I started to make a comment about how the rest of the club members must be imaginary, but there had already been too much snark this morning. Nanette’s attack had seriously shaken Dante up.

“Thank you,” I said again. A thought struck me. “I might have some other way for you to help. Will you grab my purse?”

He retrieved it from the living room and handed it over. Reaching inside, I was relieved to see the photo that I’d swiped from Mary was still there. I studied it for a moment, willing the medallion to yield some sort of revelation. All I saw was a translucent brown disc and runes or symbols that could easily be mistaken for a child’s scribbles. With a sigh, I handed it to him.

“Does this mean anything to you?”

His brows knit thoughtfully as he looked it over. “No. Should it?”

“I think it might be part of Jerome’s summoning. Remember when I asked you about an artist who carved quartz? This is what I turned up. Supposedly, the stone and marks are clues, but I don’t know what they are. I guess that’s where I need people like you or Erik.”

He gazed at the picture for several more moments, and to my surprise, I saw anger building in his features. Abruptly, he stood up and tossed the picture on the floor.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled.

“What’s the matter?” I exclaimed.

“This,” he said, gesturing at me and the fallen picture. “This is the matter. What good am I, succubus? I’m ten times more powerful than those people I sent you to go see. Aside from Lancaster, there’s probably no one else in this fucking town who knows as much about the arcane as I do. And what good is it?” He paced around my room and ran his hand angrily through his hair. “Nothing. That’s what it’s good for. I can’t seem to help you. I can’t do a goddamned thing. I couldn’t save you from that demoness. And I don’t know anything about this medallion thing.”

I was stunned by his reaction. “Hey, whoa. It’s okay. Sit down. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“It’s not okay.” He came to a halt. “I feel . . . powerless.” For someone who’d spent his life doing horrible things in the quest for power, I could recognize what a hard admission that was.

“You’re not obligated to do anything here,” I said gently. “You help me more than you realize. But this isn’t your fight. This isn’t your responsibility.”

“You’re my responsibility,” he said. “If I can’t look out for you, then why do you need me?”

“I’m not with you for what you can do for me.”

“Yeah? You’re with me for my winning personality?”