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  “Oh, go molt or something, scale-tail!” Tony turned his back on Blaine, stalking over to the coffee counter. Even though he was in human form, I imagined the cat shifter with a fluffy gray tail, tip flicking angrily behind him.

  “You turn around and say that to my face, or I’ll cook up some feline flambé right here and now!” Blaine growled, the cloud of smoke around his head thicker than I’d ever seen it. He looked like a one-man smoking section, except for the orange-tinted scales popping up along his arms. That was one more angry fire-dragon shifter than I wanted to be around. I almost turned and left.

  “Cut it out, both of you.” Kimiko Ichiro held up one hand, nose still nearly pressed against the tablet in her other hand. “Bianca’s trying to concentrate on the reason we’re here.”

  “But your boy-toy asked for it, Kim.” Tony tossed his coffee stirrer into the trash. “He’s a guest here, remember? The Nocturnal Lounge is my house, and I don’t put up with Trogdor threatening to burninate the place or anyone in it.”

  “I don’t care who started it.” The petite brunette stood, finally setting her electronic device down to put her hands on her hips. “Tony, you have to chill out and stop poking the dragon. And you need to relax, Blaine. Because Bianca isn’t going to find anything out if you scare all the ghosts off by going all Dragonball-Z in here. Look, I’m the last person to not want you hot and bothered, but this isn’t the fun way if you know what I mean.” Kimiko winked, then leaned her head on Blaine’s shoulder. She murmured something I deliberately ignored in his ear, and his nose stopped spouting smoke. Mates tended to have that effect on each other.

  “I think Kimiko won this round, you guys.” I headed down the stairs to join the odd combination of Extrahumans near the food and drinks. All the untouched pizza just reminded me of Fred and how I wouldn’t see him for almost a year. He’d gone off to the Under, also known as the Faerie realm. I sighed. My bandmates were cool and fun to hang out with, but Fred Redford was the guy I called when I had to talk about stuff like getting dumped. But Changelings have to pledge service to a Faerie monarch or lose their marbles. I'd have to get through this without Fred's help.

  Even though I had a way better opinion of Tony than Blaine did, I would not talk to him about girl problems, either. The cat shifter was so agitated, he could have been a washing machine. The last thing he’d want to do was listen to me whine about Della and Jack. I turned my attention to the Psychic medium.

  Bianca Brighton was the only person on campus whose hair color changed as frequently as mine. I had no idea whether that had anything to do with the fact that she saw dead people, dressed bohemian, or both. Everyone loved Bianca. She was almost the unofficial mascot of the Nocturnal Lounge. Even the folks who frequented the Solarium across campus had no beef with her. Maybe that had more to do with the aura of concern and sympathy that always seemed to surround her.

  I didn’t smile at Bianca, mostly because she hadn’t noticed I was there. All of her attention was focused on what, to me, looked like an empty corner. Except I knew the truth; there were ghosts in the Lounge. Not because that was a given almost all the time at magical places, but because our resident medium wouldn’t have been this intent on anything but a distressed ghost.

  “It’s okay, only I can hear you, and I promise not to repeat anything you don’t want me to say in front of Blaine.” Bianca sighed, her eyes bloodshot and the lids puffy. I sniffed as covertly as I could, and a faint tang of salt pricked my nose. She’d been crying. A low growl from my drummer told me he’d sensed the same thing. I knew he’d be confronting her about it, too. Pete always treated Bianca like a kid sister.

  “Hey, Lane.” Matt’s elbow whacked me in the kidney. Good thing vampires like us don’t need those. “Is that Irina Kazynski?”

  I followed Matt’s gaze up at the railing around the mezzanine. Two women stood there, both raven-haired. One of them was tall, lanky, and looked like she could kick almost anyone’s teeth in. The other one I’d know anywhere. I kept my lips closed over the smile that wanted to get all fangy and waved like a fanboy. I kind of was. Irina Kazynski was a Boston Conservatory graduate and internet-famous, after all. But even more important than that, Irina was good people. She’d risked her life in the Under helping Fred and his kid brother right along with me.

  “Dude!” Irina waved back.

  “You sound like Fred when you say ‘dude,’ man.” I kept right on grinning, knowing Irina would get the inside joke banter I usually engaged in with Fred.

