“They scammed him. Van and Jaycee…you want to make a bet?”

“Not throwing away money on that one. Of course it was them. But he thought they were old buddies from his military days. They must have done some research on his background.” She paused, then added, “He wrote that they were looking for a favor but couldn’t talk about it on the phone. He thought they probably needed a place to crash.”

“Apparently not. Wonder what they wanted?”

“I can tell you what they were after.” Shade looked up from the bag. Morio had examined it, then shook his head and handed it back.

“What?”

“This.” He withdrew a small journal and flipped through it. “Background information on you three, on Smoky, Morio, Trillian. On Iris, Nerissa…” As Shade flipped through the pages, his frown deepened. “Carter. He knows about Carter and Vanzir—that they’re demons. And…fuck. A page about the history of the spirit seals. Wilbur knows all of your secrets, including that you’ve been taking the spirit seals to Queen Asteria.”

“How the crap did he get all of that?” I jumped up, panicked. “He knows about Shadow Wing, doesn’t he?”

Shade nodded. “Yes, it appears he does.”

“Holy fuck. I just found out what the connection between Martin and Wilbur is.” Camille looked up, a pained expression on his face. “Wilbur…Martin was his brother.”

“What?” I cocked my head, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Martin was Wilbur’s little brother. He was an accountant, and he died a few years ago of cancer. Three weeks ago was the anniversary of Martin’s death and Wilbur wrote about it. About how he still didn’t understand why someone so caring…had to die that way.” She pushed back the journal, looking vaguely ill. “I guess Wilbur decided to do the only thing he knew how. He brought Martin back, to be with him. Martin’s not his slave. Martin’s his family.”

Her words echoed in the room as we stood silent. That Wilbur even had a family seemed extraordinary. But then…everybody had a family. Even if they were no longer here.

“It’s okay.” I crossed the room and dropped my arm around her shoulder. “We need to read his journal. We need to know what he’s planning. He knows all about us. He knows about the demonic war. That can change the tide of events.”

“He hid the information from Van and Jaycee,” Camille said. She looked up at me, a pained expression on her face. “He clammed up and hid the information. That’s why they beat the crap out of him. They must have returned to see if they could ransack the place and find what they were looking for. But we were already here, so the Tregart did the only thing he could think of and blew up the joint. But he didn’t try hard enough.”

I sat down beside her, suddenly understanding just what Wilbur had done. He’d put his life on the line to protect us and our secrets. “Somehow, they found out he was keeping tabs on us, and so they pretended to be buddies to gain access to the house. Do you realize that—with the info in this journal—they could mount a raid on Queen Asteria for the spirit seals we’ve taken her? We can’t leave this lying around.”

I flipped through the pages, noticing that Wilbur had collected background information that even my sisters and I didn’t know about. Like, for example, the fact that Chase’s IQ was considered in the genius range. I paused, thinking we could learn a lot by reading the rest of this. But Camille took it out of my hands.

“Either we trust our allies, or we don’t. We can’t have it both ways.” Her voice was soft, but her meaning was clear. “Wilbur didn’t betray us. He almost died trying to protect this from the demons.”

“You’re right.” I took the journal and handed it to Shade. “Burn it to ashes. Now.”

“No.” Morio said. “Seems to me like we want to know exactly what he has on us.”

I paused, flip-flopping like a fish out of water. “Morio makes a good point.”

She blanched, but shrugged. “Two against one. Shade—what do you think?”

“Lady Camille, I think you worry too much about what your family and friends will think. If no one has anything to hide, they won’t mind us reading this. If they do, then best we find out now and not later.” Shade took the book and handed it to me. “Delilah, you keep this for now. And when we get home, put it in a safe place where no one can find it. We should make sure there are no magical tracers on it—”

“There aren’t.” Morio stood, dusting his jeans. “I checked. I guess we should take Wilbur’s diary, too. And other than that…we’re done here?”

Camille’s phone rang and she pulled out her cell. “Hello?” She listened for a moment, then said, “We’ll be there. Right. Thanks, Sharah,” and hung up and turned to us. “Wilbur’s awake and coherent. Time to go ask him some questions.”

“That should be a ton of laughs.” I shoved the dossier into my backpack, and we headed out. Wilbur’s life had taken on an oddly familiar feel. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know him as well as I did now.

As we walked into the ICU ward at the FH-CSI, the smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. Machines clicked and beeped, and the sterile white of the bedclothes and walls belied the injuries that came through here. While Wilbur was an FBH, the fact was he was still considered a member of the Supe Community, and Sharah had decided to treat him here rather than take him to the regular hospital.

He was swathed in bandages. His leg was in a splint, his arm in another. He had bandages wrapped around his head, and bruises covered what we could see of his body. Sharah had shaved him, and I was surprised to see that he was actually a decent-looking man under the brush that had been his beard and mustache. He looked woozy, but awake.

“Hey, Wilbur.” I walked up to the bed railing and put my hands on them, staring down at his prone body.

“Well, if it isn’t the pussycat.” His voice was rough, harsh, as if he’d been smoking too long, and he coughed. “I understand I have you and yours to thank for me being alive.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Actually, Martin led us to the basement.”

“You were prowling in my house in the middle of the night.” A statement, rather than a question. “You find those sacks of garbage that did this to me? Van and Jaycee? I thought you guys killed them off.”

Shaking my head, I glanced over at Camille. She shrugged. He knew far more than we had thought he did, so we might as well be straight about this. But obviously, some of his info was off target.

“They posed as buddies from the service, didn’t they?”

His nose took on a pinched look. “You’ve been reading my journal.”

“You’ve been keeping notes on us. We found them. Fair is fair.”

With an exaggerated sigh, which brought on a coughing fit and then a moan as his fractured ribs took the brunt of it, he let out a short bark of laughter.

