Sunday afternoon, I dressed in the uniform Evangeline had prescribed—a pair of black slacks and a matching polo—and did my best to tame my hair into a semblance of style.

My stomach fluttered with nerves as I stood at the bathroom mirror, studying the result. No one would guess I was my father's son from my appearance, at least.

With the shirt tucked in and the waist of the pants cinched with a simple belt, I looked like any other young, underpaid service person. The black clothes and belt made me look a little underfed, and with my nails painted pink and a bit of makeup, I could pass for a boyish girl or a girlish boy almost equally well. Only the small prominence of my Adam's apple and my complete lack of curves pointed more towards one than the other.

Evangeline had said it was fine to wear jewelry if I liked, so I had three sparkly studs in each ear and two silver hoops on the left. I'd taken off my father's ring, not wanting anyone to recognize it, but kept the rest of the silver bands I typically wore.

As satisfied with my appearance as I was ever likely to be, I headed out to meet Evangeline.

I hadn't seen Ro all morning, and so was doubly surprised when he intercepted me at the door and declared his intention to tag along in cat form.

"I thought you said all the Thrones know what you look like?"

He shrugged. "They do; but one black cat is very like another—from a human perspective—and it's not an uncommon form for familiars to take. I'll ride on your shoulders and no one will look twice."

I rather doubted that. A cat riding around on a person's shoulders seemed like something to stare at, but I didn't argue. I was grateful for the company, even if I knew it wasn't for my sake.

He transformed and leapt up to drape himself around the back of my neck, and I had to admit that it was strangely comforting. I'd been practicing the meditation techniques Janelle had taught me all morning, but nothing came close to soothing my anxiety like his warmth across my shoulders did.

I resisted the urge to reach up and stroke his head, imagining he'd probably bite me if I did, and by the time I'd walked up the street to the bakery, I'd become accustomed to his weight.

Evangeline greeted us excitedly, exclaiming that Ro (who she hadn't seen before) was 'absolutely adorable' and 'just the perfect fit for me.' He dug his claws into my shoulder a bit and lashed his tail, but at least he didn't hiss and growl.

Sophie was in mink form again, disguised as a little fur neck-warmer, and only lifted her head for a moment to blink curiously at Ro before tucking her nose under her tail.

Together, Evangeline and I loaded dozens of trays of cupcakes into her small white car, along with an exquisite three-tiered wedding cake.

Then she drove us out of the city a short way to what I could only describe as a small castle.

Lucian Drake's estate was set amidst unnaturally green lawns, groves of ornamental trees, a small artificial lake, and botanical gardens complete with fountains and statuary. And that's just what I could see from the driveway.

"Oh, my heavenly lady's tits, just look at this place!" Evangeline gasped, leaning over the steering wheel and looking at everything but the road. "Can you imagine? Lucian must have gold leaking from his arse to afford the upkeep. 'Course it's all in the family. Bein' a Throne hardly pays a dime. That's why you got to be insanely devoted, or rich as fuck-cakes to be one. Not to mention high-born, of course."

Distracted by the array of interesting imagery her words evoked, I couldn't think of a suitable reply. My father certainly hadn't been 'rich as fuck-cakes,' whatever that was. Then I yelped as Ro dug his claws into my shoulder.

Sophie squeaked a simultaneous warning, and Evangeline returned her attention to the road just in time to avoid driving straight into a shallow lily pond.

"Whoopsie! Close call," she laughed. "Not 'sposed to get wet until after the wedding."

I swallowed, and Ro slowly retracted his claws from my flesh.

A few moments later, Evangeline parked around the back of the mansion, where other caterers and service people were already unloading vans and cars with everything from flowers to crates of champagne. Together, we carried the gorgeous cake in its clear plastic box inside to a sort of staging area, and set it on a wheeled table. Next, we fetched the trays of cupcakes and arranged them on tiered crystal display stands. Evangeline placed little handwritten cards before each group, to identify the different varieties, which included gluten-, dairy-, and sugar-free.

"Can't please everyone," Evangeline said, adjusting the little card in front of a small set of gluten-free vegan cakes topped with orange icing-carrots. "But a gracious host at least tries, and Lucian can certainly afford the effort."

Once this was done, we wheeled everything out through a set of large doors to a patio shaded by an enormous canopy, where tables covered in white satin awaited. The cake and cupcakes had center stage, and a whole table to themselves. The rest of the tables were soon laden with enough food to feed a small kingdom. When a blast of music and cheering drew my attention, I saw that this might not be too much of an exaggeration.

