I opened my eyes as I felt myself become solid again, or at least I thought I did. It smelled like wood smoke, burnt amber, and ozone, all characteristic of Al's kitchen. There was a soft scrape of my foot on stone when I moved it, but it was pitch-black, the echo of two people's breathing coming back with an unfamiliar, acidic scent.

"Al?" I ventured, his harrumph beside me coming as small comfort. "A moment," he said elegantly, and I jumped when there was a sliding crash. "Mother pus bucket!" the demon swore, and I wished I could instantly set a light with my thoughts like Pierce. But the spell I knew was a curse, and took me forever and a handful of stuff to do it.

Al, though, could do it, and a small globe of gray light blossomed four feet away to show the demon holding his shin and the shattered remains of the slate table that had been in front of the hearth. What it was doing over here was the question.

Seeing my raised eyebrows, Al brushed himself off and tugged his frock coat straight. I went to say something, then hesitated, staring slack-jawed at the chaos the once orderly room was in. Al's light wasn't bright, but the damage was obvious. One cabinet was a burnt ruin, the books covered with a brown slime. Scorch marks went all the way to the ceiling. Firewood littered the floor among the shattered remains of the slate table. The tapestry of shadowy shapes I swore moved when I wasn't looking was slumped in a corner, exposing the wall it had once hidden. The stone was twisted, as if something had melted the wall trying to get in or out, but I'd bet the damage was old and not from Pierce.

A huge chunk of rock was missing from the circular fire pit, and I searched the mess until I found it against Al's largest, now-dented spell pot. Above it, the candle chandelier was dark, the candles having melted into splattered puddles that had completely ruined the dark cushions running atop the stone bench about the central fireplace.

"Pierce did this?" I breathed as Al tried to yank open a drawer, the tight wood not giving an inch.

"Adaperire!" he shouted, and my hands jumped to my zipper, yanking it back up again as every door, cupboard, and box suddenly opened.

"Your boyfriend is a pain in the ass," he said, looking embarrassed as he plucked three black candles from the drawer.

"He's not my boyfriend." I gingerly touched the goo on the books to find that, like Jenks's dust, it came away cleanly, rolling into a ball and falling to the floor. Where the goo was, the fire hadn't burned. Clearly Al had used it to protect his precious spell library.

Al looked at the empty mantel where the candlestick holders used to be, his expression going tighter yet. "Rachel, be a dear and see if you can find the sconces? I believe they're at the tapestry. That's where he was when I threw them at him."

I couldn't help my smile as I crossed the room. No wonder Al had been ticked.

"There's nothing funny about destroying my kitchen," the demon said as I used my foot to feel the crumpled tapestry and look for the metal candle holders. I didn't want to touch the oily fabric that had been hiding a melted wall.

Finally I found one of the holders, and using a chunk of burnt firewood, I levered the tapestry up, shuddering when the colors shifted to hide underneath. I wasn't going to reach under there, so I flipped it over.

"Got em," I said, breathing easier as I picked my way back across the broken room. Al had placed our chairs back where they belonged, an expanse between them to show where the table ought to go. He had already started a fire in the small hearth, and he tossed the table's legs into the larger, central hearth, adding torn cushions and whatever else he didn't want before muttering in Latin and exploding it into flame.

The light from the two fires was brightening the room to where his dim globe was inconsequential. Without direction, I set the black candles in the holders and lit them myself. I felt kind of bad about the mess, and I swooped about, finding ley-line equipment and trying to put things back to rights. The clatter of Al doing the same seemed loud. It might sound funny, but I'd spent a lot of time here, and seeing the mess Pierce had created made me feel... violated.

Al noticed what I was doing, and with another sheepish look, he touched his dimly lit globe and the light went out.

"Why didn't - ," I started.

"I just make a brighter light?" he said, head down as he fingered his five-sided pyramid. Eyes meeting mine, he held my gaze. "It's glowing brighter than the sun," he said. "That's all the light that can get through the smut."

I couldn't hold his gaze, and I turned away. "Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know."

"No worries, lovey," he murmured, his gloves showing the black of ash as he set the pyramid away. "It's a small thing."

"I meant about Pierce trashing the kitchen," I said, not wanting him to think I cared.

