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“Let’s just say, a little birdie told me something earlier today, but I never guessed it was a clue to Vanessa’s actual whereabouts. Hell, up until recently, I believed she was dead.”

His eyes fluttered. “And that I’d killed her.”

The matter-of-fact tone oddly embarrassed me. “Well, yeah.”

He stalked across to me and met my gaze unflinchingly. “I, Andre Carrington, Orpheus, do vow before all the gods and goddesses that I did not kill Vanessa Turner, Fury of the Sisterhood, and further that I did not abduct her or cause her to be abducted, and still further that I have never physically harmed Vanessa Turner or caused her to be harmed.”

The passion in his voice, along with the unasked-for vow, took me completely by surprise.
Oh, hell.

The bastard’s actually telling the truth.
Further proof I’d royally screwed things up.

Rather than acknowledging either of those things, I simply waved the BlueBerry—BlackBerry——back and forth. “How does this thing work?”

His fingers tapped over the tiny machine’s even tinier buttons, showing me how to activate the tracking spell, and also showing me how to retrieve several documents containing all the information his private investigators had come up with. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was more than I currently had to work with.

Once satisfied I could work the magically enhanced machine on my own, I shoved it into a pocket.

“Now, then, that brings us to Amaya.”

His vulnerability disappeared so completely, I wondered if I had imagined it. The cocky smirk was back full throttle. For once, though, I didn’t have to fight back the urge to rearrange his facial features. He touched an intercom on the wall. “Amaya, sweetie, come see your mother.”

I glanced at Liana, mouthing
Sweetie?,
but she appeared none the wiser than myself. We waited in front of the

sofa, she fidgeting more than me, until the door whisked open and someone I’d never seen before ent—

Wait. That’s not—that can’t be
Amaya.

An ebony-skinned woman with caramel-streaked black hair and striking silver eyes sashayed into the room, her tall, lithe form garbed in uber-feminine clothes that hugged her curves, of which there were many. Her face had been expertly made up with every form of cosmetics known to mankind, so much it should have appeared clownish, but didn’t. This woman was absolutely, amazingly glamorous. The Amaya Murphy I remembered had been a tomboy in the extreme. Pretty, but nothing spectacular.

She moved first to Dre, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a very friendly peck on the cheek.
Too
friendly.

Liana thought so, too. “Amaya?”

She gave her mother a puzzled look. “Oh, hello there. Do I know you?”

Liana staggered as if she’d been struck. I narrowed my eyes and took a step forward. “Dre, what have you—”

The warning in my voice came across loud and clear. He placed his arm around Amaya’s waist possessively. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I think you have no idea just how bad it looks. Are you or are you not sleeping with her?”

Liana may have discussed her son’s love life with few qualms, but that question had her amber eyes flaring and her teeth bared. Dre finally picked up on just how precarious his situation was.

“That came later, long after her recovery

“What
recovery?” My voice came out in a good approximation of a Warhound’s growl.

“I never snatched Amaya, any more than I did Vanessa. She showed up on my doorstep, half-starved and out of her mind, just days before I hired the other Murphys as extra security. At first, I had no clue who she was, only that she intrigued me and was almost as beautiful as me.”

I rolled my eyes, but he ignored my derision.

“I hired the best doctors and nurses to bring her back to health, along with investigators to figure out who she was and what had happened to her. Even with the best care money could buy, she has never been exactly the same. At least, not the same as how others have described her previous personality.”

Liana recovered enough to approach her daughter. “Amaya? It’s me. Your mother.”

Amaya tilted her head, resembling her mother to a heartbreaking degree, which only seemed more tragic since her eyes didn’t hold any hint of recognition. “My mother?”

Liana’s maternal instincts might have gone into overdrive, but my screaming Fury’s intuition would have blown them out of the water. “So, when you identified Amaya as the misplaced Murphy heir, you decided to take advantage of the situation.”

He inclined his head without the slightest hint of shame. “What did it matter to Amaya? She had only vague knowledge of her past. And by then, she and I had developed... feelings.. . for each other.” He squeezed her hand, and she smiled adoringly into his eyes.

