In the doorway stood an ancient man, the oldest living person Magnus had seen in many years. He had to be close to one hundred, if not beyond. His hair was long and white, braided in two plaits that fell below his shoulders. He was olive-skinned, like Nola and James, but his was papery as parchment, and deeply lined. Also like Nola and James, he had dark, almond-shaped eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and a proud stoicism that hinted at Indian ancestry.

Though elderly, his posture was straight and sure, his gaze clear. And his voice, when he spoke, was strong and commanding.

“Ulihelsidi. Osadatsu?”

Nola squeezed the old man’s arm. “All good, Grandfather. Ositsu. No problems.”

He nodded, eyeing each of the group in turn, then moved aside to let them in. Like James, he paid particular attention to Lumina, and Magnus had to swallow the growl rising in his throat.

The old man looked at him, his eyes sharp and assessing. Then his face creased into a smile. He said something to Nola in that language of theirs, and she laughed.

“What?” snapped Magnus.

“Grandfather says your lion roars so loud the moon can even hear it.”

Well, thought Magnus, relaxing, at least he got the genus right. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, believe me, it is. If he didn’t like you, he would have called you a dung beetle. Or worse.”

“Grandfather can tell everything about a person as soon as he meets him,” explained James to Lumina as they proceeded down a short corridor, then a flight of stairs. “He has the Spirit Eye.”

“Spirit Eye?” Lumina repeated, looking with interest at James.

Following behind the two of them, Magnus had to resist the violent urge to trip James and send him sprawling to the floor, and scolded himself for being so petty and ridiculous. He noticed Nola’s grandfather was looking more and more pleased.

“It’s a Native American—”

The old man interrupted James with a sharp correction in his language.

“Sorry, Grandfather. It’s a First Nation belief. The Spirit Eye lets you see into a person’s soul.”

“Sounds like an amazing Gift,” murmured Lu. The old man replied, and as Nola led the group through another door into a small antechamber that opened to a large, tri-level living area, she translated.

“He says it’s almost as good as Dreamwalking.”

Magnus sucked in his breath. Lu stopped dead in her tracks. Nola and James proceeded forward, James to a bank of monitors and computer equipment glowing blue and green along one wall, Nola toward a kitchen on the opposite side of the floor. The old man moved past them, smiling like the Sphinx.

Lu kept her gaze fixed on the old man as he joined Nola in the kitchen and lowered himself into a chair around a square wooden table. He picked up a book—real paper, real pages, a cracked, gilt-lettered spine—and began to read, ignoring everyone.

Lu glanced at Magnus, her expression fraught, but neither one of them spoke.

“You must be hungry,” called Nola from the kitchen. “The bedrooms are on the second floor; yours is last on the left. When you’ve settled in, come get something to eat, and then we’ll talk.”

She began to bustle around the kitchen, making preparations for a meal, while Magnus stood looking at her in dawning horror, realizing he’d never asked Jack about sleeping arrangements.

Dear God . . . were he and Lumina going to be sleeping in the same room?

Lumina moved past him, walking stiffly toward the stairs, and he knew they were about to find out.

“I’ll take the floor,” he and Lumina said at the same time, staring at the twin-sized bed.

Magnus moved past her into the small room, dropping his pack on the wood dresser. The room was sparsely furnished but clean, with an adjacent bathroom. He did a quick inspection, then turned back to Lu, still unmoving in the doorway. She looked pale.

“You’re taking the bed. I’m sure there’s a couch downstairs I can sleep on.”

“I don’t snore,” she muttered, dropping her own pack beside his on the dresser. Magnus frowned, wondering at the tone of insult in her voice. Surely she didn’t think—

“Everything copacetic?” James appeared in the doorway, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and Magnus enjoyed the image of the dark-haired man sailing through the air, screaming, after he’d tossed him over the second-floor railing.

“Fine,” he answered, teeth gritted. “Thank you.”

Lu asked, “James, do you have a couch downstairs? Magnus and I—”

“Are very happy with the room,” he cut in. He was surprised how easy it was to speak through clenched teeth. Probably it had to do with his vast experience in the area. “Again, thank you.”

He spoke the words with just enough hostile emphasis that James’s smile faltered. He cleared his throat, then cleared out with a salute and an awkward, “Great. Awesome. ’Bye.”

When he’d gone, Lu said, “Why don’t you like him? He seems perfectly nice.”

No, he seemed perfectly obnoxious, and, worse, perfectly enamored. There was no way in hell Magnus was going to chance letting Lumina sleep unguarded with that hound sniffing around. Without answering, he removed his jacket and threw it on the chair, then stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at nothing.

The sound of bedsprings squeaking made him turn. Lumina was perched on the edge of the bed, back ramrod straight, lips pressed together, face the color of a ripe tomato.

“What?” he asked.

“Is this how it’s going to be now? You seething and ignoring me because I forced you to take me along? I just want to prepare myself so I don’t expect anything. Like, a normal conversation.”

The sarcasm in her tone announced her anger better than shouting would have. Magnus ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his jealousy under control. Trying, for once, to think rationally where Lumina was concerned. “I’m not angry because of that.”

Her back stiffened. “Oh.” She shook her head, laughed a short, humorless laugh. “Right. I should have known.” She stood, moving as if a steel bar had been implanted in her spine. “Well, you don’t have to worry; it won’t happen again. You have my word.”

“What are you talking about?”

She turned her head so he saw her in profile. But she didn’t look at him. And her face was still that troubling shade of red.

“Touch you. Kiss you. I-I won’t do that again.” She paused, then said in an angry rush, “I’ll leave that to Nola,” and bolted to the door.

Lumina was fast, but he was faster. Magnus reached her just before she passed the threshold, took hold of her arm, slammed shut the door, and pushed her—less gently than he should have, he realized as her eyes widened in alarm—against it.

He stared down at her, one hand on her arm and the other braced against the door. Their noses were inches apart.

“I’ll ask you again, and I want an honest answer,” he said gruffly. “What are you talking about, Lumina?”

She moistened her lips, and he almost groaned. This close, the scent of her skin and hair, the warmth of her body, conspired to strip every rational thought from his mind. A tremor ran through her arm and it was all he could do not to lean in and cover her mouth with his.

“You like her,” Lumina whispered, staring into his eyes. “Nola. You like her.”

He blinked, confused. “What’s not to like? She’s obviously intelligent, resourceful, loyal . . . she’s putting her own safety at stake to help us . . .” He trailed off because Lumina’s lips twisted. She looked away, breaking their eye contact, and refused to look at him when he asked her to. So he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, and they stood there like that for several long seconds, just gazing at each other, until it hit him like a shock of cold water poured over his head.