Jim’s mouth formed an O. ‘‘You’re gonna defy an order? You’re going to go dybbuk?’’

‘‘What’s dybbuk?’’ Aisling asked.

‘‘In terms of folklore, it’s a wandering soul that enters a living body,’’ I said slowly.

‘‘In Abaddon terms, it means a demon who’s gone rogue.’’ Jim’s eyes were grave. ‘‘Dybbuks are usually destroyed by their masters for insubordination, although I have heard of one or two who survived in order to be perpetually tormented. Fires of Abaddon, May—lots of demons talk about it, but I never heard of one who was actually thinking about doing it.’’

‘‘I’m not a demon,’’ I pointed out, biting my lower lip nonetheless.

‘‘No, you’re not,’’ Aisling said in an abstracted voice. ‘‘Defying an order . . . hmm. That’s tricky. Maybe it would help if you gave me the specific circumstances.’’

I hesitated for a moment or two, unsure whether I wanted to entrust something so potentially dangerous to her. In the end, I decided that I had little recourse, and she was my best resource of information about demon lords. ‘‘Magoth ordered me to retrieve the dragons’ phylactery for himself. He plans on using it to bring the dragons to rein.’’

Aisling’s eyes opened wide. Jim gave a low, long whistle.

‘‘A direct order?’’ she asked.

I nodded, misery making my gut grumble. ‘‘I can’t do it. I just can’t do it. Even if I wasn’t mated to Gabriel, even if I didn’t give a damn about the dragons, I still wouldn’t do it. It has the potential for just too much power.’’

‘‘But . . . he must have had you steal powerful items before,’’ she said. ‘‘How did you get around those? Or did you?’’

I shook my head. ‘‘He’s never asked me to steal anything quite so important before. Magoth is . . .’’ I made a vague gesture. ‘‘He’s a bit of a flibbertigibbet, if you want to know the truth. He always has a hundred different projects going, and flits from one to another without following one through to the end, which, I have to say, I encourage.’’

‘‘It keeps him from becoming dangerous to the mortal world?’’ she asked.

‘‘Yes. All the other things that Magoth has made me steal for him over the past eighty years weren’t nearly as important as this phylactery. Although I don’t like being forced into the role of thief, it eased my worry somewhat to know that the things I was taking weren’t really going to matter, if you know what I mean. He was just too unfocused, too easily distracted.’’

‘‘Not the brightest bean in the Crock-Pot,’’ Jim said, nodding in agreement.