I wanted to puke. “Did your sorceress ever offer any theories as to how her memories came to be altered?”

His expression grew thoughtful. “No, at least none that made any sense. She mentioned something about her physical coloring seeming not quite right based on earlier pictures of Amaya, but that didn’t make any sense.”

My heart thundered in my ears. “Her—coloring— wasn’t quite right?”

He nodded. “She said her eyes are darker than in the pictures, but that could be poor photography. The streaks in her hair are much lighter, her skin a deeper shade of black.”

Liana frowned, regarding Amaya with a hawklike stare. “My God, he’s right. I just assumed her hair had been colored. .

Oh hell. I grabbed Liana by the arms and pulled her back a few steps. “Liana, I hate to break this to you.”

She tried to brush me off, but Fury strength outweighed Warhound any day. “Break what to me?”

“That’s not your daughter. She’s a Sidhe trapped inside her own glamourie.”

LIANA RECOILED INSTINCTIVELY. DRE’S EYES
widened, and he regarded Amaya—Fake Amaya—as if she’d sprouted a second head. Interestingly enough, however, he didn’t drop his arm from her waist.

“B-but, Sidhe are extinct. They have been for decades.”

I hugged Liana, offering what little comfort I could. “I recently learned that isn’t entirely true.”

She frowned. “And how did you learn that?”

Dre’s attention focused on me as intently as hers. “Yes, how
did
you learn that?”

I considered pulling rank and saying it was Fury business, but I figured they both had the right to hear at least part of the story. However, I didn’t want to have to go over the same damn thing later, so I nudged Liana to a sitting position before facing Dre again.

“I’ll tell you both everything, but first I want to call Scott and have him bring the rest of his family here. Or we can take—nh, pseudo Amaya—over there, if you’d prefer?”

Dre’s eyes darkened, and he tightened his hands. “No, she’s not leaving here until I find out what the hell is going on?’

I’d suspected as much. Lover boy had it bad. “Then may I?”

He showed me to a phone, and I jabbed in Scott’s familiar cell number, knowing he hadn’t changed it.

Only the fact that I had an audience kept me from alternately chewing him out for not telling me about Amaya and apologizing for all the awful things I’d said to him when we broke up. I settled for giving him the short version of how I’d come to be inside Dre Carrington’s home—including the fact that his sister wasn’t really his sister—and he agreed to bring over the available Murphys right away.

He made good on his word. Minutes after hanging up, Scott, his father, two of his sisters, three of his brothers (thankfully
not
including Sean), Elliana, and Mac tromped into the music room. Morgan moved immediately to Liana’s side and took her into his arms. The fierce look of love he gave her sent regret spinning through my heart. God, I’d been such a fool to let their son go. Once,
he’d
looked at
me
like that.

. . Liana murmured something to her husband, and his head whirled as he zeroed in on Fake Amaya. He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth in an expression that would have done the Hound members of his family proud.

Scott touched me on the arm, raising a brow. I leaned against his hand. His warmth felt good against my arm, but I allowed myself the pleasure for only a moment.

“So,” he drawled when I moved away. “Tell me again why we shouldn’t kill this bastard and bury him where no one will ever find him before we go find out who the hell really took my sister.”

Dre shifted slightly but managed to keep his expression cocky as ever. “Because Marissa vowed to do no harm to me or mine.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Yeah, but that vow only binds Furies. Not Warhounds.”

A grin spread across Scott’s face. He cracked his knuckles loudly.

Dre’s confidence faded a notch, but he didn’t back down, merely nodded at me. I humored him, launching into the story of how we’d come across the Sidheborn spirit earlier that day, and why I believed Amaya wasn’t really Amaya. Then I explained how I planned to verify that fact.

Everyone rushed into action, arranging cushions on the floor, grabbing candles from elegant candelabras and placing them according to my specifications, gathering around the pentagram I inscribed oii the expensive hardwood floor with very cheap chalk that was a bitch to clean off. (Dre might not have killed Nessa, but he was still an asshole.)

