“Occasionally.”

Aisling breathed a sigh of relief when another woman stopped in the doorway and summoned Davida for a discussion.

Aziel dug his claws into her shirt, reminding her of his interest in something outside. A quick glance at Davida and Aisling went into the play yard.

The ferret wasted no time. He jumped from her shoulder and raced to the sandbox.

Aisling followed, and as soon as she saw the crude sigils a tiny blond girl was drawing in the sand, she knew immediately what Aziel had wanted her to see. He didn’t resist when she scooped him up and placed him on her shoulder.

The sight of the symbols brought a lump to Aisling’s throat. She pictured her youngest sister. She’d been about the same age as the child now studying Aziel intently when she’d begun scribbling similar sigils. Three years later, when she turned seven, it had become apparent she had a witch’s innate talent.

Aisling knelt and casually smoothed the sand to erase the symbols. The braver children began petting Aziel, while the more timid hung back.

If only she could get the little girl to Geneva. But even as she thought it and pictured the pouch of silver coins she’d gotten from Elena, Aisling knew it was impossible.

Travel was expensive and dangerous. There were men and women who’d think nothing of taking her money then claiming afterward that the child had been accidentally killed en route.

Aisling’s heart ached at the thought of leaving the little girl, of not being able to do anything immediately, or make any promises. But given Davida’s coolness toward the gifted, she didn’t dare say anything about the child. And even if she could produce the necessary paperwork, Aisling knew she was in no position to adopt the little girl. Her own future was uncertain, threatened, and though she refused to dwell on it and live in terror, she’d known when she agreed to the task in the spiritlands that it might lead to her death.

Still, hope settled in Aisling’s heart. If what Davida said was true, and the gifted took care of their own, then she would find a home for the child if she had to visit every house in the area set aside for those with otherworldly talents.

“What are your names?” Aisling asked, careful not to show a particular interest in any of the children though she tried to memorize every distinguishing feature of the undiscovered witch.

Zurael crouched next to her, studying the children intently as one by one they gave their names. The little girl was Anya.

Curiosity made Aisling turn to him and say, “You seem fascinated by them.”

His eyes met hers and her breath caught at the burning fury in them. His arm made a sweeping gesture encompassing the children not only in the sandbox but in the building and manning the fishing poles along the water. “In the place I call home, the birth of a single child is call for a kingdom’s celebration. And here-it is wasted on those created of mud. Like the earth they walk on and the air they breathe, they aren’t worthy of what they’ve gained.”

Davida appeared in the doorway before Aisling could think of anything to say. Rather than linger with the children and risk revealing her interest in Anya, Aisling rose to her feet.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Davida said. “Let me finish showing you around.”

Workrooms followed. Then crowded dormitory rooms and a kitchen connected to a dining area.

As they walked back to the front door, Aisling said, “In Stockton, lawbreakers are tattooed, but since coming to Oakland I’ve seen both a man and a woman branded with the sign of the cross. What are they guilty of?”

Davida laughed. “Only of being devout in their faith. They belong to the Fellowship of the Sign. Its members have carved out a community in The Barrens, or beyond. Several I thought lost eventually found their way to God when they were taken in by the Fellowship. They come back to help occasionally. And when the number of adults in the community expands, they offer a home for some of the children.”

“You’ve visited their community?” Aisling asked.

“No. I’ve had to act on faith that I’m doing what’s right for the children.”

They reached the front door and were ushered out.

The worst of Zurael’s rage faded as they distanced themselves from The Mission. It cooled with the need to remain vigilant.

“You did well in drawing her out,” he said as they passed the clusters of houses separated by remnants of destruction and nature’s reclaiming of the land.

Aisling glanced up at him, her eyes troubled. “I didn’t ask about Ghost or whether people have gone missing in this area, too.”

“I doubt Davida would have anything to offer about either. It’s better you left those questions unasked and didn’t alert her to your true interest in the Fellowship of the Sign.”

“How are we going to find their community or get there without trusting Father Ursu or Elena?”

Zurael chuckled. His hand curled around her arm and he stopped walking, turning her to him as he did. “Do you think the wings I’ve worn in your presence are useless except for show and defense? Do you think I’m limited to only the forms you’ve seen so far? If necessary we’ll search The Barrens and beyond.”

“You can fly?” she asked, making him groan when her hand settled on his chest.

“Of course, but first we’ll try to get a better idea of where to look for the Fellowship’s compound. And tonight, I will do a preliminary search of The Barrens.”

Zurael covered her hand with his and tormented himself by guiding it beneath his shirt to a male nipple hardened by the desire that needed only a touch, a look from her to flare to life. He closed his eyes when she rubbed her palm over puckered, sensitive flesh. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for the throbbing ache in his cock and the fiery need coursing through his bloodstream.

“Aisling.” It was warning and plea, curse and benediction.

A soft feminine mouth pressed to his, shocking him, tempting him nearly beyond reason. He jerked away, stepped back. Only the deeply ingrained training that came with being his father’s son, a prince in the House of the Serpent, kept him from responding to her overture, from parting his lips, taking what she offered and returning it, sharing breath and spirit with her.

She pulled away from him and resumed walking, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes, the tremble of pain that spiked through her the same way it did him when he witnessed it. He wanted to grab her arm and haul her back into his, to finish what she’d unknowingly started, or if not, then to explain how dangerously he already cared for her.

Zurael remembered too well standing in the Hall of History, then taking tea in the House of the Spider, unable to hide the lust she’d inspired in him from those he was with. Fear permeated every cell when he thought about an assassin from the House of the Scorpion being sent for Aisling after the tablet was reclaimed. He could keep her safe from the Djinn if Malahel and Iyar stood with him, if The Prince agreed. But if they knew how thoroughly she’d ensnared him…

Zurael allowed her to put physical and emotional distance between them. It wouldn’t last. Just as he’d catch up to her once they reached the bus stop, the wall of hurt separating them would fall under the onslaught of passion as soon as they touched again.

Aisling pulled the silence around her like a protective blanket. She willed herself to concentrate on the scenery she passed as she walked to the bus stop, on the tasks in front of her as she got onto the bus, anything but Zurael.

How often had she told herself to deny the desire? To fight the attraction? It was a mistake to accept more than his protection and aid, to continue allowing him access to her body.

For comfort she plucked Aziel from her shoulder and cuddled him against her chest. “As soon as we get back to the house, I’ll see what I can do about finding a place for Anya,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his soft fur before restoring him to his usual spot.