His eyebrows were raised. "As did I." Spinning to make his coattails furl, he crossed the cleared floor to an intact cabinet. "We will find Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos most easily by way of his demon mark," he said as he opened the cabinet, reaching into the back of the clutter for a folded bit of paper. "And for that, I need this."

He turned, handing it to me triumphantly. It was a page from a spell book, the charm handwritten and smelling old. There were spots of black on it, and with a start I realized that they weren't drops of ink, but blood. Nick's blood. My thoughts zinged back to his demon mark, and I looked at Al. "This is from the basement library," I said, and he smiled with his flat, blocky teeth. "From the night you tore my throat out, then sold us a trip to the church to save my life."

"Two demon marks in one night, yes. Clever, clever little witch for you to guess! Capital good instincts!" he said, just about bursting. "What bit of bloodied thing do you have of Trenton to find him? Nothing?" he almost drawled. "What a shame. You should rectify that. Give him a bloody nose next time you see him, and save the hanky."

I sighed, wondering what bit of bloodied thing in that cabinet was mine. There had to be about fifty things in there, all from people halfway belonging to Al.

"Now, we have to do this a little backward," Al was saying, pulling me to that ugly face he used as a landing pad and having to kick the tapestry out of the way. My face went cold, and I looked to the other side of the room. I knew it had been over there.

"Wait. Wasn't that over there?" I said, hesitating, but Al yanked me forward, pulling me to stand right next to him.

"Probably," he said, kicking backward at it again. "I can't pop into reality uninvited unless I'm checking on you. I'll get you there, and you summon me. Immediately." His eyes narrowed, and I shoved his tightening grip off my arm. "It's that trust thing you've been whining about," he growled. "I trust you to bring me along."

"And I trust you not to throttle him," I said, and he made a pained face.

"Abso-o-olute-e-e-ly," he said, so slowly I doubted him. "Tap a line, Rachel."

Doubt or not, I tapped the line, feeling the curious ache of using a line this side of reality. My eyes widened when the bit of paper flamed up in Al's white-gloved hands. "You can only do this once?" I asked, amazed as he breathed in the smoke, eyes closing in bliss, but my shock redoubled when I realized the paper wasn't being burned.

"It's not real flame," Al said, then gave me a shove. "Go!"

"Hey!" I shouted in protest, but my lungs compressed and the line took me. With an almost absurd quickness, I popped back into existence in a dark, low-ceilinged room. It was stuffy, with the light coming from a bank of electronic equipment. I could smell stinky socks and what seemed like too much occupation. The walls were painted cinder block, and there was the tang of mold. Flat brown carpet lay over what felt like cement. Metal and wood racks made aisles from floor to ceiling, all holding wooden crates wired shut.

Oh. My. God. Am I in Nick's mother's basement? But then I decided that it was more like one of those bio shelters they made during the Turn with filtered air and bottled water.

"Al, I summon you," I mouthed, and with that tiny bit of invitation, I felt his heavy presence mist into existence beside me. He made a low growl of sound, pleasure and satisfaction. It went right to my middle and burned. I knew what he was feeling, and I cursed myself. It was the thrill of not knowing if he could trust me.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I breathed, feeling small with Al beside me.

Al raised his hand, a steady finger pointing out a rumpled shape sleeping on an old military cot. "Go get him, itchy witch," he breathed in my ear, and the burning sensation in me redoubled. "Let me see you make your first kill."

I knew he was speaking metaphorically, but I couldn't help being reminded of Jenks's wildlife programs of a lioness wounding prey to let her cubs practice bringing it down. My jaw clenched and I shoved the thought away. Nick had lied and tried to scam me in what would have put me in jail after I saved his ass from militant Weres. I didn't owe him anything, not even my respect. It wasn't as if I was going to snatch him.

I crept forward, my sneakers silent on the musty carpet. Nick was snoring. I stopped when he took a deep breath, a frown line showing as his eyes opened, not moving as he stared at the ceiling. "Shit," he breathed, and I realized the reek of burnt amber had given us away.

Pushing myself into motion, I jumped for him, landing on his bed and pinning him there. It would have been a simple matter to throw me off, but he didn't, staring up at me in shock, his brown eyes wide. "Hi, Nic-k," I said, hitting the k hard. "How's it hanging, buddy?"

Hidden by the covers, I felt his hands move, guessing that he was angling for something. "You," he said, his eyes darting behind me to Al.