“I guess, babe. I guess. Yeah, they posed as army buddies. Called me out of the blue. Set up a time to come over and have a beer. I had no reason to suspect them. As far as I knew, Trent and Mango were still alive. I opened the door and they strong-armed their way in. Had a group of them damned demons with them. Demanded to know everything I knew about you. Wanted my notebook—”

A frightened look crossed his eyes—the only time I’d ever seen Wilbur actually look afraid—and he struggled to sit up. Sharah forced him back on the pillow.

“My journal—did they get it?”

“The one you kept all your notes about us in? No. They didn’t. We have it. I’d like to know why the hell you are keeping tabs on us, though. But how did they know you had it in the first place?” I was trying to piece together the puzzle, but he was going to have to clue us in on a few things. Wilbur could be an odd duck, but he’d never been stupid.

He closed his eyes. “We talked on the phone several times. I thought it was Trent. He knew about our missions, he knew secrets that only Trent and Mango and I had known. I told him about you guys, and about that fact that I’d been keeping tabs on you. I didn’t mention the demons, though. He…pulled a crock of shit over my eyes.”

Wincing at the image, I thought about it. “What was Trent? What did he do? Was he a necromancer, too?”

Wilbur shut his eyes. “No, not that I know of. He was into other weird shit, though. I’m not sure what, but it never seemed dangerous, which is why I wanted to see him again. Everything was okay when we last saw each other. We parted on good terms, he to his life, me to mine.”

At the tone in his voice, I suddenly understood. Not only was Martin Wilbur’s family, but his buddies had been family, too. And like most old friends, Wilbur thought they’d be picking up where they left off. Only it hadn’t been Trent. It had been Van on the other end of the line.

“I’m laying bets on the probability that Van had tracked down Trent and got the goods on you some time ago. Maybe even the first time you walked into Van and Jaycee’s magic shop.”

“The one her dragon butthead managed to thoroughly trash?” Wilbur forced a pained grin at Camille.

She leaned over the railings, making sure her boobs were in full sight. “Dude, they aren’t stupid. I’ll bet they recognized your abilities and decided to dig up dirt on you in case they ever needed to use you.”

“And how do you figure that?” His eyes lit up, but she stayed out of reach of his good hand.

“Because that’s something we would have thought of. And if we could have thought of it, you know the bad guys are smart enough to.”

“Martin!” Wilbur suddenly panicked, struggling again to sit up. “Martin—is he okay? Did they…”

“He’s fine. We’re looking after him until you’re back on your feet.” I reassured him and, calm again, he rested his head against the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t think. I’m sorry I put you guys in danger. I know what you’re doing—by now you know that. I know what you’re fighting against. I wanted to make sure you weren’t out to take over the country but…just…I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, breathing softly, and I realized he’d fallen asleep.

I patted his hand and motioned to Sharah as we walked outside. “Keep a guard on him. He’s in danger until we catch those sorcerers.”

She nodded as we walked toward the front of the ward. “He’s not out of danger from his injuries either, though I think he’ll pull through. But he’s probably going to lose that leg. It’s so crushed that despite Mallen’s needlework, we couldn’t connect most of the blood vessels. We’ll know in twenty-four hours whether we have to amputate.”

“I wish we knew just how much he told Van and Jaycee about us.” I held up my hand as Camille started to speak. “I know he didn’t mean to—he didn’t intentionally betray us, but the fact is that he did talk. And now we have no clue if they know about where we took the spirit seals or not.”

Camille let out a long breath. “You’re right, of course. That’s our biggest danger here, isn’t it? If they find out Queen Asteria has the spirit seals, Elqaneve will be on the pointy end of the stick. They’ll marshal the goblins from Guilyotin and march on the Elfin city. Even if they can’t gate enough demons through, they’ll use goblins and ogres and whoever else they can pull into their dirty little war. So, where do we go from here?”

“We make sure Martin’s okay, and then visit Carter. And then, we head out for the Supe Community meeting.” I slid into the passenger seat of the car.

Camille slid into the driver’s seat, drawing her feet in and slamming the door before fastening the seat belt. Morio and Shade rode in back; I took shotgun. As soon as we were all situated, she pulled out the parking lot, and we headed over to visit Carter.

Carter, the son of a demon and a Titan, was far more than he appeared to be. He walked with a limp and a brace on one leg, and his shaggy red hair was meticulously kept in a trendy do. Two horns rose, spiraling, from his head, to belie his demonic heritage. Carter kept tabs on the demonic visitations to Seattle, and he had records going back for several hundred years. He also was a member of the Demonica Vacana society, a secret society that observed and—at times—interfered in the goings-on with demons in human society.

He lived in a modest basement apartment in the Broadway district, a haven to junkies and hookers. But he was in no danger, and a magical “go-away” zone surrounded the sidewalk outside the steps leading down to his apartment, discouraging lowlifes and criminals from hanging around.

I knocked at the door and, after a moment, it opened. Carter peered out, eyeing us, then stood back to allow us in. We hadn’t been around much the past couple of months and weren’t sure just how eager he was to see us.

“What can I do for you?” He was as polite as ever but seemed a little more aloof. Carter had been the foster father to a beautiful mute daughter named Kim, until recently.

“We have something to tell you, and we want your take on the issue.” He motioned for us to sit down in the worn but genteel living room. The velvet sofa was spotless; so were the thick rugs that covered up the concrete floor. Everything looked as it always had, but the apartment felt a little more empty.

Then the curtains to his kitchenette opened, and a man walked out, probably in his early thirties, carrying a tea tray with tea and cookies on it. He looked human, but that was no guarantee he was. But Carter smiled up at him, and motioned for the man to sit with us.