In the distance, off over the sloping green lawn on the opposite side of the ornamental lake, a crowd of several hundred people sat in white chairs arranged before a large gazebo, on which a bride and groom were just then being showered with some sort of confetti. Suddenly, the cupcakes made more sense: a single cake couldn't possibly feed that many people, and the mini versions, with their wider variety, increased the chances that everyone got a 'slice,' so to speak.

With the ceremony concluded, the guests rose from their seats, and a procession soon approached, with the bride and groom in the lead.

Evangeline tugged at my sleeve excitedly and led me back inside to the indoor staging area. She bounced along almost on her toes, as caught up in the festive spirit as a hummingbird with a sugar high.

"Now for the fun part," she said, throwing me a conspiratorial wink and practically humming with excitement as she unpacked a final refrigerated travel cart. This one was full of large trays, like pizza pans, on which were tiny bite-sized cakes. "This is our chance to advertise," she said, handing me a tray. "Just mingle with the crowd, offer a bite, and don't forget to say it's courtesy of 'Evangeline's Delights.' If you have a chance, work in that we did the cake and the regular-sized cupcakes, too. Well, go on!"

She gave me a little push, and I barely managed not to drop the tray as I stumbled back towards the door and out into the milling crowd of revelers.

Almost instantly, I saw why Ro wasn't worried he'd be recognized: it seemed every witch in attendance had their familiar in tow.

There were cats of every color, dogs of every size, and an array of far less common animals. I stared as a man with a tiger on a leash walked by.

"Sure, it's flashy," I muttered under my breath, "but can you get it past airport security?"

Ro kneaded my shoulder, and I got the sense he'd be laughing if he were in human form; then again, he'd probably be glaring hatred at me, too, so I was glad he wasn't.

At least as a cat, he didn't seem so desperately out of my league.

As I stepped tentatively among the crowd, offering cake bites to the guests, I did my best to pick up on the conversations going on around me. Amid the press of bodies, shouts, and increasingly tipsy laughter, it wasn't easy, though, and most of what I heard made little sense. On the other hand, I was nearing the threshold of sensory overload, and could barely hold my tray of cake-bites level.

Ro's claws pricked my skin again and his whiskers tickled my ear. Even without human speech, I somehow understood what he was telling me.

Red alert. Shields up, dumb-ass.

Briefly shutting my eyes, I did my best to envision myself surrounded by a globe of soft pink light—not impenetrable, but protective, like a dampening field. It seemed to work, and my senses cleared a little.

Enough that I could focus on one conversation at a time.

Even so, I didn't understand much. Ro, on the other hand, seemed to understand plenty, and proved adept at steering me around like a strange bipedal horse with the pressure of his claws.

Great, I thought, I've found my calling. Human horse for a demon cat. Totally not demeaning at all.

Then again, I still had only the vaguest idea of the indignities my father had forced on Ro, and he was pretty cute as a cat. Besides, at least one of us was being useful.

I'd just finished reciting my spiel about the cakes to a half-interested, half-intoxicated man who kept calling me 'sweetheart' while Ro eavesdropped on a different conversation, when a name caught my ear.

"...like Oscar. Never understood why he was so obsessed with that shit. Everyone knows they don't exist."

I turned so quickly I nearly lost a few cakes to centrifugal force.

"But Alhazred says they can be summoned, and according to the Lesser Key..." a second voice enjoined, and I quickly pinpointed the conversation. One speaker was a man I didn't recognize, but the other I knew from the 'Big Picture Book of Thrones,' or whatever it was called.

Jade Wu, otherwise known as the Throne of Night.

She appeared to be about forty, with sleek black hair, pristine makeup, and a shimmering gown that appeared either blue or green according to the polarity of light.

"Alhazred was mad," Wu snapped, "and everyone knows the Lesser Key is bunk. They're just another kind of demon, despite how various religions like to delude themselves. No one's seen a real angel in a thousand years. They're extinct."

"But Oscar said—"

Wu laughed. "Oscar was mad, too, if you ask me. You know he once told me he had a son? A high witch is about as fertile as a field sown with salt. He—"

She cut herself off as another man walked past. Tall, with pale skin, slick black hair, and black eyes, he had the bearing of a top predator and an aura like ice. Even as my blood went cold, I recognized Lucian Drake from his photo, too.

When he'd passed on amid the crowd, Wu shuddered.

"Lucian is into that crap, too. Angelic lineages and shit. He and Oscar were doing some sort of... research... together, when..."

She swallowed and fingered the jade amulet at her throat.

"Do you believe the rumors?" the other man asked. He was short and rotund, and his voice was light. "That someone... murdered him?"

