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unpredictable. That potential to lose control . . .
    She’d done well with the resistance in the west. Healing, mostly. Identifying other practitioners of magic, then instructing them in how to channel their new, often confusing abilities.
    Penance for the damage she’d already done.
    Her reputation had grown then, as a patron saint among the rebels. Most people considered her one step short of sacred. But that also meant they’d looked to her for direction. For guarantees. With no such faith in her divinity or self-restraint, she’d slipped away and headed east—where no one would know her name.
    And yet the legend of the Orchid had followed.
    “No,” she said. “Not by myself. I’m not a leader. Now it’s time for new allies.”
    “You’re an idiot, you know that? And here I thought by your reputation, that you must be pretty amazing.”
    “And what reputation is that?”
    The skin around his eyes tightened as he stared her down, as if probing deeper. “From what I’d heard, the Orchid is a goddess on earth, a benevolent healer, and a good-luck charm for those who choose rebellion over obedience.” His grin turned dirty. “To a chosen few men, she offers the sanctuary of her chaste flesh. Only, I never got that part. Seems the virginal bit would wear off after the first lucky bastard. You running some scam?”
    She forced herself to relax. “You can stop now.”
    “Fine by me. You’re welcome, by the way.”
    “Now who expects thanks?”
    “Oh, that’d be me,” he said with a clipped grin. “I kept you from being thrown into a goddamn sex dungeon. Lavish praise would be appropriate.”
    “You interfered for what? You were poaching girls as much as O’Malley’s men do.”
    “Hardly.”
    Pen laughed, revealing her disgust. “And what you’re offering Calla is so different?”
    He surprised her by cupping her cheeks—broad palms with long, elegant fingers. A little too roughly, he pulled her face up so that their eyes could throw daggers at very close range. His thumbs stroked the tops of her cheeks, brushing at the dirt. Only his sneer kept it from feeling like a caress.
    “Calla will eat. She’ll relax, knowing she’s with the baddest motherfucker around. And I’ll damn well make sure she comes. She gets everything with me. While the Orchid gets the satisfaction of a job well done . . . and maybe a little slap and tickle with the kid.” He released her and stepped away, sketching a bow. “I hope he’s fun, but I hear training boys can be frustrating.”

FOUR
     
    Green. It should have been a lovely color, affirmation of life and all that. Instead it drooped and slithered, sank damp fingers into his bones. The heat created a sheen on Tru’s skin, exacerbated by the humidity. This was where fungal infections set in. Wanting to get out of the cold, years ago, he’d come south. But this was too much. Lions thrived in dry heat. Maybe he’d be better off in what used to be Arizona.
    They had been walking for hours. Penelope the Good Witch claimed, after peering at some dirt in cloudy water, to see shelter not too far away. While she might, indeed, possess such crazy powers, he didn’t like having them too close. Magic after the Change wasn’t a benign force, so far as he’d seen. People used it to usurp authority to which they had no rightful claim. He was better off removed from the world.
    Tru had stowed his belongings not too far up the road—a change of clothes, some odds and ends he’d picked up along the way. More importantly, he’d also stashed some food. It wasn’t greed that made him devour everything he’d put back. If he were to be of any use in protecting the girl he’d chosen, he needed to refuel. And he wouldn’t be able to go lion again until he snagged a hefty dose of sleep. The laws of nature could only be bent, not broken.
    “You don’t intend to share?” Pen asked.
    “Share what? It’s gone.”
    “Asshole,” she muttered.
    Whatever. He just