Isabelle sat bolt upright in her bed, panting hard. Perspiration covered her. She put a hand to the center of her chest, sensing desperately for the pulse of her magick. She pulled a strand, just a trickle, teasing the slight amount of moisture in the air around her. Her heart pounded so hard she feared an attack and the gentle thrum of her power calmed her.

Scent tickled her nose—dry, earthy, a little bitter.

Demon in the room.

Isabelle went still and silent. Even her breathing stopped, arrested in her chest by perfect shock.

No movement. No sound.

Oh, Lady, she wasn’t ready.

She opened her mouth, letting oxygen fill her. “Boyle? Are you there?” Her words fell into the quiet stronger than she expected. No quaver or shake to them. Apparently, all the quavering and shaking was going on inside her stomach.

“You have hindered my plans.” The voice came from the corner and her gaze flew there to see a hulking shadow. “You guard my keys too closely.”

The keys. The witches who were to come before her, yes. The ones on the list she and Micah had worked up. Isabelle had slipped her own data into the analysis, tweaking it so that the pattern ended on her exact magickal characteristics. It had narrowed the pool of potential victims between herself and the last two witches Boyle had taken from 375 to 151.

Micah had discovered her tampering, as she’d been sure he would, and she’d been forced to reveal her secret. For his cousin’s protection, he had agreed to keep Boyle’s ultimatum between them, although she’d had to argue with him loudly and at length to get his promise. He’d also agreed to remove her name from the pool. She and her mother had both shown up on the victim’s list.

Thomas had made good on his vow to protect those on the roster. He’d brought all those into the Coven who would come, set guards on the rest. Isabelle imagined that Boyle was finding his pickings to be more challenging.

“But you have not stopped me,” Boyle continued. “Your head mage cannot protect all the possible keys.” His voice lowered ominously when he spoke next. “And he had better not try to protect you.”

The shadow darted away. Boyle was gone. A soft rustling sound came from the direction of the window. The curtains moved a little from the breeze that blew. Isabelle hadn’t left the window open before she’d gone to bed. It was Boyle’s little way of letting her know he’d been in the room, watching her sleep…manipulating her dreams.

“I knew you weren’t dead, you bastard!” she screamed toward the window. Her voice sounded harsh and filled with despair. A part of her had hoped so very hard that Thomas had killed him.