Peering through her lounge's tidy, white louvres, Bell searched the darkness beyond her hedge-bordered front yard. At two fifteen in the morning, four hours before dawn, all seemed quiet on Millrook Lane. After bolstering every defence, she'd tried to contact her family or others in the arcane world she could trust, and had tried to get a psychic lead on Raj. But the Bhellbanes had upped the interference. The night might look calm to the average human eye, but on the metaphysical plane, magic wavered and shimmered like desert heat.

For the fourth time in as many minutes, she tuned into the frequencies of the wards humming about her home. No sign of disturbance. No witch or vamp had come within ten metres of the property's outermost watch spells.

Flexing her hands, she tried to ease the tension in them and the residual burn of the spellcasting she'd done over the past hour. What was worse? Waiting for trouble you knew was going to hit or actually finally facing it?

Stupid question.

Again, her heart skipped at the thought of Raj.

A muttered curse sounded behind her, in the kitchen.

She turned; watched Aden jerk back his hair to glare at the wand in his hand—which he'd so far failed to ignite. Not one rune carved into its pale, spiralled wood had sparked in the twenty minutes he'd been trying.

Exhaling, she forced herself to relax and strode over. "Could you be more of a muggle, Harry?" Not a fair comment. When it'd come to basic vampire slaying—decapitation or a wooden stake to the heart—he'd massacred the wraith-like training avatars she'd conjured. His natural athleticism, wizard blood, and current levels of adrenaline gave him the advantage over demonically possessed corpses. Vampires could survive horrendous damage done to the body they'd turned and taken, but they weren't as fast or strong as popular legends told. A fresh meal could boost strength, as it had when that fanged weirdo Victor had launched her across Aden's bedroom, but it couldn't bring dead flesh back to its prime; nor could it heal wounds quickly. Her money was on Aden if one or two vampires came at him.

But only if he could resist their thrall.

And to do that he needed to be able to consciously connect with his magic.

"You're not getting anywhere trying to channel energy into that wand." She plucked it out of his hand and slapped it down on the kitchen counter. "I told you it would be too ambitious. Stick with the rings I gave you."

The look her told-you-so got her straight up flipped her gut. Gone was easy-going 'normie' Aden. Tension cloaked him in wild energies. Temper and a spark of the arcane gleamed in once clear blue eyes. And the collection of protective pendants she'd given him and the whimsical rings on his usually bare, practical hands gave him an unconventional edge that had her biting her lip. This was what he should've been, had he been allowed to be himself. This was what she'd always sensed beneath the aggravatingly easy-going surface. And the trouble it promised as he glared at her? Oh, she had a bad, bad feeling she'd like how Aden went to war.

Her pulse danced as she recalled how he'd pulled her against him and melted her brain down to mush. Her fingers itched to dive into his already harassed sun-streaked hair and mess him up as badly as he had her. But she resisted temptation; chose peace. "Aden, your father cast suppression spells on you to pass you off as a normie—even to yourself. You can't clearly sense arcane power. It's a miracle you can draw anything from your aura energies, let alone any power beyond them."

Aden eyed his ring-fortified hands before clenching them, gemstones and silver glinting under her kitchen's cool lighting. "If I can't draw enough, I get mind-flayed again, right? The creeper vamp—"

"—is someone you shouldn't have memories of," Bell interrupted. The desolation in Aden's gaze made her want to simultaneously stake and electro-fry the foul, old vamp. "Aden, don't underrate what you managed to do with instinct alone. That you remember what happened when you were enthralled means you drew enough magic to mitigate the psychic attack. And you'd only just learned magic existed, and didn't even know you could use it. Now, you have two fists full of spell conduits to help you focus any energies you can draw, and an army of protective wards hanging around your neck, all of which you've managed to charge up from your own aura. That's major progress."

Aden lifted a few of the dozen charms she'd strung onto nylon cords for him: a jade Buddha, a Celtic shield knot, and a brass figurine of the falcon-headed Egyptian god Horus. "I know you said it'd make no difference, but I'd feel happier if there was at least one cross in this lot."

Bell rolled her eyes, grateful for his attempt at humour. "Demons have been around longer than Christianity, and vampires are demons wearing dead human flesh. They have an aversion to anything that's connected to the divine, regardless of the flavour."

Aden lifted his gaze, looking less than reassured. "So, I should become a priest then?"

"Sure," she agreed, batting her lashes innocently. "How are you at resisting impure thoughts?"

"Around you?" He arched a brow, his gaze mocking her right back.

Bell felt herself flush. In the past, she'd have written off the quip as sarcasm. But now, she had a vivid memory of Aden's lips on hers and his arms locked around her. She could no longer claim he was bluffing. But she could blame temporary insanity. "Dekker, people thrown together under stressful conditions make idiotic decisions. But don't worry, your taste palate will reset to its bland factory settings in no time once your life isn't in danger." As he opened his mouth to respond, she jerked up her hand. "Focus on practising those minor energy transfers I showed you. Keep the wards charged on those charms or the impure thoughts in your head will be some deviant vamp's." Or, worse, Dhalmora's specifically. Other vampires, like Victor, would play sick games, but they'd never hurt Aden. While vampires had no wish to meet their soulmates and dangerously restrict their food supply, once one was found, they were treated as precious—off limits to all but one set of fangs.

