“As is your pleasure, my sweet,” he said. And then, with one slow, sinuous motion, he drove himself deep into my core, stretching me to the point where I could only let out little screams.

The feel of Morio’s weight against my breasts, the cold steam that rose from his flared nostrils, the gentle touch of his silken fur against my skin—everything was so alien, so decadent that all I could do was give myself up to the passion. And yet it was all so right.

I met him, thrusting in return as he plunged into me. He was a demon, Morio was, with glowing topaz eyes and razor-sharp teeth and a face not wholly human. And yet, he was still my lover, my husband. Feral and wild, but all him. And then we were caught on the slipstream of energy, riding it as it raced so high and so far I wondered if we’d ever be free.

After Morio shifted back and I managed to stand on my own without turning into a mound of Jell-O, we jumped back in the shower for a quick rinse and hurried back to my room. Menolly had laid out our clothes and filled our packs, and we dressed and headed downstairs.

Menolly and Delilah were watching Jeopardy. Chase had shown up, and he was sitting next to Delilah, holding her hand. Maggie was on Menolly’s lap, playing with a Barbie doll wearing a ballerina outfit. She’d torn off the head and Menolly had replaced it with a head from a Yoda action figure. The look was so wrong, but somehow so right.

“Yobie, Yobie!” Maggie waved the doll at me.

I snickered. “Strong with the pink tutus, we are?”

Roz didn’t even bother to look up from the video game he was playing with Vanzir. They’d conned us into buying them an Xbox and were hooked on Halo. “I packed you some sandwiches when we figured out you weren’t going to be down for dinner. You can eat them on the way.”

But Vanzir shot a glance our way. “You guys sound like a herd of elephants. What the hell kind of freak show do you put on when you fuck and where can I get tickets?” His eyes were luminous and hard to read, but I could sense an edge of arousal behind the look. He flashed me that snarky grin that I didn’t trust, even though I knew it was just part of his nature. His demonic heritage was a lot darker than Morio’s.

I shook my head. “I’m not a roses-and-candy type of woman.”

“Didn’t think so.” He leapt on an opening Roz had left him and dusted their enemy. “More like handcuffs and whips. Next you’ll be ordering me into a ball-gag and have me begging, ‘Please whip my ass, Mistress Camille.’ ”

I so didn’t want to go there, for more reasons than one.

First, the thought of him crawling nekkid at my feet in a ball-gag so made me cringe. Submissive men were not my cup of coffee. Even more daunting was the thought that Vanzir’s life hung on a whim. If my sisters and I or Iris ordered him to crawl on the floor and bark like a dog, he’d have to obey or the soul binder living right below the skin of his neck that bound him to us would kill him immediately. None of us were comfortable with the idea that his life—in fact, every action he made—was entirely within our control. But the cold truth was that Vanzir might as well be our slave. We owned him, body and soul, and we could kill him with the whisper of an order.

I shook my head. “Dude, just wear earplugs next time.”

Chase arched one eyebrow as he glanced up at Morio and me. “In Vanzir’s defense, you were really loud. It sounded like you were having a knock-down, drag-out fight up there.”

“And this bothers you because. . . ?” As Chase’s ears began to turn bright red, I relented. “Eh, get used to it, Johnson. And be happy you weren’t in there with us. If the worst we get are a few bruises, we’re happy.” Though I had to admit, there’d been a few times Morio had gotten a little too excited and I’d ended up with some nasty bites.

Chase grunted and took another sip from the beer he was holding. “Klingon sex.”

“Say what?” I must have looked confused because Delilah burst into giggles.

“Klingons—on Star Trek. They’re pretty much tear-it-up in the sex department, like you and Morio.”

“Not to interrupt this lovely discussion, but are you ready?” Menolly glanced at the clock. It was quarter of eight. “Iris is in the kitchen making a list of chores for us to do while she’s gone.”

Delilah grimaced. “I forgot to clean out my cat box again and she carried it up to my room and dumped it on my bed.”

