In the shop, the day passed slowly, and Ro stayed in cat form.

He still hissed at the customers, breathed down my neck, and clearly wanted to claw the eyes out of anyone who looked at me, but this behavior wasn't so distracting (or so menacingly attractive) in a cat.

Finally, in the afternoon, the stream of customers slowed to a trickle and then dried up entirely. With the shop empty, Ro retook his more human shape.

He came behind me, slipped his arms around my waist, pulled me against him, and took a deep breath with his nose buried in my hair.

"Are you smelling me?" I asked, grimacing.

"Mm-hm," he affirmed, bending his head a little lower so his lips brushed my jaw below my ear. "You smell different when I'm in this form."

"I do?" Distractedly, I made an effort to tidy the countertop, but it was impossible with his arms holding me in place.

"Yes, very different."

I rolled my eyes despite the shiver that raced up my spine and attempted to loosen his hold, without effect. "Ro, we need to concentrate."

"I am concentrating," he said, and slid his hands down to my hips as he kissed the side of my neck.

A little gasp caught in my throat, and I nearly choked as I jolted away and turned to face him. Then I made the mistake of looking up, and a shock zapped me through the heart as our gaze connected. His eyes gleamed with recognition, and a knowing smile quirked his lips.

"You feel it, too," he stated, hands on my waist as he pulled me back towards him. I set my own hands on his chest and held him away.

"I feel something," I admitted. "But..."

I bit my lip. The truth was I didn't trust—couldn't trust—that Ro liked me for myself. It had to be an effect of the familiar bond, or—

To my surprise, Ro sighed and let me go.

"It doesn't work like that," he said.

I blinked, startled. "Can you read my mind?"

His smile softened a fraction. "No. But I can sense what you're feeling, and I can guess the rest well enough. Ellie—the bond draws us together, but every bond is unique; and the form it takes isn't determined by magic, but by the natures of the pair it binds. Your father held me with iron chains: master and slave. I hated him, and he saw me as a useful tool. Evangeline and Sophie are like mother and daughter, loving and devoted. For Kyrie and Janelle—for me and you—the bond only strengthens what was already there."

"Really?"

"Yes." He tilted his head a little and frowned. "Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

I shrugged and swallowed, breaking eye contact and turning away again. No one had ever wanted me the way Ro seemed to want me; even with Jamie, I hadn't deluded myself that much.

"It just seems too fast to be real."

"You don't believe in love at first sight?"

"No. Not really."

"Good. Neither do I." He moved closer, wrapping me in his arms again. A purr rumbled in his chest and his hot breath tickled my ear when he spoke. "But I believe in this, and so should you."

Thankfully, Kyrie came down to take over for the afternoon shift, then, and I was spared the pain of coming up with a reply.

"Allister Raine?" she said, in response to my inquiry. "I only know of him by name. However, if he is a vestiger, he will be in the Witch Pages."

"Witch Pages?"

"A sort of 'phonebook' for witches," Ro said. "Most humans use the internet now, but witches—real ones, anyway—don't tend to list their services online. They're a low-tech lot, by and large, and the old ways work well enough."

"Here it is." Kyrie pulled a thin paperback booklet, printed on black paper with white lettering, from a shelf below the counter. Opening it, she consulted the index. "Hmm. I wonder if he is listed by name, or by occupation."

Careful not to get in her way, I leaned over to look and saw columns of tiny, dense print, arranged alphabetically. "Why can't we just ask Tobin? He used to live with the guy, didn't he?"

"Because I don't trust Tobin," Ro said, pressed to my back again. "A bond is not easily broken, and even a daemon who's been cast aside can harbor loyalty to a former witch."

"Ah—here it is." Kyrie pointed to an entry. "Seems he is an independent vestiger. Interesting."

"Why is it interesting?" I asked.

"It means he's like a private detective," Ro said. "He doesn't work for the official Order, which means Lucien's not technically his boss. Independents are rare, and looked down upon—just as the human police don't like PIs poking their noses where they don't belong."

"Looks like his office isn't far," Kyrie said, copying out the directions for me on a scrap of paper. "You can take the bus; there's a stop only a block or two from the address. Ro knows the way."

I took the paper and read it: 412c Oracle Lane.

Ro pinched it from between my fingers and pocketed it. "Fine," he said, with a decidedly determined air. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner 'later' will arrive."

"What happens later?" Kyrie asked, surprised by his sudden motivation.

"That's up to Ellie," Ro replied, and winked at her.

