“A moment.” Reaching into his boot, Raphael retrieved the thinly rolled map that had been slipped under the door to his and Elena’s suite during the early hours of this morning. Raphael would’ve questioned its veracity except that Jason had reached out with his mind to confirm his presence, before the spymaster disappeared back the way he’d come, a shadow among shadows.

He was no longer anywhere near Lumia, having flown back in the direction of China the instant after passing on the map and the information. His parting words, however, hadn’t been what Raphael expected from his long-silent spymaster. I hope you settle this fast, sire. I wish to return home to Mahiya.

Jason’s princess understood who and what he was, accepted that he needed to travel to distant lands, but she missed him desperately. So much so that when Jason was away, Elena, Honor, and those of the Seven located in New York City, as well as all the other friends she’d made, worked together to keep her company as often as possible.

The last time Mahiya visited the Enclave, she’d told Elena and Raphael that she was training so she could accompany Jason on missions that didn’t require stealth Jason alone could pull off. Your princess is thinking about joining you, he’d said to the other man. Not on this journey. Others.

Jason’s response had been so aggravated that Raphael had laughed—his spymaster had not sounded so very “real” in an eon. Yes, we are in discussions about her plans. She refuses to listen to reason so it appears I must teach her how to be a spy.

The memory of that unexpected interaction faded as he unrolled the map, then rose and used a mere dusting of his power to meld the edges into the stone of the wall behind his armchair. It showed Lijuan’s territory in detail. The fine tide of red that licked at China’s northeastern border needed no explanation—the line was nearly unbroken.

A gasp of sound, erupting from more than one throat.

“Surely that isn’t true.” Michaela’s tone was, for once, pure archangel, no undertone of seduction or nastiness. “Your spymaster has noted cases of bloodlust all along that region? We would’ve heard had it been so.”

“The outbreaks have only ratcheted up in the past forty-eight hours,” Raphael told them, tapping at a red dot on the map. “A dot of this size denotes one or two fatalities.” The vast majority of the dots were of that size.

“Sporadic breaks,” Elijah murmured, two deep grooves between his eyebrows. “Those happen everywhere in the world. The worrying thing is how close the outbreaks are to one another.”

Getting to her feet in a rustle of silk, Neha came over to examine the map more closely, the pleats in front of her sari opening and closing with quiet grace as she walked. “Raphael, are you certain?”

He ignored the biting, jagged edge of her. “You know Jason, Neha.”

A sigh, a nod. “Yes, I know Jason. He wouldn’t report this unless he’d confirmed it twice over.”

Alexander’s silver wings caught the light as he leaned forward, his expression grim. “We have time yet, but not as long as we’d hoped.”

“I refuse to believe this until I see it with my own eyes,” Charisemnon countered, jumping to his feet. “Lijuan deserves that from us. She was the oldest among us until Caliane’s rise.”

“I agree,” Titus said, as Astaad nodded. “It is a titanic decision and we can’t rely only on the word of even the best spymaster in the world.” His dark eyes met Raphael’s. “You understand.”

“Yes.” Not simply for reasons of honor and tradition. “If we make a mistake and place two active archangels in the same territory, we risk igniting a catastrophic war.” The Cadre had to be dead certain that Lijuan had gone into Sleep.

Favashi spoke for the first time. “The tide of blood is concerning, but it is sporadic yet. I say we come to a decision as to what would be the best course of action should Lijuan indeed be in Sleep, then make our inspection. That way, should Lijuan prove to have disappeared, the archangel or archangels in charge of her former territory can take over at once.”

Michaela tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. “Why waste time discussing a ‘what if’ scenario? I say we go to China now, scare the vampires into good behavior, investigate, then make our decision.”

Raphael wasn’t in the habit of agreeing with Michaela, but she was right: why waste time and energy if there was no reason for it?

“There is no decision,” Favashi said, her steel showing. “We are all dancing around the very large elephant in the room.” Her eyes went to Alexander. “You and I are attempting to share a territory that should belong to only one. If Lijuan is dead, I take over her lands and you keep Persia. That is the only viable option.”

Having retaken his seat after Neha took hers, Raphael waited for one of the more land-hungry of the archangels to dispute Favashi’s point. But no one did. I didn’t expect such quick agreement, he said mind to mind to Elijah.

I think the possibility of war is in everyone’s thoughts, and right now, Favashi and Alexander are ripe for it—you cannot put two such aggressive powers next to each other and expect peace.

Still, Raphael responded, Charisemnon seems the kind who would encourage a war that would decimate his enemies.

I see your point. Elijah’s eyes lingered on the Archangel of Northern Africa. We must not forget, Raphael, that for all his faults, Charisemnon has ruled for two thousand some years. He may have more sense in him than we realize.