He pointed the small remote he held at the stereo system and the music faded away. Then he turned and regarded her. Bastard was handsome. Sarafina could see why all the world adored him, what they knew of him, anyway. “Ah, the angel seraphim.”

“My name is Sarafina.” Her voice had an edge she’d best get rid of fast. She smiled. “Mr. Faucheux.”

He inclined his head and motioned to a deep leather chair in front of a large mahogany desk. “Sit.”

As she found her seat, Stefan took a fat cigar from a case on his desk and lit it with a snap of his fingers. Sarafina tried not to cough on the smoke and veered away from making a Freudian allusion aloud.

A view of the New York cityscape spread out behind him. It was a large office, complete with a sitting area, a putting green, and a sizable bar. Nice. Not to mention the stereo and large-screen TV. The place was twice the size of her apartment and furnished much better.

Of Stefan Faucheux could she expect anything less?

Behind her the door snicked closed and she jumped a little, turning around to verify the event.

“Merde. I will not harm you, Sarafina. Please.”

Sarafina drew on some place of inner strength she’d been cultivating since childhood. She could do this. She could put on an act and make it believable.

She turned back around, shooting him a look of skepticism. “You did kidnap me, Mr. Faucheux. Remember? I think I have a right to be a bit jumpy.”

“Stefan.” He sat down in his chair and propped his expensively clad feet onto the shiny surface of his desk.

“Stefan. So you can see why trust may not be on the menu.”

He spread his hands, cigar smoking from between the fingers of one hand. “And yet you are here, my petal. You have come all the way from Chicago, in fact, to seek an audience with me.” His expression darkened. “After having spent three weeks with Thomas Monahan and his Coven.” He sneered the word Coven.

“I did spend three weeks at the Coven, you’re right. I spent three weeks there and decided they aren’t for me.”

Stefan smiled and took a puff. “Cigar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Tell me more, my petal. Tell me about the man you have arrived here with.”

“James Anwar. He’s an earth witch I met at the Coven. We came to the same conclusions about the place at around the same time.” She leaned forward. “I don’t want to talk about James, I want to talk about the daaeman who is—”

“Is he your lover?”

She bristled. “James? Why should that matter?”

Stefan wore a small, secret smile that she didn’t like at all. He leaned forward and rested the cigar on the edge of an ashtray, letting it smoke. “It matters to the demon who hunts you.”