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  “You’re pulling my plonker.” Raymond had been going mad planning the next generation because it was only his grandchildren who were supposed to be fully Fey, not his children.

  Tonĩ laughed. “Nope.” She stood, turned around, and lifted the back of her blouse, flashing a dragon—the exact same one Pändra had.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  A knock sounded at the office door, then Natty entered, dressed in a white lab coat over an impeccable dark suit, the garment rich enough to pass even Raymond’s high standards.

  “Dr. Jess,” Tonĩ introduced, gesturing to Natty. “This is Pändra Parthen.”

  Pändra rose.

  The doctor offered her his hand. He striking turquoise eyes were warm with welcome.

  Pändra took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake.

  “Pändra popped her dragon,” Tonĩ went on. “I wanted you to look at her enchantment designator. I never know what those symbols mean.”

  Designator? Ah, the symbol off her dragon’s nose.

  “Neither do I, usually,” Dr. Jess admitted. “The Fey bloodline has been suppressed for so many years. But, indeed, let’s have a peek. If Miss Parthen doesn’t mind lifting her shirt in back.”

  Pändra half-smiled. A bit of a silly worry, considering her usual wardrobe choices. “I don’t mind a’tall. I’m rather curious myself.” She turned around and gathered her shirt up.

  “It’s the letter V,” Dr. Jess mused.

  “And you don’t know what it means?” Tonĩ guessed.

  “I have no idea,” Jess confirmed, chuckling. “But Miss Parthen’s power will come out soon enough, and then we’ll all know.”

  Bully. More power for Pändra. Just what she needed to inspire everyone to hate her more than they already did. She pulled down her shirt and faced the doctors. “How did it come to be there?”

  “Well, the enchantment itself has always been with you,” Tonĩ answered. “But Thomal’s Fiinţă activated it.”

  “Fiinţă?”

  “The elixir that comes out of a Vârcolac’s fangs when he or she feeds. Funny, isn’t it?” Tonĩ added in a sardonic tone. “Raymond considers Vârcolac to be the scum of the earth. Yet, it’s the Vârcolac who can trigger enchantment powers in a person with Fey bloodlines. Here and now, today.” Tonĩ’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I don’t think we should tell him, though, do you?” She winked at Pändra, such the conspiratorial sister.

  Pändra experienced the oddest stirring in her chest. How to respond to this attempt at connection? She didn’t have a bloody clue.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nỵko stood with his back jammed against the wall outside of Tonĩ’s office, his hands thrust into the pockets of his black cargo pants. He sullenly eyed one of the waiting room chairs. He could maybe fit one thigh into that thing.

  His abnormal size was never cause for celebration, but his recent encounter with the Teague twins had his grumpiness about the whole issue up a few hundred points.

  It had happened about an hour ago. He’d been on his way downstairs to the mansion’s dining room for breakfast, the sisters had been going in the same direction, and, Hello—they’d all ended up standing on the grand staircase together. He’d skidded to a stop, and managed to get his senses unboggled enough—dang, they smelled good—to offer them a smile. Not a grin wide enough to show his fangs. Gosh, no. The Teagues knew what he was, of course, but they were still getting all snug as a bug with the whole Vârcolac idea, so why push it? Besides, he didn’t need to dial up his own menace by showing off the sharper parts of himself.

  Little good his precautions had done him. Not any good, in fact, at least where it counted…with Faith.

  He liked both of the sisters; they seemed equally nice. Considering they’d been drugged and kidnapped—and, ugh, no one in the community felt happy about doing that again—and also considering their lives had taken a really bizarre turn in the last few days, it was a testament to their good manners that they were trying to be polite. They were both super pretty, too, with swanlike bodies and eye-catching grace, and they smelled like cookies. Not literally, but rather the idea was they smelled like his favorite thing in the world.

  He loved every kind of cookie there was: peanut butter, lemon cream, cinnamon applesauce raisin, sugar cookies, chocolate chip. But his all-time favorite were oatmeal butterscotch. One of the best parts about babysitting for Maggie and Luken was that Maggie always made him a batch of her World Famous Oatmeal Butterscotch Cookies whenever he came over. Well, besides the main best part of being able to spend time with their two-year-old daughter, Amabel, his little cutie-pie baby with curly blonde hair like her momma.