"Me," I drawled, shifting my weight to stop his motion to his pillow. "That's Al, and you, of course, are the rat." I leaned in, inches from his face. "Isn't this nice, all of us here together? Do me a favor. Don't get up. Just sit there and listen, and maybe I can convince Al not to steal everything in your little rat hole here."

"You bitch!" Nick spat. "You did it again! You brought a demon into my home!"

My face twisted. "Yeah, but this time, I did it on purpose."

I could hear Al humming "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," punctuated by little mmms of discovery as he unearthed who knew what from the crates behind me. I'd seen Nick's apartment. What he had here in his last-ditch hidey-hole was probably priceless.

"How did you find me?" he said, anger creasing his brow.

I pushed his hair back to run a finger over the scar Al had given him. "How do you think? He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake."

From the corner, Al shifted his tune. "So be good, or I'll rip your fucking head off."

Nick sat up, shoving me back to a stand. In his hands was an amulet. Al hissed, but I was way ahead of him, snatching up the clock and swinging it by the cord into Nick's fist.

Swearing, Nick dropped the amulet and I kicked it away. "Don't touch it, Al!" I warned when the demon went for it, and Al stopped, looking at me indignantly, until a demon-size bubble rose from it. If he'd been anywhere nearer, he would've been caught.

"I knew it was a trap, itchy witch," the demon said, but then a flash of white exploded against the inside of the circle. I felt the bubble go down, leaving a white disk of ash where the carpet had burned away. "But I didn't know it was a lethal one," he continued, and I fought the urge to smack the sniveling human. Nick had wanted me in it, not Al.

Nick bolted, and instinct kicked in. Lunging, I grabbed him around the waist, letting go before we hit the floor, then rolled into a stand and smacked a front kick in his middle. His breath whooshed out, and he clutched his stomach. Swell, he was in his underwear. I hated arguing with men in their underwear. "Get up!" I shouted, hoping there was no one upstairs.

"Ohhh, nice one, little grasshopper," Al said as he rummaged through a crate.

Ignoring Al, I yanked Nick to his feet and shoved him back on the bed, where he hunched over his knees, feet on the floor. "Poor Nicky," I said as he struggled for air. "Can't make a bubble cause I'll just shove you into it. Can't tap a line cause we're better than you. And your pixy is gone. Don't you even wonder where he is? Or did you send him to spy on us?"

Nick looked up, ears red and having gotten in only one good breath. "What do you want?" he wheezed. "You want something, bitch, or you wouldn't be here." Hunched over, he glared at Al. "Don't touch that!"

From the edge of my sight, I watched Al raise a multiple-pipe instrument to his lips. It looked old, and with his fingers bare of his usual gloves, he played a few notes, then carelessly tossed it back into the crate. Nick cringed, and I brought his attention back to me with a shove that pushed him into the wall.

"I want you," I said, answering his question. "Or more specifically, I want your nasty, devious, light-fingered skills. Wanna job?"

Nick looked up - I hadn't hit him that hard - and smiling, as if I'd just given him the upper hand, he pointed to his pants on the chair. Wary, I checked the pockets before throwing them at him. "Right," he said as he shoved one foot, then the other, in. "Why would I help you?"

Behind me, I heard Al sigh dramatically. "I told you, itchy witch. Let me. Violence works so-o-o much faster."

My eye twitched at the sound of Nick's zipper. "Oh, he'll do it," I said, tension winding tighter. "He won't be able to resist."

Eyebrows raised, as if asking for permission, Nick clicked on the small bedside lamp sitting on a milk crate. His scars became visible, reminders of our beginnings. "I'm not doing a job for you," he said as he roughly pulled a white T-shirt on to hide them. "I don't care that you have your demon on a leash."

Al growled, and I hoped he'd keep playing the good cop. Maybe I needed to get rougher.

"Al leashed? Right," I said, standing with my hip cocked. "The only reason you're not on the auction block buying me a set of rooms in the ever-after is because I don't want you."

Nick hesitated, eying me as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of a plaid shirt. Long fingers moving dexterously, he stood before me in the low-ceilinged room and did up the lowest four buttons. "You admit you're a demon," he said bitingly.

My face burned, and I stayed silent.

"What do you want?" Nick yanked a pair of white socks from a pile and sat on his bed.

Al was rummaging again, and ignoring his muttered prediction of doom, I said, "I want you to help me steal something."

