The powerful practitioner of black ley line magic in jeans and sunglasses who could probably turn my blood to sludge wanted me in his little group. Even worse, he seemed to be an underling. Anger cresting, I looked at Tom squinting in the sun, then with a small thought, willed my second sight into focus to check his aura. It was edged in a faint shimmer of black.

“Your aura is dirty,” I said, my motions sharp as I buckled myself in and let my second sight drop before I saw something I didn’t want to; I was in a graveyard.

Face red, he boldly said, “My position in the I.S. prohibits me from working with demons as much as I’d like. But I’m committed to the cause and am contributing in other ways.”

Oh, my God. He’s apologizing for not having more smut on his soul?

Tom misread my expression, his smooth brow tightening in anger. “My cloak may be light, but it serves a purpose. I can move unseen where those more versed in the dark arts can’t.” He stepped closer. “That’s why we want you, Rachel Morgan. You openly consort with demons. Your cloak is as black as anyone’s in the inner circle, and yet you’re not afraid to walk proud and unrepentant. Even the I.S. can’t touch you.”

Stretching, I reached between the seats and got my bag. Right. And that’s why I don’t have a license? “And because of that, your little club thinks I’m worthy of them?” I said, digging for my keys. My fingers touched my splat gun, and I toyed with the idea of plugging him with a few defunct earth charms just to see him run away.

“It’s not a club,” Tom said, clearly insulted. “It’s a tradition of witches that stretches back to the beginning of the crossing of the ley lines. A glorious lineage of secrecy and power, pushing the frontiers of our existence.”

Yada-yada-yada… It had taken on the cadence of empty rhetoric. Wondering if the I.S. knew they had a cultist on their payroll, I jammed the key into the ignition. “You summon demons?”

Tom’s stance became defensive. “We explore options that other witches are too timid to venture. And we think you are—”

“Let me guess. I’ve been found worthy to join your cause and be privy to the inner-sanctum secrets that have been passed down from master to student for two millennia.”

Okay, maybe that had been a little sarcastic, but Jenks wasn’t moving, and I was worried. Tom was trying to come up with something, and I started my car. The engine rumbled to life under me, the sound of security. Hot, I fiddled with the air conditioner though the top was open. The breeze from the vents turned cool, and I relished the tickling of the curls against my face.