Now, standing outside the door to Professor Keene’s office yet again, she stiffened her spine, mentally preparing to fling herself upon an impossible being’s mercy.

Either he would protect her as he claimed, or he really was some cosmically evil villain, justly imprisoned and lying through his teeth, who planned to kill her—the way things had been going for her lately—gruesomely and with much blood, right there on the spot.

If that was the case, she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t, her demise a mere bit of squabbling over place and time, so she should probably just buck up and get it over with.

She glanced at her watch—12:42 A.M.

Good-bye life as she knew it, hello chaos. Hopefully not just good-bye life.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the office. “Okay,” she told the silvery surface with a sigh, “I think we can make a deal.”

He was there before she’d even fully formed the word “think.” She finished the rest of the sentence a bit breathlessly.

A slow, exultant smile curved his lips.

“Deal, my ballocks. Get me the bloody hell out of here, woman.”

6

“Don’t give me excuses,” Lucan snarled into the phone. “Roman is dead. I need Eve in Chicago now.”

He rose and stood before the tall windows of his study, staring out at the London dawn as the first faint streaks of sun burned off the fog. The sky beyond was still dim enough that he could also see his own reflection superimposed on the tinted glass. Alone, he did not bother with a spell to conceal his appearance.

His entire skull was a miasma of crimson-and-black runes, his tongue flickered black inside his tattooed mouth when he spoke, and his eyes were feral crimson.

It was Thursday morning. He had twenty days.

He turned his gaze to the darker spot on the silk wallpaper where the Dark Glass had hung for so long. Cian’s captivity had been a constant source of amusement to him—the legendary Keltar, the most powerful of all Druids ever known, ensorcelled by one Lucan Myrrdin Trevayne.

His hands fisted, his jaw clenched. That empty spot would be filled again, and soon. Returning his attention to the conversation, he snapped, “The St. James woman knows she’s in danger now. There’s no telling what she’ll do. I need her taken care of immediately. But first, I need that damned mirror back. Roman said it was in the professor’s office. Have her ship it to my private residence the moment she arrives. Then get rid of the girl and anyone else who’s seen it.”

Damn Roman. The police were asking too many questions, and he suspected at least one or two officers had seen the Dark Glass, which meant retiring a few members of law enforcement, and those cases never closed. In the past he’d not denied Roman his preference for strangulation, so long as he went in, disposed of all problems before the police found any bodies, and got out fast, before an investigation was even opened.

But he hadn’t. He’d failed with the woman and ended up dead himself.

Which gave Lucan no small amount of pause.

How had Roman ended up on the commons with his neck broken? He could think of one man that possessed the deadly strength and skill to snap the Russian’s neck as if popping chicken bones: Cian MacKeltar.

And if that were the case, someone had let him out of the mirror. Not good, not good at all.

The only person he could fathom might have done so was the St. James woman. According to Roman, when he’d last checked in, there were four people in Chicago who’d seen the Dark Glass or, like Dr. Liam Keene, had possessed critical knowledge of it, and Jessica St. James was the final one to be dispatched. Lucan knew well the Keltar had a way with women.

His upper lip curled. So much wasted on a primitive mountain-man, a Highlander, no less. Not just looks, strength, and charisma, but wild, pure magic. The kind of power Lucan had worked dozens of lifetimes to achieve a mere fraction of, the Keltar had been born with a hundredfold.

If the St. James woman had indeed been seduced to the Keltar’s bidding, then Lucan was sending Eve to her death. He’d have his answer soon enough. If Eve went missing, he’d know he had a far more serious problem on his hands than he’d thought.

“Tell her to put her other contract on hold. I need her now.” A pause. A growl. “I don’t believe you have no way of reaching her. Find one. Get her in Chicago today or else.”

He listened a moment, holding the phone away from his ear. After a long pause he said tightly, “I don’t think you understand. I want her there now. I’d advise you to pass on my orders to her and let her decide.” He punched off the phone, terminating the call. He knew what she would do. She trafficked in death for a living, and feared little, but she feared Lucan. They’d had a liaison a few years past. She knew his true nature. She would obey.