I’d seen before that Shae had no compunction about playing both sides, so it came as no great surprise to know that her offer of information served more than one purpose.

“I can’t guarantee that Lugh will hear about your cooperation immediately,” I said, hoping the lie didn’t show on my face, “but I can promise I’ll do my best to get a message to him, which probably won’t be that hard if he does end up on the throne again. Now I’ve already given you the information you asked for. Time for you to start talking.”

There was still a calculating gleam in her eye, but thankfully she didn’t press for any more. “I’ve had a notable increase in demon membership in my club over the last several weeks,” she said. “I’ve been in business for going on fifteen years now, and I’ve never seen a membership spike like this before.”

Not immediately knowing what to make of this news, I decided to inject a little of my usual snark. “I thought you had a months-long waiting list for membership.” It went without saying that the waiting list only applied to humans.

Shae gave me a dirty look but didn’t rise to my bait. “Most of these demons are clearly illegals, and when they first show up at the club, they look pretty rough. Lots of track marks, too skinny, weatherbeaten. They clean up pretty fast once the demon has been in residence for a while, but still …

It isn’t hard to imagine that their hosts are the kind of people who can drop off the face of the earth without anyone noticing or caring.”

“They aren’t exactly dropping off the face of the earth,” I muttered, but I knew what she meant. These were people who didn’t have friends and family who would raise a stink over their loved one being illegally possessed.

“Why are you telling me?” I asked. “Isn’t this more up Adam’s alley than mine?”

Shae just looked at me, her eyes cold and hard. I guess I already knew the answer to that question. She might be forced to work with Adam in her role of police snitch, but she sure as hell didn’t like it. Or him.

“Forget I asked,” I said. “Do you know how these demons are getting to the Mortal Plain?”

Once a demon was on the Mortal Plain, it could transfer from host to host via skin-to-skin contact. However, it couldn’t come here from the Demon Realm in the first place without an invitation from a willing host.

“Don’t know,” Shae said. “I don’t seem to be missing any regulars, though, so it isn’t a case of legal demons moving to new hosts. These demons are definitely new arrivals.”

The implications made me shudder. Although a host had to voluntarily invite a demon onto the Mortal Plain, there were any number of ways someone could be forced to “volunteer.” I was a prime example, having been drugged and manipulated by Raphael so that I would invite Lugh to the Mortal Plain and into my body, even though being possessed was—at the time—my worst nightmare. Luckily, because of my, er, special genetic makeup, I retain control of my body, except on rare occasions where Lugh takes over—usually by mutual agreement, and once in a while by brute force. But whoever these hapless “volunteers” were, they were worse than dead, their minds fully intact, trapped inside bodies they could not control.

“I don’t know how these demons are gaining access to the Mortal Plain,” Shae said, “but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that there would be this sudden influx while Dougal is keeping Lugh’s seat warm.”

I didn’t, either. Because Lugh was still king even though he was AWOL, Dougal was only the regent, and his powers were limited. But since Lugh hadn’t officially outlawed the possession of unwilling hosts yet, and since there were always way more demons wanting to come to the Mortal Plain than there were willing hosts, it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine that Dougal had arranged to make more hosts available.

“I need to know exactly how they’re getting here,” I muttered, more to myself than to Shae.

“I’d love to tell you,” Shae said. “For a price.” I opened my mouth to say something indignant, but she cut me off. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I am not to ask any questions about these new members.”

“By whom?” I asked sharply.

Shae shook her head and didn’t answer.

“You’re not the type to let someone come into your place and tell you what to do,” I said. Yeah, Raphael had been able to intimidate her into keeping quiet about his identity, but I doubted there was anyone else who would inspire the kind of terror that Raphael did.

“I’m not,” she said, and there was a faint gleam of malice in her eyes.

And suddenly I understood. I felt like slapping myself on the forehead. “That’s why you came here to tell me about this. Not because you really wanted to trade information, but because you’re pissed off at whoever gave you the gag order and you want to sic Lugh’s supporters on him.”

A slight grin curved her lips, though the gleam remained in her eye and turned the grin into something decidedly unwholesome. “I’ve told you nothing that I was forbidden to say, so technically I have broken no agreements. What you decide to do with the information I’ve given you is your concern, not mine.”

She rose from the chair, the motion strangely sinuous. “As always, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” she said, then turned toward the door without awaiting a response. Which was just as well, because I hadn’t the faintest idea what to say.

I HADN’T BEEN GETTING A WHOLE LOT DONE BEFORE Shae’s visit, and I suspected I would get even less done afterward, so I closed up my office and headed home, lost in thought. It was a nasty, miserably hot and humid day, and I was soaked with sweat as soon as I stepped outside.

My apartment is conveniently located only three blocks from my office, but unfortunately, I’d chosen the height of lunch hour for my short sojourn home, so the streets were flooded with grumpy, overheated business-people. Horns blared as similarly grumpy, overheated drivers complained about every minuscule delay. To add to the lovely atmosphere, a road crew was doing some kind of work that involved hot tar and jackhammers. The sound of the jackhammers made my teeth rattle, and there’s nothing that stinks quite so much as hot tar on a hot day. How I missed my quaint little house in the suburbs!

The air conditioner in my apartment building’s lobby was set to stun, and it felt like the sweat on my skin turned to ice on contact with the frigid air. I shivered, though it wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant sensation after the heat. Mike, the doorman, gave me his usual pleasant smile and greeting, but I caught his quick, no doubt involuntary glance at my chest. Guess my flimsy lace bra had been a bad choice for today. Even really nice guys can be tempted by the sight of a well-endowed woman entering a cold building. If he’d stared, I might have complained, but I could forgive that little peek. I crossed my arms over my chest while I was waiting for the elevator. The majority of the population in my building was retirees, and I got enough “What’s wrong with young people these days?” looks without showing off my perky nipples.

By the time I made it up to my apartment, my clothes were wet and clammy against my skin, and I couldn’t wait to get out of them. I beelined for my bedroom, stripping as I went, looking forward to a soothing hot shower.

My building is old and cranky, and it takes approximately forever and a day for the water to heat up. I didn’t have the patience to wait for it, so I plunged into the “refreshing” spray and gritted my teeth against the chill.

I shivered for what felt like about five minutes before the water finally warmed up. I closed my eyes and let the water stream over my face, washing away any traces of sweat.