“This is unacceptable.” He glared at me and Dom. Before either of us could say anything, Halston flicked one hand, dismissing us. “There is no waiting room, but my office is through that door.” He pointed a manicured finger. “Go.”

I could tell that there was no point in arguing with him.

Halston’s office was spartan, physically and psychically cold, without a single picture or personal item in view. The screen saver on his computer was the standard factory-installed image. I found the whole effect disturbingly impersonal.

Time passed slowly. We waited without talking for hours. I could hear things going on, the guards standing outside the office door wore radios, but there was nothing worth discussing with Dom.

Finally the door opened and the doctor stepped wearily through. He stripped off his jacket, dropping it into a plastic bin that opened with a foot pedal, and said, “I’ve got him stable enough to travel. I’ve set up a magical barrier that will protect his wounds from any further contamination. He needs surgery as soon as possible, so I’ve arranged to fly him to UCLA Medical Center. The medevac chopper will arrive in five minutes.” I opened my mouth to speak but Halston held up one hand, forestalling me.

“The complete lockdown is being lifted, but special safety protocols are still in place, so under normal circumstances, neither of you would be allowed to leave yet. However, I’ve checked with the warden and he says that one of you can fly out with Mr. Levy if there’s room in the helicopter and the pilot agrees to take you.”

“You go,” Dom said to me. “There are some things I want to check into before I leave. And you should be with Isaac.”

I nodded, hoping Dom knew what he was doing. Halston slid on another jacket, then opened the door and escorted me into the main room and to Isaac’s bedside.

Isaac looked like hell. He’d been beaten and left to die in the middle of the minefield. Despite a severe concussion and multiple broken bones, including an open fracture of his right thigh, he’d somehow managed to drag himself into the shade of a large rock. Had the mines been active, that movement would have killed him. But I knew from the reports I’d overheard from outside Warden Davis’s office that the mines had all been deactivated. Every single one.

Despite that fragment of luck, he had nearly died from a combination of shock, the effects of his injuries, and dehydration. I wasn’t sure what Halston had done, but Isaac was hooked up to several machines and had more than one IV running. I assumed he was heavily sedated, but even so, he kept making small, desperate sounds that hurt to hear.

I closed my eyes, concentrating, trying to speak to Isaac mind-to-mind. He was too far gone, his thoughts totally incoherent. That was terrifying. “Has anyone called his wife?”

“I did.” I hadn’t noticed the woman in scrubs before. I’m usually more observant than that, and it bothered me that I’d missed her. “Mrs. Levy is on her way to Los Angeles.”

“Good.”

* * *

I don’t remember much about the flight from the Needle to UCLA Medical Center. I was too worried about Isaac to notice anything else. There was a close call—his heart stopped and I was shoved aside so they could lower the magical barrier and use the paddles on him. We were greeted on the medevac landing pad by ER doctors and nurses with a gurney. They wheeled him off, already working on him, as I climbed carefully out of the helicopter. I stayed low even though the rotors were set well above my height. Sometimes you have to listen to your instincts.

Waving my thanks to the pilot and the EMTs, I hurried out of the way. As soon as I was clear, the chopper rose from the pad and roared out of sight.

By the time I reached the lobby, Isaac was being prepped for surgery even while other medical personnel worked to stabilize his less-urgent injuries.

I sat in the waiting room blaming myself for what happened to Isaac and dreading seeing Gilda. Just as they were wheeling him out of the ER Gilda arrived with John Creede. I was surprised to see her—it usually takes at least two hours to get to Los Angeles from Santa Maria.

Gilda ran to me, taking me in her arms and holding me so tight I thought my ribs might break. She looked like hell—her hair a mess, eyes red, makeup smeared from tears. For the first time she looked old, her features gray with worry and exhaustion. Her only jewelry was her wedding set.

I tried to be reassuring and realistic, even though I didn’t have a lot to tell her. “He’s tough, Gilda. He’s hurt, and the leg was pretty bad…”

“They found him because of you. If you hadn’t gone there…” She choked up, unable to finish the sentence.

I eased her into a chair, gently breaking her panic-tight grasp, then took the chair beside her. She held one of my hands in both of hers. John Creede took the seat on her other side, giving me a nod of acknowledgment. While Gilda composed herself, John explained that she had called him and begged him to fly her north on his corporate plane. He hadn’t hesitated.

