“Then you think this is our destiny?” she asked, taking the shampoo.

As I rinsed the foam out of my hair, I thought about it. Did I really believe in destiny? Did I believe we were meant to walk this path? Did I believe this was Henry’s day to die?

After a moment, I found my answer. “I don’t know, Kitten, but what I do know is this: We’re here now. We’re involved in this war—hell, we’re on the front lines. We’re facing several tough choices and our advisor is one of the Hags of Fate. Destiny or not, I’m listening to her. I’d rather take the chance she’s right—which the Hags of Fate usually are—than muck things up. Because the gods know I’m all too good at doing that. As far as Henry . . .”

My eyes watered again, but I stared into the spray of warm water and let it wash the tears away. “As far as Henry, he was a victim of circumstance. Maybe it was his time to go, maybe not. But it happened, and we lost a friend. And we’re going to make damned sure the motherfuckers who did this meet the end of our swords.”

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I’m right there with you on that.”

We finished bathing and toweled off. She ran up to her room to dress while I found a clean skirt and bustier, and then headed downstairs. We had a battle to plan, because I sure as hell didn’t want to lose anybody else.

Delilah brought up Google Earth on the computer and we typed in Stacia Bonecrusher’s address. Smoky was on his way—he’d called from a pay phone to let us know—and Trillian and Rozurial had returned home while we’d been in the shower. Iris had bathed, too, and she was grimly fixing sandwiches for everyone.

Trillian was helping her, and they worked quietly at the counter while Roz, Vanzir, Delilah, and I gathered around the kitchen table. Menolly was still asleep, but it wouldn’t be more than a few hours before she was able to join us. Meanwhile, we’d map out our plans and get everything ready to go.

“There she is, right near Marymoor Park, on Oakdale Street. Just through that strip of trees that divides the area from West Sammamish Parkway.” Delilah zoomed in and pointed out the house—a large, gated mansion set back from the street. From here, we could see several outbuildings in the back.

“Can we get there from Sammamish Parkway?”

“It’s not all that easy. If we come in from the other direction—from the freeway, we can find access roads leading into the area. Or we could park in Marymoor and sneak across the street and through the woods. I’m assuming we’re going in at night, given we need Menolly’s help?” She glanced up at me and I nodded. “Okay, I’ll start printing out more detailed maps here.”

Trillian carried the tray of sandwiches to the table and handed them out, while Iris finished pouring the hot cider. As we all gathered around, eating, Vanzir returned from Carter’s.

“Good news!” He tossed a notebook in front of me. In precise, stilted print, was a bevy of notes and as I began to read them, I realized they were about Stacia’s compound.

“Where did you get these?” I pushed them toward the center so everybody could see them.

“I ferreted them out. I decided what the hell. I smell like demon—they aren’t going to notice me as being that out of place. I snuck through the back to the edge of her lot and did a little scouting.”

Vanzir looked so proud I didn’t have the heart to chew him out, which is what I wanted to do. He could have put the whole operation in danger. Instead, I motioned for him to sit down. “Tell us what you found out.”

“Hold on,” a voice said from the front door. Smoky strode in and took his place at the table, giving Trillian a short nod. The two had walked around each other like they were on egg-shells, but so far no fights had broken out.

He looked troubled when I brought him up to speed. “I’d better make sure Estelle and St. George have some sort of protection out there. St. George told me he thought he saw something creeping through the bushes. It was probably a cougar or even a large dog, but we can’t be too careful.”

Estelle Dugan was Georgio Profeta’s caretaker. Georgio, or St. George as he fancied himself, had been trying to fight Smoky for years. He knew Smoky was a dragon and—in his fragile mind—he was the hero out to save the world against Smoky’s fire. But the poor man was slipping further and further from reality, and spending more and more time in fugues. Estelle looked after him and cleaned house, making sure that St. George was comfortable and as happy as he could be. I figured it wouldn’t be long before we heard that St. George had retired permanently from the world. At least mentally.

