“Stop, Ms. Lane.”

Voice again, but not the brick wall: rather a command that lifted the brick wall from me, freeing me. I sank to the floor, clutching the halves of my torn T-shirt together, and dropped my head in my lap, resting my forehead against my knees. I breathed deeply for several seconds, then raised my head and looked at him. He could have coerced me like that anytime. Turned me into a mindless slave. Like the Lord Master, he could have forced me to do his bidding whenever he’d wanted. But he hadn’t. The next time I discovered something horrifying about him, would I say, yeah, but he never coerced me with Voice? Would that be the excuse I made for him then?

“What are you?” It burst out before I could stop myself. I knew it was wasted breath. “Why don’t you just tell me and get it over with?” I said irritably.

“One day you’ll stop asking me. I think I’ll like knowing you then.”

“Can we leave my clothes out of the next lesson?” I groused. “I only packed for a few weeks.”

“You wanted morally objectionable.”

“Right.” I wasn’t sure his demonstration had served its purpose. I wasn’t sure taking my shirt off in front of him was.

“I was illustrating degrees, Ms. Lane. I believe the Lord Master has achieved the latter level of proficiency.”

“Great. Well, in the future spare my tees. I only have three. I’ve been washing them out by hand and the other two are dirty.” BB&B didn’t have a washer or dryer, and so far I’d been refusing to tote my stuff to the Laundromat a few blocks down, although soon I was going to have to, because jeans didn’t wash well by hand.

“Order what you need, Ms. Lane. Charge it to the store account.”

“Really? I can order a washer and dryer?”

“You may as well hold on to the keys to the Viper, too. I’m certain there are things you need a car for.”

I eyed him suspiciously. Had I lost another few months in Faery, and this was Christmas?

He bared his teeth in one of those predatory smiles. “Don’t think it’s because I like you. A happy employee is a productive employee, and the less time you waste going out to the Laundromat or . . . doing whatever errands it is . . . someone like you does . . . is more time I can use you for my own purposes.”

That made sense. Still, while it was Christmas, I had a few more items on my wish list. “I want a backup generator, and a security system. And I think I should have a gun, too.”

“Stand up.”

I had no will. My legs obeyed.

“Go change.”

I returned wearing a peach tee with a coffee stain over the right breast.

“Stand on one leg and hop.”

“You suck,” I hissed, as I hopped.

“The key to resisting Voice,” Barrons instructed, “is finding that place inside you no one else can touch.”

“You mean the sidhe-seer place?” I said, hopping like a one-legged chicken.

“No, a different place. All people have it. Not just sidheseers. We’re born alone and we die alone. That place.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I know. That’s why you’re hopping.”

I hopped for hours. I wearied, but he didn’t. I think Barrons could have used Voice all night, and never worn down.

He might have kept me hopping until dawn, but at quarter till one in the morning my cell phone rang. I thought instantly of my parents, and it must have shown on my face, because he released me from my thrall.

I’d been hopping for so long that I actually took two hops toward my purse where I’d left it on the counter near the cash register, before I caught myself.

It was about to roll into my voice mail—a thing I’ve hated ever since I missed Alina’s call—so I thumbed it on inside my purse, tugged it out, and clamped it to my ear.

“Fourth and Langley,” Inspector Jayne barked.

I stiffened. I’d been expecting Dad, figuring he’d just forgotten to factor in the time difference. We alternated calling each other every other day, even if only for a few minutes, and I’d forgotten last night.

“It’s bad. Seven dead, and the shooter’s holed up in a pub, threatening to kill more hostages, and himself. Sound like the kind of crime you wanted me to tell you about?”

“Yes.” Himself, Jayne had said. The shooter was a man, which meant I’d missed whatever crime the woman who’d picked it up the night I’d been watching had committed, and the Book had already moved on. I wondered how many times it had changed hands since. I would search back issues of newspapers for clues. I needed all the information I could get, to try to understand the Dark Book, in hopes of anticipating its future moves.