He called Bayne and made some arrangements.

Then he went on the hunt.

He found his prey easily within the hour. She wore a classic black two-piece suit, four-inch heels and another sleek chignon, but Dragos remembered another image of her from an age long past, wearing armor, covered in blood and screaming at the sky as he soared overhead, her face twisted with rage and hate.

The early morning was still dark gray and bitingly cold, and huge mounds of dirty snow were piled everywhere, but like Dragos, the Elven tribunal Councillor did not bother with an overcoat. She stepped out of the front doors of the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue followed by two attendants.

If the Elf had seen him coming, she would have tried to find some way to avoid him, so he had not given her the opportunity.

Dragos could cloak himself so completely while he was in dragon form that a mouse could run over his talons and never know it. Usually he did not bother with casting such a strong spell, but he did this time. He cloaked himself while standing on the street curb and added a small, subtle aversion spell so that pedestrians somehow avoided the spot where he stood, until the Elven Councillor reached a spot just a few feet away.

Dragos said, “Sidhiel.”

She screamed and spun, her sophisticated poise shattered, and there was his old adversary again. Despite their designer clothing and their urban setting, and the laws and traditions they had surrounded themselves with, civilization remained the thinnest of veneers after all.

EIGHT

The Elven Councillor’s attendants had whipped around also, drawing weapons. Dragos regarded them contemptuously. Pulling guns on him was a stupid move. Firing on him would be even more stupid.

It had been a very, very long time since he had killed an Elf. He raised an eyebrow and almost smiled.

“Put away your weapons, fools!” Sidhiel snapped. Looking shaken and wild-eyed, the two attendants holstered their guns. The Elven woman regarded Dragos with abhorrence. “This is outrageous, Wyrm. You have no business approaching me for anything.”

“Quite the contrary,” said Dragos. “Talking to you has become the most important priority of my day.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she gritted. “But I will have a great deal to say to the Elder tribunal if you do not leave me alone immediately.”

“The tribunal is not here,” Dragos said in an exceedingly gentle tone of voice. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Councillor? Perhaps a ride to the Garden.”

She hissed and yanked a BlackBerry out of her suit pocket. Moving faster than sight, Dragos grabbed her wrist. He held her effortlessly as she struggled to free herself.

Sidhiel’s attendants stood frozen. Dragos told them, “You are out of your league. There is no shame in acknowledging that. Do nothing.” They watched him unblinkingly and didn’t move.

Sidhiel’s eyes widened as her BlackBerry grew hot. “Stop. Stop it!”

He said nothing. With a gasp the Elf’s fingers sprang open, and her BlackBerry tumbled to the ground. As both he and Sidhiel watched, the phone glowed red and melted into a dangerous, acrid smelling puddle that steamed on the frozen sidewalk.

Sidhiel’s gaze raised, her features sliced with impotent fury. “You are a blight upon this Earth.”

“I’m always amused at how the Elves insist upon vilifying me,” he remarked. “Your pot is much blacker than my kettle. Yes, I hunted some of you long ago before I grew and evolved. But you killed so very many more of yourselves than I ever did, and you tore up the Earth while you did so.”

“My gods, I loathe you.”

“About that cup of coffee,” said Dragos. As she turned woodenly toward the hotel entrance, he told her, “Not in a public restaurant. Your suite or my limo. Or even my suite at the Garden, if you prefer.”

After a brief struggle with the choices he offered, she turned to her attendants. “Go. Wait for me at the main entrance to Madison Square Garden. If I am not there shortly, call the head of the tribunal and tell him what has happened.”

“Councillor,” said the taller of her attendants.

“You can do nothing here,” she said through white lips. “But you can bear witness to my absence.” She threw a scathing glance at Dragos. “You will be held accountable for anything you do.”

“You should be careful when you talk of accountability, Sidhiel,” he growled. “I am not a patient man at the best of times. Now my mate is visiting your demesne, and I cannot get in contact with her.”

