He got to his feet with languid grace, strolling toward me with an expression that might seem pleasant, but which scared the crap out of me. He stroked the curve of my cheek with one finger. ‘‘Such a lovely face. You offer such temptation, and yet I believe you truly do not understand what you possess. Ah well, that time will come, and I look forward to introducing you to pleasures you can’t even begin to imagine.’’

‘‘If that’s all, I’d better be going,’’ I stammered, backing up toward the door.

‘‘Do you know what I will do if you attempt to keep something from me?’’ he asked just as I got my hand on the doorknob and was turning it.

I paused, my stomach tightening. ‘‘Kill me?’’

‘‘Tsk. The image you have of me,’’ he said, pretending disappointment even as his eyes danced with amusement. ‘‘Sweet May, I am a lover, not a fighter, as the mortals so quaintly put it. I would not kill you, although I admit that the thought of lessoning you brings me’’—he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply—‘‘much pleasure.’’

I had a momentary image of what his idea of lessoning was. It shook me to my core. No doubt my horror manifested itself in my expression.

Magoth laughed. ‘‘Alas, that enjoyment must await another time. But do, I beg of you, keep it in mind as I ask you this question—have you seen something at Dr. Kostich’s that I will want?’’

I almost sagged with relief at his question. I had been on the verge of admitting everything, figuring I might avoid the heinous fate he had planned if I could bring him the quintessence, but his own choice of words saved me. I lifted my chin, looked him dead in the eye, and said with absolute honesty, ‘‘No, I have not seen something that you would want.’’

He ground out his cigarette on the carpet. ‘‘I will rephrase my question—what did you find out about the archimage Kostich?’’

‘‘Not much,’’ I answered, my fingers tightening around the doorknob as I sorted through my memories of the previous night for anything of interest. ‘‘He seems to favor Greek and Roman antiquities, has two original Renoirs and one fake hanging in a reception room, and possesses a mistaken belief that arcane magic will protect his most valuable objects.’’

Magoth lit another cigarette, watching the flame on the lighter for a moment before snapping it closed. ‘‘Where was the vial?’’

‘‘In a case in his study.’’

‘‘What else was in the case?’’

‘‘The only things I saw were a couple of old vases, some gold jewelry that looked to be Etruscan in origin, and a fertility figure.’’