The worst possibility was that my new Eidolon BFF had managed to enter my dreamscape. But I didn’t think that was the case. Eidolons prefer their victims awake. Guilt tastes best, I guess, when sleep doesn’t dull its piquancy.

I replaced the dagger on my nightstand, glancing at my bedside clock as I did: nearly four A.M. I might as well get up. Tina was coming by after school so I could quiz her on a chapter of Russom’s Demoniacal Taxonomy, the demonology textbook I’d loaned her. I hadn’t taken her back as my apprentice, but if the kid wanted to study demonology on her own time, I didn’t mind helping her.

I climbed out of bed. It was too early to call Kane. More than anything, I wanted to go over to his place and slip under the covers. Kane always slept on his right side. I’d snuggle up against his muscled back, curving my body into his, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent. He’d wake up and reach for me and—

And hear that I wasn’t going with him on retreat.

When would I break the news—before? After? Why not just blurt it out at the height of passion? My fantasy melted like a snowflake in a hot skillet.

I’d talk to Kane tonight, when I met him at Creature Comforts. We’d both be relaxed, and I could tell him face-to-face. I’d say that he was right, that I was rushing ahead too fast and summer would be a better time. Maybe even fall. He’d understand. He’d probably agree with me. We’d discuss the issue calmly and maturely, like adults. Everything would be fine.

Everything would be just peachy-keen-wonderful-fine—as long as Simone Landry stayed away. Yeah, like that would happen. I headed for the shower, wondering if there was a listing for “Kidnappers” in the Yellow Pages.

SPRAYED BY WATER AS HOT AS I COULD STAND IT, I SCRUBBED and scrubbed. My skin turned lobster red. And still I scrubbed, trying to remove all traces of clinging Eidolon slime. Guilt is like that. Once it comes to the surface, it sticks.

Juliet would probably have a Shakespeare quote for the occasion. Lady Macbeth and her damned spot or some such thing.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. My big, fluffy towel chafed my raw skin. You can’t wash off Eidolon slime—I knew that. It’s a psychic substance, not a physical one. But that didn’t stop me from feeling as ooze-covered as some slime monster in a horror film.

Perfectly normal after an encounter with an Eidolon. It didn’t mean I was infested. Maybe the Eidolon would honor our agreement and stay away.

Uh-huh. And then it would spend the weekend in Acapulco sunning itself on the beach beside Simone Landry.

Mab said compassion is a good thing, and I was sure it was true. Be that as it may, I had to admit it: I’d let the demon manipulate my emotions. It was exactly what I’d advised dozens of clients not to do. There’s only one way to deal with guilt. You’ve got to maintain a strictly logical mind-set. The moment feelings come into play—like going all soft because you hear the word “please”—guilt pounces. I knew that. But feelings are so damn tricky.

Compassion, hah, I thought as I went into my bedroom to get dressed. I should have killed that Eidolon the minute I’d finished questioning it. Because there’s one essential thing to remember about guilt: Once you give in to it, it always comes back. Guilt had taken over my dream. It had left me terrified and sick upon awakening. And despite all my scrubbing, it still clung to my skin.

The bronze blade of my dagger glinted as I lifted it from the nightstand. The next time that Eidolon approached me, I’d be ready. The damn demon wouldn’t fool me twice.

STANDING IN THE DOORWAY TO MY APARTMENT, I WATCHED the elevators down the hall. Clyde had called to let me know that Tina was on her way up. The bell dinged, the doors opened, and out came a walking pile of boxes.

“What’s all this?” I asked, taking the top couple of boxes from the stack so Tina could see where she was going.

“They’re for Juliet. Your doorman dude had them piled halfway to the ceiling on his desk. I said I’d bring them up. Where do you want them?”

“Over there, in the corner, I guess,” I said, pointing to a spot near Juliet’s desk where they’d be out of the way. Juliet was in her room with the door closed, and I didn’t want to disturb her. My roommate had come home and, proclaiming she was more exhausted than she’d been in a century, headed straight for her coffin. She was smiling, though, so maybe she’d talked Brad and his partner into a night on the town.

Tina let the packages tumble from her arms. They landed in an untidy heap. “Is it Juliet’s birthday or something?”

I shook my head. After so many centuries, I didn’t think Juliet even recalled the date of her birth. “She wants to figure out how to scramble eggs inside their shells.”

Tina gave me a look, then shrugged. She tugged at her tight-fitting T-shirt—it featured a zombified Betty Boop—but she didn’t quite manage to close the gap between its hem and her low-slung jeans.

