“Just the messenger,” he reminded me.

“Well, that means I was at least twelve when this happened, because that’s when I had my first period, but kindling the moon? The Moonchild spell doesn’t just strengthen Heka? I’m supposed to be able to generate magical power from the moon? What the hell?”

“Just repeating what your caliph said. That he’d personally tried to get you to kindle moon energy for several months but nothing was happening.”

“Weird. I don’t remember him trying to teach me moon magick. Christ, I wouldn’t even know how to start. Anyway, keep going.”

“He said that he had no doubt that you were special, because his guardian had examined you. He mentioned your halo. His guardian told him about it. Then he was trying to get your mother to show him the ritual they used for your conception. She insisted it was the proper one, from the order’s private library.”

My cheek moved against his chest as I nodded. “That’s where I read about it.”

“He was also asking for the name of the man who presided over the ritual. She gave a name, Frater Oben?”

“Yes. That’s the old mage I was telling you about. The one they had sex in front of.” I grimaced, shucking away the thought. “He died before I was born. Kind of a relief that I never had to look the man in the eye.”

Lon grunted in agreement. “After that, they argued back and forth. He insisted that he was only concerned for her and had her best interest at heart. She got upset and walked out crying. Then the dream ended.”

“Huh,” I said, puzzled. Was it possible that my parents had failed or screwed something up with the Moonchild spell? It pissed me off to know that the caliph had made my mom cry. I had to remind myself that this had happened years ago. Still … I thought about Lon’s earlier suspicion of the caliph. I hated to think he was right. It made me a little sick to consider it, even. But what if the caliph was only concerned about the order’s reputation? Only concerned that they had a real Moonchild in their ranks? In the dream, was he accusing my mother of having failed at the spell?

Then I allowed myself to think about something worse. “Hey Lon? What if the caliph wasn’t really kidnapped by Luxe this past week? What if …”

“He was working with Luxe? It crossed my mind, but some things don’t fit. You said the caliph was the only person, apart from your parents, who knows where you live. If he was working with Luxe, why would they send Riley Cooper to track you down with a Pareba demon?”

“They wouldn’t. If he wanted to turn me over to Luxe, he could just come and get me himself.”

“Exactly.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Right now I’m more curious about the moon kindling. Do you think that’s what happened back in the caves with the incubus?”

“I doubt it. I think I would have known if I was kindling moon energy. I wasn’t even trying, it just happened. Plus, why would an ability like this appear out of the blue if it was supposed to have happened during puberty? It doesn’t make sense.”

“If we can get our hands on the damn glass talon, maybe you can just ask your parents,” Lon suggested. “Seems like they have all the answers about the caliph and the moon spell.”

My heart fluttered. He was right. If I could just finish this and prove their innocence, then I could have them back. They could help me figure out what had happened with the incubus. We’d sort it out together. If they failed with the Moon-child spell, who cared? I sure didn’t.

I laid my head back on Lon’s shoulder and thought for a while, trying to make sense of the dream until he yawned and stretched again. “We should probably get going,” he remarked.

“Boo.” I gave him a thumbs-down sign, peeling myself away and flipping onto my back to lie beside him.

“Are you sore?”

I laughed. “Why, you want an award or something?”

“Maybe.”

I burrowed my fingers into his ribs. He recoiled with an involuntary, pained grunt. He was ticklish, I’d discovered by accident over the last few hours—a gold mine of an Achilles’ heel.

“That’s it. Now you’ve done it.” He grabbed my fingers.

“Oww!” I yelled, laughing.

“I was trying to be considerate, but screw that. We’re going one more round before we leave, whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, really? You’re awfully spry for a man your age.”

“Honestly, my back’s fucking killing me.”

“So are my legs,” I admitted, laughing.

He peered at me critically. “Looks like you fell into a vat of cherry Kool-Aid.”

I tentatively touched the swollen skin around my lips. They stung like hell. “That’s your fault! You gave me mustache burn. There, and other places …”

“Mmm.” He chuckled, eyes narrowing in humor. “Come here, girl.” Sweaty and sticky, he pulled me back up onto his chest and wound his fingers into my hair, now the consistency of a bale of dried hay. “I want you to shock me with Heka like you did last time,” he added in a husky, seductive voice, “right at the end.”

“ ‘Bite me, Cady. Shock me, Cady.’ Christ, you’re demanding, aren’t you?”

He grinned against my cheek. “Are you complaining?”

I wasn’t. Not one bit.

32

Craig Bailey lived on the outskirts of the Village. His narrow, three-story brownstone was modeled to look like an English country estate, complete with trellised vines and plenty of stained glass. I watched from a distance, waiting nervously in Lon’s coupe. The driver’s-side window had a radiating crack in the glass and the hood was dented in two places, but he didn’t say a word when we found it like that outside the Hellfire caves.