‘‘Well, I’m glad to know that, but I don’t understand why you would go willingly with Kostya after he killed Porter. I realize he saved you, but he’s a murderer—’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’ Cyrene interrupted. ‘‘The blackmailer is dead?’’

‘‘Thought that would get your attention,’’ Jim said with a satisfied smile at the dragons.

‘‘Yes. We found him. And since you and Kostya had evidently been there, I assumed he had killed him.’’

She shrugged. ‘‘You assumed wrong. Kostya followed us when the blackmailer grabbed me, and bashed him on the head, but he wasn’t dead. Then we left by the window. I thought it was very gallant of Kostya.’’

I shook my head, more confused than ever. ‘‘Great. We’re back to the question of who killed Porter. I don’t suppose you have any idea?’’

‘‘I didn’t even know he was dead,’’ Cyrene protested.

‘‘It’s got to be the person who is manipulating us. And if it’s not Kostya . . . ugh. I just don’t know how much more of this mysterious business I can cope with.’’

Cyrene patted me on the arm. ‘‘Does it really matter who killed him? He was a bad man.’’

I shot her a look of disbelief.

‘‘Well, don’t think too hard about it, then,’’ she amended. ‘‘It’ll give you wrinkles.’’

‘‘If Kostya is so gallant, why is he holding you ransom for the phylactery?’’ I asked, pouncing on something she’d said.

‘‘Is he?’’ She looked over at where Drake and his men were (this time successfully) keeping Kostya back. Gabriel and his guards stood opposite. I frowned when I noticed that Gabriel’s lip was cut, and his nose bleeding. ‘‘Well, I’m sure he has a very good reason for it. You’re all wrong in thinking he’s a villain, May. He’s actually very sweet, and very, very misunderstood.’’

‘‘I bet he is,’’ I said, moving around her to Gabriel’s side. His eyes glittered with an intensity that did not bode well for Kostya.

‘‘We don’t have time for this,’’ I told him in a low voice.

His gaze flickered to me. ‘‘You found it?’’

‘‘Yes. But you’ll need to take it. The vault attendant will only give it over to a dragon.’’

‘‘The phylactery!’’ Kostya said loudly, wrenching himself away from Drake’s bodyguards. He was at Cyrene’s side before I could even think to warn her, a knife held to her throat.

‘‘You’ve already done that,’’ I told him, my fingers itching for my own knife. ‘‘You’re not going to be so predictable, are you?’’

‘‘If you do not bring the phylactery to me, I will kill your twin,’’ he said coolly.

Cyrene gasped and tried to look at him, but he held tight to her neck.