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opened his eyes and looked at the obsidian he’d selected. Then he did as he’d been instructed and dropped it into the bowl containing the tiny polished stones.
    “Choose the stone that will serve the one who summoned you,” Malahel said.
    Once again Zurael closed his eyes. Immediately the female’s image came to mind and his body tightened, his cock stiffened. His jaw clenched and he shifted position on the cushion in the hopes his physical response wouldn’t be noticed.
    The female’s stone rested close to the top. Misgiving at having delayed his own task filled Zurael when he opened his eyes and saw the blue-and-white angelite with its flecks of red. In the House of the Serpent it was a stone signifying an enemy, one who was angel-touched and dangerous. He placed it next to the obsidian.
    Malahel set the bowl with the larger stones aside. She picked up the second bowl and handed it to Zurael. “Mix the stones as you will. Speak your question as you cast them.”
    Zurael closed his eyes in an effort to center himself. There was no turning away, no escape from the web that held him.
    He did as Malahel commanded. When he felt the moment was right he tipped the bowl and said, “I would know what power the human holds over me that she was able to summon me the way she did.”
    The tiny stones rolled across the phantom quartz of a spider’s altar. There were a thousand lines to capture and hold them, but most of the colorful ones fled, rolling into narrow gutters at the edges of the slab. Zurael stared at what was left—the gray shades of the ghostlands and the red clay of the humans, the bloodred of angels and the black of powerful forces, all circling, trapping the obsidian and the angelite together.
    Malahel studied the stones for long moments before leaning forward. The tip of her finger hovered above the stones. It traced the curve trapping the obsidian next to the angelite. It silently pointed out that the obsidian stood alone, untouched by any but the angelite, while red, gray and black stones all crowded against the token representing the human who’d summoned him.
    “The one who possesses the tablet you seek will be drawn to the one who summoned you,” Malahel said. “She is deeply connected to the ghostlands. She was born of them and can call the spirit winds at will. That’s how she was able to bring you to her. It’s good you already intend to kill her. She is dangerous to us and will be made even more so if she learns what’s written on the tablet.”
    Malahel placed her hands on her knees and Zurael knew she was finished speaking. She had answered his question just as the stones now revealed that in order to accomplish the task he’d agreed to, he would need to find the human who’d summoned him and watch over her until the ancient tablet was recovered and the one who possessed it destroyed.
     
     
    THE house with the shaman’s symbol painted on it appeared worn and tired, haunted by failure and sadness. It was small, old, its door and windows barred like the houses around it.
    Father Ursu’s hand left the pocket of his robe. “You can do the honors,” he said, pressing a key ring into Aisling’s palm.
    She unlocked the barred door and opened it, then unlocked the wooden door behind it and opened it as well. The house smelled musty, closed up, dead.
    Sunlight fought against the darkness of the curtains covering the windows. Small rays of it slipped in to capture dust motes and gloom and tattered furniture. The ferret perched on Aisling’s shoulder chattered in excitement over a chance to explore.
    “The lodging is yours, and for the moment, in appreciation of your services, you don’t have to worry about paying for the electricity,” Father Ursu said.
    His hand disappeared into his pocket. This time when it emerged it contained a bundle of papers. “Shall we move over to the table?”
    Aisling nodded. She left the wooden door open then set the bag containing her new clothing on the