  He adored kids, and had let it be known around town that he was available for babysitting anytime—no cookies required. He didn’t get as many gigs as he would’ve liked, though. Not because of how scary-looking he was. Nah, kids always saw beneath the outer appearance to the real person beneath, and all kids loved him. No, it was because there were still so few offspring in Ţărână—only ten—so he had to share babysitting duty with half the community. There were lots of single gals with loads of maternal love to give while they waited for more Dragon males to be brought in so they could start their own families.

  Anyway, while Kacie Teague could best be compared to chocolate chip cookies—yummy, for sure—Faith drugged up his senses with one-hundred-percent-pure oatmeal butterscotch. The Best Scent in Creation. She smelled like a mate. Which meant that she was his, but how in heck he’d ever convince her of that was a complete mystery.

  When the three of them had been grouped on the grand staircase, Kacie had managed to dredge up a return smile for him. It’d been strained and had come after some extended wide-eyed gawping, but she’d done it.

  Faith had let out a horrified yelp, stumbled back from him, and stayed far away. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings; they were both well-brought-up ladies, as he already knew. She’d just been too appalled by him to do anything else. And could he blame her? Besides his looks, she’d seen him punch a woman’s face off yesterday.

  He’d been at an utter loss about how to smooth over the situation. He knew as much about flirting as he did about ballet. Another mark against him, he supposed, that he didn’t know jack diddly squat about his future mate’s passion. So he’d ended up mumbling something about forgetting his wallet, then lumbered back up the stairs. My vow of celibacy is good, yes it is. He’d do himself a favor by keeping that sentence at the forefront of his mind.

  Donree, Tonĩ’s assistant, rescued him from any more morose thoughts by leading the group of them—team members Dev, Thomal, and Gábor, plus Jaċken and Ãlex—into Tonĩ’s office.

  Tonĩ was seated behind her desk, a newspaper open in front of her. “Where’s Sedge?” she asked, glancing at Nỵko.

  Yep, once again Nỵko was today’s insert-substitute-warrior-here.

  “In hibernation,” Jaċken answered.

  Tonĩ’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s great.”

  A Vârcolac male went into a three-day hibernation state after he’d exhausted himself with the grueling process of Vârcolac baby-making.

  “I knew Sedge and Kimberly were planning to start a family soon,” Tonĩ continued. “I just didn’t think it would happen this fast.”

  Gábor plopped down on the sofa. “Nature called,” he drawled.

  Jaċken strode up to Tonĩ’s desk. “So what’s your security issue?”

  Tonĩ spun around the newspaper in front of her, showing Jaċken the bold headline: THE SYMBOL KILLER STIKES AGAIN. “Have you seen this?”

  Jaċken nodded. “Yeah, we’ve all been reading about this maniac.”

  The Symbol Killer had earned his, or her, moniker by cutting a strange symbol into the right side of all the victims’ foreheads. Four people had been murdered in San Diego County in the past ten days.

  “How does the Symbol Killer affect Ţărână’s security?” Jaċken asked.

  “He may not,
” Tonĩ admitted. “But Ãlex had a vision about who the killer is, and it’s somebody way out of the SDPD’s league. I thought we might want to help.”

  Jaċken crossed his arms. “Which Om Rău is it?”

  That hadn’t taken a huge leap.

  Ãlex set his briefcase on the desk. “Videön.”

  Thomal leaned against the back of the couch. “Oh, goody.”

  Thomal, Dev, and Gábor had all had confrontations with the malicious Topside Om Rău, whereas Nỵko had never encountered this noteworthy bad guy. It would’ve been fine by him to have kept it that way, too. Insane, strong, and cruel didn’t make a man Nỵko ever wanted to meet.

  “I hacked into the San Diego Police Department’s database,” Ãlex said, grabbing a stack of files out of his briefcase. “And I was able to snag some information and photographs about the case.” He passed the files around.

