Besides, there was an abbey full of sidhe-seers as worried as I was. I wanted them to know I was firmly on their side. Just not their leader’s. ”I’ll drop it by PHI sometime tomorrow, Kat,” I said finally. “But you guys owe me. A big one. Several big ones. And tell Rowena it’s a darn good thing one of us is grown-up enough to do the right thing.”

At seven o’clock Saturday evening, I was sitting in the front conversation area of the bookstore, legs crossed, foot kicking air impatiently, waiting for Barrons.

Your problem, Ms. Lane, he’d said last night, after he’d handed me the Orb, is you’re still being passive. Sitting around, waiting for phone calls. Although Jayne wasn’t an entirely bad idea—

Jayne was a brilliant idea and you know it.

—time is not on our side. You must be aggressive. You promised me a sighting. I want it.

What do you suggest?

Tomorrow we hunt. Sleep late. I’ll be keeping you up all night.

I’d shrugged off a thrill of unwanted sexual awareness at his words. No doubt Barrons could keep a woman up all night. Why night? Why not hunt the Book during the day? Where did he go? What did he do?

I’ve been tracking crimes in the dailies. Night is its time. Has Jayne ever called you during the day?

There was that. He hadn’t.

Seven o’clock, Ms. Lane. You’ll have an hour of Voice first.

I stood up, stretched, caught sight of my reflection in the window, and admired the picture. My new jeans were French and fit like a dream, my sweater was pink and soft, my boots were Dolce & Gabbana, my jacket was Andrew Marc, made of the supplest black leather I’d ever seen, and I’d woven a brilliant pink, yellow, and purple silk scarf through my hair and taken my time with my makeup. I looked and felt great.

Barrons was still apologizing, or maybe just trying to get on my good side. This morning when I’d awakened there’d been four shopping totes and two hanging garment bags outside my bedroom door, full of new clothes. It wigged me out that Barrons had shopped for me. Especially considering what was in some of those bags. The man had exceptional taste and an eye for detail. Everything fit. That wigged me out, too.

The bell over the door tinkled and Barrons stepped in. He was night in an Armani suit, silver-toed boots, black shirt, and dark eyes.

“Not bothering with the mirror tonight?” I said breezily, “Or have you forgotten I know you walk around in it?”

“Kneel before me, Ms. Lane.”

His words surrounded me, infiltrated me, drove me to my knees, like a human before a Fae.

“Doesn’t that just burn?” He gave me one of his scarier smiles. “Kneeling to me must offend every ounce of your perky little being.”

I’d show him perky. Jaw clenched, I tried to rise. I tried to scratch my nose. I couldn’t even do that. I was as locked in place as a person in a body-encompassing straitjacket. “Why does your command lock down my whole body?” At least my vocal cords were working.

“It doesn’t. My order only holds you on your knees. The rest of you is free to move. You’re overmuscling yourself, struggling so hard you’re locking up. When someone uses Voice on you, they’ve got you only to the letter of their command. Remember that. Close your eyes, Ms. Lane.”

It wasn’t an order, but I did it anyway. I managed to wiggle my fingers then my entire hands. I poked around inside my head. The sidhe-seer place burned hot but everything else was dark. The sidhe-seer place didn’t have a thing to do with resisting Voice.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

What an odd question. Didn’t he know everything about me? I’d like to be able to Voice him on that one. “I’m Mac. MacKayla Lane.” Perhaps O’Connor in my blood, but Lane in my heart.

“Strip away the name. Who are you?”

I shrugged. Ha—now only my knees were rooted. The rest of me was moving freely. I swung my arms, to make sure he knew it. “A girl. Twenty-two. A sidhe-seer. A daught—”

“Labels,” he said impatiently. “Who the fuck are you, Ms. Lane?”

I opened my eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“Close your eyes.” Voice ricocheted from wall to wall. My eyes closed as if they were his. “You exist only inside yourself,” he said. “No one sees you. You see no one. You are without censure, beyond judgment. There is no law. No right or wrong. How did you feel when you saw your sister’s body?”

Rage filled me. Rage at what had been done to her. Rage at him for bringing it up. The thought that no one could see or judge me was liberating. I swelled with grief and anger.