Ugh. “Kitten, face it, you’ve become a professional slob. Not so nice. Not so appealing. And I’ve seen that room of yours—it’s no spring clean fling. Whatever happened to the idea that cats are supposed to be clean?”

Delilah shrugged. “I dunno—maybe it’s the human side of me.”

Chase cleared his throat. “Don’t go blaming your human blood. I’m an FBH and I’m not a slob.” He turned to me. “I tell her to clean up when she stays at my apartment and she does it.” Delilah started to protest but just then, Iris poked her head around the corner.

“I’m ready. The list is on the refrigerator. Don’t just look at it, okay? Actually get your butts in gear and do some of the chores. And take care of our little Maggie girl,” she added, leaning over to give the baby gargoyle a big fat kiss on the head.

“Iss . . . Iss . . . kiss me.” Maggie held her arms up for another, then looked at me. Her wings fluttered gently and I could tell she was worried. She’d gotten very clingy over the past couple of months and according to the book we’d been using on the care and feeding of woodland gargoyles, this was a phase she’d be in for some time. As in several years. “Camey—kiss?”

I joined Iris and planted a soft kiss on the Magster’s cheek. She giggled and gave me a wet smooch on the nose.

“Be good, little one. Be safe.”

Menolly grinned. “We’ll treat her like fine china.”

Suddenly near tears, I nodded, biting back the fear that rose in my throat. I wanted to go home, I desperately wanted to see Trillian and bring him back, but with all the danger in our lives, I was terrified that something would happen while I was gone. Something I might be able to prevent if I were here.

Iris patted me on the hand. “I know, girl. I feel it, too. These are uncertain times. The potential paths are merging at a rapid rate. Life is becoming a blur of possibilities and so many of them dark. But we must take this trip. I know it in my bones. You and Morio are headed toward another leg of Fate’s journey, and I . . . I have to confront something I left behind long, long ago, if I’m to be free of my past and able to move on with my future.”

We all gazed at her, but she fell silent—the silence that said, “Do not ask, I will not speak.” When Iris didn’t want to talk about something, nothing would pry the info out of her.

“Not to mention the most important thing: We need to bring Trillian home.” Morio wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

We were dressed for the road. I was wearing a spidersilk skirt that skimmed the tops of my granny boots, and a burgundy leather corset under my unicorn’s-hide cloak. The cloak had come with the horn of the Black Unicorn when I earned the right to use it. Now, against all common sense, my instincts urged me to wear it back to Otherworld, and to take the horn with me. The items would put me in danger from any number of mages and wizards who’d sell their grandmother’s pussy to own the artifact and cloak.

Morio was wearing black jeans and a turtleneck, and he’d slipped on a hip-length gray buccaneer’s jacket with silver buckles. His motorcycle boots came up over the legs of his jeans.

Iris had changed into a walking skirt, indigo blue in color, and a matching long-sleeved top. Over the sweater, she’d donned a thin chain tunic. The links weren’t steel, but some bespelled silver, and it radiated with a faint white light. Over that, she’d draped a short capelet with hood, and her ankle-length blond hair was woven into braids that were wrapped around her head.

“Have your weapons?” Delilah asked, suddenly serious. “I wish we were coming with you.”

“I wish you were, too, but you have to stay here and keep guard. We’ll give Father your love.” I parted the side-slit in my skirt to show her my dagger, strapped to my thigh by a leather garter. “I’ve got my dagger right here, and the horn is in its secret pocket.”

Morio winked at her. “I never go anywhere without my daggers, throwing knives, and various goodies.”

“I like your goodies,” I said, sidling up to him.

Roz stood up and rummaged through his coat, then handed us each a Ziploc bag. Within each pouch were several assorted magical bombs. One, I recognized as a firebomb, a couple garlic bombs, and several others that I wasn’t entirely familiar with.

“Here,” he said. “You’re going in short a few bodies, you might as well have some backup firepower.”

