Her captor's head snapped toward her, a frown etched on her face. "What?" she snapped.

Maeve gestured toward the casket. "You're her mother?"

The woman moved to lay a possessive hand on the lid of the casket. Her gaze was direct, cold. "Yes, Bliss was my daughter."

"I knew her," Maeve blurted. "Not well, mind you, but she was well- liked."

Mortianna's expression softened. She raised a hand and curled her fingers around a pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. "From where did you know my daughter?"

"Through Sinjin. I was staying with him, and your daughter would come to visit-"

"Bliss visited St. James in Scotland?" Her fingers tightened around the pendant, her knuckles turning white.

Maeve backed up a step. Maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say? "On several occasions in the past year, Bliss visited the house. They were good friends- "

"Friends?" Her expression turned malevolent. "My daughter remainedfriends with that creature?"

Maeve nodded and stepped to the urn. The bronze was chilly beneath her fingertips as she skimmed her hand up the side to curl over the lip.

"I will destroy him. I'll tear him limb from limb and he'll rue the day he ever met my child," Mortianna hissed. Turning, she headed for the doorway, anger spurring her exit. As she left, she spoke over her shoulder. "Kill her and make it quick. We have work to do."

Four of the little beasts broke from the circle and advanced on Maeve as the man made a noise of dissent.

It was now or never.

She heaved the urn from the pillar, stunned when the weight almost knocked her to the floor. Filled with water and flowers, the urn was too much for her to lift. Straining, she dropped it to the floor and tipped it, spilling out a river of brilliant blooms and gallons of icy water.

The militant formation broke as the creatures stepped back to avoid the water, an odd hissing sound escaping from where their mouths would have been.

She grappled with the now-empty urn, her arms trembling with exertion. It was much heavier than she'd antic.i.p.ated. The sheer weight precluded her from lifting it over her head, so she settled for an awkward, two-handed bowling-style toss at the nearest window.

All h.e.l.l broke loose.

The urn hit the window with a crash as one of the beasts tackled her behind the knees while another struck her in the middle of her back, tangling its fingers in her hair. She fell to the floor, her breathslammed from her lungs with a whoosh.

Icy water soaked her clothes as the scent of crushed roses and lilies invaded her nose. The solid weight of the creatures repulsed her and she kicked, ridding herself of the one clinging to her legs. Bracing her hands against the slick floor, she flipped to her back, pinning the other beneath her.

The creature gave a shriek and released its death-grip on her hair as two more levitated into the air and rushed her. She rolled to the side, then to her feet, stumbling as one crashed into her shoulder, causing her to slide on the slick floor.

Strong hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her upright. Her breath caught as she glimpsed another creature headed in her direction. This one held a lethal-looking knife in its clawlike hand. d.a.m.n, the blade was one of hers!

The man behind her whispered something in a language she didn't recognize. The creature came to a sudden halt as if it had hit a force field, stopping in mid-air. It dropped harmlessly to the floor.

"What the..."

"Move." He shoved her at the broken window.

Mortianna reappeared in the doorway, her expression enraged as her gaze fixed somewhere over Maeve's shoulder. "What the devil are you doing?"

"Stopping you."

"Halt." The room fell silent as an icy wind was born. It whipped around the room, stirring the remaining flowers and tugging at the pink silk draping the catafalque.

Maeve shivered as the witch fixed her gaze on her. "Out of the way, mortal." With a flick of her finger, the icy air shoved at Maeve, effectively separating her from her savior.

"What the-" She stumbled as the wind abruptly ceased shoving her.

Raising one hand, the witch pointed at her son. "You either stand with me or against me. Choose now."

"I'll not let you kill an innocent."

Mortianna's head jerked as if his words had struck her physically. "Then you will die."

"So be it."

Maeve edged away from him and toward the window as mother and son locked in a silent duel. The witch's eyes remained pinned on him and, for a split second, her expression broke. Maeve could have sworn she saw regret pa.s.s over Mortianna's face. All too soon, though, it was masked and, in a small voice, she whispered, "Kill them both."

Maeve spun toward the window and freedom when it suddenly registered that the window was intact.

