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After our last parting, I hadn’t expected to see him again for a while. With his scar glowing to remind everyone of his magical tie to the device, he hadn’t implied that he would return for visits.

“Maybe he can get you some more grenades,” Jasmine whispered.

I stepped outside to greet Duncan on the threshold. Though delighted to see him, I realized I would have to admit that I’d lost his sword. The smile I offered him held mixed emotions.

Fully dressed in jeans, boots, and what was probably one of several black leather jackets that he owned—he lost his clothes in changes almost as often as I did—he looked as handsome as on the day I first met him. At the moment, the scar looked perfectly normal, like a relic of a childhood sports accident, not an indicator that a bad guy with a magical device could control him.

“Good evening, my lady.” Duncan stopped in front of me to bow, but only for a moment before making it a hug.

When I returned it, he rumbled a pleased, “Ah,” and looked like he might shift the embrace into a kiss.

The door remained open, however, and he noticed Jasmine. His jaw drooped, and he lowered his arms. He’d also noticed the huge mess inside my apartment.

“What happened? Were you robbed?”

“Robbed and threatened,” I said, thinking of the phone call. “It’s been an eventful day.”

Jasmine pointed toward the message on the floor again. After giving me a concerned look and an arm squeeze, Duncan stepped inside to look at it.

“Is that the American spelling for interfere?” he asked.

“It’s the ignoramus spelling,” Jasmine said. “Bolin would be appalled.”

I lifted my eyebrows. I hadn’t realized Bolin had managed to speak with Jasmine for long enough to bring up his spelling-bee background. Even if he had, it surprised me that she had listened to him on the subject.

“I’mappalled.” Duncan touched his chest. “For many reasons.” He turned his concerned expression back toward me. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, but…” I grimaced. “They got your sword.”

“Andthe grenades that you left Aunt Luna in her truck.”

“Egregious,” Duncan said. “I’m relieved neither of you was hurt.”

I wasn’t surprised that he cared as much—more—about us as the sword, but his utterance ofegregioushadn’t sounded that heartfelt. As if he wasn’t that worried about losing a priceless centuries-old magical artifact. I couldn’t imagine that.

“Did this just happen?” Duncan crouched and touched the paint. A smear came off on his finger.

“While we were checking on Rue—Rue’s apartment,” I said. “Yes.”

He sniffed the air.

“It’s paint, not blood,” Jasmine said. “Beetroot.”

“Possibly Sun-dried Tomato,” I said, though I doubted paint taxonomy was what prompted Duncan’s air sampling. He would have recognized the paint scent without waving his nostrils about.

“I can catch a whiff of them.” Duncan straightened. “There were two men, I think.”

“Probably some of the bikers who have been threatening me of late,” I said.

He frowned at me. “I see I’ve missed important things by being away.”

“What brought you back?” I asked. “I’m glad to see you, but I didn’t expect to for a while. Did you miss your van?”

“Terribly.”

“And me?”

“Evenmoreterribly. But at least you visited me in the woods. The van…”