She stood rigid, her startled gaze searching his face. Then she gestured to her attendants, gave him a curt nod and strode with him to the sleek black Mercedes limousine that idled at the curb.

In the back of the limo, Dragos settled back in his seat with his arms crossed. He watched indifferently as the Elf positioned herself so that she avoided any accidental contact with his long legs. Without any further preamble, he said, “You may not have heard, but Beluviel invited Pia into Lirithriel Wood so that she could talk with Calondir. They traveled in yesterday morning.”

Sidhiel’s gaze flickered. “No, I had not heard.” She added slowly, “Someone should have warned you that cell phones do not work in the Wood.”

“I already know that,” he said impatiently. “What I want to know is if the Wood can block spells.”

“What kind of spells?” Sidhiel asked suspiciously.

He studied the Elf, his mouth tight. He was secretive by nature, and he hated to give up any kind of information to her, but there was no other way for him to find out what he needed to know. He said, “I have been dream casting, but last night either it didn’t reach Pia or she didn’t sleep. I chose to talk with you before I went down to South Carolina to discover for myself if she is all right.”

The Elf sucked in a breath, but she replied calmly enough. “There is no reason for alarm or for acting hastily. I believe in this case the Wood might have caused interference. Spell casting from within its borders is quite a different experience from casting a spell from the outside. It is important to keep in mind, Cuelebre—the Elves do not regard Pia in the same light as we do you. No one wishes her any harm.”

“So everyone has said,” he replied, eyeing her coldly. “Which is why I finally agreed to her visit in the first place. It does, however, occur to me that not everyone may have the same definition of harm. For instance, someone might think that taking my mate hostage would be a good way to try to control me. Then of course once you start talking about taking hostages, a whole new chessboard emerges.”

He watched realization dawn, and the Elf’s face went ashen. Her gaze darted to the scenery passing by outside the limousine’s windows. Madison Square Garden was several blocks southwest of the Plaza Hotel, and they were nowhere near the vicinity. The Councillor whispered hoarsely, “You do not want to do this.”

“Do I not?” He settled himself more comfortably. “Since we are talking, perhaps you can tell me why Numenlaurians have decided to visit Calondir.”

Sidhiel made a sharp gesture. “No one knows the answer to that except the Numenlaurians.”

“Speculate,” Dragos said.

“That would be pointless and irresponsible,” she bit out.

“Very well, if you won’t, I will,” he said softly. “I can think of one reason why Numenlaur would contact Calondir after silence for all these years. It’s the same reason that drove you to war in the first place when you fools discovered the Deus Machinae, and you thought you could control them.”

The Deus Machinae. The God Machines, items of Power that the seven Elder Races gods had cast to Earth at the time of creation in order to enact their will. The Elder Races had many myths of the Deus Machinae. At times the items appeared to be weapons or pieces of armor, and at other times jewelry or a tool. Their forms did not remain fixed. Their real nature was something infinitely more Powerful.

The Elf shifted in a sudden movement, her body oddly graceless, and a haunted expression entered her large, blue eyes. “We didn’t know then what we know now,” she said. “We thought the Deus Machinae had been given to us to use. We didn’t realize the Machinae would use us.”

“You thought they were yours to use as you saw fit, just as you thought you had the right to reshape the Earth,” he said, his quiet tone scathing. “You were ever arrogant that way.”

He had long held a fascination with the underlying patterns in the world—magic systems, science, the ever-shifting reality of economics and politics—and in the back of his mind, he was constantly piecing and repiecing together bits of information, like working on a gigantic puzzle of the universe.

Several pieces of information snicked into place, and another potential pattern came together in his head.

These things were set in motion at the beginning, along with the laws of the universe and of Time itself.

That voice from the Oracle’s prophecy. Numenlaur. The Deus Machinae, the seven items from the seven gods of the Elder Races, thrown to Earth at the beginning and working the will of the gods as they tumbled through history. Pure and primal, not form but Form, indivisible.

