Claimed by Sarah Fine Page A

H e’d joked with her and generally made an ass of himself, but it had worked, for a few minutes. She had laughed and smiled, and, goddamn, she was gorgeous when she smiled. But after sh e’d found out that tonight was the night, sh e’d withdrawn.
    He couldn’t blame her. Right now he wanted to do the same thing. And that’s why he was here. Maybe there was another way to keep her safe—by ending the threat completely.
    Dec strode into the soaring lobby of the Psychopomps tower and walked straight to the central desk. Walter was the receptionist on duty, his fingers tapping lightly at one of the many screens arrayed in front of him. Dec leaned on the counter. “How’s business?”
    Walter smoothed his hand over his thinning auburn hair. “Steady. But your sister’s been tightening security and clearances, and a few of our cousins are a bit irritable about being left out of whatever’s going on.”
    Dec was glad to hear it. The less his gossipy aunts, uncles, and cousins knew, the better. “So am I on the list?” H e’d been pacing his apartment nonstop all morning—and then this idea had occurred to him. Now he just had to follow through and manage to keep his anger under control while he did. “I want to see my brother.”
    A line of concern appeared between Walter’s brows. “Yeah. You and Cacy have clearance to see him, but Aislin asked that she be notified.”
    Dec gave Walter a wry smile. “Then let her know. Which elevator?”
    “He’s on Level Four, so last one on the right. I’ll let the guard know.” He pressed a button on his earpiece and began to talk to someone else as Dec walked away. In his faded EMS T-shirt and old jeans, Dec got a few disapproving glances from the suits who were coming in for meetings, but he didn’t give a fuck. It was one of the privileges of the being the Charon’s brother.
    The guard at the elevator nodded in greeting. “Mr. Ferry.”
    Dec nodded in return. “Level Four, please.”
    The guard ushered him inside and accompanied him up to Level Four, which was a black hole of mystery to most employees of Psychopomps. But Dec knew it for what it was—the prison for Ferrys who had abused their powers. The Charon presided over their hearings, reviewed the evidence, and pronounced the sentence, which could range from death to a few days in a cell. Whenever possible, they preferred not to surrender family members to the police—too much risk of disgruntled Ferrys blabbing their secrets to the wrong people. It did happen sometimes, but their father had been a master of keeping Ferry business within the family. Dec imagined Aislin would follow in his footsteps.
    The elevator door slid open, and Dec was greeted by two more armed guards standing in the entrance area to the corridor of cells. It wasn’t a long hallway; there were only eight cells and two interrogation rooms at the end of the corridor, with a separate exit. The overhead light bounced off the white ceramic tiles. “I’m here to see Rylan.”
    Walter must have called ahead, because no one asked any questions. Dec followed one of the guards, who was armed with an electroshock baton, to a door halfway down the short corridor. It was solid metal with a video screen set into it.
    It showed an image of Rylan, his dark hair neatly combed, sporting a short, thick beard that told Dec he hadn’t shaved since h e’d been imprisoned. He looked youthful—he was fit and broad-shouldered, about the same height as Dec—but in reality, he was well over a hundred years old. He was sitting at a metal table bolted to the wall, playing chess by himself.
    “When he’s not sleeping, he’s playing,” commented the guard. “Never seems to get tired of it.”
    When h e’d been young, Rylan had taught Dec how to play. Dec had idolized his older brother in those days. “He’s nearly unbeatable,” Dec said sadly.
    The guard chuckled. “What does that really mean, though, if you’re playing yourself?”
    Dec stared at