"What the devil-" Outside in the crisp autumn leaves lay the urn. How could it be outside when the gla.s.s was intact?

"Go out the window," he hissed at her.

"I can't-it isn't broken," she protested. "How can this be?"

"It's magic. The window is broken."

"Magic?" She swung toward him, then gasped as one of the creatures grabbed the tail of her hair and gave it a vicious yank, almost taking her down. With a snarl, she reached back and grabbed the braid, tearing it from the clawlike fingers. Twisting, she aimed a backspin kick at its mid-section. Her foot connected and the creature emitted a sound like air escaping from a balloon as it flew across the room to hit the wall with a thud.

Scalp aching, she shoved her braid down the back of her shirt so her hair couldn't be used against her again. She risked a glance at the man to see him backing toward her. He held his hands in front of him and the remaining creatures hung frozen in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a sorcerer?

"Go out the window now. I can't hold them forever."

"I can't..."

"You have to trust me."

She looked at the window once again. It reflected her image. How could she trust this man, the son of the most powerful witch in the world? Then again, did she have a choice? She took a deep breath and stepped closer. An arm wrapped around her waist, and she jerked in surprise.

"We're out of time," his low voice spoke into her ear.

A cry caught in her throat as he pulled her with him, running at the window. The second she heard the crisp crunch of gla.s.s shards under her feet, she knew he was right. The image of the gla.s.s wavered, then altered to reveal the ma.s.sive hole in the center.

She leapt through the opening and into the chilly October air. Peripherally, she was aware of a sharp sting on her shoulder as her feet skidded in the damp leaves. The iron muscles of the arm around her waist kept her upright as she landed. Breaking into a run, he pulled her toward a Rover parked in the drive.

Her boots slid on the gravel as her vision wavered, her head pounding with each jarring step. When they reached the car, she wrenched open the door and dove in as the stranger ran to the driver's side. She slammed her door and locked it as he leapt in on his side. The engine started with a roar, and the tires spewed stones as he pointed the car toward the gates and floored it.

She looked back as they raced down the drive.

The witch stood in the remains of the shattered window, her beasts gathered around her. Her expression was an odd blend of anger and pain as she watched their escape.

Chapter 3

Mortianna smiled as the young vampire entered her workroom, every movement cautious. Dressed simply in black cotton leggings and a white mohair sweater, Gabrielle DesNoir looked fragile, almost wholesome in a macabre way. Her hair was a somber pale brown, cut short in a pageboy style; she looked like an image of the All-American girl next door. Only her unnatural, pale skin gave her away.

She wasn't fooled. Only a very brave person or an imbecile would dare approach the head of the witches in her own territory. Desperation had made fools out of many people before. As to which category this vampire fell into, she was very curious to find out.

"Why do you wish to speak with me, Gabrielle?"

The vampire jumped and spun toward the voice. Her expression showed her apprehension before she quickly masked it. Mortianna quelled her satisfaction at the further evidence of unease.

Gabrielle cleared her throat before she spoke. "I have a business proposition for you."

Mortianna stepped from the shadows and picked up a small tray containing items she'd collected earlier.

"Indeed? What do you know of my business and what makes you think I want anything to do with the vampires?"

A bubbling pot hung over a low fire in the center of the round room. She set the tray on a small, marble-topped table before picking up a gla.s.s container. She made a great show of holding it up to the light so the vampire could see it contained human teeth.

"I have something you need." Gabrielle's voice was shaky, though she tried to control it.

With a pair of tweezers, Mortianna selected a tooth and dropped it into the cauldron. A hiss of dark blue steam escaped as the tooth broke the surface of the murky liquid. She returned the gla.s.s jar to the tray and selected a variety of dried herbs. "I'm listening."

"I'm sure you're aware of the events of the last winter solstice. The vampire Mikhail made a bid for the leadership of the Council of Elders and was tricked by Conor MacNaughten. We were almost killed."

Mortianna failed to quell the laughter that bubbled. "That isn't quite how I heard it happened but, yes, I know the story." She dropped the herbs into the liquid, and varying shades of green steam escaped as they sank below the surface. The scent was dark, earthy.

