‘‘You will not harm anyone,’’ Drake said in a tired voice. ‘‘You may be many things, but you are not a murderer. Let go of the naiad, brother.’’

Kostya looked like he wanted to argue that point, but to my great surprise, he dropped the hand holding the knife, his shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘‘There is much to be said for dealing with strangers who do not know one well. No, I am not a murderer. But I will do whatever it takes to get back what belongs to me.’’

Cyrene turned around and stomped on his foot, then slammed a knee into his groin. Kostya yelped and doubled over, clutching himself.

‘‘Oooh, right in the happy sacks,’’ Jim said, wincing. ‘‘That’s gonna sting.’’

‘‘That’s for using me! And that is for making me think you were nice when all along you’re a selfish, egotistical beast!’’ Cyrene stormed, shoving him into the wall.

‘‘Dragon, not beast,’’ Kostya said with painful little gasps of air.

‘‘Same difference.’’ Cyrene marched over to where I stood, telling Gabriel, ‘‘I take back everything I said about Kostya. As far as I’m concerned, you can have the phylactery. He doesn’t deserve it.’’

‘‘I’m so glad to have your permission,’’ Gabriel answered with a twinkle of humor in his eyes that quickly faded away.

‘‘Why don’t we take this opportunity of momentary calm to finish up before someone notices the lack of security?’’ I suggested.

Gabriel nodded, taking my hand as he led me toward the vault. ‘‘I take it that it’s safe for us to go in there?’’

‘‘Yes, unless you have some sort of a phobia about singing and dancing imps.’’

He shot me an odd look as he opened the door. The others followed, Kostya bringing up the rear in a half-shuffling, half-crab-walking sort of gait.

Misha the attendant was waiting in his room when we all piled in. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of us, but other than making a few sounds of disapproval at the sight of the bloody men, he said nothing. ‘‘Sign here,’’ he said, holding out a clipboard and pen.

I scanned the paper quickly, but it was just a statement that I had received my property back in the state it had been taken from me. I signed and handed the clipboard back.

‘‘Next time, please adhere to the stated hours,’’ he said, handing me a small box.

‘‘Gabriel?’’ I said, nodding toward it.

‘‘That’s mine!’’ Kostya said in a still somewhat strangled voice as he lurched forward.

Gabriel reached for the box but Misha held tight to it, backing up a couple of steps as he eyed us.

‘‘You are who?’’ he asked.

‘‘Konstantin Fekete, wyvern of the black dragons. The phylactery belongs to me.’’

‘‘The black dragons,’’ Misha said slowly. ‘‘Surely they all died centuries ago?’’

‘‘Not all. There are still a few of us. And we will regain what we once held—’’