I had to make sure that he left. I drove one-handed while I dug through my purse for my mobile. Then I called the number I’d programmed in several weeks ago. Instead of the male British voice I expected, a woman with an American accent answered.

“Bones’s phone. You’ve got Cat because he’s busy.”

“Hi, Cat,” I said with false cheerfulness. She wasn’t my intended victim, but Ian had me so wired up on frustration and fear, she’d do. “Are you or Bones near Greece?”

“Veritas? What’s wrong?” Cat asked, sounding wary now.

“What’s wrong?” It burst out of me loud enough to make Silver jump. “You and Bones promised to keep Ian safe, but less than one month after I leave him with you, he’s angering the highest court in vampire society while practically GPS-ing his location to Dagon since everyone knows where the council meets when they’re in session!”

“Now, look—” Cat began.

“I still don’t know if it was Ian’s stunning bribe or the council’s shock that someone had the balls to sue them that kept them from sentencing him to death!” I continued to rage. “Either way, I’ve got Ian safely confined in a villa with Mencheres until dawn, but he needs to get out of Greece as soon as the spell lifts. Obviously, I can’t trust Ian to stay out of danger on his own, so I ask again, are you or Bones near Greece?”

“Are you done?” Cat asked in a sharp tone.

“Yes, and I’m waiting for your reply.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean are you done talking,” she said, now sounding dangerously cheerful. “I meant, are you done losing your shit? Because if you think you’re fed up after dealing with Ian for one night, try dealing with him for the past few weeks. Bones and I have chased him all over the fucking world trying to get him to listen to reason, and thanks for telling us that Ian can now teleport, by the way! I’ve had better luck chasing a ghost, and I mean that literally.”

“Ian can teleport?” I’d so hoped what I’d seen at the villa had just been him moving very fast . . .

“Yeah, and last week, Ian let us know he was sick of us trying to baby-sit him by leaving a few spells behind for us. One of the spells turned me mute for two days, and another melted Bones’s fangs off! I didn’t even know that was possible—”

This was backfiring fast. “Uh, I’m very sorry—”

“—but his fangs were gone! Ian’s lucky they grew back or I’d be hunting him down, all right, and that demon would have nothing on what I’d do to Ian once I caught him.”

“Perhaps calling you wasn’t such a good idea,” I muttered.

“You bet it wasn’t,” she flared. Then her tone softened. “Look, I get that you’re scared for him. I don’t want Ian to get hurt, either. But he’s made it clear he won’t be controlled by Bones, by me, or anyone else. I give it two minutes after your spell’s up before he’s gotten away from Mencheres, too. So, if you want Ian out of Greece, you’ll have to get him out yourself. You’re the one he’s obsessed with anyway.”

“I can’t.” Despite my effort to maintain control, my voice cracked at the last word. “It’s not safe,” I finished in a stronger tone.

Cat sighed. “I know you said demons were after you, but that’s not going to stop Ian. He’s not the run-and-hide type. He’s the stay-and-fight type. Believe me, we tried to get him to change, and we failed.”

I almost flung my mobile through the windshield, because she was right. Dammit, she was right! Ian had never backed down from a fight, no matter the danger. Now what was I supposed to do?

As if I’d asked that out loud, Cat said, “If I were you, I’d concentrate on killing whoever is threatening Ian. I know that’s damn near impossible, but I still think you’ll have a better chance against a bunch of pissed-off demons than you will at getting Ian to suddenly stay inside and take up knitting.”

She was probably right again, but I had an oath to fulfill. Still, this was one more reason to want Dagon dead, and I didn’t have to abandon my oath to search for the other resurrected souls in order to kill Dagon. I could multitask.

“My apologies for my misdirected ire before,” I said.

Cat grunted. “Don’t worry. Love makes us all crazy—”

I hung up so fast, I didn’t hear the rest of her reply. Was what I felt for Ian that obvious? Silver whined, laying his head on the console between our seats. He always sensed when I needed comforting, and yes, I needed it badly right now.

Still, I had a job to do. That’s why I pet his head only once before turning my attention back to the road.

The day before yesterday, a man had been arrested for causing a disturbance at the famed Lion Gate in the ancient city of Mycenae. Nothing unusual there, except cell-phone video showed the man shouting in a sixth-century b.c.e. Greek dialect. Add the man’s off-camera escape from no fewer than five security officers, and this was a lead I would have investigated right away if I hadn’t had to rush off to court.

If this was another resurrected soul and Ian’s lawsuit meant that Dagon beat me to him again, I’d be so pissed.

I sped up. Over the next hour, city lights were replaced by the faint glow from the stars. By the time I reached Mycenae, modern buildings were nowhere in sight. There was only the rolling hills of Argos and the ruins of the former great citadel.

“Mycenae rich in gold,” Homer had written in his famed poem about the fall of Troy at the hands of the Greeks. The riches of Mycenae were long gone, but hints of the citadel’s former glory remained, such as part of the fortress’s wall on the highest hill; the tall stone entryway to the rumored burial site of King Agamemnon, or the aforementioned Lion Gate, where two leonine stone carvings marked the entrance to the city.

During the day, this area was dotted with tourists. At half past four in the morning, it was empty. Or it should have been. When I parked in the lot reserved for tour buses, I heard a faint cut-off scream.

I’d dressed for court, not for battle, so I didn’t have any weapons on me. I grabbed a satchel I’d packed some demon bone knives and silver knives in, then flew toward the sound, leaving Silver behind in the car. As I flew, I prayed to any gods that might be listening. Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let me be too late . . .

The citadel was now silent. I detected no movement among the pale stone ruins, either. I dipped lower, losing my visual advantage to utilize another sense. Yes, there. By the entrance to the underground cistern. I smelled blood.

I landed and then crouched low to enter the tunnel where the ancient city’s former water supply had been stored. It was dry now, which was unfortunate. I could’ve pulled the energy the water contained to increase my strength, but the only liquid I now sensed in the cistern was blood. The scent was almost choking as I descended the rough, uneven steps of the steeply sloped tunnel. But no scent of demon. Just blood and the sickly smell of terror.

Then a soft, anguished noise came from farther ahead. I abandoned caution and flew the rest of the way. I knew that sound. Someone was dying in agony.

After two turns, the end of the narrow tunnel came into view. A white-haired, dusky-skinned man with unlined features raised his head from the ripped-open belly of another man, whose eyes were glazing over in death.