“I want us to be…what is your word? Friends.”

“Psychotic rapists don’t have friends.”

“I was unaware you were a psychotic rapist or I would not have offered.”

“Ha.” I’d set myself up for that one.

He smiled, and I recognized the urge I suddenly felt to believe everything was wonderful with my world for the illusion it was. Royal Fae pack a psychic punch. Barrons says their entire being is designed to seduce on every level. Glamour piled upon illusion heaped upon deceit. You can’t believe a word they say.

“I am unaccustomed to interacting with humans, and have been known to underestimate my impact upon them. I did not understand how deeply the Sidhba-jai would disturb you. I wish to start again,” he said.

I dropped my match and lit another. “Start by getting rid of the Shade.”

“With the cuff, you would be able to saunter among them freely, without fear. You would never be so vulnerable again. Why would you refuse such power?”

“Oh, gee, let’s see…maybe because I trust you less than I trust the Shades?” At least the Shade was too stupid to be deceptive. I think.

“What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?”

“Great definition. Examine your prior actions.”

“I did. It is you who do not see me clearly. I came to you offering a gift to protect your life. You are a beautiful woman who dresses to command male attention. I gave it to you. I did not know the Sidhba-jai would distress you as it did. I even offered to pleasure you without price. You refused me. Perhaps I was offended. You menace me with a weapon stolen from my race. You speak to me of reasons not to trust when you have given me a multitude. You are a suspicious larcenous being with homicidal tendencies. Despite your continued threats to do vile things to me, I remain here, withholding what offends you, offering aid.”

I was getting low on matches. How cleverly he’d turned things around, as if he’d done nothing wrong, and I was the dangerous one. “Oh, drop the act, Tinkerbell, and get rid of my problem. Then we’ll talk.”

“Will we? Talk?”

I frowned and lit another match. There was a catch here somewhere but I wasn’t sure what it was. “I said we would.”

“As friends, we’ll talk.”

“Friends do not have sex, if that’s what you’re getting at.” That wasn’t true, but he didn’t necessarily know that. I’m heir to the “sex is just sex” generation and I hate it. Not only friends have sex, people who don’t like each other have sex. I’d once caught Natalie and Rick, two people I know for a fact can’t stand each other, banging away in the bathroom at The Brickyard. When later I’d asked her what had changed, she’d said nothing, she still couldn’t stand him, but he’d sure looked hot tonight. Doesn’t anybody get that sex is what you make it, and if you treat it like nothing, it is? I don’t clean the restrooms anymore. I leave that to Val. She’s lower on the seniority totem pole.

For the past few years, I’ve been on a quest for a good old-fashioned date, the kind where the guy calls, makes the plans, picks you up in a car that’s not his dad’s or his other girlfriend’s, and takes you somewhere that shows he put thought into what you might like, not what he might get off on like the latest how-many-naked-boobs-can-we-cram-into-this-movie-to-disguise-the-complete-lack-of-plot movie. I’m looking for the kind of date that starts with good conversation, has a sweet and satisfying middle, and ends with long, slow kisses and the dreamy feeling that you’re walking on clouds.

“That is not what I was implying. We will sit, the two of us, and talk of more than threats and fears and the differences between us. We will spend one of your hours as friends.”

I didn’t like the careful way he’d phrased that. “One of my hours?”

“Our hours are much longer, sidhe-seer. See how freely I converse with you? Telling you of our ways. So trust begins.”

Something about the Shade drew my attention. It took me a minute to figure out what it was. Its demeanor had changed. It was still predatory, but it was angry now. I could sense it the same way I’d felt its mockery earlier. I could also sense that its anger was not directed at me. I lit another match and contemplated it. I had four matches left, and an uneasy suspicion that V’lane might be doing something to rein in the amorphous life-sucker.

Was it possible this unnaturally strong Shade could take me, even in the light, if V’lane weren’t here right now? Had he been holding it at bay since the beginning?

“One hour,” I ground out. “But I’m not taking the cuff. And you won’t do that sexing-me-up thing. And I need coffee before we begin.”

“Not now. At a time of my choosing, MacKayla.”

He was calling me by name like we were friends. I didn’t like it one bit. I lit my third-last match. “Fine. Fix my problem.”

I was wondering just what I’d agreed to, and how many more demands V’lane would make before getting rid of the Shade—I had no doubt he’d draw it out until the last moment to scare and humiliate me as much as possible—when he mocked silkily, “Let there be light,” and suddenly all the lights in the room popped on.

The Shade exploded, shattering into countless dark pieces. They scrabbled toward the night, frantic cockroaches fleeing a bombed room, and I could sense the Unseelie was in unspeakable pain. If light didn’t kill them, it was certainly their version of Hell.

After the last quivering fragment scuttled over the sill, I hurried to shut the window. The alley was once again brightly lit. And empty.

V’lane was gone.

I collected my flashlights, tucked them back into my waistband, and walked through the store, hunting for Shades lurking in corners or hiding in closets. I found none. All the lights were back on, inside and out.

It disturbed me deeply. As effortlessly as V’lane had helped me, he could dump me back into the dark if he felt like it, without ever even having to enter the store.

What else could he do? How powerful was a Royal Fae? Shouldn’t the wards keep him from being able to influence physical matter beyond them? Speaking of wards, why hadn’t they kept out the Shades? Had Barrons only warded the property against the Lord Master? If he could perform such tricks, why not ward the entire building against everything? Except, of course, store patrons, although it was obvious the bookstore was just a cover—Barrons needed more money like Ireland needed more rain.

I needed answers. I was sick of not getting any. I was surrounded by egotistical, unpredictable, moody, pushy jackasses, and my feeling was if you can’t beat them, join them. I was confident I, too, could be a pushy jackass. I just needed a little practice.

I wanted to know more about Barrons. I wanted to know if he lived in this building or not. I wanted to know more about his mysterious garage. He’d slipped up not long ago, and mentioned something about a vault three floors beneath it. I wanted to know what a man like him stored in an underground vault.

I began with the store. The front half was just what it seemed, an eclectic and well-stocked bookstore. I dismissed it and moved to the rear half. The first floor was as impersonal as a museum, liberally and exorbitantly fitted with antiquities and artwork, but nothing that betrayed any real glimpse into the mind of the man who’d acquired the many artifacts. Even his study, the one room I expected to offer some personal portrayal of the man, presented only the cool, impersonal reflection of a large wood-framed mirror that occupied the wall between cherry bookcases, behind the ornate fifteenth-century desk. There was no bedroom, kitchen, or dining room on the first floor.

Every door on the second and third floors was locked. They were heavy, solid wood doors with complicated locks that I couldn’t force or pick. I started out stealthily jiggling the doorknobs because I was afraid Barrons might be in one of the rooms, but by the time I got to the third floor, I was giving them good hard shakes and pissed-off kicks. I’d awakened tonight to find myself in the dark. I was tired of being in the dark. I was tired of everyone else having control of the lights.