  “You sound like a hippie when you say ‘man,’ bro.” Irina headed down the stairs, holding out her hand to shake mine.

  “Lane. Knows. Irina. Freaking. Kazynski.” Matt took four steps back, then sat down in the chair he’d run into on the fifth word.

  “Yeah. So?” Tony shrugged. “Great musicians are like birds. They flock together.”

  “That supposed to be some kind of insult?” Matt grumbled.

  “Nope. Means you should make like a bird and get the flock over there, Matt. Hang out with the famous chick.” Tony sipped his coffee. “But that’s none of my business.”

  “Hey, Irina, these are Matt and Pete, two more of the guys in Night Creatures.” I pointed at Pete and jerked my chin at Matt, who’d already gotten up to join us.

  “Hi, guys.” Her smile went flatter than soda left out all night. “Lane, we need to talk.”

  “Dude’s all upset about plain old Della Dawn when a famous lady wants to talk to him.” Matt rolled his eyes and elbowed Pete this time.

  “Have some respect.” I glared at my guitarist. “Fred’s pledged all his deeds for the next year and a day to Irina.”

  “Oops.” Matt put one hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, what’s up?” I leaned against the banister.

  “It’s sort of about Fred, actually.” Irina shrugged. “Well, kind of. It’s about someone who helped us and a favor she asked for.”

  “Oh?” I wondered why Fred’s debts had anything to do with me.

  “Well, you remember how Ziggy the imp vanished you into the Under to help us, right?” Irina waited for me to nod, then continued, “They helped us because of a Summoner we met on the way in. Anyway, we maybe kind of promised that in exchange for her help, you’d let her interview you.”

  “Wait a minute.” My stomach sank like the Titanic. “You don’t mean Margot Malone, do you?”

  “Actually, yeah.” Irina grinned. “That’s the Summoner I’m talking about.”

  “Oh.” My face felt like that one time I’d taken a dare to eat a whole bag of Sour Patch Kids in under fifteen seconds.

  “What’s wrong, Lane?” Irina tilted her head, probably wishing she had her violin there or something. She looked pretty wistful about something, possibly someone. I really didn’t want to say anything that’d make her mood even worse.

  “Nothing,” Matt answered for me. “Just that the Malone gal’s been trying to interview Lane for about seven years now. He keeps blowing her off.”

  “Wow.” Irina shook her head. “No wonder she seemed so thrilled with one interview in exchange for three summons.”

  “Wait. She gave you three?!” I blinked. Summoners needed years of training before they even got more than one creature to summon, and because of that, their services didn’t come cheap. “How old is Margot Malone, anyway?”

  “No idea.” Irina chuckled. “And I wasn’t going to ask. It’s rude to ask a lady’s age, even being another lady myself and all. Also, we were pretty desperate for any help we could get. We weren’t about to look that kind of gift horse in the mouth.”

  “I guess I don’t blame you and Fred.” I sighed. “But did you guys really have to pimp me out like that?”

  “I wouldn’t call it pimping, exactly.” Irina crossed her arms. “It’s just an interview. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Oh, no.” A trail of smoke wafted over from where Blaine had finally sat down with Kimiko in his lap. “Irina said the magic words.
”

  “Yeah, we’re in for it now.” Kimiko rolled her eyes, then poked Blaine. The dragon shifter jumped, spilling his mate out of his lap. The Tanuki shifter landed on her feet, threw back her head, and laughed. “Well, Lane’s in for it. And hey, Irina, what is this about a Summoner?”

  “Why?” Irina raised an eyebrow.

  “Ahem.” We all looked up at the battle-ready chick in the mezzanine. That was Nox Phillips giving the stink eye to my bandmates. Not someone we wanted to piss off. She was a magical shifter, able to change into a horse and use water magic. On top of that, she had a black belt in some martial art I couldn't pronounce. “Peanut gallery. Beans. Unspilled.”

  “Oh.” I grinned, not quite meeting her gaze. “Um. I kinda told them.”

  “Pardon my French, but le sigh.” Nox shook her head. “I should knock you around a bit for that, but it wouldn’t do any good now.”

  “Um, thanks, I think.” I tapped my toe on the floor.

