“No,” he said softly. “Not this time.”

“‘Not this time’?” I stood, knocking my chair backward as I stalked to the door, throwing it open. “Not any time, nutcase! I’m out of here.”

“Hope your shoulder feels better.”

I froze. Then backed up to look in the dresser mirror. Checked my hands. Then sank onto the edge of the bed. “No wounds.”

He shrugged, almost apologetically. “Fast healers.”

Like him. Like Butch. I dropped my head in my hands. What was happening to me? Here I was healing while Olivia lay dead, her final scream still spiraling in my mind.

“Why her?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Why not me?”

Warren didn’t answer. He just sat there as I sobbed, unashamed and unable to stop, weeping in a way I hadn’t for a decade. Bile rose to coat my throat, and I ran to the bathroom.

When I returned, Warren was still picking at his food, though he seemed to have lost his appetite as well. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and took a deep drink of water. It did nothing to erase the cloying sickness from the back of my throat.

Lowering myself to the edge of the bed, I said, “What happened to me tonight?”

Warren took a deep breath. “It’s called metamorphosis. It’s a transformation that marks the beginning of a third life cycle. It happens to all of us when we reach a quarter century in age. Because you were so well hidden, we couldn’t locate you until you began emitting the hormones, the pheromones, that come with the transition.”

“Which is why Butch was sent to kill me at that exact moment,” I surmised.

Warren nodded. “It’s a time of change, one that signifies a move into great power, or at least access to that power. Problem is, the exact moment of transition is also a time of great weakness. You’re frozen, as unable to act or react as a marble statue, though most of our members describe it in terms of heat, a rush of energy into your core.” That, I thought, jibed with what I’d felt. “We usually place our initiates in a sort of safe house, surrounded by our other members, where they can go through the process without risk to themselves or any near mortals.”

Like Olivia. “Why didn’t you do that with me?”

“Because the initiate has to be willing. You’ve been hidden so long your true nature was buried, even from yourself. We couldn’t find you in time to enlist you, much less educate you.”

“So how’d Ajax find me?”

“Opposites attract. You’re always more attuned to that which you fear or hate.”

I let out a hollow laugh that broke down into a tattered cough, and shook my head at the irony of that. So why hadn’t I known what to do about Butch? Why had my instinct only kicked in after it was too late?

“So, that’s how it works,” Warren said, after I motioned for him to continue. “We couldn’t locate you until our enemies identified you first. Then we could only hope that it wasn’t too late.”

Which brought me back to my original question—why me? “I think you’ve got the wrong heroine.”

Warren leaned forward, one corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. What was most unsettling about this was how normal, and sane, that smile looked there. I rubbed at my eyes. “You’re special, Joanna, even among us. Your mother was also a member of the Zodiac troop. She was the Archer.”

I looked at him sharply and my heart began to pound. Nobody had spoken of my mother in nearly a decade. “You know my mother?”

“You were born on her birthday, right?”

I nodded, both surprised and not that he knew this.

“So was I. I’m a Taurus, though, the Bull of the western Zodiac, also after my mother. Our lineage is matriarchal,” he explained, sunburned hands wrapped around one knee. “I suppose you can call it an inheritance of sorts. Every generation twelve men and women are born, raised, and trained to keep order in their part of the world. When all twelve positions are filled, there is peace and cosmic balance. Every major city in the world has a Zodiac troop, though the suburbs are patrolled by independents.” He frowned at that, as if the word tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Independents,” I repeated, my brows raised dubiously.

“Rogue agents,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.

“Superheroes?” I pressed, and he shrugged.

“For lack of a better word, yes. We live in the city of our birth, pay our taxes, and hold normal jobs, but in the meantime we scent out Shadow agents, our polar opposites on the astrological chart, and destroy them.”

I shook my head to drown out the words. They didn’t make any sense anyway. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me. I’m not a superhero. I’m—”

“Something never seen before,” he finished for me, and leaning forward, looked into my eyes. “You, Joanna, are the first sign.”

I rubbed a hand over my face and did a quick calculation. “Sorry to interrupt this fantasy in progress, but Sagittarius is the ninth sign of the zodiac, not the first.”

He shot me a look like I was the crazy one in the room and began cleaning the crud from beneath his fingernails. “Unless you define ‘sign’ as the portent signaling our ascendancy over our enemies. Your discovery means just that. It’s the first sign. You’re the first sign.”

Oh.

He paused, mistook my blighted look for one of confusion, and rubbed a hand over his beard. “Think of us as a metropolitan police force, but for the paranormal.”

“Then you suck,” I said bluntly. “Crime has risen eleven percent in the last year alone.”

Warren smiled and shook his head. “We can’t control what mortals do, Joanna. Ever hear of free will? Individual choice? All those universal checks and balances set up since the beginning of time? We do what we can on the physical plane—if we’re in the right place at the wrong time, that is—but our real job is to counteract the criminal activity of the Shadow side.”

“Such as?”

“Like the bombing of the Catacombs casino last year, and the tear gas released through the air ducts simultaneously at five Strip properties in June. The ambush of the governor’s motorcade three months ago. Oh, and the hostage situation out at the air base. I took care of that one personally.” He blew on his knuckles, pretending to polish them on his shirt, and there was that maniacal glimmer I was coming to recognize as his alter ego.

“I never heard about any of those things.”

He looked at me. “Exactly.”

I frowned. “So what does any of this have to do with me? You said yourself members have to be raised and trained for years to fight paranormal crime.” Did those words really just escape my mouth? I shook my head. “Why can’t you find someone else to take up the Sagittarius sign?”

“The Archer,” Warren corrected.

“The Archer, then,” I sighed, uninterested in the semantics. “There has to be someone else who wants the job.”

“Because you’re different in one way from the rest of us. A way that’s been spoken of in our mythology, taught in our classrooms, but none of us, even in previous generations, has ever seen.” Leaning forward, eyes going maniacally bright, he said, “You have a characteristic that makes you exceedingly dangerous to our enemy, Joanna, and, very possibly, even more powerful than the most learned of our troops.”

“Let me guess. I can leap tall buildings. Fly faster than an airplane, blah blah blah.”

“You were born on your mother’s birthday, true,” Warren said, ignoring the sarcasm, “but you were born on your father’s birthday as well.”

I recoiled slightly. “My father?”

“Not Xavier. Your real father.”

I crossed my arms and watched him with wariness and suspicion, and more than a little interest. “And he was?”

“Not was,” he said, shaking his head, a frown overtaking his expression. “Is. He’s the leader of our opposition. He’s our enemy. Your enemy.”

My enemy? I drew back. What the hell did that mean? I mean, up until twenty-four hours ago I wasn’t aware I had any enemies. “You mean he’s like Butch and Ajax? Some sort of…demon?”