  Tonĩ opened hers. A dead guy’s empty eyes stared at her from an 8x10 glossy photo. “Yuk.”

  Even though Tonĩ was a medical doctor, she hated gory stuff. Funny.

  Nỵko opened his own file, finding the same photo on top. He studied the intricate swirling design carved into the bloody forehead. “Any idea what the symbol is?”

  “It’s a Celtic knot,” Ãlex answered. “Called a quaternary. It’s based on the number four. See how it sort of has four quadrants? This indicates the four seasons, or the four directions—north, south, east, west—or the four elements—earth, fire, water, air—or something four.”

  “Which?” Tonĩ asked.

  “It depends on what Videön is trying to accomplish, I suppose.”

  “Any visions about that?” Jaċken asked Ãlex.

  “Not a one.”

  Jaċken flipped through more pages in his file. Stopping on one, he read off the surnames of the men killed, “O’Connolly, Fleming, Eagan, Dowdall…these names sound Irish.”

  “They are,” Ãlex confirmed.

  Tonĩ stood up. “There’s probably a connection between that and the fact that the symbol is Celtic.” She headed for her office door. “Let’s dig into it.”

  Ãlex’s eyebrows peaked. “Are we done?”

  “No. I just need to go barf.”

  Jaċken leapt forward. “Tonĩ—”

  Tonĩ waved him off. “It’s not the pictures, only the pregnancy hormones.” She made a face. “I guess the pictures didn’t help. I’ll be back in a second.” She shut the door quickly.

  There was a pause, then Ãlex asked Jaċken, “Are you okay?”

  Jaċken scrubbed a hand across his brow. “Sure.”

  ’Course, it was a lie. Most days Jaċken didn’t know whether to wind the cat or put out the clock, he was so worried about his wife and unborn child.

  Dev made a thoughtful noise. “This pregnancy talk has got me thinking about the last time we were in Tonĩ’s office. It was ten days ago, the same day Marissa and I got our crib delivered and Thomal and Arc went topside, where they had a run-in with Videön at Ria Mendoza’s house. So we know for sure Videön was involved in that kidnapping. Doesn’t it seem coincidental that the first murder occurred”—Dev checked a paper in his file—“only one day after the abduction of Elsa Mendoza? I’d bet my right nut that Elsa’s kidnapping and these serial murders are somehow related.”

  Jaċken nodded. “Sounds reasonable with Videön being a part of both.” He swept the group of them with a questioning look. “Any suggestions about the connection?”

  The question was answered with empty shrugs. Apparently, no one had the foggiest idea.

  Gábor stretched out on the couch, ankles crossed in front of him, his hands linked behind his head. “You guys just tell me who I need to shoot.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ţărână: two weeks later, December 22nd

  Faith’s insides slipped sideways and a lump pushed into her throat. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Kacie returned. “I said the community has offered to ship our goods here from New York, and I think we should take them up on it. I want all of my clothes and my ballet gear, some of our furniture…or all of it. I think it’s time to give up the Soho apartment.”

  “Give it up?” Faith’s voice nearly squeaked. She wasn’t hearing this. She absolutely couldn’t be. Faith had only stayed in Ţărână because she’d assumed that after several weeks without New York’s culture and fast-paced lifestyle, Kacie would be begging to leave. Her sister was supposed to be coming to her senses, dang it, not growing more attached to this hick town. “You can’t do that!”

  Kacie’s chin came up. “The lease is in my name.”

  This was a nightmare. “But what if we want to go back?” When we go back.

  Kacie expelled a long, hard breath. “I’m not leaving here, Faith. I’ve been trying to tell you that. I wish you’d listen.”

  Faith clasped a hand to her throat. Her sister had gone utterly insane. “You’ve only been here two weeks, Kacie. How in the world could you possibly know if—”

  “I know,” Kacie insisted, her jaw set mulishly. “I’ve never been happier than I am here. I belong. I’m making friends. I firmly believe you’d be happy, too, if you’d get off your butt and give this place a chance instead of holing up here in your room and”—she flung a hand at Faith’s television set—“watching old videos of yourself dancing while feeling sorry for yourself. Real productive, Faith.”