Wu scoffed. "Who knows. I don't, and I don't care. Gods, can you imagine if he'd succeeded? Hells, maybe he did. The way his death was described... sounds like something an angel might do."

"A... bad angel?"

Wu rolled her eyes. "Is there another kind?"

Clearly having grown tired with the conversation, she turned and walked away. The other man stood a moment, looking after her with a curious expression. A little green budgerigar perched on his shoulder, and nibbled on his earlobe, and then the man looked at me.

Trying not to jump out of my skin, I did the only thing I could think of, and offered him the tray of cakes.

"Care for a bite?" I said, immediately cringing at myself. "Courtesy of Evangeline's Delights."

The man was barely as tall as me, and his face was round and soft. He didn't seem threatening, and yet his pale green eyes were strangely sharp.

"Sure."

He took one and popped it in his mouth.

"Though, more sugar's the last thing I need," he added as an afterthought, even as he chewed and swallowed, and took another.

"These are good. Evangeline's, you say?"

"Yep. On..." I realized I didn't actually know the name of the street. "About a block west of the big park, near the city center."

"Oh, yeah," the man said. "I know that area. Evangeline's... Hmm."

He licked a bit of icing from his fingers.

"What's your name?"

Taken off guard, I opened my mouth, but at the same time, Ro's claws dug into my skin and my reply came out as a sharp squeak.

"El— Elliot!" I announced.

"Huh," the man snorted. He only looked a few years older than me, really, but somehow I got the feeling he was centuries ahead on the capability scale. "Elliot. I'm Al. Nice to meet ya."

He winked, grabbed two more cake-bites from the tray, and wandered off.

I let out my breath in a puff of relief, barely conscious of Ro's claws still anchored in my skin. After a moment, he relaxed, too.

Having had enough of the crowd, I turned my steps back towards the house, weaving in and out among the throng, and losing cake-bites to nabbing fingers along the way.

At least I could tell Evangeline her samples were a hit.

By the time I reached the relative sanctuary of the staging area, my tray was empty. I set it aside; but rather than grab another, I slipped through a side door and into the greater interior of the house.

Having made sure no one else was around, I dashed up a flight of stairs, slunk along a corridor, and ducked inside the first room I found unlocked.

It appeared to be a study or small library, and thankfully it was deserted.

Ro leapt from my shoulders and transformed before rounding on me.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, crowding me against the wall. "Are you trying to get caught?"

"You heard what those people said," I hissed back, trying (and failing) to push him away from me. "My dad and this Lucian dude were up to some kinda research shit. Maybe I can find a clue, or something."

"A clue," he sneered. "You have no idea what you're looking for."

"Do you?" I shot back in a whisper. "You were my dad's familiar. Don't you, like, know everything about him, or something?"

Ro's expression clouded. He pushed himself off the door and turned away from me, arms crossed over his chest.

"No, actually. He didn't take me with him, much, the last few years before his death. Once he'd agreed to give me freedom in exchange for my cooperation, I stayed away from him as much as possible. I only came when he... called me. I have no idea what he was up to in the meantime."

Unbidden, a vision of my father entered my brain: lonely, sitting in his study, resisting the urge to call Ro; knowing he was the only being in the whole world who would come if he called, and yet who would only hate him the more for it.

No, not my father, I realized. Me—in a future Ro would probably rather die than find himself stuck in.

"What's wrong?" Ro asked, sharp brows angled in a pinch as he turned back towards me.

I rubbed my hands over my face. "Nothing. I just... this is a chance to find something out, right? Isn't this what we're here for?"

He scowled, but then a different expression crossed his face and he looked away.

"Fine. Have it your way, Nancy Drew. But don't blame me if you get caught."

"I won't," I promised, and pushed past him as I started to look around. He was right, though, I had no idea what I was looking for.

After five minutes of poking around in what was, admittedly, a fairly ordinary, if extravagantly furnished, home library, Ro took pity.

"If Lucian is hiding some dark occult angel-summoning shit, he won't be hiding it here," he said from where he stood leaning against the door, studying his long nails and not helping at all.

"Where, then?" I huffed, out of patience and with my nerves so frayed I knew I'd have indigestion for a month.

He shrugged. "Where would you keep a secret?"

I considered. "I don't know. The basement? The attic? The... closet?"

"Interesting possibility." Ro raised his brows. "Shall we seek out Lucian's boudoir?"

Hardening my expression as best I could, I nodded my assent. Ro smirked, transformed once more, and leapt to my shoulders to curl around my neck.

