“What about all the demon magic Zylas and Nazhivēr were throwing around? Did anyone notice?”

“I don’t think so. There was so much magic flying and everyone was focused on their own shit.” She pushed off the sofa and stretched. “On the plus side, our guild came out on top.”

“But we never found out what Claude wanted from that Varvara woman,” I pointed out with a sigh, “or whether he got it. And we aren’t any closer to finding him. And we still don’t know—”

She lightly whacked the top of my head. “Don’t be so gloomy. We’ll figure it out.”

Surprised, I smiled faintly. “Thanks, Amalia.”

“Sure. Is Zylas done with the shower?”

“It’s all yours.”

As Amalia got a towel and locked herself in the bathroom, I trudged back to my bedroom. Zylas had his face pillowed on his arms, his eyes closed. When I crawled onto the bed, his eyelids fluttered.

“Vayanin?” he mumbled drowsily.

I sat beside him. “Why can’t you use my name?”

He grumbled something.

“What were you saying before? Zylas?”

His shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths. I leaned forward to peer at him. He was either asleep or very close to it.

I tugged my spare blanket, folded at the foot of the bed, out from under his legs and flipped it over him. He stirred, then relaxed again. I returned to my spot and debated pulling out my laptop to search the MPD archives for that photo of the mysterious sorcerer, but I was exhausted too.

My hand crept toward Zylas’s warmth of its own accord. I combed my fingers through his dark hair, then traced one of his horns to its point.

My fingers were still tangled in his hair when I fell asleep.

In my dream, I was crouched on a rocky outcropping. Dawn tinged the horizon deep blue, and my long shadow stretched away toward the edge of the rock.

Below me was a sheltered bowl, the only break I could see in the vista of jagged rocks, waves of sand, and sparse, dark plant life. Dome-like structures, almost like igloos but made of roughly chiseled rock, dotted the dips and curves of the terrain, and around them, half a dozen large bonfires burned.

A persistent noise penetrated my dream, rumbling emphatically.

The sun breached the horizon behind me and warm golden light washed across the landscape, illuminating the burnt-red rocks and sand. My dream self stood and walked to the outcropping’s edge.

The noise grew louder, tugging at my consciousness. So strange how I knew I was dreaming, and that something was waking me up.

I stared down at the crude settlement, then hopped off the rock and onto loose sand. I walked toward those odd structures. Time sped up, and in seconds, I was striding between rock domes with arched entrances, sturdy curtains covering the doorways.

Rustling sounds and quiet voices competed with the loud rumbling, but I didn’t look for the source of the noises. I stopped in front of the largest dome, watching the curtain. It fluttered, then a delicate hand with reddish skin and dark claws appeared. The hand curled over the drape, pulling it open in invitation.

I stepped into the dark interior, and the curtain fell shut behind me. Everything went black.

My forehead scrunched, and I squinted my eyes open. Gray morning light leaked through my bedroom drapes, and enthusiastic purring filled my ears.

Zylas was stretched out on the bed beside me, Socks lying across his chest. As she purred like an overworked motor, he lazily rubbed her ears with both hands. She tilted her head side to side, her paws making small kneading motions.

I watched him, not breathing. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I was unable to tear my gaze off his hands and the gentle way he caressed the small, fragile kitten. His eyes were half closed, drowsiness clinging to him, and in his sleepy state, an unexpected openness touched his features, a vulnerability I rarely glimpsed.

Socks purred, unaware that her source of pets and caresses was a demon that could kill without regret or mercy, a creature of another world superior to humans in strength, power, and brutality. She lifted her chin for neck scratches, which the savage demon obligingly provided.

My gaze followed the hard lines of his forearm to the heavy muscles that bound his upper arm, flexing with the movement of his wrist.

His head turned. “You are awake.”

I snapped out of my daze. Heat rushed into my face and I rolled off the bed so fast I almost landed on the floor. Catching myself, I straightened my wrinkled sweater. “Um. Good morning.”

“Why are you changing color, vayanin?”

I abandoned my bedroom and the scantily clad demon in my bed.

Brushing my teeth in the bathroom a few minutes later, I tried to remember more about that strange dream. A desert landscape … a rudimentary community of stone houses … that red-skinned hand, small and feminine, drawing the door-like curtain open.

The more I tried to analyze the details, the more they jumbled together until I wasn’t sure what I’d dreamed. Putting it out of my mind, I focused on my tasks for the day.

An hour and a half later, Amalia trudged out of her room, her hair tied into a messy ponytail. When she saw me in front of the coffee table, she broke off her yawn.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” she asked dryly.

I shrugged, playing it cool even though I was proud of my efforts. Spread across the table was a web of flashcards and colorful sticky notes.

“Okay, so.” I pointed to the card in the center. “Claude. He’s in the middle of everything, so that’s where I put him. Here, the vampires. Here, Varvara and the golems. Over here, the albino sorcerer. I added Ezra too, since we don’t know if he’s connected to Claude.”

Amalia wandered closer. “You’ve got my family on there, I see. And yours. And the grimoire.”

I nodded. “Without knowing Claude’s goal, it’s difficult to guess what the connection is between all these people. The only clear link is Demonica, even if it’s just demon blood.”

She sat cross-legged beside me, studying my work. “We know Claude wants all twelve demon Houses. He told you he was the first summoner since the Athanas family to have all twelve names, but he doesn’t know how to summon the Vh’alyir House.”

“If that’s all he wants, why steal those grimoire pages? They were spells, not names.” I chewed on the back of my pen. “That makes two things he wants that we don’t understand—the spells in the grimoire, and an alliance with Varvara.”