Kyrie clucked her tongue and gave him a look. "Well, the best of luck to you both."

❧

We took the bus (Ro in cat form curled on my lap and drawing many adoring stares) and then walked several blocks in a run-down, semi-industrial area.

I hugged myself, feeling out-of-place and exposed, and glad the little black cat skirting the shadows beneath the unkept shrubs was more than he seemed. I hadn't thought to change before we left, and I wore faded pink jeans, black high-tops, and a thin white hoodie that I had not found in the macho half of the clothing store. Usually, I wouldn't let society dictate how I dressed, but I made exceptions when visiting places where bad things might happen to people like me.

Ro meowed, drawing my attention away from the menacing concrete buildings behind high chain-link fences, and I saw a narrow street to my right. A very small sign, probably not readable from a vehicle, marked it as 'Oracle Lane.'

It was little more than an alleyway connecting two larger streets. Kyrie had said it wouldn't show up on a GPS map, and if you didn't know it was there, you'd drive right past it. On foot, it was hardly more noticeable.

Reluctantly, I followed Ro, who walked a few paces ahead with his tail held high. Bits of gravel crunched beneath the thin rubber soles of my shoes, and the asphalt was lined with weedy cracks.

Before a small mobile building that looked as if it hadn't moved for at least twenty years, Ro paused and looked back at me. Climbing the sloping ramp, I saw a small plaque on the plain brown door, which read '412.'

I tried the handle and discovered it unlocked. Inside, I found myself in a reception area the size of a walk-in closet, with a single metal folding chair, a dusty fake plant, and a plexiglass window with a hole at the bottom. There was a note taped to it, written in what appeared to be red crayon, which said "Ring Bell for Service," but there was no bell in sight.

I tapped on the plexiglass and waited.

When nothing happened, I tried calling out, "Hello?" and tapped the glass again.

Then Ro transformed, reached around me, and pressed a doorbell button on the wall. I'd missed it because it blended perfectly with the hideous floral wallpaper. In fact, it had been painted to match.

There was a shuffling sound, and a moment later a person of extreme age appeared behind the window, gazing out at me with rheumy brown eyes encased in folds of weathered skin.

"Yes?"

The raspy voice sounded feminine, but I didn't want to presume.

"Um... I'm here to see Mr. Raine," I said, raising my voice slightly. Being naturally soft-spoken, I often had to shout to be heard by those with imperfect hearing.

The person stared at me, ignoring Ro, then pointed a gnarled finger at me with alarming quickness.

"Ah! You're expected. Right this way."

The person disappeared from view. I wasn't sure what to do, until a section of wallpaper clicked and swung open to reveal a doorway and a narrow hall beyond. The person from behind the window grinned at me with nearly toothless gums, and I saw they wore a long floral dress and sturdy shoes. Even so, I was disinclined to assign a gender, as there was something masculine in the spindly legs and wide, boney shoulders.

"This way, this way." They turned and waved for me to follow.

I trailed after the beckoning figure down the hall past several cheap, pressboard doors. At the third, the person knocked and called in a reedy tone.

"Allie, your four o'clock's here!"

A tired voice answered from within. "Right. Thank you, Franklin. Let them in."

'Franklin' opened the door and shooed us through into a room hardly larger than the reception area.

Behind a plain desk, Allister Raine sat at a computer at least a decade out of date. He glanced up and gave me a weary smile.

"Please, have a seat," he said, nodding at two folding chairs against the wall.

Ro raised his brows at me, but lowered himself into one chair, and I followed suit. 'Franklin' withdrew, shutting the door noiselessly in retreat.

'Allie' continued to type for a moment, the keys clacking noisily, and then he let his head drop back with a sigh.

"Gods, why do I always feel I'm three weeks behind and yet scheduled two years ahead?"

He let out another sigh, and then raised his head and smiled at me, running a pudgy hand through his blond hair.

"Sorry. How can I help?"

"Um... Actually..." I glanced at Ro, but he was busy picking dirt from beneath his claw-like nails. "We don't actually have an appointment."

Al smiled. "Not formally, perhaps. But I've been expecting you, nonetheless, Elwood Harris."

At that, Ro stiffened, and I held up a hand to restrain him. To my surprise, it worked, and he remained in his seat, though he glared fire across the desk at Al.

"You know who I am?" I asked, rigid with tension, but not yet at full 'red alert.'

Al gave me a weary, crooked smile.

"Of course," he said. "I used to work for your father, after all. But let me guess: he didn't tell you about me, did he?"

I shook my head, and Al sighed once more.