“That might be a good idea,” Iris said. “Neither one of them are fit to defend themselves and they live way out there alone. You’re not around much, so you should probably either move them into town, or hire them a guard.”

“Give me a few moments,” he said, disappearing into the living room. When he returned, he nodded. “Done. They’ll have their protection.” Just like that. I wanted to ask who he’d called but that could wait until later. When Smoky decided to do something, it got done and there was no wishy-washy mulling over the question.

“So tell us what you found out?” I said again.

Vanzir frowned. “The place is heavily guarded from the front, but they seem to feel that the barrier of the woods and the concrete retaining wall on the other side is enough to protect them. I think they have a hellhound or two running loose out there, but otherwise, I mostly saw a few scattered demons lounging around. I didn’t see Stacia.”

“Hmm . . . not exactly a compound,” I mused.

“No. And there’s another thing I found odd. There were wards around. I checked them out—and before you ask, yes, I was careful—and the wards aren’t set up against Fae or humans. They’re set up against demons. I was lucky I didn’t trip any of them off and that I stayed at the perimeter of her compound.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you make of that?”

“Do you think she’s afraid of rebel demons coming after her?” Delilah asked.

“No, I don’t. In fact, the wards are specifically set against common types Shadow Wing uses in his Degath Squads, as well as the more sophisticated types like me.”

“An odd turn of events.” I pondered the information for a few minutes. “Do you think it might have something to do with what Grandmother Coyote told us? She said something about dissension in the ranks, and that Stacia’s goal is aimed for something very different than we think.”

“Well,” Iris said. “What have you been thinking her goal is?”

“To prevent us from getting ahold of the seals. She’s working for Shadow Wing—so, wouldn’t that be her primary focus?”

“Not necessarily,” Vanzir said, a triumphant gleam flickering in his eyes. “It’s beginning to make sense now.”

We stared at him. “What?” I asked.

“You say that Stacia’s goal is something different than what we think. That dissension’s going on. Suppose Stacia means to move up the ranks in her own way? Suppose Stacia isn’t happy working for Shadow Wing and wants him out of the way?”

“What? Are you saying Stacia might be two-timing Shadow Wing?” Trillian narrowed his eyes. “Wouldn’t that be suicidal?”

“Not necessarily. You’d have to be very strong, have reliable allies, and be very careful. Stacia’s one of the strongest generals in the Sub Realms. She’s also a necromancer and I’m pretty sure that Shadow Wing doesn’t realize just how powerful she has become, or he’d have killed her already. She’s a threat.” Vanzir jumped up and began to pace. “What if . . . what if Trytian’s father got to her? What if she’s allied herself with the daemons?”

Trytian was the son of a powerful daemon—another race living in the Sub Realms—who had risen against Shadow Wing and was building an army. We’d heard of him before, and we knew that Trytian had been ordered to look for us, hoping to forge some sort of alliance. But we’d refused. Not a good idea to forge deals with any sort of demon, daemon, whatever you wanted to call them.

I caught up his idea. “What if Trytian and his group of rebels decided to go right for the heart of Shadow Wing’s entourage? Suppose that the daemons mean to gather the rest of the spirit seals for themselves and use them to launch an attack on Shadow Wing. Stacia could be shifting the portals to either prevent Shadow Wing from crossing over, or for some reason that would benefit her and her alone.”

“This is sounding more and more possible,” Iris said. “And not at all out of keeping with Demonkin. They move up the ranks through assassination.”

“Right,” I said. “Her note warned us to either team up or butt out and go home. Essentially, play ball or get out of the way. I’ve been trying to figure out why Shadow Wing would want our help ever since I read the note, but it just didn’t click. Now it does. Karvanak gave us a chance to join him, but it was just to lure us into giving him the spirit seal. He meant to kill us anyway. But Stacia . . .”

I bit my lip. “So, what do you think? Is Stacia trying to intimidate us into working with her? We seem to have a knack for finding the spirit seals and she may want to capitalize on that. And demons are notorious for using the power-over route rather than trying a little diplomacy.”

