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"It's Savannah Levine, right?" Adam asked.
Savannah nodded. Adam extended his hand with a flourish, paused, then put his finger to the wall. The drywall smoked. Using his finger, he scorched S. L., then drew a heart around it.
Savannah's face lit up, but she struggled to hide it under a veil of indifference. "Not bad. But anyone can do that with a magnifying glass. Don't you have any real powers?"
"Later," Clay said. "We have two more cells to empty."
Adam stepped aside to let Savannah pass, holding the door open for her. She pretended to ignore him, but couldn't hide a tiny smile and one last glance at his artwork on the wall. Poor Xavier. So easily ousted from Savannah's affections by a younger, more powerful half-demon. How fickle the heart of a twelve-year-old girl.
As Savannah walked past Adam, she collided with Clay blocking the exit.
"She stays here," he said. "Paige can look after her."
Savannah yelped.
"We should have released her last," Clay said. "There could still be some guards left. I don't want her wandering about."
"I won't wander--"
Clay cut her off with a look. They locked eyes, then Savannah dropped her gaze.
"Fine," she said. She turned on her heel, stalked to her bed, and threw herself atop it, arms crossed, facing the wall.
"Adam, stay with them," Clay said. "Stand guard."
"I don't need anyone to protect me," Savannah said, flipping over and sitting up, pique vanishing as Adam approached. "But you can look after her." She jerked her chin toward Paige. "She looks like she might need help."
"This is going to be fun," Paige murmured under her breath. "Couldn't you have found me a sweet little eight-year-old witch?"
"It could be worse," I said. "She could be sixteen."
"Someday, she will be."
Two prisoners left. Curtis Zaid, the Vodoun priest, and a new captive in the cell across from my old one.
"What do you think he is?" I asked Clay, tilting my head to study the newcomer. "I heard they were trying to capture a vampire, but this guy doesn't look too anemic, does he?"
That was an understatement. The man in the cell was at least six foot three, with broad shoulders and plenty of muscles, shown off by a sleeveless sweatshirt and well-worn jeans. Definitely not anemic.
"You can stop drooling, darling," Clay said.
I made a face at him and looked back at the stranger. "You think he's a vampire?"
"Want me to stick my neck in and find out?"
"Maybe later. For now, I think we should leave him where he is. Just to be safe."
We walked to Curtis Zaid's cell. I watched him through the one-way glass, trying to assess his mental stability.
"He looks okay," I said. "No ranting and cursing. I think the poor guy's lost it, but he isn't dangerous. He doesn't have any true power. More likely to be a nuisance than a threat."
"Let's get him out, then," Clay said, opening the door.
As we stepped into the cell, Zaid turned and pulled something from his head. Earphones, connected to a CD player on the table. He closed his book and laid it on top of a VCR. CDs? Videos? Hell, all I ever got was old books and a television with two fuzzy stations. Maybe I should have taken up cursing.
"We're here to let you out, Curtis," I said.
Zaid didn't appear the least bit surprised. Maybe he was too far gone. Ignoring us,