  Faith’s chin trembled. How could Kacie, of all people, not understand what Faith was going through?

  Kacie leaned forward, her voice growing earnest. “Do you know that no one around here has accidentally called me by your name, not once—at least not the Vârcolac. To them, I smell like me and no one else. It’s amazing. For once in my life”—she threw out her arms and tossed back her head, as if soaking up accolades on stage—“I’m unique!”

  Tears burned Faith’s eyes. “I didn’t realize being my twin was such a trial.”

  Kacie slapped her arms back to her side. “That’s exactly the problem. I’ve always been your twin; the sister of the ballet superstar. I love you, Faith, but I haven’t always loved being an identical twin. The second people see you and me, everything is instantly about you and me. Those Teague twins. It’s robbed me of the chance to have my own space in this world. I don’t even get to have my own birthday. When we were kids, we always shared the same cake, the same party, and even today I have to remember to buy you a gift on my day.”

  Faith bowed her head, tears falling. She couldn’t believe this. She’d always thought Kacie found comfort in being a twin, same as Faith did. To her, their sameness grounded her with the confidence that there was always one person on earth who knew her down to the kind of impossible depths that only came from sharing matching DNA.

  Kacie’s voice softened. “Don’t cry, Faith. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. Go out on a date with Nỵko, and I won’t get rid of the New York apartment.”

  Faith whipped her head up. “Nỵko!”

  “Don’t say his name like that. He’s a great guy, and you’re the only type of woman who a half-Rău like him can have children with. Or Shọn, but he’s—”

  “Children!” Good God, Faith couldn’t fathom seeing that monstrosity naked, much less having intercourse with him. “He’s not my type, Kacie. Not at all.”

  “How could you possibly know that? You’ve never even talked to the man.”

  A quiver stole across Faith’s lips. Because her type was someone who could live topside, in the sun, in a city, where she could dance. “He hit a woman. Have you forgotten what you saw in the garage the day we arrived?”

  Kacie brushed that aside. “If you’d bothered to find out about it, you’d know that woman was a prisoner trying to escape and one of the half-Rău enemy who’d been part of the plot to kidnap us. Nỵko was doing his job, that’s it.” She headed for the door, pausing there, her hand on the knob. “If you’re so miserable here, then go, Faith. But I’m staying.”

  Faith held herself ve
ry still as loneliness tried to suck her into a black hole, like the time when she was eight and her parents had come up with the bright idea to send their twin girls to different summer camps for “individuation.” Faith had cried for twelve hours straight and was finally sent home—where Kacie was already waiting. “I can’t leave without you.”

  “Then stay. And make an effort.” Kacie turned and left the room.

  Faith stared at the closed door, her insides slipping sideways again. A moment later, she heard a male voice downstairs call, “Hey, Kacie,” not an ounce of doubt or confusion in his tone.

  Faith pressed both hands to her face and fought back more tears. I’m unique! Why was Kacie so overjoyed by that? Faith truly couldn’t understand it. If they weren’t the Teague twins, who in the world were they?

  Swallowing and sniffing, Faith dropped her hands and walked over to her DVD machine. She would watch as many videos of herself dancing as she wanted, and this town could go hang. She pressed play. The picture flickered once, then the machine made an ill-omened zuzzz sound and the TV screen went blank.

  She dug her fingernails into her palms. On top of everything else today! She disconnected the DVD from the TV set, then jerked the electrical cord out of the wall socket and scooped up the machine. Scowling, she left her bedroom in high dudgeon. She didn’t know which hillbilly around here did the repairs, but the computer command center was on the first floor. As she turned down the main staircase, she screamed and stumbled back, nearly dropping the DVD player.

  Nỵko reached out a hand to steady her.

  She lurched back another pace, her heart surging into a runaway beat.

  Nỵko quickly dropped his hand, his face flushing scarlet.

  Her own face heated on a rush of embarrassment. Her method of greeting him was really quite awful…and probably getting tiresome. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  The door to Vienna opened and the warrior with the disarming cowlick poked his head out. Seeing it was only Nỵko, he went back inside.