Jahn shook his head. “No, she’s been living with her lover the past moon cycle. I don’t know when—or if—she’s coming back. I think she prefers dandies. He’s a tailor. I ever tell you that?”

A tailor? I couldn’t see any woman leaving Jahn for a tailor, but then again, tailors knew how to use their hands so maybe she’d been missing out on something from the club owner’s calloused hands.

“I can give you the recipe if you like,” he added.

“Cook will appreciate that,” I said, licking my fingers. “I need your help.”

He glanced up, pushing the drugs aside. “What’s going on?”

“I need to find somebody. And I need to find him as soon as possible. He’s dangerous. He was a member of the Guard till he got kicked out, and rumor has it he’s been hanging out here.” I hesitated, then added, “My job’s on the line. If I don’t find this creep, my boss will humiliate me unless I fuck him to shut him up. And that would be a far worse punishment.”

Jahn grunted and gave me a nod. “What’s the guy’s name and what did he do?”

“Roche. Roche ob Vanu. He was a member of the Des’Estar until he murdered his wife, his brother, and a few other innocents along the way. He’s gone on a ram-page. Raped five women so far, and murdered four of them. We know it’s him because his magical signature is all over the case.” I frowned, then added, “Do you have a bowl of water?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Jahn slipped into a back room and returned with a silver bowl.

I glanced around the bar. At this time of morning, it was almost empty. I pulled the bowl to me and slowly breathed on the water. The energy of the Moon Mother coiled within me as I coaxed it awake, wending its way up my spine. A river of molten silver, it spread through the cells of my body, circling the spiraling tattoo on my shoulder blade. I slowly exhaled and a sparkling mist covered the water in the bowl, settling over the top of it like a thick fog on the lake.

Jahn gave a little gasp, but said nothing.

I glanced up at him, then back at the bowl and lowered my hand toward the mist, whispering softly. “Mist of the mountain, mist of the moon, show me the face of the one whom I seek. Moon Mother, grant me the power.”

And then, the mist parted, rolling to the sides of the bowl, and there—in the water, was the face of the man I was hunting. Roche. He looked harsh, with a jagged scar over one eye that gave him a roguish look.

“Now show us his true face,” I whispered, and waved my hand again. And the face in the water shifted, taking on a cruel, vindictive leer as his inner nature rose to the surface.

Jahn took a quick step back. “He’s been in here, all right. I know that face, but I had no idea he was a member of the Guard Des’Estar. He’s a bad one.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Three nights ago. He paid for a whore—the youngest we have, but she wasn’t young enough for him and I had to stop him from beating her.” Jahn grimaced, a look of distaste on his face. “I won’t hire women who are under the age of consent.”

“You’re a good man, Jahn. And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been back. I spend most of my time behind the bar, not waiting tables, you know.” He stared at the face still lingering in the water. “Next time I see him, I’ll get word to you as soon as I can. You say he’s a murderer?”

“Rape, murder, torture. A lot of things you don’t want to know about,” I said. “I wish I could cast a spell of Finding, but my magic doesn’t always work right. I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

“Yes, darlin’, I’ve heard,” Jahn said. He stopped suddenly, staring at the door. I heard it open as someone came in. “Damn it, what’s he doing back here?”

I knew who it was. Without even seeing his face, his energy swirled in ahead of him like a whirlwind. The golden man. The man with jet skin and silver hair. The Svartan. And then, without a sound, he was standing next to me, staring at the scrying bowl. He looked from it, to me, then back to it.

“Hunting?” he asked, his voice lazy.

I slowly turned my head to lock his gaze. “What business is it of yours?”

“I’ve seen your prey. Last night, as it so happens.” He slid onto the bar stool and casually snagged a handful of nuts from the bowl on the counter.

“Where?” I clenched my fists on the counter. “What price do you want for the information?”

Jahn put his hand on mine. “Darlin’, don’t go doing business with his kind—”

“Excuse me, barkeep, but perhaps you’ll answer a question.” The Svartan’s voice was smooth.

“What is it?” Jahn glared at him.

“If you disapprove so much of me, why do you continue to accept my money?” The Svartan gave him a faint smile, both derisive and yet challenging.

Jahn’s eyes were cold but he turned away. “Camille, use your head. I know you’ve got one. You’re too smart for the likes of him.”

The Svartan slowly swiveled to face me. “I don’t need your money. But if you would accompany me to luncheon, I’d consider that acceptable payment.”

My father would have a fit, but I wanted the information and this man could tell me what I needed to know. And I wanted to know more about him. He was hot, he fascinated me, and we had some odd connection—I could feel it there, hanging between us, though I had no idea just how or why it had formed.

I swung off my bar stool and smoothed my skirt. “I don’t accept dinner invitations from nameless strangers.”

He smiled then, a smile to melt the coldest of ice statues. His teeth gleamed, sparkling white. “The name is Trillian.”

As he offered me his arm, I slowly placed my hand on his elbow and he escorted me out of the bar. Deep inside, I could feel a whisper saying I’d just sealed my fate.

The afternoon sun beat down, the dusky scent of summer wafting through the streets. Y’Elestrial was beautiful. Buildings of marble and stone stretched along the neatly patterned streets. Carts clattered past us, horses’ hooves clicking delicately as they trotted along the cobblestones. Flocks of pedestrians milled through the thoroughfares, hurrying on their way to wherever they had to go.

We turned down the road leading to the central market where the vendors opened at sunrise and closed after sunset. Most lived in their stalls, spending their money on brandy and wine, sleeping off one drunken stupor after another under the canopies and awnings. Unlike regular shopkeepers, they were vagabonds—their wagons their only homes.

Bees droned their way past, lazily hunting through the flower arrangements that were for sale. The cadence of the vendors hawking their wares and of haggling customers filled the street with a cacophony of noise…an argument over the price of starflowers at one stall, quibbling over a bone pipe at another, women bargaining for fresh meat at the butchers’ kiosks. The collision of voices and sounds sent a bustling energy through the air.

The vast market was four blocks long. Eventually we came to the end and exited onto a smaller side street. Trillian pointed toward a low building with a sign that read the steak and ale.

As I pushed through the door, the aroma of sizzling beef caught me short. My stomach rumbled and I let out a grateful, “Oh, that smells good.”

Trillian returned my smile, winking slyly. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late, and the nut bread Jahn gave me only took the edge off my hunger.”

He led me over to a private booth and we slid into the upholstered seats on either side of the table, illuminated by a honeycombed candle, its wax fragrant and inviting. Trillian didn’t speak until the serving girl approached. She blushed when she saw him. I realized he must have that effect on a lot of women.

“We have good beef today,” she said. “And rosemary potatoes, fresh bread, and strawberry jam. Will that do?”