We were a hundred and fifty yards from the house when my sensate vision picked up another ward, a translucent dome of green, sheathing the structure and the hill it sat on. Dense currents of magic swirled on its surface like colors on a soap bubble. This one wouldn’t be that easy to break. Letting it chew on me this close to the house would also make me an excellent target.

I pulled Dakkan out and sliced across my left forearm. A few drops of blood coated the spear’s tip. The Shinar wasn’t the only family who used blood as a catalyst, so I wouldn’t be giving myself away.

Ahead of me, Derek halted. The ward should have been invisible to him, so he must’ve sensed its magic. The two werewolves on his left and right missed their cue and ran headfirst into the spell. Green pulsed from the impacts. I ran past Derek without altering my pace and stabbed Dakkan into the ward. My blood sliced through the magic like a knife through warm butter. The ward shattered. I kept running.

A hundred yards to the house.

The grasses in front of me rippled.

Derek sprinted. One second he was behind me, the next he picked me up and charged ahead.

“What…”

Derek leaped. Below us an emerald green serpent the size of a fire hose reared from the grass.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I told him.

“Mhm. He likes green.”

Behind us, wolves howled. Derek ran so fast, it felt like we were flying. I wanted out of his arms. Out.

“Should we help?”

“No. They’re having fun.”

His definition of fun needed some work.

He leapt left, right, dashed up the hill in a dizzying sprint, and set me down in front of the enormous double doors. A stone hall rose in front of us, its grey walls thick and towering.

Derek pounded his fist on the wood.

Below, Derek’s wolves, all in warrior forms, attacked the serpents. As I watched, a huge reddish beast jerked a coiling green body into the air and tore it in two.

“I know you’re in there,” Derek bellowed, “Open these damn doors or I’ll break them.”

The doors swung open with a soft creak. A man stepped forward. He was perfectly average; average height, average build, neither pale nor tan, with non-descript features and a bald head. Only his eyes were remarkable, filled with intelligence and slight contempt, as if he were the only genius in a world full of idiots and he had come to terms with his fate.

“Well,” Saiman said. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.”

I sat on an oversized ergonomic couch that curved around a glass coffee table. The glass was thick and cut in a sinuous curve. The base of the table was an S of black steel set on its side. Saiman sat on an identical white couch across the coffee table. Derek parked himself behind me with his arms crossed. His crew had taken positions throughout the cavernous stone hall, some by the front doors, some by the two hallways leading deeper into the keep, and a couple by the floor-to-ceiling windows rising to the high ceilings. Above us, a circular chandelier of plain white metal paid homage to its medieval origins.

The building was pure castle, with stone walls, an enormous fireplace, and massive beams of aged wood. The furnishings were the epitome of pre-Shift ultra-modern luxury. The duality that was Saiman.

Saiman studied me. “Fascinating bone structure…”

His face rippled, the bones shifting and reforming, stretching his skin like it was a rubber mask. When shapeshifters changed forms, it was nearly instant. Saiman took his time, reshaping and fine-tuning. The whole thing was revolting. I’d seen him do it before, so I knew it was coming, but it still made me want to vomit.

“I saw you die,” Derek said. “I was at your funeral. I watched them close the casket and lower you into the ground. Why aren’t you dead?”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed.” His face was still crawling, and his voice sounded distorted.

“Kate mourned for you,” Derek continued.

“I cannot be responsible for her emotional attachment.”

Asshole. He hadn’t changed a bit.

Derek leaned forward, menace rolling off him in a heavy wave. “You let her think you were dead. She saved you.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. However, I repaid that favor. I settled my debts before my carefully arranged demise. I don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“They should have put that on your tombstone,” Derek said.

“No, I rather like my stele as it is.”

Saiman’s features finally stopped moving. A close facsimile of me sat on the other couch, wearing my face and Saiman’s clothes. He took a mirror off the coffee table, checked his reflection, and frowned. It didn’t quite match.

“Why did you fake your death?” Derek asked.

“Because there is a great difference between being renowned and notorious. Prior to Roland’s involvement, I was respected for my expertise. I was a businessman.”

A businessman who had charged exorbitant fees for his magic expertise and amassed a fortune in currency and magical items. None of it had helped him in the end.

“After Roland took an interest in my blood, I became a victim, someone to be pitied and rescued. My credibility plummeted. I have no desire to remain a man who couldn’t protect himself, yet I have too many contacts here to pick up and start over. This was a perfect compromise.”

Saiman was an egotist of the highest order, someone who detested altruism in all its forms. He maintained that friendship was a weakness and love was a delusion, a view that let him justify the utterly selfish way in which he lived his life.

The realization that he survived the encounter with my grandfather only because Kate took pity on him was simply too much for him to deal with. Instead of adjusting or altering his philosophy, he had faked his death, run away, and hid here, in this pocket of separate reality.

“I will see the box now,” I said.

The fake me tilted her head, trying to mirror my movements. He liked to shock and keep his opponents off balance. Most people would be uneasy when confronted with an exact replica of themselves, but there were things about me he could never duplicate. No matter how much he tried, he would always be a pale imitation.

“And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” he asked.

“Someone who broke all of your wards.”

“Touché.” Saiman smiled with my lips. “Beauty and power. An attractive combination. Do you have a preference in your partners? A type?”