Everyone looked at Vanzir. He was the expert on demons around here. He’d lived in the Sub Realms far, far too long. Now, he rapped his fingers on the table. After a moment he nodded.

“I think you’re on to something. But even though it might seem like she’s on our side, don’t be fooled. She’s just another power-hungry demon looking at moving into the top spot. The minute she has no use for you, she’ll kill you.” He scratched his head. “Remember sometime back when I told you that Shadow Wing is going over the edge—that he refers to himself as the Unraveller?”

Delilah nodded. “You said you think he means to unmake the worlds.”

“Well, it looks to me like his top advisors are beginning to notice and are taking steps to ensure their own survival.”

“So the Bonecrusher is focused on self-preservation. I can’t blame her for that, but we can’t work with her.” I let out a long sigh and dug into my sandwich. The burst of flavor in my mouth from the roast beef and the mustard cut through my taste buds, making me smile.

Smoky leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “We have to take her out. Even if she is standing against Shadow Wing, it’s not because she loves humankind or the Fae. And meddling with the portals is dangerous, no matter what the reason. No—we have to defeat her without alerting the daemons or Shadow Wing.”

“If they’ve guarded against demons but not human or Fae, that means we can sneak in through the back. They may be protected up the wazoo out front, but it sounds like she left a hole, thinking the demons would be her main threat.” I picked out an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table and bit into it.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Iris said. “But you can count me in. I want to pay her a little vengeance in Henry’s name.”

I smiled at her. “Count all of us in, Iris. Because we’re going to need every last body we can get.”

CHAPTER 23

Fueled by a constant stream of tea, cookies, and sandwiches, by the time Menolly awoke we’d managed to sketch out a brief plan of action. The thought occurred to me more than once that we were potentially destroying one of Shadow Wing’s enemies, but I couldn’t see any way to harness her help. Stacia wouldn’t care about us. And who knew what she had planned once she took over his reign? And then—only if she was successful.

We cleared the guys out of the kitchen shortly before it was time for Menolly to wake up. Only Smoky, among all the men, knew the secret entrance to her lair and he was good for the secret. But I still didn’t want to take a chance. The more people who knew where to find my sister when she slept, the more danger there would be of the information leaking out.

Menolly silently slipped from behind the bookshelf-door against one kitchen wall. She stared at the pile of papers on the table and the maps, then at the jumble of dishes on the counter. She was wearing a pair of skin-tight leather pants, a sky blue turtleneck, and she’d caught her mass of burnished braids back into a high ponytail, both chic and arresting.

“Okay, what the hell is going on? Something’s up.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of blood, then popped it into the microwave.

“As soon as we brief you, we’re heading out. We’ve got a nasty fight. Delilah’s calling Chase now, asking if he might be able to join us, and Morio’s off asking Wilbur to come with us. I’ve already called Nerissa—she’s on the way.”

“Nerissa? What’s going on? She’s not a trained fighter—not in the way we are or Zachary is.” Nerissa was Menolly’s girlfriend, a werepuma in the Rainier Puma Pride. While they saw men on the side, they were exclusive in that they didn’t take any other women lovers. I had the feeling they were in this for the long haul, though neither would even consider the thought. But a gut feeling told me they made a wonderful pair.

“No, but she can babysit Maggie for us. She’ll be here in about an hour.” I let out a long sigh and waited until Menolly’s blood was warm and she brought it to the table. “Henry’s dead. Stacia blew up my shop this morning and killed him.”

“What?” Menolly’s eyes shifted from pale gray to bloodred and her fangs descended. As I told her the rest, she sipped the blood, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth, saying nothing. When I finished, she filled the bottle with soapy water and set it in the sink. She didn’t mention Henry’s death, but she placed her hand on my shoulder and leaned over the back of my chair to give me a rare kiss on the cheek. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get ready to rumble.”