Then, without warning, I began to shudder, the climax overcoming me in long arching waves—claiming us both—and driving us to a place that was neither in the present nor the past, but one reserved for the possible, the inevitable. The new.

“Jo-Jo?” Ben said after a bit.

“Hmm?”

“There’s one more thing I know about you.”

I cracked open one eye. “Already?”

“Not that,” he chuckled, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “No…I know you still love me.”

I looked at him fully, then just watched him watching me before nodding my mute reply.

“You always have,” he said, with full confidence. “You always will.”

I stared past him and outside the window, where dawn waited impatiently. “I guess that’s how you knew to leave the door open for me.”

“Oh, Jo-Jo,” he said, sighing sleepily as he gathered me tight to his body. “It was never closed.”

I stayed still for as long as I could. I had no desire to break Ben’s embrace because I knew these final moments for what they were. Stolen. I felt it with every second marked by the bedside clock, I marked it myself with every steady exhale Ben released beside me, and I counted the moments until dawn using the pulse that beat under my fingers at his wrist.

Ben didn’t stir when I swung my legs over the bed. Of course, he wasn’t dreading dawn the way I was. He didn’t have any heavy decisions to make about joining a supernatural underworld. I watched his eyes move beneath his lids as he battled some sort of wafting image, and then they stilled and he fell deeper into his dreams. I envied him his peace, and wished it for us both.

After dressing, I went back into the living room and called for a cab. As I gave directions to the house, my eyes strayed to the photo I’d tossed onto the coffee table. I didn’t think Ben would mind if I borrowed it for a while. I could make a copy, give him back the original, and have at least one photo of my mother, my sister, and me all together. I’d long ago torn up the rest.

I found a pad of yellow Post-its, wrote down my intentions, and pressed the note onto the empty photo sleeve. There was a bookshelf along one wall, and the lowest level was lined with albums identical to the one I held. I longed to look at them all, to savor every picture and wonder at every moment captured while I’d been somewhere else. Perhaps someday. Right now, lacking the time, I simply slipped the album I was holding back into its place and turned to leave.

That’s when I saw the camera. It wasn’t a fancy one, not like the Nikon I used for my professional work; in fact, it wasn’t even what I would consider a real camera. It was one of the throwaway kinds people bought when they forgot to bring their own on vacation with them. But it was all I had, all that was there, and I picked it up, suddenly wanting to capture this moment—the deep silence, the unsure light—everything that would change the moment I walked out of the house.

So I took the camera back to the bedroom, back where Ben had shifted to his side, his hip rising like a wave beneath the dark covers, his long legs running the length of the bed. Not wanting to risk the flash, I used the lightening sky to bring his features into relief, and when I snapped the picture, the click reported like a shot throughout the silent room. I lowered the camera to watch him sleep with my naked eye, and jumped when a horn honked outside. I should leave, I thought, before he could wake. I didn’t, though. Instead, I bit my lip and paused to consider him just a moment longer.

Just one more.

Holding my breath, I moved in closer, careful not to make a sound…not that it was necessary. I still possessed the aureole, and for a while longer, at least, I was still just another shadow layering the night.

When I was in place, Ben’s face framed by the primitive square of the cardboard lens, I stilled. Then softly, almost inaudibly, I whispered, “Ben?”

A pause, another deep inhalation, then the corner of Ben’s lips lifted ever so slightly. It was a lopsided smile, like his thoughts were only half formed, but it made me want to smile too. I clicked. I tucked the camera in my pocket. Then I left.

A sliver of sun peered over the eastern ridge of the valley, illuminating the peaks of the Black Mountains like jagged bruises against the face of the sky. The air lightened, spreading pastel swaths across the wide canvas, and I sucked in the first bright breath of dawn. After a moment’s more hesitation, I turned and strode into Room 8 of the Smoking Gun Inn, slamming the door behind me.

Warren was seated where I’d left him. I’d have wondered if he’d even moved, except there was another man with him, slouched on the edge of the bed. I ignored the newcomer and wordlessly tossed the photo I was carrying on the table in front of Warren. Only his eyes moved.

“I have three questions for you,” I said, my voice low but steady. “If I like the answers, I’ll go with you.”

A smile began to spread across his face, but I stalled it with a shake of my head. If I liked the answers.

“First, there was something Butch said to me right before midnight. Before the metamorphosis. He said I was hidden in plain sight.” I tilted my head. “What did he mean when he said ‘Xavier’s daughter, no less’?”

“Ah.” Warren spread his palms out on the table before him. “Well, he was right. Only someone as canny and talented as your mother could have pulled it off.” He leaned forward. “See, while superhuman in some areas, we still have to operate in the mortal realm. We’re bound by all the natural laws—gravity, time, place—so our job is to make other, more fluid boundaries appear normal. And we need mortals for that.”

“A front? Like when the mob used to run the casinos as a cover for money laundering?”

“Exactly! Spoken like a true Vegas girl,” he said, peering up at me in the growing light of dawn. “And in return for this guise, we give these human allies support. Sometimes it’s a transfer of power, convincing other mortals to give him or her an important place in society. Sometimes it’s a bit of physical strength where there was none before. I know of at least one mortal who won a gold medal in the last Olympics because of it. And then there are those who ask for—”

“Money,” I finished for him.

“Money,” he repeated, nodding. “Xavier is your true father’s chief contact in the mortal world. His pet, if you like. He provides a cover for the Shadow side, allowing them to exist and operate on the mortal plane, and in return he is provided all the wealth he could ever desire.”

“So by marrying Xavier, my mother was looking to infiltrate the wolf pack.”

“By marrying Xavier,” Warren corrected, “your mother was living in the wolf ’s den. And you? Everyone believed you were really Xavier’s daughter.”

It explained a lot. Xavier’s meteoric and unprecedented financial rise in the world of gaming. The pitfalls experienced by anyone who challenged his supremacy. It also explained the unmarked, unsigned note he’d received earlier in the week, and his complete unwillingness to question its origin. It came, after all, from his benefactor.

I shook my head slowly. That asshole had been a part of it all along. He’d sold his soul for money, and in doing so, contributed to his own daughter’s death.

“So, theoretically speaking,” I said, “if I did join your forces and the Zodiac troop become more powerful as a result, this would help bring Xavier down?”

“Definitely. In fact, anything with the enemy’s emblem would be open to ruin. In times of strength, like now, it’s a sign of victory. Otherwise, it’s a target.”

I frowned. “What’s his emblem?”

Warren looked amused. “He’s your mirror opposite in the astrological chart, Jo. The Shadow side of the Zodiac. Anything with the word Archer on it belongs to him.”

“So it’s like a brand?”