I gave him a grateful smile. It had been incredibly kind of him to bring her—though since Isaac was the Grand Master of the West Coast, it was probably important that John stay on his good side—and it was considerate of him to stay in the background, letting Gilda get the comfort she so desperately needed.

I wasn’t surprised at his kindness and tact. John is a good man. It was that, as much as his good looks and charm, that had drawn me to him, and that kindness was what I’d missed most about him since our relationship had ended.

We sent in word that Isaac’s wife had arrived, and after a little while one of the doctors came out and asked for a private word with Gilda. John and I made ourselves scarce, heading for the cafeteria. As we walked down the hall, I took a good look at him. It looked as if Gilda had caught him at the office—he was dressed for business, wearing a medium gray suit with a pale blue shirt and navy tie. He didn’t look rumpled, despite the flight. He’d cut his hair quite short since I’d last seen him, close enough to his head to keep it from curling, and there wasn’t a hint of stubble on his cheeks. It was a very formal look, and I knew him well enough to know that while he did formal well, he preferred not to. So I was pretty sure he’d interrupted important business—perhaps even a meeting or client appointment—to help.

“Thanks so much for bringing Gilda,” I said as we entered the cafeteria. I got in line ahead of him, picking up a yellow plastic tray and prepacked silverware.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” John slid a tray onto the counter beside mine. “You’ve known them longer, but Isaac and Gilda are my friends, too. In fact, I’m technically his apprentice.”

“Really?” I hadn’t realized that. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it. John was an adept-class mage, how could he possibly be an apprentice?

“He’s training me to replace him. That way if he retires, or dies, I’ll be ready to take over his position.” John looked seriously at me. “So I need to know what we are dealing with.” It wasn’t really a request.

“I’ll tell you, but not here. And before I do, I need to eat.” I hadn’t eaten since my bowl of ice cream that morning with Dom. I wasn’t hungry, in fact I felt a little queasy. But I remembered from painful experience that it was only a matter of time before bloodlust would hit, and hit hard, if I didn’t get some nutrition into my body.

John reached in front of me to pick up a small saucer filled with a small stack of orange Jell-O squares.

I love orange Jell-O and this was plain, without any chunks of fruit in it. Maybe if I let the squares melt in my mouth, I’d be able to eat it. It was worth a try anyway. I put a similar saucer onto my tray and moved forward. The soup of the day was tomato, so I asked for two bowls, then got a couple of cans of soda. I’d drink one with my meal and save the other for later. It had already been a long day and I suspected it was going to be an even longer night.

John insisted on paying for our dinner. I didn’t argue. I followed him to a table in the far corner of the room, away from most of the few doctors and nurses who were scattered at tables around the room. We didn’t have much privacy, but we wouldn’t be overheard if we spoke softly.

“So, what is going on?” John asked. “Gilda told me that you came to see Isaac and that he left almost immediately after you did. He said it was ‘business’ but wouldn’t tell her anything more. Then he disappears, and nobody knows what’s become of him, until he’s found at the Needle, beaten half to death.”

I cringed at his tidy summation of the facts. This situation was at least partly my fault and I felt more than a little guilty about it. I’d been the one to drag Isaac into this. I’d gone to him for advice, brought the problem to his attention. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gone to the Needle, wouldn’t be in critical condition right now. Yes, it had been his choice to go … and to go alone. But that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

Did I really want to risk anyone else? No. On the other hand, John is a big boy, and despite our disagreements, I value his opinion. So I decided to give him an edited version of what was going on.

I hadn’t gotten very far in describing what had gone down at the Needle when he started shaking his head. He didn’t interrupt, but he was obviously having trouble believing me.

“John,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes—and for a second I felt the pull of the old attraction between us. His magic had always had a deep, frequently sexual, pull for me. I shook my head, to clear it. “I know. Everyone keeps telling me that Connor Finn can’t possibly be working magic, that there are protections built into the prison that make it impossible. And yet, it happened. I saw that hologram. Damn it, it was him, talking to me, ordering his men to leave me to burn in the sun. It was him.”

John reached over and took my hand. We both jumped at the tingle of electricity that passed between us. Magic, mine and his, mingled for just an instant. I forced myself to set aside the memories, both good and bad, of the time we’d shared. There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, quickly suppressed.