But the moment her gaze shifted to Jean-Pierre and Fiona, Alison dropped down beside Fiona. “What happened and why does Endelle look like she’s been mainlining crack?”

“We are not sure. She was testing Fiona for her emerging powers and this was the result. Fiona started screaming, then stopped for a time, then screamed again, terrible cries of agony. Finally, she crumpled.”

Alison put her hand on Fiona’s forehead. Even at that distance, Jean-Pierre could feel the warm energy flowing. He could breathe once more.

Time passed. Despite Alison’s healing efforts, to the point that her forehead grew damp and she trembled, Fiona did not begin to return to herself for several more minutes.

By then, Endelle sat on the edge of her desk, her bristly skirt a lumpy line at the hem, her gaze fixed on Fiona.

“Tell her to wake up. Now.”

“Endelle,” Thorne barked. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“You don’t understand, but you’ll know in a few minutes. Dammit, you’ll all know.” She clapped her hands together and cried, “Hah! We have something now. Goddammit!”

Then she laughed.

Maybe it was the laughter, but at that moment, Fiona’s eyes fluttered and finally opened. She met Jean-Pierre’s gaze, but there was no light in her eyes, as though she were turned inside herself. She did, however, struggle out of his arms and sit up, her hands limp in her lap, her legs straight out in front of her.

Alison put her hand on Fiona’s back and drew close. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Weird. At least I’m not in pain anymore.” She turned her head to look at Alison then up at Endelle.

Jean-Pierre shifted so that he could see Fiona’s face. She was very pale.

“Damn that hurt, Endelle.”

“Well,” Endelle mused. “Ascension ain’t for sissies.”

“No, it’s not,” Fiona said. Then she started to smile, a very slow curve of her lips, wider and wider until she grinned and her eyes took on a light he had never seen before.

Endelle nodded.

Fiona nodded back.

What had the women discovered? What had made Fiona scream in such pain? And why was she smiling now?

“What is it, chérie? What did you see?”

“A fountain of gold light. No, a flame of gold light, a shimmering light, unearthly, supported by black flames. Yes, that’s what I saw. Black flames, dark, so very dark, but powerful. So much power. I can’t explain it.”

Thorne joined Endelle by the desk. “But what does it mean?”

Endelle hopped off her desk and moved to stand in front of Fiona. She extended her hand down and Fiona took it. Endelle lifted her to her feet. Both Jean-Pierre and Alison rose with her.

She put her hands on Fiona’s cheeks again. Jean-Pierre wanted to protest, but something in Endelle’s demeanor stopped him.

“I can’t believe it,” Endelle said. “I just can’t believe it.” She stared into Fiona’s eyes.

Then the most impossible thing of all happened: Tears trailed down Endelle’s face. She pulled Fiona into her arms and held her and wept.

Jean-Pierre exchanged a glance with first Alison then Thorne but they each shrugged, uncertain why Endelle was so overcome, when she was never overcome.

Finally, Endelle released Fiona, folded a thick wad of tissues into her hand, then blew her nose like an elephant trumpeting.

“Chérie?”

Fiona turned to him, her expression beatific. Tears also shimmered in her eyes, but hung suspended as though unwilling to fall and destroy what he could see was her happiness. Then she, too, did the unexpected. She moved into him and as he opened his arms wide, she pressed herself against his chest, slid her arms around his waist, and held him.

She had never done this before.

If ever a moment had been designed to feel like heaven, this was the moment. He engulfed her in his arms and embraced her. Whatever had happened, something essential within his woman had changed. He could feel it.

Fiona shifted slightly and held out her hand to Alison. When Alison took it, she gasped and arched her neck slightly, then relaxed and cried out, “Oh, my God. Fiona.” This time her eyes grew wet.

Jean-Pierre was holding Fiona, but he felt nothing from her that would cause such stunning sensations.

“All right, ladies,” Thorne said at last. “I’ve had about all the suspense I can take. What the fuck is going on here?”

Endelle punched him in the arm, not too hard because he actually remained upright. She swept her hand in Fiona’s direction. “Thorne, you’re looking at a goddam obsidian flame, apparently the gold variety.”

Thorne turned and stared at Fiona. “But I thought it was a myth. That book we all go by, that tome by Philippe what’s-his-name, must be full of shit. He called obsidian flame a myth, now you’re saying it exists.”

“Don’t blame the author. We all thought the breh-hedden was a myth, but Jean-Pierre can tell you it exists.”

