shut, still chanting the spell as his hair billowed in the wind and blue bolts of thaumaturgic force

discharged like lightning in the swirling turbulence above the pentagram.

shut, still chanting the spell as his hair billowed in the wind and blue bolts of thaumaturgic force

discharged like lightning in the swirling turbulence above the pentagram.

A glowing, bright blue aura outlined a vague form within the pentagram, a shape that undulated and

thrashed, in the grip of some invisible force. The aura crackled with energy as the shape within the

pentagram resolved into the demon entity, Wulfgar's dark subconscious given form and life.

The candles had all gone out and only the crackling energy within the pentagram illuminated the room in

a ghastly blue glow. Wulfgar strained as he fought with it, the veins standing out in his temples, his gaze

locked with his bestial inner self. It howled like a banshee as it struggled with him, then finally subsided,

subdued by the overwhelming strength of its master's will.

In the sudden silence, there came a loud thumping on the wall.

"What the hell's the matter with you people in there?" shouted an angry voice from the neighboring

apartment.

The entity turned toward the wall and gave out a deafening bellow. The pounding on the wall resumed

with fresh intensity.

"Seek," said Wulfgar, oblivious to the pounding from next door.

The entity crackled with a brief burst of energy and disappeared.

The Lady Rhiannon was in a foul temper. She stood in her living room in the elegantly appointed

apartment above her gallery on Canyon Road, shaking a piece of paper in their faces. She was dressed

in a long, diaphanous blue robe that did nothing to hide the lush, voluptuous curves of her body and

Loomis was having a hard time not staring. She was wearing nothing underneath it.

The Lady Rhiannon was not really a Lady. Her name implied a peerage of some sort, yet she wasn't

British. She wasn't acting much like a lady in any other sense, either, Loomis thought as he patiently

listened to her tirade. Her real name, according to the Bureau files, was Ronnie Levine and she was

originally from Hewlett, Long Island. Lady Rhiannon was her chosen magename and the name under

which she operated her exclusive gallery on Canyon Road, in an old adobe house dating back to the

days before the Collapse.

"I'm going to sue the goddamn police department!" she stormed, shaking the note that Ramses left her in

their faces. "Where the hell do you get off, commandeering people's personal property? Do you have any

idea how much Ramses isworth ? He's priceless! He's irreplaceable! He's the crowning achievement of

my art! My entire business is built upon him! What the hell gives you the right to waltz in here and just

take him? If anything happens to him, I swear to God—"