Dear Neanderthal,

There is no way I could possibly thank you for everything you’ve done for me, even if you only did it to get me in the sack. No matter what happens, I will pay you back the money you wired to Spooner. My order has it. You may not be a thief, but I don’t like being in debt to people. I was going to tell you some mushy private stuff, but I don’t really trust Jupe not to read this. Plus you already know it all anyway, maybe better than I do.

—Cady

It was just after ten when I pulled into a deserted parking lot on the edge of Old Town. I paused to inspect the building across the street. Hard to believe, but there it was, the infamous Luxe Sapphire Temple. The place where the final— attempted—Black Lodge slaying had failed seven years ago. And the place my parents had been framed, when all they’d wanted to do was mediate peaceful talks between the other occult organizations.

As a rule, I usually avoid any of our rival orders’ temples and lodges, on the off chance that someone might recognize me; however, one time out of curiosity, I’d driven by this particular building when Kar Yee and I were loping around California after college. The largest occult temple in the world, their website claimed. It was intimidatingly big and contemporary in design, topped with a three-sided triangular blue glass window on the roof; the blue pyramid was lit from the inside and illuminated the night sky like a beacon, easily seen from blocks away. It was so grand and distracting that I almost failed to notice the series of Heka-charged wards around the main parking lot. I had no doubts that if I crossed those wards, I’d be attacked, so I kept my distance.

According to their propaganda, the inner temple held over a thousand people. So crazy. Like one of those megachurches that brings in flocks of attendees every Sunday. Quality, not quantity, as the caliph always said. I wondered if he would be here tonight, and if so, on whose side would he be standing?

I pulled my rental into a dark parking space under a tree at the edge of the empty lot and rolled down my window. The night air was brisk but energizing. I’d been stuck in the car far too long. Such a shame we didn’t arrive in the daytime. After navigating around the brown, smog-filled skyline of L.A., San Diego was the promised land, with warm, clear blue skies and even bluer water.

Dull yellow lights glowed from the smaller windows around the sides of the temple. A handful of cars were parked near an entrance, but I didn’t see any people or movement. I patted my jacket, double-checking that the crystal talon was still tucked away safely in the inner pocket. A copy of the White Ice Demon class seal was rolled around the talon for easy access, but I’d also memorized it, and hidden a spare piece of red ochre chalk in the side of my sock, just in case.

Riley was snoring loudly in the seat beside me; I’d dosed her one last time when we stopped outside of L.A. for gas. I’m sure my parents weren’t going to be thrilled about the kidnapping. Nothing I could do about it now but own up to it.

Oddly enough, I was nervous to see them. It had been years, after all, since that last time my mom flew from France to see me in college. I’d changed a lot; I was sure they had too. I didn’t worry about it for too long, because the air bubbled outside the open driver’s window and Scivina materialized.

You are here, she said stoically.

“Hello to you too. Where are my parents?”

She didn’t answer me. Before I could say another word, she faded away.

“Hey!” I cried to the distorted air she left in her wake.

Pissed off, I stepped out of the rental, leaving the door open. A long black limo pulled into the lot. I stuck one foot back inside the car, wary, but the limo door opened and a familiar figure emerged.

“Mom?”

She was wearing a well-cut navy business suit and had her dark hair pinned up, the crown of it now gray. Not only that, but her face was harder; the lines around her mouth were more deeply etched and she’d lost weight. The long, straight nose and deep-set eyes were still the same, but her complexion was sallow. She looked as if she’d aged ten years or more. It broke my heart a little.

My feet didn’t want to move. I felt unexplainably shy, like a child. Older or not, she still commanded a great deal of respect. People always said that about her. She could just step into a room and everyone would stop what they were doing to look at her.

She strode to me with outstretched arms. “Darling,” she said, a sliver of her once heavy French accent slipping in.

Her arms folded around me, and I stiffened. Then I smelled her perfume and her hair, and I fell into her. It was like being drawn into a soft, warm cocoon. Everything just went away, all the worry and stress and bad feelings. My persistent headache pulsed a little softer, and I almost forgot why I’d come. None of it mattered. Only that she was there.

The shoulder of her jacket was wet when I pulled away, but I didn’t realize I’d been crying.

She held my face in her hands. “Hello, my beautiful girl. It’s all okay now, yes?”

I nodded rapidly, sniffling. There was so much I wanted to say, but my tongue was numb. It was all I could do to breathe and stand up straight.

“Seléne.” A low voice sounded from behind her.

I looked over her shoulder to glimpse my father standing there.

“Dad.”

His short walnut brown hair was going gray like my mom’s. Especially over his ears. Even his eyebrows were gray. Jesus, they’re old. My mind recalled all the recent U.S. presidents, the stress of the office rapidly aging them over four years’ time—how you could look at before and after photos and be shocked by the difference.