“Unfortunately, it is very alive and well. But what does it mean, Endelle? What is obsidian flame?”

It was Fiona who spoke. “A duty and a purpose centered on power, a lot of power.”

“What sort of power?” Thorne asked. He scowled fiercely.

Endelle moved in a circle, still apparently overcome. When she once more stood in front of the small group, she waved her hands about and shook her head, the bottom of the braids flipping back and forth. “The power always comes from the woman, from her most essential power. I think with Fiona it will begin with her telepathy, which is really at Fourth ascender level, and it will flow from there. I believe she has the capacity, even now, to communicate between dimensions as well. But that’s beside the point.”

“What will this mean for her in the immediate future?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“Practice,” Endelle said. “Lots of practice. She’ll also need a mentor to help bring this power online. Alison, I want you to do it because you’re mental. Shit, that didn’t sound right but you know what I mean.”

Alison shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good time for me.” The moment the words left her mouth, though, it was as if the other shoe fell and hit the floor hard.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Endelle asked. “Since when does something being ‘a good time for you’ matter at all?”

Thorne glanced up at the ceiling. Jean-Pierre pretended to find a speck of lint on the sleeve of his jacket.

“I’ve only been ascended for a year,” Alison said. “What do I know about bringing powers online?”

Endelle snorted. “Tell you what, princess, either you do it or I do it.”

At that, Fiona took a step toward Alison and Alison took a step toward Fiona. “Oh, no, no, no,” Fiona said.

Endelle laughed. “That’s what I thought.” She glanced at Alison. “Besides, anyone with a turd’s brain can see that Fiona’s still got that post-traumatic-bullshit-disorder going on. She’s doing better, but she needs to get over herself and that’s your fucking specialty, right? And I’m so sick of the whining! Alison, I expected better from you.”

“Fine.” Alison rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

“That’s the spirit,” Endelle said. Once more she clapped her hands together. “Well, damn my pussy, obsidian flame! Now we’ll see some serious shit. Mark my words.”

Jean-Pierre watched her glance from one to the next but two seconds later her expression hardened. “All right, you two.” She met Jean-Pierre’s gaze then shifted to stare at Fiona. “Enough of this nonsense. I’d tell you to complete the breh-hedden, but I already know you’re both stubborn enough to fight me to the death over that one. But let me tell you how this is going down. Fiona, you’re moving in with Jean-Pierre and no arguments. You’re going to need his protection. And Jean-Pierre, no more battling at the Borderlands until further notice.”

Thorne intruded. “Endelle, we can barely hold the line as it is, what with Medichi roaming the planet and Marcus only available two nights a week.”

Endelle grew thoughtful. “You’ve got some strong Militia Warriors coming up the ranks. Gideon for one, and I think Duncan has got some chops. Send them each out with a contingent of thirty-two. That should take care of business. But no arguments. We need Fiona safe. Shit, obsidian flame.”

She spaced for a moment, then looked back at Jean-Pierre and Fiona. “Take her to your Sedona rabbit warren and keep her there. Now that I know what we have, it won’t be long before you-know-who finds out, then we’ll be in the crapper all over again.”

Fiona turned and looked at Jean-Pierre. He felt so strange, dizzy, and did not at first recognize that what he felt was very close to exhilaration—exactly what Endelle had been experiencing a few moments ago.

For the past five months, he had wanted her beneath his roof … in his bed. But what would she think of being there, with him, all the time. Oh, mon Dieu, tout le temps.

But Fiona weaved on her feet and when her scent, the light buttery croissant scent, rippled over him, he knew her thoughts had traveled the same path as his own. He was still surprised, however, when instead of recoiling, instead of stepping away from him and creating distance, she once more drew near. When he opened his arms, she again stepped inside.

Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu …

Something had changed within his woman, some miracle had happened, that she appeared to welcome the thought of being in his home.

How ironic, though, that at the very moment of receiving what he wanted most in the world, he felt nothing but blind panic, a desire to run. Endelle was right. If she had ordered them to complete the breh-hedden, he would have fought her, to the death. Fiona as well.

He did not want this intimacy, yet he craved to have her near him. He was torn apart, as though he were two men who never stopped battling each other.

But when her sweet scent, of croissants and woman, drifted once more beneath his nose, he let himself fall into the moment, into his desire, embracing what he craved. What would it hurt to place himself on the altar of passion with Fiona, to sacrifice himself, his body, for her pleasure?