  “Whatever.” Nox waved one hand in the air, then sauntered down the stairs. I scuttled out of her way.

  “So, can I tell Irina why we want to know about the Summoner now?” Kimiko jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

  “Sure. Fine.” Nox chuckled. “Just stop jumping up and down like you’re in an anime being all kawaii.”

  “Aww.” Kimiko pouted. “I thought I was in a book about a magic school being all Hermione Granger.”

  “Definitely kawaii.” Blaine slipped an arm around her waist.

  “As long as that’s what you’re into.” Kimiko gave him a sly little smile. I blinked, wondering why the dragon shifter’s wallet was in her hand all of a sudden. Then I remembered she was a Tanuki, and they always get caught stealing.

  “Um, excuse me, but…” Irina put her hands on her hips. “I have a hanging question here. Suspense. Killing me. You understand, right?”

  “Oh.” Kimiko handed the wallet back to Blaine, who didn’t even shrug as he put it back in his pocket. Must be nice, being a billionaire who could breathe fire, see magic and psychic energy, and turn into a dragon. And not care that his girl pinched his wallet. “Sorry, Irina. Anyway, we all know Lane is next, but we don’t know who else is. If the Summoner’s help got you through stuff neither of you would have made it past, maybe she’s the other next person.”

  “Hmm, interesting theory.” Irina shook her head. “But nah. I thought our little excursion to the Under debunked that whole two-target idea.”

  They were talking about a seriously powerful Extramagus who’d been attacking PPC students for some still-unknown reason. After Fred’s adventure, the whole pack investigating the guy thought I would be next. With all the bad luck lately, it seemed likely.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Nox poured herself some coffee, then stood where she could block Tony’s chair from Blaine’s line of sight.

  “Well, all of you guys got targeted in mated pairs.” Irina chewed on her lower lip. “But not Fred. It was him and his brother Ed who were targeted.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Nox dropped a wink at Irina.

  “Um. Fred and I met less than a week ago. Neither of us has ever even dated anyone before. And I still think he’s a lunkhead. There’s no way some Magus would think we’re destined, extra or not.” But Irina’s usually pale face had gone crimson. She sure protested an awful lot.

  “It’s inconclusive at best.” Blaine raised an eyebrow. “I thought I hated Kimi when we met for the first time, and just look at us now.”

  “Look, I don’t appreciate you guys just deciding my future for me. Or destiny or whatever, either.” Irina tapped one foot. Matt had a weird deflated look on his face. Relief? Dismay? Did he have issues with the whole destiny thing? I had no idea and no time to pry just then.

  “I didn’t appreciate it either when it happened to me.” Nox opened her mouth to say more, but Kimiko shushed her.

  “This is all beside the point, so stop giving poor Irina grief, mmkay?” Kimiko rolled her eyes. “It’s not important, anyway. It has to do with help. Ed helped us indirectly, and Fred stepped up in a major way during that whole incident at Water Place Park. Irina, you did too, if I remember correctly. All I’m saying is, Lane helped Fred, Ed, and Irina. This Summoner did, too. Both of them in a Major League way.”

  “You don’t think it’s someone I care about, then?” I closed my eyes, picturing Della’s face.

  “I think maybe it could be.” I hadn’t noticed Bianca approaching. The medium was quieter than her ghosts sometimes. “And Lane cares so little about Margot Malone, he’s avoided her for seven whole years, right?” She put her hand on my arm. “You must be worried about your ex-girlfriend.”

  “Wait, what to the who, now?” I pulled my arm away, freaked out for the first time by a Psychic. “I never said anything about exes.”

  “Della Dawn.” Bianca blinked at something over my shoulder, then nodded. “It’s a valid idea for sure, Horace.”

  “Your helper been following me, Bianca?” I narrowed my eyes. “And he’s telling you everything that happens to me?”

  “Yeah, well, everything he sees.” She rubbed the side of one hand under her eye, smudging her eyeliner. “Safety precaution. He came back here right after you left the Paragon. Jack Steele’s an old-school vampire, too. Not like you guys, or others who got turned during the Reveal.”

  “Oh, I know.” I rubbed my neck, on the side where I’d been bitten by whoever had turned me. But Bianca didn’t need to know that.

