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“Cassandra, do you want to know how many times I’ve regenerated before you and your uncle found me in New Orleans?”

She glanced over her shoulder as she started toward the man. “Is that relevant right now?”

“I think it is, actually. And please don’t get any closer to him.”

Her uncle wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me. Through the gloom and misty rain, I could see magic sparking around his hands.

“Well, when I was a kid, I did it all the time because it was a new skill and was, frankly, pretty cool,” I said.

“It really is,” her uncle said, nodding enthusiastically.

“Since I outgrew that phase, I’ve regenerated twice.”

Cassandra glanced back again, her brows furrowed.

“In my entire adult life, I’ve had to regenerate twice. And then, after you and your uncle spotted me—where did you say?”

“You were getting on the trolley on St. Charles Avenue.”

“Ah, yes.” I’d just enjoyed a lovely meal at this Cajun restaurant that offered bottomless vodka brunches on Sundays. I was heading toward the community garden I used to help maintain.

“For the next four months, I was forced to regenerate six times. Those weren’t coincidences.” I glanced at the uncle again. “They weren’t accidents.”

The uncle raised his hands. I spared a moment to be shocked that he planned to use magic blatantly in the middle of a parking lot in the mundane world.

Except this wouldn’t be the first time.

It would be at least the seventh.

I dove for Cassandra, caught her around the waist, and knocked her to the concrete, covering her with my body. I felt the sizzling sensation as magic flew just over my head.

The cartful of supplies for the coffee shop exploded.

“Wyldfire,” Cassandra screamed, struggling to get out from under me.

I glanced up. The uncle was storming toward us, his face as dark as the sky. His mutton chops were plastered to his cheeks. His smoking jacket was soaked through. He’d been waiting out here for a while, I suspected. He must have followed us here.

Since someone who deliberately hurt others—even if it was a phoenix who couldn’t truly be killed—would never be allowed past the Arrythmia city limits, I had to guess that he’d lain in wait, hoping we’d eventually leave our sanctuary.

And we had.

What if I’d let Cassandra come here alone? What would have happened? The guy’s focus was on killing me, but he was also manipulating Cassandra, which, in my book, was the more evil of the two crimes.

I helped Cassandra to her feet, preparing to run as the guy bore down on us.

“Wyldfire,” Cassandra called out, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face. The cat was nowhere to be found. I hoped that didn’t mean what Cassandra obviously thought it meant.

“You killed Wyldfire,” she yelled at her uncle, who paused a few feet away.

“Is that the phoenix’s name? Wyldfire?” The man sounded downright cheerful.

“You idiot,” Cassandra snapped. “He’s clearly alive. I’m talking about my familiar.”

The uncle gave a start. “You have a familiar?”

“Had,” Cassandra amended icily.

The guy darted his gaze around the parking lot. “That’s not good.”