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Lammastide for them this year and less than eager to have them present for what he was doing in its stead, he had forbidden them to help with the preparations. Eli had been fine with that—he had no problem letting his father and brother carry the burden of magic use, as long as he continued to reap the benefits in the form of money, women, and cars—but Jeraud had thrown a full-blown tantrum. He had argued violently, slammed things around, glowered and sworn and made a lot of very foolish threats that Michael had ordered him take back for fear of suffering the consequences. Then, mustering all his authority, Michael had told him to get out, backing up the dismissal with the threat of more harmful magics than Jer could even imagine—which had infuriated Jer all the more.
    Jer knows something’s up. I should have given him more credit, made a better attempt to hide my work. I’ve been keeping lots of secrets. Well, once tonight is done, he’ll understandthat I had to keep my focus. I don’t need any distractions. If only he were more like Eli—just plain greedy and simpleminded. No wonder Sasha tried to take him away with her when she left me
.
    Michael opened his eyes, smiling grimly at the droplets of blood that had beaded on his palms.
    I don’t need to share all my power with my ambitious boys. Eli would kill me without a second’s hesitation if he thought he could get away with it. Well, the old man’s got a lot of years left in him. Centuries, I hope. So watch your back, kids. One step in my direction and I’ll annihilate you
.
    â€œAre you watching, Duc Laurent?” he said aloud. “You’re finally going to get what you’ve wanted. I’m going to burn the witch tonight. So forgive and forget, all right? Tonight’s the night for Black Fire, and I’ll need your help. Your
power
.”
    There was no answer. The phantom spirit of Laurent de Deveraux, the noble warlord of the family and dead these nearly seven centuries, had not communicated in any way with Michael for nearly six moons. Michael knew the Duke was livid with him for binding the witch to him “in spirit and heart”—in other words, for beginning an affair with Marie-Claire Cathers-Anderson. During the ancient fertility festival of Imbolc, Michael had put her in thrall, the Lady to the Lord as in the old days of witch and warlocktogether. His hope had been to harness the power that was said to erupt when Cahors and Deveraux were joined.
    It was a good idea
, he thought.
And it was fun, even if the union didn’t result in a magical upgrade, as I’d hoped. So that part of the story must have been simple legend, as Laurent insisted it was
.
    He shrugged, wondering if the Duke was watching him. Michael had learned the hard way that his spectral kinsman had his own methods of surveillance.
Too bad she has to die, but at least it’ll make Laurent happy. He’s been pissed off ever since I started up with her
.
    Ten feet away, on a red velvet sofa footed with birds’ claws, Marie-Claire lay unconscious. She was sprawled on her back with one arm over her head, her profile silhouetted against the red velvet. She was wearing a black satin bathrobe and bloodred ruby earrings. Her toenail polish matched her earrings, but her mouth was red from kisses, not lipstick. At forty-two, she was still incredibly beautiful, with heavy lashes and full, exquisite lips.
What will it be like to watch her flesh blister and crack, her lips disintegrate, her eyes boil away?
    Enticing Marie-Claire had been easy, and he liked to think he hadn’t really needed his magic to accomplish it. Michael Deveraux knew that he was incredibly good-looking. Like his children’s, his appearance wasexotic, very French, with deep-set, soulful eyes that women loved to gaze into, and a chiseled face with a square, cleft chin. That fact that his nose was a little too narrow made him