"Since then, our lives have become a nightmare of persecution. Our followers have scattered, fearing retribution from the remaining council members. Mikhail and I would like your help in regrouping our followers and gaining control of the council."

Interesting.

"Why didn't Mikhail come and ask me himself? Why did he send you to represent him?"

The vampire paused. "There was an accident and Mikhail was injured by MacNaughten." "Injured? Why would I support someone who's in dubious health? If he cannot pay me a visit, how can he hope to command the Council? It takes an iron will and an even stronger hand to keep those beings in line."

Her visitor straightened her shoulders. "Should Mikhail be unable to carry his duties, I'm more than capable of taking over."

Ah, but the plot thickens...

Mortianna selected a large dipper and stirred the pot, the ancient handle familiar against her palm. "You want me to aid your cause in gaining control of the Council? How to you propose I accomplish this?"

"Align your army with ours."

Startled, Mortianna's gaze met the vampire's. Never would she have expected the creature to make such an audacious request. What sort of trump card did this little girl hold?

She paused in her stirring. "You ask for a great deal. Since the dawn of witchcraft, the witches have remained outside the politics of the preternaturals. Now you ask that we aid the cause of the vampires?

What will we gain from this?"

"I'll deliver Damien St. James to you."

Startled, she released the handle of the spoon and it slipped beneath the bubbling surface. "Bother," she muttered, annoyed she'd let the little vampire rattle her concentration. She grabbed another spoon to fish out the first. "What do you know of St. James?"

"I know he took your daughter many years ago and ultimately played a role in her death. It's well known you placed a curse on him and would've killed him if it weren't for her interference."

Mortianna dropped both spoons on the tray with a clatter. Presumptuous wench! "Edward killed my daughter, not St. James."

Gabrielle nodded. "He did and, for that, he paid with his immortal life. But it was Sinjin who set Bliss on the path to her own destruction, and he's what stands between you and avenging your daughter." She moved to a straight-backed chair and perched herself on the edge, a soft smile playing around her mouth.

"I can deliver him within forty-eight hours."

Mortianna's mind whirled with possibilities. What the little vampire said was intriguing. Could she deliver Sinjin with a minimum of fuss? Was there something to be gained for the witches by throwing their support behind Mikhail and his followers?

With a flick of her hand, she ignited the kindling in the ma.s.sive stone fireplace on the north curve of the room and waved the vampire toward it. "Come, let us warm ourselves while we chat a bit more."

She smiled to herself as she watched the vampire rise from her seat, her movements far more relaxed than when she'd entered the room. Gabrielle and her dark cohorts might be able to deliver St. James, but that wouldn't stop Mortianna from her current plans.

Digging into the voluminous folds of her cape, she located an emerald-colored pouch. Opening it, she withdrew a pinch of gray dust. Dropping it into the bubbling pot, she smiled as the steam turned blackbefore fading away. Her potion was almost ready and the perfect revenge at hand.

Mortianna.

Maeve rubbed the throbbing spot just between her eyes as the witch's name tumbled about her brain like clothing in a dryer. She'd actually stood in the presence of the most powerful witch in the world.

Surely Mortianna would know the spell that could bring down an elder vampire.

She slid a sideways glance at her silent companion. Mortianna's son should also know the spell. Raised at her knee, wouldn't the witch have taught her child everything she knew? The only question was how to get it.

She transferred her gaze to the dark countryside. Funny, she'd never heard the witch had a son. Then again, most preternaturals didn't talk about Mortianna, at least, not out loud. They lived longer that way.

In the past few months, the mortality rate among the witches had risen and it was rumored she might be at the center of it. Maeve didn't believe it. Surely a witch would look out for her subordinates rather then destroy them out of turn, wouldn't she?

She shifted in the seat; twinges of discomfort in her jaw and shoulder making themselves known along with a more pressing need.

She cleared her throat. "Can we pull over?"

"Why?" His voice was deep and pleasantly rumbling.

"I need to use the loo."

He made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Maeve frowned. Obviously, he was inhuman and didn't have such needs, but she did and soon, she needed a bathroom. She glanced back at the darkness speeding by her window. Not a light to be seen for miles. It looked like she might have to improvise.