The world was not just filled with prophecy and predators, but it was filled with Power too. So much of the drama that played out on the modern-day stage came from the first things and the first creatures. First among those creatures were the gods themselves.

It was clear he would get no more out of the Elf. Once her usefulness to him ended, he lost interest in her.

The limousine pulled smoothly up to the curb at Cuelebre Tower. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, a young Wyr male ran out of the Starbucks on the ground floor, wearing a green apron and carrying a covered cup. As the Starbucks employee reached the limo, Dragos opened the door and climbed out.

He took the cup and bent in the open door to hand it to Sidhiel, who took it cautiously as though she expected it to explode in her face. “Here is your coffee, Councillor,” said Dragos. He met her gaze. “Don’t try to leave New York until I know for sure my mate is free and safe. I don’t think the journey would go well for you. Enjoy the games today.”

Color washed her pale features, and her pale gaze glittered with equal parts fear and fury. He stood back and watched the limo pull away from the curb. Then he pulled out his iPhone and hit speed dial.

Bayne answered on the first ring. “Yup, got two people following the limo now.”

Dragos said, “She can do anything she wants as long as she doesn’t leave town. If she does try to leave, call and let me know.”

“You got it.”

He clicked his phone off. Sidhiel would make sure that there were repercussions for him frightening her and issuing threats, but that was an issue to face on another day.

A slicing winter wind whistled down the tall corridors created by the skyscrapers, stinging his skin. He ignored it and turned to face south while logic and instinct clashed inside, building pressure. These days there was always more pressure.

Logic said that Pia was all right, that the Wood’s influence was just as Sidhiel said it was, and that it interfered with spells cast from the outside. While he had sensed a great deal of hate in Sidhiel, at that point in the conversation she had spoken plainly and he had not sensed any insincerity in what she had told him.

Logic also reminded him that Pia had five days left of the week they had agreed upon. Five days was a very short amount of time, despite the Powers that were active and moving through the world. In the meantime, he knew Pia was also awake and thinking about their missed dream date. He should give her time to send him a message, at least a day and perhaps two.

But instinct was a much more simple and overriding imperative. It drove him unmercifully and roared that she was gone, gone.

And the fact of the matter was, he was not actually needed at the games today. The contestants would fight each other, and half of them would lose, and tonight there would be twenty-eight left. And Kris could shoulder for the short term whatever business crisis hit, just as he always did when Dragos had to travel. Bayne and the other sentinels would call if they needed to get in touch with him. Dragos’s presence wasn’t essential until the final round of combat, the day after tomorrow.

He should not cross the Elven border.

And he never did well with things he should not do.

The intolerable pressure that had built up inside him eased as he took to the air. It was an unutterable relief to fly south.

He would go as far as the city limit. That was all.

Once he reached that point, he would decide what he would do next.

• • •

The fastest messenger in the group was Hugh, the gargoyle who could fly out in a few hours the distance that had taken them an entire day to travel by horseback.

Theoretically.

Pia thought of the stories of the lost hikers, and her stomach tightened at the possibility that the Wood might somehow interfere with Hugh’s flight. What if it screwed with his sense of direction so that he flew in circles? If that happened, who knew when he might emerge?

Eva didn’t like the idea of sending out their only avian capability, but then Pia was pretty sure that Eva didn’t like anything that she thought of. “Stop wasting time,” Pia said. “You know it’s got to be Hugh if we’re going to have any chance of getting in touch with Dragos quickly.”

“Fuck,” said Eva. “Fine.” She turned to Hugh. “Get ready to go.”

“You got it,” said Hugh.

By then everybody in the apartment was awake and alert. While Hugh prepared for the journey, Pia sent Johnny out to look for an attendant. Johnny returned almost immediately, followed by a pleasant-faced attendant who wore the High Lord’s plain green-and-brown house uniform.