“No. It makes perfect sense. Get out of the basement, Rafe, and hang with the new generation. We know the 911.”

Rafael snorted. “It’s 411, Jeff, and you don’t know shit. But you are going to need 911 once the Council learns about this.”

“I’ll be fine, trust me. Nick and I aren’t the only ones who think like this these days.”

Those words had no sooner left his mouth than Rafael’s cell phone started ringing. He checked the ID to see “Ephani.” An ancient Amazon who’d crossed over almost three thousand years ago, she was definitely an acquired taste. But even so, he liked her a great deal. Pulling the phone off his belt, he answered it.

“What’s up, Amazon?” he asked, stepping away from Jeff while his Squire continued to admire his story in the magazine.

The kid had no sense of self-preservation.

“Hey, Rafe. I … um … I’m not sure how to break this to you, but do you know what your Squire’s been up to lately?”

Deciding to play it cool, Rafael cut a glare at Jeff. “Writing the great American novel, what else?”

“Uh-huh. Have you ever read one of those novels he’s been working on?”

“Not until today. Why?”

She let out a long sigh. “I’m assuming you have a copy of the Escape Velocity magazine with his story in it, right?”

“I do.”

“Good, then it won’t come as a shock to you to know that my Squire just left and she’s heading over to your house to have a talk with Jeff. If I were you—”

“Say no more. He’s leaving the country even as we speak. Thanks for the call, Eph.”

“No problem, amigo.”

Hanging up the phone, he narrowed his eyes on Jeff. “That was Ephani warning me that you’re about twenty minutes from dying.”

Jeff’s face turned stone white. “What?”

He nodded. “Her Squire, Celena, Ms. Blood Rite, I-kill-anything-that-breaks-formation, is on her way over here to have a word with you. Since Celena isn’t real big on conversation, I’m taking that as a euphemism for ‘kick your ass.’”

Rafael paused as those words conjured one hell of an image in his mind—Celena kicking his ass in that pair of stiletto corset boots she often wore. And in his mind she was wearing nothing but a thong.… Yeah … that was something he definitely wouldn’t mind.

A native of Trinidad, Celena had the most perfect mocha complexion he’d ever seen. It was so smooth and inviting that it begged a man to taste it.

And her lips …

Angelina Jolie had nothing on her. She moved slow and seductive like a cat and he’d spent more than his fair share of time wanting her to rub that lean, curvy body of hers up against his.