“Do you want something to eat?” I asked. Saying that to a zombie was kind of like asking a fish if it wanted water.

“Yeah.” Tina glanced at the jumble of boxes. “But not eggs.” She pushed past me and went into the kitchen. My hands felt dirty from carrying boxes, so I went over to the sink and rinsed them off. As I did, Tina rummaged through the cabinets. The kid knew my kitchen better than I did. “Got any popcorn? That’s what I’m in the mood for. Oh, here’s some.” She pulled out a bag, stuck it in the microwave, and pressed some buttons.

“So, um, have you talked to your aunt lately?” Tina kept her voice nonchalant as she watched the microwave turntable.

“I did. Just a little while ago, in fact.” I shook the water from my hands.

“Oh. That’s nice. Did anything, you know, interesting come up?”

“You mean like you, for example?”

“Well, yeah. I was just wondering if you, like, happened to mention how I helped you kill that Harpy.”

“The subject did come up.”

“Really?” Tina straightened. “What did she say?”

“That I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

“She said that? Honest?” Tina bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. At the same time, popping erupted from the microwave. It was an odd effect, like she was full of exploding kernels.

More like bursting with pride. Praise from Mab could do that.

The microwave dinged. Tina yanked open the door and ripped open the bag. A geyser of steam jetted out as she grabbed a handful of popcorn. I winced as I watched her stuff the burning-hot kernels into her mouth, even though I knew the heat didn’t bother her. Tina paused to put a second bag in the microwave, then scarfed another handful.

“You know,” she said around the popcorn in her mouth, “what your aunt said, it’s kind of like what Mrs. McIntyre said about my career report. Guess what grade I got.” Her cheeks bulged as she chewed. “Go on, guess.”

“D for disaster?”

“Nuh-uh. Quit trying to be funny. She gave me an A. She said our Career Night talk gave the clearest demonstration she’s ever seen of what a job requires. She even said she hopes she never sees another presentation like it again. That’s good, right?”

“I think she meant she doesn’t want any more Harpies invading her classroom.”

“Well, duh. Who would?” Tina carried her bag of popcorn to the kitchen table and set it down. She dug around in her backpack until she found Russom’s. Handing the book to me, she said, “Do you think maybe your aunt would be interested to hear what I got on my report? I did a whole portfolio—a paper and a poster and an oral presentation and everything. Mrs. McIntyre said it was the best work I’ve done all year.”

“If I get a chance, I’ll tell her.”

“Awesome.” Tina stared at me, chewing her bottom lip, like she was trying to decide whether to say something else.

I regarded her levelly. I knew what she wanted to ask me, whether I’d take her back as my apprentice, and I had no intention of encouraging her. I wasn’t trying to be mean. Tina was no longer my official apprentice because she’d quit, and fighting demons isn’t something you can do only when you feel like it. Plus, when she had been my apprentice, she’d interfered with several jobs, insulted clients, and stolen my most valuable weapon. If Tina wanted to work her way through Russom’s, I’d help her, but I wasn’t bringing her along to wreak havoc at job sites. Not that I had any jobs lined up at the moment.

But I would tell Mab about the A.

The microwave dinged again. Tina went over and pulled out the second bag of popcorn. We sat down at the table.

“What are we going over today?” I asked.

“Chapter 37.”

Oh, great. I didn’t quite have Russom’s memorized, but I knew what Chapter 37 covered. I turned to the opening page, and there it was in black and white: Eidolons. Below the chapter title was an illustration showing the demon’s fat maggot body and snarling demon head. Next to it was a close-up illustration of a typical belly, with its second mouth full of jagged teeth. Nausea rose, and I shuddered.

“Gross, huh?” Tina said. “Imagine having one of those things gnawing on your guts.”

Yeah, just imagine. Suddenly I felt all slime-covered again. I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I really, really needed to wash my hands. Just one more time. I got up and went back to the sink. “All right.” I tried to keep my voice steady, even sounding slightly bored, as I lathered up. “Give me the basics.”

“Eidolons are a kind of personal demon. Their species is Inimicus anxietatum. Anxiety, right?”

I nodded, pushing up my sleeves and washing my forearms to the elbows. There was nothing there—I knew that—but the soapy water felt good.

“Okay, so that’s what they eat,” Tina continued, “people’s feelings of anxiety and worry. But they like guilt best. To an Eidolon, guilt is as yummy as…” She paused, searching for the right analogy as I dried my hands on a dishtowel and came back to the table. “As popcorn to a zombie.” She grinned and tilted her head back, pouring the crumbs into her mouth.