Heart pounding, I spun. I took a breath to warn her, but it was too late. My outstretched hand fell as she lurched into the room, her simple white dress furling about her bare feet as she stopped in the archway. Green eyes wide and soulful, she put a hand to her chest atop Ivy’s crucifix. “Rachel…” she breathed, dismay slumping her shoulders.

Al took a step and she spun in a dancer’s circle, toe pointed and unbound hair furling. She recited an unheard poem laced with darkness, and a ripple of line energy cascaded between us. White-faced and holding her arms, she stared at him, trembling within her small circle.

The stately demon beamed, adjusting the lace about his collar. “Ceri. How splendid to see you. I miss you, love,” he almost purred.

The young woman’s chin trembled. “Banish him, Rachel,” she said, her fear obvious.

I tried to swallow, failing. “I tapped a line. He found precedence. He has a task for me.”

Her eyes widened. “No…”

Al frowned. “I haven’t been in the library in a thousand years. They were whispering behind my back, Ceri. I had to renew my card. It was most embarrassing. Everyone knows you’re gone. Zoë is making my tea. It’s the most awful tea I’ve ever had—he can’t hold the sugar spoon with only two digits. Do come back.” His pleasant face creased into a smile. “I’ll make it worth your soul.”

Ceri jerked. Chin high, she said haughtily, “My name is Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate.”

A rough sound of mirth escaped him. Taking off his glasses, he leaned an elbow against the counter. Mocking gaze on mine, he murmured, “Ceri, be a dear and make a spot of tea?”

My face went slack as Ceri dropped her head and took a step. Al chuckled when she made a cry of self-disgust and stopped at the edge of her circle. Tiny fists clenched, she fumed.

“Old habits die hard,” he mocked.

Bile bubbled up. Even now she was his. “Leave her alone,” I snarled.

From nowhere, a white-gloved hand struck me. I spun into the counter, jaw burning. Gasping, I hunched over it with my hair falling about my face. I was getting tired of this.

“Don’t hit her!” Ceri said, her voice high and virulent.

“Does it bother you?” he said lightly. “Pain moves her more than fear. Which is good—pain keeps a person alive longer than fear.”

My hurt turned to anger. Eyebrows high, he dared me to protest as I found my breath. His goat eyes slid to the head-sized vat he had brought with him. “Let’s get started, shall we?”