“Two women died before I came to see you, and you eked another night out of me by not giving me Ausra’s name. By that time a third woman was dead. Three’s enough for a pattern, isn’t it? Brown-eyed brunettes, twenty-five to thirty-five years old. Vanessa Gray was a little old, but close enough. You hired a copycat.” Margrit closed her eyes, tilting her chin toward the ceiling for a moment. “Son of a bitch,” she murmured. “You hired a copycat killer.”

“I deny that most strenuously,” Janx said mildly.

Margrit opened her eyes. “Give me a break, Janx. I’m not interested in busting you. You could confess your sins to me back to the beginning of time and there’s nothing I could do about it. God, how much did it cost? How do you hire a killer that fast?” Margrit shook her head before he answered, and unfolded her arms, turning the stone in her palm. “I don’t really want to know. What I do want to know is how you ended up with this.”

“You call in an old debt,” Janx murmured. “From far away, if you must, but that’s why I love to bargain, Ms. Knight.” He flicked his fingers in a throwaway motion, adding in a more normal tone, “I have people who work for me. You don’t need to know anything more than that.”

“People who gave you details about the murders,” Margrit guessed. “So your copycat could get it right. God, you’re a smooth son of a bitch.”

Janx, eyes laughing, bowed from the waist. “Thank you.”

“Is she alive, Janx? Is Hajnal alive?” A mix of hope and dismay ran through Margrit as she voiced the question.

“I haven’t heard Hajnal’s name in centuries, Ms. Knight. A week ago I’d have said with certainty that she was dead. But now…?” He nodded to the jewel Margrit still held. “Now I’m not certain of anything about her.”

“Now you owe me, Janx. You got what you wanted. You sent me on a goose chase after Grace O’Malley-” it hadn’t been a goose chase, but Janx didn’t need to know Margrit had realized that “-to earn time to set up your copycat, and now Vanessa Gray is dead. So pay up. Is this the first thing that’s been left at the crime scenes?” She held the sapphire up between two fingers.

“It’s the only thing that’s been reported to me, Ms. Knight. The only thing that’s been delivered to me from those crime scenes.” Janx inclined his head.

“I have to call Alban.” Margrit put the stone on the table and dug her cell phone out of her pocket, beeping the numbers to her home phone automatically.

The screen popped, graphics winking into a thin line as the phone gave a high-pitched whine. Margrit stared at it, then looked at Janx, who turned to Malik, tsking. “You’ve ruined another phone, Malik. It’s the method of travel,” he explained to Margrit. “The dissipation wreaks havoc on electronics. It makes talking with the djinn who are in the field difficult.”

Margrit puffed her cheeks in exasperation. “Yeah, well, it makes talking to Alban difficult, too. Can I borrow your phone?”

Janx’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, come on,” Margrit said. “You just ruined my seventy dollar phone. The least you can do is lend me yours.”

The dragon shrugged and slipped a phone from his pocket, tossing it to her. Margrit caught it with her hurt hand, unwilling to let the sapphire go, and swore as the plastic knocked against her fingers. Amusement colored Janx’s eyes and Margrit tightened her hand around the sapphire as if she might crush it out of sheer frustration. Trying to keep from cursing again, she turned the phone over, scowling at its red-and-gold-streaked cover plate. “Very nice. All fiery and stuff.” The words were muttered under her breath, but Janx grinned as she dialed home.

“Cole, Cam, somebody, please be home. Pick up. I need Alban to call me right away, at-” Margrit turned Janx’s phone over, checking for a number on the back. There wasn’t one, and she sighed. “Nevermind, I’m not going to be at this number for long anyway. I just…”

A prickly awareness made her arms itch suddenly, chills racing down her spine. Margrit cancelled the call with a shiver, mumbling, “Something happened. Lost the connection,” as she scrolled through to the recently-called list. Her home phone number was highlighted, a question mark blinking next to it. Four more numbers, all local, were listed below it.

“Ms. Knight? Are you well?”

“I’m just afraid something happened,” Margrit whispered. She hit the screen-down button once, then a second time, watching the numbers that had been called scroll by. Her hands shook and she fumbled, sending an extra screenful rolling by, too quickly to be read. Five blips of sound resulted from the buttons she’d inadvertently pushed. It would take three to get back to the main screen, return to the called list, and dial her home number again. She didn’t know if Janx could hear the tiny beeps.

You call in old debts from far away. She shook her head, a savage motion. Three more screens of numbers flashed by.

The second-to-last number on the screen came up with an international calling code. Margrit stared at it, a block of ice forming in her stomach and spreading throughout her body.

“Ms. Knight?”

Margrit jerked her gaze up, feeling as if the phone number must be imprinted across her eyes. She shivered again, then smiled as if embarrassed. “Couldn’t remember my own number for a minute.” She cleared the screen, returned to the called list and let the phone redial the number.

Eleven blips. The number needed to call a New York City number. Janx couldn’t know she’d searched his calls. Margrit met his eyes as her home answering machine picked up again. “Sorry, I got cut off. I hope this is recording. Look, if you see Alban, just tell him to be careful. Really careful. I’ll talk to you later.” Margrit turned the phone off and handed it back to Janx, the European number rattling in the back of her mind. “Thanks. I’ve got to go.”

“What are you going to do?”

Margrit picked up the sapphire. “I’m going to find Hajnal.”

“With that?” Janx’s eyebrows arched with amusement and he nodded toward the gleaming stone.

“I wasn’t planning on using it as a homing device, but I’m taking it with me, yeah.”

“Why ever would I let you do that? Do you have any concept of the value of that stone?”

Margrit opened her hand and looked at it, then shrugged. “Honestly, not a clue.” Curiosity welled up and she glanced at the redheaded dragon. “Do you really have a hoard?”

Janx laughed aloud, his pleasure so obvious it brought a smile to Margrit’s mouth, as well. “If I did, Ms. Knight, I wouldn’t answer that.”

“Worth asking.” She curled her fingers around the sapphire. “I need the stone, Janx. Alban’s not going to believe this without it. He thinks she’s dead.”

“She’s been gone for over two centuries, Ms. Knight. Odds of her survival are not good. I may not be certain, but I wouldn’t place a bet on her survival without further evidence.”

“And you’re a betting man.”

Janx flashed a brilliant grin. “Yes, I am.”

“Right now I’m inclined to bet on almost anything. A week ago I didn’t even know any of you existed. A missing gargoyle turning up after two hundred years of being presumed dead isn’t that hard to believe.” Margrit lifted her eyebrows. “You going to let me take it?”

“You and a priceless sapphire alone in East Harlem at night?”

“Looks like it, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting him take me anywhere again.” Margrit shot Malik a glare.

“I will allow you to take the sapphire,” Janx murmured, “because I am curious as to how this passion play of yours will turn out, Margrit Knight.”

“Passion plays are morality stories, Janx.”

“And so might this yet prove to be,” he agreed smoothly. “You’ll return the stone to me when the performance is done. And in the meantime, permit me to arrange a car,” he said, his pleasant tone cushioning the iron in his voice.

Margrit set her jaw and leaned against the table, folding her arms under her breasts. Her fingers protested, but the pain had faded. Like it or not, Janx’s ministrations had probably done the injury some good.