  “And neither are the Gatto Gang.” Pete put his hands on his hips. “Did your little ghostie see that whole business?”

  “Nope.” Tony stepped out from behind Nox. “But everyone in here knows about that already.”

  “What? How?” I peered at Tony, trying to give the cat the benefit of the doubt. Blaine Harcourt didn’t trust him, but I sure did. Or, at least, I had until the goons stopped us in the Trolley Tunnel.

  “Because I told them.” He sighed. “Paul and John flap their gums where I can hear them on the regular. I knew they were out there and looking for you guys.”

  “And you didn’t give me a heads up, why?” I took a deep breath, trying to control my temper.

  “Check your phone before you go ballistic on me.”

  I pulled out the device and the glove all vampires had to wear to use a touch-screen. Sure enough, there was a text message from Tony, right around the time we walked into Paragon.

  “Well.” I closed my eyes. “Isn’t this a great big steaming pile of sh—”

  “Hoo, boy!” The chirpy voice came from the platinum blonde with the Farrah Fawcett hairdo top of the stairs. She bounded down two steps at a time, nearly flying. I remembered this was Olivia Adler, an owl shifter. She leaned on the coffee counter, glancing at the space Horace occupied, then the corner Bianca had peered into earlier. But owl shifters couldn’t be mediums. Was she seeing the ghosts or just guessing where they were? “What did I walk in on?”

  Tony cut his eyes away, then hot-footed it up the stairs almost as fast as Olivia had headed down. I sank into one of the wing-back chairs, letting Pete and Matt tell the tale of my no-good, horrible, very bad night.

  Chapter Three

  Band on the Run

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t be practicing our covers?” Pete spun on the stool behind the drum set, peering at the stiff Sidhe in the corner. “I mean, that’s what we always get booked to do.”

  It had been almost a week of nights since Della dumped me and the Gattos made that offer we couldn’t refuse. We’d gotten hold of Dave, our bassist, and he’d joined us for practice. He’d also canceled his trip to Australia.

  “Yes.” Sir Albert Dunstable, Sidhe knight in the queen’s service, tapped the booklet he held, then adjusted his glasses. I’d been leery of his help at first, but he sure knew his way around any kind of rule or regulation. “It’s right here in the rules that your original songs on the final night will count for the most points.”

  “We gotta do
cover songs, too, though.” Pete scratched his head.

  “Yeah, but there’s no way to practice for all of that in less than a month.” I shrugged. “Besides, Pete's right. We’re mostly booked as a cover band, and a pretty eclectic one, too. We’ll just stress out trying to prep for all those decade categories.” I glanced at Al. “How many were there again?”

  “Ten, and no potential song lists.” Al sighed. “You’ve got an excellent opportunity here, getting picked to fill in, but the timing is atrocious.”

  “I know.” I sighed too. “But what can we do?”

  “Practice?” The bounding sound of a strummed bassline came from the corner. I turned to look over at Dave, who peered out at us from over the thick black rims of his glasses. The bass player was all business most of the time.

  I only nodded, slung my Epiphone’s strap across my body, and stepped up to the mic. Pete twirled a drumstick, while Matt flipped his hair and wrapped his left hand around the fretboard on his Paul Reed Smith. I took a deep breath as the opening riffs filled the air, then sang the words to Points, one of our first post-turn originals straight out of 1999.

  “Without a doubt, I knew it sucked that night

  We’ll never win, ‘cause no one thinks we’re right

  We had to walk away and give up all our plans

  Why do I stop and turn around?”

  Before I could belt out the chorus, Matt slid his hand along the guitar strings. I turned to look, saw him staring at the doorway. I craned my neck to follow his gaze like I was watching a ping pong match. Irina Kazynski stood there holding the door open. Dave’s funky bassline cut off, and Pete stopped his beat.

  “Dammit.” Matt hitched his guitar strap, so the instrument rode on his back, then stalked over to the mini-fridge. He grabbed a bag of blood and bit into it instead of bothering with a cup like we all usually did in polite company. I took note of the fresh rip in his otherwise ragged-on-purpose jeans and realized he had to be nearly crazy with hunger. No wonder he'd played like a maniac.