Nick, true to form, sucked on his teeth and eyed me. "What?"

He didn't mean "what" as in "excuse me." He meant what did I want him to steal, and a quiver rose and fell. I almost had him.

Nick waited for me to answer, and when I didn't, he pointed to his boots, out of his reach. "Fair enough," he said. "What's in it for me?"

Smiling, I felt his laces, sensing the charmed silver in them. Nice. "Nothing," I said as I yanked the laces free and tossed him the first boot. "You get nothing. Not a damn thing."

His second boot landed next to the first, untouched. Sitting on the low cot, Nick put his elbows on his knees and looked up at me from around his shaggy hair. An almost-hidden disappointment was in him for my having found his means of possible escape, and I could nearly see him reassessing the situation. "Remove my mark, and I'll think about it," he grumbled.

Al came forward, and as I handed him the laces, he intoned, "It's my mark, not hers."

"So she owes you a mark instead of me," Nick said. His tight face turned to me. "I bet you could get rid of it overnight, Rachel. Or don't you charge for your services?"

I hardly felt Al's hand on my arm as I shoved it off. Feeling like Ivy, I sauntered to him, confident, in control, and pissed to the ends of the earth. Did he just call me a slut? Again? "I'm not taking your lousy little mark," I said, close enough to do some damage if I tried. "I'm still trying to get rid of the one you foisted on me."

Knowing he'd gotten to me, Nick smiled. "We have nothing to talk about. Get out."

This wasn't going well. Maybe Al was right and I didn't have it in me to be the bad cop.

Al was gleefully rubbing his hands together, and my promise to abandon reality if I couldn't do this came crashing down on me. "I told you!" he crowed. "What color do you want your walls painted, Rachel? Snag him now and be done with it."

Nick's face got ugly, and I held up a hand. "You owe me, Nick."

Grabbing an unlaced boot, he shoved his foot into it, hard. "I don't owe you anything."

"How do you figure that?" I shot back, hand on my hip.

He wedged his foot in the other boot. "The focus?" he mocked.

"You sent it to me!" I said loudly.

"I thought you were dead!" he shouted back.

"And you never bothered to check!" I said. "Not my problem!"

Al chuckled as he tried on tribal masks, and I frowned, not liking him watch us argue.

"I had to get it back," Nick said sullenly. "I'd already promised it to the coven."

"And you gave them me instead," I said bitterly. "I was in Alcatraz, Nick. They want to give me a lobotomy. They lace the food with compounds that block your ability to do magic. I don't owe you shit."

He stood, and seeing a hint of remorse, I crossed my arms over my chest. If he was going for the door, he'd find himself on the floor again. "Maybe lying to me is acceptable to you," I said. "And maybe selling information to demons about me is not a problem. And maybe I was a naive sucker of a girl who deserved everything she got." My voice was rising, but I couldn't help it. "But if that's what I was to you, then that's what I was. My mistake for thinking I was something else."

I sounded like a hurt girlfriend, and I hated it. I thought I'd let this go, but apparently not.

"I've learned one thing through this crapfest, Nick," I said, forcing myself to be calm. "People treat you like they see you, not who you really are. Let's say you're right. Let's say I'm the bad guy here, and you're the poor abused human. Is that who you want to be? The helpless human? 'Cause that's not how I saw you. And if I'm the big bad witch who is unreasonable and mean, then that's how I'm going to act."

A year of bottled-up frustration surfaced, and his eyes widened as I came at him.

He raised a hand to block my punch, and I shifted my grip, levering his own arm under his chin as I shoved him back into the wall. Yelping, he froze when I used my free hand to find his nuts. That fast, it was over, and Al was laughing.

"Still think you don't owe me anything?" I shouted, inches from his face, and giving a little squeeze. Okay, maybe I could do bad cop.

"Ow," he said, not moving apart from his chest as he breathed fast. "Let go, Rachel."

"Why?" I said. "You don't use em!"

"I'm not helping you," Nick said breathily. "You can go screw a demon for all I care."

From behind me Al chuckled. "No offense, but this is a lot more entertaining."

Having made my point, I let go and backed up out of his reach. I was shaking inside, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. Not by a long shot. "You're not the man I thought you were," I said. "Thief extraordinaire? Right. Fine. I'll go talk to Rose. I should have gone to her anyway. Come on, Al. Nick doesn't have the guts for it."