As I gazed at him, I realized that they were all scared for us—really, truly frightened. I brushed his cheek with a kiss. “For luck. For all of us. If Smoky returns while we’re gone, tell him we had to leave.” If, not when. I still wasn’t sure how long Smoky could resist his father’s demands.

“And you, golden priestess?” Roz dropped to Iris’s side, kneeling to stare her in the face. “Do you have the weapons you need?”

She slowly nodded. “I have my wand and my daggers, and my charms and spells. But do me a favor. If Bruce calls, please tell him that I’m going to . . . to check on the obstacles that face us. He’ll understand what I mean.”

Menolly gave Iris a steady look, but Iris wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Menolly didn’t press the issue. “Come, I’ll drive you to the portal” was all she said, grabbing her keys.

We followed her out to her four-seater Jag. As we sped toward the woods where Grandmother Coyote lived, a volley of raindrops spattered the windshield. I glanced at Morio, and he took my hand, squeezing tightly. But the mood had shifted from excitement to foreboding, and as we silently waved good-bye to Menolly and began our trek through the copse toward Grandmother Coyote’s portal, I wondered what we’d be coming home to.

I looked up in vain, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Moon Mother, but she was hiding behind the clouds. I whispered a silent prayer to her that Stacia Bonecrusher would remain cloaked. At least until we returned home to help with the impending battle.

The portals were an interdimensional elevator, shifting us sideways through time and space. No “Beam me up, Scotty” buttons or gadgets needed, but still, the theory seemed to be the same. What Arthur C. Clarke had said about any sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic held true, only it played the other way, too. Magic could mimic tech, even as technology mimicked magic.

The portals were set up to keep the demons where they belonged, and they were fueled by the power of the spirit seals—at least the artificial portals—but now they were breaking down. The unnatural division between the realms, which had been forged during the Great Divide when the Fae had sundered the mortal realm from Otherworld and ripped the worlds apart, was wearing thin. Even though the spirit seals were still functioning, their magic was warping, mutating, and rogue portals had been opening up all over the place.

Queen Asteria—the Elfin Queen to whom we delivered the spirit seals as we found them—and Queen Tanaquar—the new Court and Crown of Y’Elestrial, our home city-state—had set a contingent of techno-mages to try to repair the rifts that were forming, but so far, they weren’t having much luck. And so the best they could do was to set guards at each portal.

One or two of the portals had imploded with their efforts. It was dangerous work and last we’d heard, one of the breakdowns had worsened the rip in the fabric of space. And the fact that Shadow Wing had one of the spirit seals didn’t help matters any.

As we approached the portal, Grandmother Coyote was waiting for us. She gazed at us implacably and I swallowed, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Morio’s father had spent time living with her when he was a child.

She motioned to me and I stepped forward. Hell, what had I done now? The steel-tooth crone had a certain magnetism that made her alluring in a run-to-your-death kind of way. Her face was a topographical map, ridged with the ravines and valleys and mountains that time forged in flesh.

And in truth, no one but the other Hags of Fate would ever know if Grandmother Coyote had ever been young. Or if she’d been born at all. The Hags, along with the Elemental Lords and the Harvestmen, just were. The only true immortals, they’d existed long before the planet was formed, and they’d live on after the Great Mother turned to ashes in the flare of the sun’s death throes.

I knelt. She tweaked her finger, motioning for me to join her. “Camille, my child, you wear a cloak of heavy magic into your homeland.”

With an inward groan, I trotted over to her side. Grandmother Coyote had a habit of handing out unasked for advice that came with a steep price, but no one in their right mind skipped town on the payment.

Sighing, I decided to skip the small talk. “I know. The unicorn horn and the cloak, but my gut warned me to take them.”

“You are right to heed your intuition,” she said. “But no. I’m speaking of your connection to my grandson here. The Soul Symbiont ritual. It was in your destiny to bind yourself to him and the dragon, but now the ritual will be strengthened, and so will you. Be cautious.”

Oh great. Warnings. Danger, danger, Will Robinson. “Is there anything else I should know?” I finally asked. She’d extract payment regardless of the number of questions, so I might as well learn all I could.