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lands on Twisse?”
    “Aren’t you in a cheery mood?”
    “If fire could kill it, it would already be dead. I’ve seen it ride on flames like they were a damn surfboard.”
    “ Its fire, not ours,” Cybil pointed out. “Fire created from the Alpha Stone, from the fragment of that stone passed to you, through Dent, by the gods. Fusing it that night made one hell of a blaze.”
    “How do you propose to light a magic fire with a single stone?”
    “I’m working on it. How about you?” Cybil countered. “Any better ideas?”
    This wasn’t why he was here, Gage reminded himself. He hadn’t come to debate magic stones and conjuring the fire of gods. He wasn’t even sure why he was baiting her. She’d come through, he reminded himself, all the way through in fusing the three parts of the stone into one.
    “I had a visit today, from our resident demon.”
    “Why didn’t you say so?” All business, Quinn reached for her tape recorder. “Where, when, how?”
    “In the cemetery, shortly after I left here this morning.”
    “What time was that?” Quinn looked at Cybil. “Around ten, right? So between ten and ten thirty?” she asked Gage.
    “Close enough. I didn’t check my watch.”
    “What form did it take?”
    “My mother’s.”
    Immediately, Quinn went from brisk to sympathetic. “Oh, Gage, I’m sorry.”
    “Has it ever done that before?” Cybil asked. “Appeared in a form of someone you know?”
    “New trick. That’s why it had me conned for a minute. Anyway, it looked like her, like I remember her. Or, actually, I don’t remember her that well. It looked like pictures I’ve seen of her.”
    The picture, he thought, his father had kept on the table beside his bed.
    “She—it—was young,” he continued. “Younger than me, and wearing one of those summer dresses.”
    He sat now, drinking his cooling coffee as he related the event, and the conversation nearly word for word.
    “You punched it?” Quinn demanded.
    “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
    Saying nothing, Cybil rose, crossed to him, held out her hand for his. She examined his, back, palm, fingers. “Healed. I’d wondered about that. If you’d heal completely if it was able to wound you directly.”
    “I didn’t say it wounded me.”
    “Of course it did. You punched your fist into the belly of the beast, literally. What kinds of wounds were there?”
    “Burns, punctures. Fucker bit me. Fights like a girl.”
    She cocked her head, appreciating his grin. “I’m a girl, and I don’t bite . . . in a fight. How long did it take to heal?”
    “A while. Maybe an hour altogether.”
    “Longer, considerably, than if you’d sustained burns from a natural source. Any side effects?”
    He started to shrug that off, then reminded himself every detail mattered. “A little nausea, a little dizziness. But it hurt like a mother, so you’ll have that.”
    She cocked her head, sent him a speculative look. “What did you do afterward? There’s a couple of hours between then and now.”
    “I had some things I needed to do. We punching time clocks now?”
    “Just curious. We’ll write it up, log it in. I’m going to make some tea. Do you want any, Quinn?”
    “I want a root beer float, but . . .” Quinn held up her bottle of water. “I’ll stick with this.”
    When Cybil walked out, Gage drummed his fingers on his thigh a moment, then pushed to his feet. “I’m going to top off my coffee.”
    “You do that.” Quinn held her own speculative look until he’d left. Rocks weren’t the only things that shot off sparks when they slapped together, she mused.
    Cybil put the kettle on, set out the pot, measured her tea. When Gage stepped in, she plucked an apple from the bowl, cut it neatly in quarters, then offered him one.
    “So here we are again.” After getting a plate, she quartered a second apple, added a few sprigs of grapes. “When Quinn starts talking root beer floats, she needs a snack. If you’re looking for