“No wonder. It’s quite late for a man of your age. Ever thought about retirement?” You know you will do it and I know you will do it. Let’s get it over with. Test me, you sonovabitch, so I can fight you off once again and then we’ll talk.

His power slammed into me, pressing, pushing me to the floor. His eyes grew into bottomless pits, commanding, all-powerful, sucking me into their awful depth, promising slavery and pain.

I clenched my teeth and held him, trying to shield Derek.

Nataraja pushed harder, his power welling like an avalanche, distorting the world, overwhelming it until nothing was left but his will and mine, locked against each other. A painful shudder pulsed through me. His face twisted and he bit his lip.

“Temper, temper,” I said through my teeth.

“Aren’t mood swings a sign of early senility?” Derek’s strained voice said from beyond.

The awesome pressure ebbed for an instant and I gathered my magic, summoning every reserve I had. Strike against the kid, Nate. Strike so I can kill you.

The pressure fell abruptly and I was hurled back from a long black tunnel into the real world. Nataraja backed off, sensing the danger. Damn it.

I glanced at Derek. His face looked bloodless. His hands clenched into fists.

Nataraja was once again playing an amused host. “I see you brought a pet,” he said. “He talks like you.” One day, his face promised. One day we’ll settle this.

“My bad habits rubbing off.” Any time.

A whisper announced a new arrival. Ghastek came through the arched doors, carrying a briefcase and wearing khaki pants and a black T-neck sweater. He looked so absurd against the backdrop of Nataraja’s vulgar throne room that I almost laughed.

Ghastek nodded to me and came to stand by his master’s throne. Both men were of slight build, but where Nate was slender, Ghastek was thin. A diet of steaks and lots of hours in the weight room could make him lean and sinewy, but I doubted he ever looked at a dumbbell, let alone handled one. He was beginning to bald and the receding hairline added height to his forehead. His face was plain, saved from unremarkable only by dark eyes betraying his intellect and that slight touch of distance particular to people who spend their time immersed in thought.

“Ahh, Ghastek,” Nataraja said as if greeting a favorite pet. “I was just pondering Kate’s new amusement. He would be her . . .”

I indulged him. “Apprentice.”

“Apprentice.” Nataraja rolled the word in his mouth, tasting it. “How modest. Considering his age, it’s actually appropriate, although out of character.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

Nataraja’s laugh polluted the air. “Of course,” he said, as if humoring a small child. “How insensitive of me.”