Aden glanced back down to the charms. "Do you know how humiliating it is to have less magical mojo than a one-inch Buddha? If I'm being hunted by mind-whammying monsters, why the hell did my biological father screw up my ability to defend myself?"

"I don't know." Bell exhaled, fighting old resentment for Aden's sake. "Maybe, when you started to come into your talent, he just thought it'd be safest to stick with the status quo. But I know he had his doubts about it, and more than a few demons of his own to deal with." She winced, remembering the drinking session she'd witnessed as a pre-teen. The night Ferron Drayke had bound his son's abilities, he and her father had got very drunk. At age twelve, she'd not understood their grim silence, nor Ferron Drayke's hollow expression. But now, after living long enough to have seen what vampires could do to someone? "Aden, you don't remember what happened to you and your mother, but your father does."

Aden swore softly and dragged back his hair. "You think that's why he gave me up? So he could forget?"

Bell thought of Ferron Drayke, his ice-blue stare, elegant but intimidating poise, and the long, straight fall of black hair that was pure vanity. "My guess? He has too much pride in himself to let himself be that much of a coward. I think he honestly thought adoption was best for you. Wizards who suffer major trauma like you did usually focus everything inward to heal, and psychically shut down in the process, cutting themselves off from the metaphysical." She sighed, then grimaced. "After what happened to you, no one expected you to develop any kind of wizard draw. Your father probably thought you'd be happier living among normies, not knowing what you'd lost, rather than be around people who'd see you as broken or deficient."

Aden raised a brow. "You mean, like you? You've always seen me as—"

"Bullshit." Bell jerked forward to jam a finger into his chest. "What I saw was a wizard the same age as me being treated like a pathetic baby. Dekker, before we were thirteen, we both had no innate magic. But trauma or not, I saw your bones and blood were just as tough as mine. Yet, everyone fluttered about you like you were precious and fragile. That pissed me off. That shit still pisses me off."

"Bell, the 'pathetic' call is right. If another vampire attacks, you'll be throwing lightning balls, and I'll be hiding behind Buddha and—" Aden grabbed up another of the pendants she'd given him. "Shit, Blackwood. This is an effing acorn."

"It's for luck and protection. Acorns are associated with Odin."

Aden responded with a look that was one hundred and ten per cent unimpressed.

"Okay. Okay. Point taken." Bell threw up her hands. "Shit. Fine. I can attempt to see what's going on with the spells handicapping you. Maybe, we can figure out a way for you to draw more magic so you can conjure—I don't know—enough fire to singe a vamp or, more importantly, better protect your mind. But Aden, your father's a goddamn Grandmaster wizard. I'm in my second year of homeschooled university courses. Forget Palpatine. It's Darth Vader versus teenage Luke."

The tension in Aden's lean frame changed sharply. "Will messing with his spells hurt you or put you in danger?"

Bell felt something tumble inside her. She feared it might be the organ currently jolting in her chest. "You have a demon queen and her horde of evil minions hunting the city for you, and you're worried about me, the person who can actually charge a wand?"

Aden scowled. "Bell, you're planning to stand between me and that horde, and you've already been knocked unconscious tonight." He hissed out a breath, his gaze and jaw hardening. "You need to leave, and stop babysitting me."

"Right. Because that's exactly what you'd do in my position—walk away and wave adios."

The frustration in his eyes burned hotter, but his lips curved. "Stop making good points, Blackwood. It's annoying." He lifted a hand to brush the hair from her face. "But seriously, you can't get hurt because of me."

Bell felt her pulse bounce before she knocked his hand away. He was going to be the death of her, and not because of the demons after him.

"Just shut up and let me check out your energy flows." She shoved him back so she could get a better view of him and give herself the space needed to catch the breath he'd stolen. "Don't try to connect with any metaphysical energies." His success on that score had been minimal, just a small flow from his aura to his rings or pendants via simple mental visualization, with no actual perception of the energies he influenced. But right now, she needed his aura to be as settled as possible. "Just still your mind and chillax, okay?"

"Cursed by a witch, hunted by vampires, and standing in front of a cute girl..." Aden sighed. "Yeah, sure, I can chill."

Bell punched him in the arm. "Just focus on your breath, like Aunt Willie showed you for meditation."

Leaving him to take that advice or not, she focused her own mind; tuned her awareness to the bright currents coiling around him.

The rings she'd given him had brought some order to what had been free, wild energy. They pulled rippling threads of his aura toward them, hot arcane currents ready for use should Aden ever figure out how to weave a spell out of them. On the metaphysical plane, the pendants around his neck glowed with fiery, blue enchantment runes, their wards fully charged.

But they weren't the only spells burning within Aden's restless aura.

Beyond the luminescent waves and rivers of his energies that'd escaped containment, a wall of ghostly ciphers surrounded him. Complex combinations of spell runes overlayed one another within power sigils. Only some she recognised, like Angelus, the winged symbol of the Holy Sentinel, and Umbra, the inkblot-like smear representing secrets and shadows. 'Intimidating' wasn't a strong enough word to describe the enchantments.

But somehow Aden had found a way around it. His aura energy rippled out between and past the wall of glowing ciphers.

She brought her focus back to the physical world to meet Aden's intent gaze. "I've a bad idea."

He grunted, bleakly amused. "Define 'bad'."

"I need to crawl inside your head."