an interloper. Long velvet drapes framing the windows were alive with the golden glow of dusk, the

kind of light that lasts maybe five minutes before twilight falls and the Real World comes out to

play.

I shivered. Pulled my hoodie closer around me, and zipped it up, too.

We ended up at a long dim windowless room with a mirror-polished conference table on the right

side—the inner side—of the wall. The other side had windows, but the djamphir seemed to hold all

their important meetings away from the windows. I’d thought they would want sunshine and fresh

air—things suckers seem to hate. But on the other hand, I suddenly thought, it was harder to break

into a windowless room. Or pick off someone with a rifle through a wall instead of a window.

I hate thinking things like that.

A slight, short brunet djamphir in a red T-shirt stood on one side of the door, his arms crossed. The

shoulder holster he wore looked absurdly oversized, and his designer jeans looked painted on. He

was pretty even for here, dark curls brushed back, wide liquid eyes in an almost feminine face.

Poor kid. I mean, I felt more boy than he looked. He would get a hard time in some of the high

schools I’ve blown through.

If he was human, that is.

Leon glanced in, gave me an unreadable look, and stepped aside. “Safe enough, Milady.” He said it

a little more loudly than he necessarily had to, and I stepped over the threshold.

And right into Uncomfortable City.

There, at the head of the table, sat Anna. The dimness turned her skin into poreless perfection, not a

curly coppery-blonde hair was out of place, and her little red high-heeled boots were on the tabletop. She lounged there like she owned the whole room, a froth of petticoats covering her silk-stockinged legs.

And she smiled. “Oh, hello.” Bright as a new polished penny. “It’s Dru! Did you sleep well,

dearie?”

Kir sat at her right, his shoulders hunched. He looked miserable, but he perked up a little when I

came in. I wondered briefly if he dyed his hair to match Anna’s, but hers was russet gold and he was

a carrottop. His was obviously natural, and if hers wasn’t, the Order probably had enough money to

keep her in salon appointments for a long time.

Next to her, even the prettiest djamphir boys looked gawky. I felt myself turn even paler, more

greasy-faced, and awkward.

Graves stepped into the room behind me, sniffed audibly, and stopped dead. I could almost feel him

stiffening, his shoulders hunching.

I understood completely. I just did not like her.

I found my voice. “Like a log. How about you?” Or do you sleep in between knocking on people’s

doors?