“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said quickly, leaning back in a wooden chair in a pose that was seductive despite the bleak surroundings. “We have an open marriage.”

“Very open, to the point of being nonexistent,” I snapped. “And while we’re on that subject, stop telling people we’re married. I’m Gabriel’s mate, not yours.”

“Sweet May, it wounds me near unto death that you would deny the fact that you are my consort,” he said, still making eyes at the policewoman, who was starting to look doubtful.

“That’s true, you are, and in”—Sally’s voice dropped to a whisper—“in this world, the equivalent would be a spouse.”

“I don’t care. I won’t have you slighting Gabriel in order to pump up your own ego,” I said, taking Gabriel’s hand again.

The policewoman watched with growing suspicion. “You are monsieur’s legal representative?” she asked Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled his usual charming smile. “That’s right. And if you do not mind, madame and I would like to talk to my client. Privately.”

She left us alone with Magoth, but only after insisting the others remain outside. Sally raised a bit of a fuss over being excluded.

“It’s not like I don’t have a right to be here,” she told the policewoman. “I’m his apprentice! Well, at least I was until he sent me to May, but even if you consider that binding—and I don’t, not at all, because I didn’t sign on to learn how to be a consort!—even if you consider that binding, then I should still get to stay because she does, and I’m her apprentice.”

“Only family and legal representatives may remain with the prisoners,” the policewoman said, politely but firmly herding Sally out the door.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me!” the latter called as the door was closed.

The second it was closed, Magoth was on his feet, storming around the room waving his hands in the dramatic fashion he favored when irritated.

“Get me out of this . . . this . . . hellhole of mortal sensibilities!” he demanded, stomping to the door and back in a fairly good imitation of a caged beast.

I leaned my hip against the small wooden table in the center of the room. “And what, exactly, do you expect me to do? You’re the one who had a hard-on of such extent it required a stone statue to relieve.”

“Don’t be idiotic,” he snarled, pacing between the door and the far wall. “I wasn’t screwing the statue—it was a matter of a simple incantation. I was trying to bring forth a Sybarite, if you must know, not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, surprised. “A lust demon? What on earth did you want a lust demon for?”