Fake Amaya complied with my request to
Sit
at the eastern point of the pentagram easily enough. That right there made me suspect that whoever was locked inside Amaya’s form, she truly had lost most of her memories, or had them wiped away. Had she been an actual operative like the feds who’d attacked us outside Con’s school, she’d have already gone into escape—or suicide—mode.

I adjusted the items I’d placed in the center of the pentagram. The Sidheborn spirit’s hair, flesh, and blood. Three of the body’s most vital essences, three of the strongest components to use when working magic. Someone dimmed the room’s lights. Candlelight flickered from each corner of the pentagram, casting Fake Amaya’s face in an eerie glow. The more I looked into her eyes, the more I realized just how

“off” she was. She never would have fooled the members of Scott’s family for long, but Dre hadn’t known the
real
Amaya.

It took longer for the Sidheborn spirit to answer my call this time. She’d have a more difficult, arduous task in following the trail from her body to the pentagram holding these small bits of her physical remains. Harder to be sure, but my call was something she couldn’t deny.

A half hour passed before she made her appearance. One moment, Fake Amaya and I were bathed in soft candle glow. The next, bright white light flashed in the center of the pentagram, illuminating us as brightly as sunlight until it dissipated somewhat. Several of the room’s occupants gasped, especially those old enough to recognize the telltale marks of a full-blooded Sidhe. I don’t think most of them had believed I’d known what I was talking about. But now, faced with the exotic creature floating before them, they could no longer deny the truth.

The spirit’s eyes focused on me immediately. “So, you summon me once more, Fury. Have you rescued my brethren so soon, then?”

“No. And I’m not sure I should bother.”

She advanced on me, anger making her eyes snap with unnatural light. Those eyes widened when she reached the circle of salt I’d sketched out at the heart of the pentagram. One of the most effective barriers against summoned spirits. And that pissed her off even more than my words.

“Explain yourself.”

Her haughty tone of voice brought a smirk to my lips. “In case you’ve forgotten, sugar,
I
order you around. Not vice versa. So why don’t
you
explain
yourself?”

“I know naught of what you speak.”

My expression grew cold. “Why didn’t you mention the fact that your captors had some of your brethren willingly working for them?”

She sagged, running a hand through her ectoplasmic hair. “How could I be sure you would deign to help the others if you knew about the turncoats?”

“Yeah, well, your stupid decision to hold out nearly got me killed. How the hell am I supposed to free your brethren if I’m dead?”

Her expression grew solemn. “Aye, right you are, Fury. Please accept my humblest apologies.”

I snorted. Sidhe didn’t know the meaning of the word
humble.

“You can make it up to me by answering more questions.”

“As you wish.”

I gestured behind her, to where Fake Amaya sat with legs crossed and hands folded in her lap. “Do you know her?”

She spun in the air. “Ohhh, poor Mya.” Obviously Sidhe could see through the glamourie of other Sidhe without any special effort. Her voice sounded surprisingly tender when she glanced at me from over her shoulder. “She is one of the earlier products of the mortals’ unMagic. Somewhat touched in the head, if you take my meaning. Sweet and innocent and unable to conduct herself as a true Sidhe.” Which meant she didn’t have it in her to cheat, mislead, and backstab up a storm like “true” Sidhe. Good to know.

“All right. Why would they dress her up in this form and send her to Dre Carrington?”

Her eyes widened in recognition. “That name strikes me as familiar. Some of our captors spoke of him from time to time.”

I threw a dangerous look his way. He met my glance unflinchingly. Easy for him to do, now that I’d made that damnable vow.

“And what exactly did they speak of?”

“That he was a source of information allowing them to
more easily find specimens for their experiments.”

Nausea pooled in my stomach. Oh hell. “Specimens? What kind of experiments?”

Surprise flickered. “Have you not yet realized the truth?” She shook her head. “Of course not, or you wouldn’t ask. The Sidhe are not the only arcanes upon which my captors work their unMagic. They hope to unlock the secrets of our immortality and glamourie, ‘tis true. But they also seek to build their own magical army. They strive to clone other arcanes to accomplish this goal.”

Dre’s gaze locked with mine from across the circle. “Then the reason they sent Mya disguised as Amaya. .