasantness, non?"

And while you're keeping an eye on me you'll be hoping for Japh to show up. I gave up, and followed him. It wasn't worth a fight. Besides, I wanted to see Selene and Nikolai anyway.

The Nest was downtown on Ninth, in a building that looked like a renovated block of apartments. It was incongruous in the middle of a parklike lawn, prime downtown realty treated like a suburban estate by a Nichtvren. Then again, Nikolai was the Prime of the City; he could afford it. For him to have a grandiose lair was expected.

Inside, the halls were dim and restful. I smelled lemon oil, beeswax, polish, and the delicious wicked perfume of Nichtvren. They smell so distinctly sweet, maybe it's the decaying blood. But there's also a hint of sinful dark chocolate, wine, and secret sex to them. My Paranormal Anatomy professor at the Academy had called them "the pimps of the night world" once, right before he was fired. I guess Doctor Tarridge had a bone to pick with Nichtvren. Lots of people do.

The cloak of Power laid over the Nest was cold and prickling, full of defenses and the weight of a Master's will. My own shielding drew close, my numb shoulder prickling a warning.

I saw nobody but was sure we were watched. When Tiens swept open a pair of double mahogany doors and led me into a firelit hall floored in parquet worthy of the Renascence, I had to suppress the urge to applaud sardonically. My eyes were hot and grainy, my shoulders tight, and I was hungry. I hadn't noticed it before, but when the adrenaline faded I was reminded I hadn't eaten for a while. I needed the physical fuel-not like Japhrimel.

Will you stop thinking about him? He's fine, he can take care of himself. Besides, he left you with McKinley. He can't have been too worried about your well-being.

A tall broad-shouldered shape stood in front of the fire, his hands hanging loose and graceful at his sides. Selene, the Consort, was thrown down in a huge red-velvet wingback chair, one leg hooked over the arm, her head resting against the high back. She tensed and flowed to her feet as we approached, pulling down the hem of her black sweater with one graceful yank. "Valentine." She managed to sound happy and disapproving at once. "Thank you, Tiens."

He swept a courteous bow. All he needed was a feathered hat, like in the old Dumas holovids starring Bel Percy. "For you, demoiselle, anything."

Nikolai stirred. He was a tallish Nichtvren male, dark eyes under a soft shelf of dark hair and a face an Old Master might have painted-wide, generous mouth now compressed into a thin line, sculpted cheekbones, winged dark eyebrows. An angel's face, carved in old Renascence stone. Not as sexless or alien as a demon's face could be. "I suppose I have you to thank for this chaos, demonling." Catshine folded over his dark eyes.

One trashed hotel room qualifies as chaos? Does he know about Gabe? "Two of my friends have been murdered and there's a price on my head that shouldn't be there." I replied shortly. "If there's chaos it's not my fault. You promised to look after Gabe."

It hadn't quite been a promise, but he'd sent a credit disc she could use to get into his office building downtown if she was in trouble. And I'd been secure in the knowledge that Nikolai and Selene were looking after Gabe, after the whole Mirovitch thing. Nikolai didn't take it kindly when sexwitches were attacked; Selene had been one before she'd Turned. Whatever story was behind that, I didn't want to know. I only wanted to know why the Nichtvren hadn't stepped in to protect Gabe.

Nikolai inclined his head, and the air went cold and still. Selene moved forward between us.

"Let's not start like this. I asked Tiens to look for her." Her dark-blue eyes were eloquently wide, and far more human than his. "Hello, Dante. I'm sorry for your loss. We were watching over Gabriele Spocarelli. Whoever killed her and her husband-"

I almost choked. "Husband?" Gabe married him? Wow. She didn't invite me to the wedding ortell me about her kid. Gods. What, did she think I'd refuse to come? "Oh."I shook my head. "Go on. I'm sorry."

"We have troubles of our own." Nikolai's voice was clawed silk. "A sedayeen clinic under our protection has been firebombed. And there are demons in my city, causing damage and killing Magi. What do you know of that, demonling?"

Tiens whistled, a long low sound that sliced the tension in the air. The fire popped and crackled. What are Nichtvren doing around open flame? I've seen them burn. Idiscarded the question, shivering at the memory. My right hand itched for my sword.

Tiens said something low and fast, in Old Franje. Nikolai blinked, his attention shifting from me to the other Nichtvren. He replied in the same language, and Selene shook her head slightly at me, as if I was supposed to listen.

I should have learned a couple of languages instead of slogging through Magi shadowjournals.

I'd been studying shadowjournals and breaking code for years now. All useless, because I knew next to nothing about the Fallen. Nothing about hedaira except for what I'd figured out on my own-and what Anwen Carlyle had just told me. I'd have been better off spending my time studying Old Franje and Czechi. Or trying to figure out the language of demons.

The conversation lasted just over eight minutes, but when it was done Nikolai's eyes returned to me. "Well. It appears you are an innocent. I never thought to say that of a demon."

"I'm not demon," I said. "I'm hedaira." But I barely even know what that means. I only know enough to get myself in trouble.

Selene folded her arms. Every time she spoke or moved Nikolai paid attention to nothing else, the rumor was she was the only thing in the city he cared about. The way he looked at her, I could believe it. "Why don't you come with me, Dante? I have a few things to tell you."

"Selene." Nikolai's voice was soft, warning.

She shook her dark-blonde hair back, the gold threaded through her mane reflecting the ruddy firelight. If Tiens was pretty and Nikolai severely angelic, she was exquisite, every line expressly designed for maximum beauty. She looked almost unreal, especially since she had lost a little of the nervous energy I'd seen in her last time. Besides, she was fragrant even for a Nichtvren-a smell that reminded me of sexwitch musk. If she'd once been a sexwitch, that would explain it. "Loosen up, Nikolai."

"Remember our bargain."

I shivered. I'd heard that kind of thing before, and could only guess what sort of agreement could be reached between two Nichtvren. Especially a Prime and his Consort.