Cautiously, I peeked into the corridor. Finding it deserted, I slipped out and slunk along it, trying every door I came upon. Some were locked, and those that weren't seemed to be spares or storage spaces. None seemed grand enough to be Lucian's 'quarters'. Then, at the end of the hallway, I came to a set of double doors, eight feet tall and twice as wide, and engraved with intricate carvings.

"This must be it," I whispered, trying the brass handle and finding it locked. "Hey... you know any 'unlocking' spells? I mean, does 'Alohomora,' actually work?"

Ro dug his claws in sharply, and I flinched. "Okay, okay. So, that's a 'no.' How do we get in then?"

I rattled the nob again, and Ro hissed.

"Ro! If you're not gonna help—"

He growled close to my ear, but a much deeper growl was what really got my attention. Turning slowly, I saw what looked like an especially large Doberman Pinscher at the end of the hallway, head lowered in a menacing stance.

It growled again, its eyes flashing red and its jaws full of flesh-tearing teeth, and then it charged.

I screamed and fell against the locked doors at my back.

Ro leapt from my shoulders and launched himself at a smaller door to my right, and somehow my brain got through to my body and told it to follow him. I grasped the nob, twisted it, and felt my heart almost stop with relief as it opened. Falling through, I slammed it shut just as the massive dog collided with the other side, snarling and scrabbling at the line of light along the bottom.

I scrambled backward like a crab, eyes fixed on the door as it shook with repeated impacts, and only Ro's full-throated yowl drew my attention away.

He stood on the windowsill, fur fully puffed, and swatted at the latch.

I rose unsteadily and saw I was in another of the spare bedrooms, with all the furniture draped with ghostly dust cloths. Raising myself, I got to my feet and stumbled to the window.

It was one of those old-fashioned windows, with two vertical sides that opened like double doors, but the latch was rusted. As I struggled with it ineffectually, Ro yowled again as the door began to splinter beneath the repeated battering of the huge, murderous dog.

"You're a fucking demon!" I whisper-screamed at Ro. "Fucking do something!"

He gave me a look that said, "you asked for this," and something inside me snapped. I kicked the window as hard as I could and—to my own immense surprise—it flew open.

Climbing through, I found myself only about eight feet from the well-tended ground. It seemed the house was built on a slope. This side faced what looked like a small golf course.

Ro leapt through, and I followed, dropping to the bark-chip covered ground below the window. I winced as my right ankle bent beneath me at a weird and painful angle. Not stopping to take stock, I limped along the wall in the direction I thought Evangeline's car was parked.

A low growl froze me in place.

I glanced over my shoulder, and I saw not one, but two murder-dogs at the far corner of the wall. Seconds later, a third burst through the same window I'd escaped from and landed on all fours, red eyes blazing.

"Oh, fuck me," I breathed, and turned to run.

A yowling hiss made me stop.

I turned.

Ro stood, still in cat form, with black fur puffed and tail high, facing off with three ferocious hell-dogs like it was nothing.

Three hell-dogs against one little cat.

He was powerful, I told myself. 'Top cat,' or whatever.

He'd be fine.

But while my brain told me one thing, my heart had other ideas, and I'd always been better at listening to one over the other—much to my own detriment.

I sprinted towards Ro even as the dogs charged, and snatched him up in my arms.

Then, with a feral scream, I envisioned myself surrounded, not with a bubble of gentle pink light, but with a sphere of burning green flame.

I felt its heat and energy, feeding from my heart, as real as anything: protecting me—protecting us.

And then it exploded.

My ears rang.

My palms burned like fire.

I stared at a spinning sky.

Something touched my face.

Ro?

I saw him in fuzzy outline—human-formed, his yellow eyes lit with fear. He held me as if I weighed nothing at all.

Around us, things smoked in the grass.

Chunks of things.

Chunks of... dog.

"Ro?" This time my lips and tongue worked, and I managed a whisper, at least.

He looked down at me, brows pinched.

"Your poor hands, Ellie," he said, holding my wrists. "Why did you do that?"

His voice sounded strained and his yellow eyes burned bright.

"Do what?" I rasped.

"Protect me."

I swallowed. My mouth tasted like burnt things and ash.

"Why wouldn't I?"

He bit his lip and looked up, scanning left and right as he rose to his feet with me in his arms.

When he spoke again, his voice was tight, and if I imagined the tears spilling down his cheeks, I imagined them quite clearly.

"I was wrong, Ellie," he said, as he bore me swiftly around the side of the house towards Evangeline's car. "I was wrong. You're not like other witches. You're not like other witches, at all."