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resulted in Bernie avoiding death. He was dead, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
    The orangey glow of a security light illuminated the metal garage door set in the concrete wall of the two-story building. Slowing, Kira maneuvered the bike into a very specific spot in front of the door, then pushed up her visor so the biometric scanner over the doorway could identify her. She mentally added a coded stroke of power to the Normal science that was the warehouse’s first line of defense, an extra precaution against the possibility of someone trying to use her against her will to gain entry. It had taken her, Zoo, and Wynne a couple of months to calibrate the door so that it responded properly to her unique combination and moved up and down with exact timing. With so many magical artifacts in her possession and Shadow folks running around, she needed more than ADT guarding her home.
    The wards around the warehouse flashed once as the rolling door deactivated, an all-clear signal. Throttling the bike forward, she entered the former repair bay just as the automatic door began its glide back down.
    Kira killed the engine and pulled her helmet off with a sigh. She wanted a hot shower and four or five glasses of rum. Maybe that would be enough to numb the pain that still roiled through her. It sure as hell wasn’t something aspirin could take care of.
    She couldn’t give in to the grief. Not yet. First she had to make sure her protections would hold. Despite her earlier reckless thought, she had no intention of revealing the dagger’s presence. She’d have to tighten the controls and defenses to make sure the dagger didn’t emit anything that would bring the seeker demon and its master to her door .  . . or catch Gilead’s attention.
    The mundane alarm had its own encrypted server; the only nonmagical communication it had was to Wynne and Zoo. Atop that, Zoo had placed several aversion and protection spells to deflect the casually curious and the majority of hybrids. Which left her own Light-reinforced wards to handle the heavy hitters.
    Kira got off the bike, placed her helmet on the metal and sheetrock racking along the back wall that held assorted bike parts, and crossed to the control panel beside the large beige-painted metal door in the concrete block wall that divided garage space from living area. She splayed her hands on either side. Closing her eyes, she tried to push beyond, only to be stopped by a red -orange molten emotional bedrock of her own grief and anger.
    She realized that just because she didn’t want to feel the emotions didn’t mean they weren’t still there, waiting to pounce at the wrong moment. Kira couldn’t afford to be crippled by emotion. There were more important things than her anger, than her grief. Like revenge.
    The lavalike layer of rage and anguish pulsed. Kira pulled back, refusing to allow the inferno to erupt and consume her. This was much larger than revenge, she reminded herself. This was about justice.
    “You don’t win today,” she whispered to her angry core. “I still control me.”
    She worked with the molten mass like a glassblower shaping a vase, using its own nature to mold it as she wanted—into extra protections. The added security to her shields would put a nasty burn on anyone who tried to breach them now. Not that she cared. No one breaking in would be after her teapot collection.
    Finally she finished, easing back through the layers of technology and magic and emotion until her normal senses emerged. She rolled her head on her shoulders with a sigh. Do the things that need doing, Kira. You can do the rest after you find this guy.
    As she moved through the side door into her not-quite living room, the red indicator light on her VOIP phone on the mission-style end table in the sitting area caught her attention. Since she’d trashed her mobile, only two people could be calling: Wynne or Balm. Wynne wouldn’t appreciate a callback at close to