"Rose?" Al said, confused as he looked at me from around an open crate.

"Yeah, the gal at the place with the thing?" Turning my back on Nick, I went to the middle of the room and stood as if waiting for Al to join me so we could pop out. In a bad temper that wasn't faked, I scoffed, "You don't think you're the only thief I've run into, do you? The Turn diamond? Or England's lodestone? Who do you think lifted them?" I was making this up as I went along, but the diamond was legendary, as was the lode-stone.

Catching my drift, Al sidled closer to me. "You are a versatile itchy witch," he cooed, and I wiggled my fingers to get his lips away from my ear.

Nick, though, had paused. "No one's lifted them," he said, doubt on his face. "They're right where they belong, under enough security to kill a cockroach."

I smiled brightly. "I'm sure you're right. Al? We've got only a few hours."

"Quite right!" he said brightly, and I slipped my arm in his, dropping one foot behind the other to pose with him. God, Nick was easier to manipulate than my brother.

My heart pounded as I felt the line take us, and I had a moment of panic. This didn't count. If Al took me out of here before I could finish the deal, it didn't count!

"Wait!" Nick's voice came thinly, and I heard Al swear, but we misted back into existence to see Nick standing there with his long, sensitive hand outstretched in doubt. A surge of adrenaline and sexual excitement pulsed in me. Shit, I'm not getting turned on over this?

Al must have sensed it, because he leaned closer, his hand curving around my side, then withdrawing lightly across my back to make me quiver. "Sweet mother of chaos," he breathed. "Rachel, you are indeed one of us. Have your time in the sun. You're worth the extra wait."

Licking my lips, I stood, unable to move. The blood pounded low in my groin, and I clenched my teeth. Damn it, I was not getting turned on by besting Nick in a game of bluff!

Am I?

"What's the take?" Nick asked warily, eying me so closely that I had to wonder if he knew what was going through my mind.

Swallowing, I pulled from Al. "I want to steal something from Trent." Something more than his hoof pick this time.

Al dropped back, humming happily about this little witch of mine.

Nick looked me up and down. "Lab, office, or living quarters?"

Damn it, I think Yvegot him! There'd be the obligatory pissing contest, but he'd do it. "Thief's choice, just not his living quarters."

Nick grabbed a couple of twist ties from the trash and laced a boot closed. "Why not his rooms?"

I shrugged, shifting farther from both men. "I promised I wouldn't."

"Can I take a person?" Nick asked, and I recoiled.

"No. A thing. I don't care what it is. I figured you'd know better than me what Trent has in his basement that he's not sharing with the world. It has to be something embarrassing and sensational. Something he wants back, bad, but doesn't want to admit having."

Nick looked up from tying his second boot with a twist tie. "Blackmail? He gets the coven off your case or you go public with it?" His head shook. "He'll just kill you."

"Which is why I'm giving it back before he has the chance," I said. I didn't think Trent would kill me. If I died, even disgraced and shunned, his biolabs would hit the front page.

Nick looked at me in disbelief. "You want me to steal just so you can give it back?"

"That's my itchy witch for you," Al said with a sigh. "Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos, I will take your mark back for everything in this room."

"Only if I'm not included on the list," he shot back, and Al scrunched his features up in disappointment.

"Damn."

"It's a prank, Nick," I said, bringing the conversation back to me. "You know, for fun? Trent is going to announce his candidacy for city mayor on Friday. The press will be there. I'm going to give it back then."

His expression brightening, Nick bobbed his head. "He'll press charges."

My breath puffed out of me. "Only if I'm really lucky," I muttered.

Nick looked at me, read my tells, and knew I wasn't lying. I needed hira, and that alone was enough. Not because he liked me or wanted to help, but because when it was done, I was going to owe him, and he'd never let me forget it.

Still balancing on a no, he eyed me. "I don't see what you're getting here," he said.

Smiling, I sauntered forward, moving slowly as I put my arms around his neck and leaned in. "That's because you're a thief, Nicky," I whispered, lips next to his ear. Pulling back, I gave him a kiss. It was dead. There was nothing there. No hatred, no anger, no love. Nothing. I didn't care. He was a means to an end. Nothing more.

Our lips parted, and I waited. I could see in his expression that he knew it was done. And somehow that moved our relationship to a completely unexpected level. Business.

"I know exactly what you need," he said, and I smiled.