From the outside, Vergadering headquarters looked like any other office building, with its 1970s brick facade and large reflective windows. The plastic-letter directory board in the foyer listed several different businesses, but Megan suspected they were only dummies.

She reached for the handset of the pay phone mounted on the wall, waited for the dial tone, and hit 8843, just as Tera had told her to when she’d called earlier, depressed and lonely.

“Tera Green.”

“Hi, it’s me, I’m downstairs.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Megan waited, glancing out the glass door to see Malleus still sulking on the sidewalk outside. He’d refused to even enter the building, despite the cold. And if she were honest, she hadn’t really wanted him to. He’d been very kind, more than kind, all morning as he and Hunter helped clear out her office. He’d even given her the world’s most awkward hug—the first time aside from actually saving her life that he’d touched her to do more than magically set her lipstick.

Too bad he’d made himself uncomfortable for nothing. The ache in her chest couldn’t be healed with a hug. Somehow, without Megan realizing it, she’d become such a danger to her clients that she could no longer involve herself with them.

Because her involvement could get them killed. Because that piece of demon inside her chest, the piece she’d been trying to deny, wanted to feed off their pain. Just like it wanted to feed on rare steak or Greyson’s blood or the hot red energy from couples making out in dark corners—

She shook her head, shook her shoulder, pushing it away. She was still in control, wasn’t she? That’s why she’d quit her job. If the demon was in charge she would have stayed, right? Would have treated her clients like a fucking smorgasbord and licked her fingers afterward.

No. She was in control. She, Megan Alison Chase. Human being.

“Hey.” The door behind her opened. Tera’s blue eyes scanned Megan up and down. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously. You really do.”

Megan nodded. “Yes, thank you, Tera. Am I coming in, or—”

Tera hesitated. “I—”

“Oh, oh, right, of course. I can’t, can I? Because of the demon thing.”

Tera smiled as if the sarcasm had passed right over her head. Which it probably had. “Thanks for understanding.”

They were halfway to the parking lot and Megan’s little Focus when Tera stopped. “Shit! I forgot to—I forgot to sign something, and it needs to be done by three. It’ll only take me a second, do you mind?”

Megan shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Malleus scowled as they watched Tera retreat. “Just like a witch,” he said. “Ain’t got ’er mind on ’er work.”

“Now, Malleus, Tera is—”

“I know what she is, m’lady, and you oughta too. Mr. Dante says it’s none of our mind ’oo you’re friends with, but me an’ Lif an’ Spud, we don’t fink—m’lady?”

Megan barely heard him. The Vergadering building loomed over an alley on its right, and at the end of the alley rested a black sedan, gleaming in the lone ray of hard winter sunlight sneaking between Vergadering and the lower roof of the strip mall next door.

Surely she was seeing things. It couldn’t be the same car. Logically it couldn’t be, whether it had been witches chasing them or not. But it drew her just the same, and she started toward it before she had time to think.

“M’lady, where you going?”

She didn’t look back. Tera would be out in a couple of minutes and she wanted to get a look at that car.

The tires weren’t even dusty yet. The windshield still had a sticker on it. New black paint shone. It was the same sedan, had to be.

Greyson would be royally pissed when he found out they’d gotten their car back before he had his Jag.

She reached out to touch it, to see if she could get some kind of reading from it. She’d never been able to do it before…But she knew someone who could.

He’d probably get nothing, just as she did now. The smooth, slick surface of the hood yielded no secrets. Witches, like demons, were generally unreadable, although not quite as much so. But there was something else Brian Stone could help her with. She dug in her purse for a pen.

“What’re you doing? You come away from ’ere before somebody sees you.” Malleus reached for her arm, then pulled back.

“I’m taking this car’s license plate number.”

Malleus looked puzzled.

“I think—” No. Who knew what his reaction would be if she shared her suspicions? She didn’t know if Greyson had mentioned witches in connection with the car chase or not. Better to let it go. “Just never mind. It’ll only take a second.”

Quickly she scribbled the number on the back of an old receipt and tucked it into the zippered interior pocket of her bag, then strode back up the alley with Malleus trailing behind like a bulky, disapproving shadow.

They met Tera just as she hit the parking lot, and headed off for lunch with a new secret worry buzzing in Megan’s head. If witches were involved—Vergadering witches—what did that mean?

“Did you get the address?”

“Yes. Can I take my coat off before I give it to you?”

“No. Come on, I want to go there.”

Brian followed her back out the door—trailed by Malleus and, though Brian couldn’t see him, Rocturnus. Roc tended to creep Brian out. He didn’t like the reminder of what hovered by his head.

They all piled into Megan’s car, Malleus squeezing himself into the backseat with a grumble. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Part of Megan agreed. This probably wasn’t a good idea. But she’d just left her job, the practice she’d worked so hard to build up, and if she wanted to do something dangerous she was going to fucking do it. Why not? Who cared? What difference did it make what she did?

“So what’s so important?” Brian asked as Megan pulled out onto the street.

“Never mind.” She glanced at the slip of paper he’d given her. “Just come on. I need you to try and read a car.”

“Are you serious?”

“No, Brian, I’m playing a practical joke on you. Of course I’m serious. Would we be out in the freezing cold if I wasn’t serious?”

“What do you expect me to get off a car?”

“I don’t know. Anything might help. You can read inanimate objects, right? Connect with them?”

She knew he could. He’d once used a wristwatch to communicate with Greyson.

“I can connect with my own stuff. It has to be around me for a while before I can use it.” Seeing her glare, he continued quickly, “But yes, I can read inanimate objects. Sometimes.”

“Good. So we go to this address, you read the car, and we decide where to go from there.”

“Is this illegal, Megan?”

“Is touching a car against the law?”

“No, but—”

“It’s not illegal. Why would we be doing something illegal?”

“Why did you break into a house last week?”

“I didn’t break in; the door was unlocked, and—oh, never mind. The homeowners didn’t press charges, anyway.” She glanced at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t call me. I imagine you found out about it, what, within five minutes of its happening?”

“About that. Turn here, I think.”

She did. “How’s Julie?”

Brian’s girlfriend Julie was a police officer. Megan was fairly certain she was the one who’d traced the plates, but she didn’t want to say anything outright.

Since the week Brian had been assigned to write a profile of her for a gossipy local magazine, his reputation as a journalist had grown. Not from the profile, of course. That was a cheap puff piece, forgotten by the public as soon as it became birdcage liner. But because of his help in defeating the Accuser, who’d been posing as a mild-mannered local therapist named Arthur Bellingham. Megan and Brian had decided to cover the truth by concocting what Megan thought was a rather ridiculous tale about Bellingham’s secret Satanism and his using his therapy group to conduct mysterious rituals.