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“Oui. I—I think so. There is chaotic energy around her. So much static. That is unusual for her frequency. She is usually steady.” She opens her eyes, but her dark-green orbs are still unfocused. If we were in a different time and place, I’d even say she was sleepwalking. “Steady,” she repeats. “And dark. And determined…to get her way.”

“Well, not this time.”

Reece’s words aren’t just a proclamation.

They’re a promise.

And I swear, a whole new channel of my heart is unlocked, at once flooding with adoration for this beautiful man. And this time, it has nothing to do with his tuxedo.

Though I have to admit—once Wade has hooked a left onto Hope Street and stopped the Rover in the limousine drop-off lane in front of the Music Center—that it’s impossible to ignore the artwork that is this man’s ass in custom-fitted Prada. I may be a mom on a mission tonight, but I’m also a woman with a pulse, and nobody leaps out of a Range Rover the way my man can. “Wait!” Fine backside or not, I scrutinize him now like the whackpot he’s seriously become. “You want to get out right here? All of us?”

Reece finishes aligning his cufflinks before scraping his hands back through his hair. “You think Faline’s going to sneak the girls in the back way? Ms. ‘Look at me and tremble, you peasants’?”

“Dude’s got a fine point,” Wade comments from the driver’s seat.

“Of course he does.” Trixie smooths down the poufy skirt of her bronze tea-length formal while sliding out from the front seat. “Richards men are a lot of things, but moronic isn’t one of them.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Reece flings her a sardonic side-eye. “I think.” The move results in a thick chunk of inky hair to fall free despite his finger grooming. The shiny lock lands perfectly between the lightning storms of his eyes, like the damn cherry on his irresistibility sundae. The indolent bastard quirks one side of his mouth as I stay in the back seat, watching everyone else leave the car—while squirming to control what my crotch wants me to do about him looking like the planet’s hottest superhero in disguise as history’s hottest James Bond. I swear to God, if he reaches in for me and husks, “Let’s go, Sassenach,” I may concede to being the first casualty of the night.

Thankfully, the man is already invested in the mission before us. Every inch of his rigid posture says so. Every ion of his energy radiates with it. Even the halo around his head is a new color, pulsing with a captivating mix of blue, red, and purple. The violet lends a regal air to his superspy stature, making me envision him as a knight of old, instead. We’re his chosen warriors, and he’s guiding us to finally cross swords with the witch who’s planning on taking the whole world hostage, starting with the slave children she’ll use to do so.

Except now that I put it that way, the “old” story doesn’t sound old at all. Or very much like a damn fairy tale.

Yes, even this part. With the “courtiers” all gathering at the “castle” in their finery, what better cover can there be for a hag wanting to stow a couple of kids down in the dungeon again?

Not. Going. To. Happen.

But for that pledge to be reality, we’ve got to find the selfish skank before she goes to ground.

We’ve got to find her now.

With my mind and heart surging a rush of new commitment to the pledge, I ignore the hand Reece reaches in to help me disembark the car. Instead, with the help of a pushing pulse, I practically fly out the opening, using my extra two seconds to crush my lips to his in a kiss that’s filled with fire, fervor, conviction, dedication, consecration, and every ounce of consuming love I have for this incredible superhero knight of mine.

As soon as we part, me wearing a stupid grin and him looking like a full train has burst up from the purple line and struck him, I chuck him lightly on the chin. “Let’s go get this hag, Sir Reece Richards.”

“Uh…okay?”

But that’s a hell of a lot easier said than done.

As if the paparazzi have special hearing devices coded for Reece’s voice, we’re suddenly bombarded by a huge flock of the buzzards. While it’s never an easy thing to suddenly feel like one is in the middle of a fish bowl with two dozen tweaked fireflies, I do my best to join Reece in giving them all the charming smiles and poses they want. Anything to keep their prying lenses away from Lux, who’s scooted up the steps to the plaza by a fast-acting Trixie. Thank God Reece didn’t give her shit about wanting to come along on the mission. The strength in our numbers gains its best evidence when we have to deal with obstacles like this lens monkey—and twenty of his buddies.

“Hey, EmRee!” shouts one of the photogs. “These are great shots. You two look like a million bucks.”

“Two million.”

“Which might be the bonus my editor flips my way when she sees these. You two do have all the superpowers!”

“Our pleasure to help out, guys,” Reece answers. “But if you don’t mind, we’re meeting some friends before the performance. We haven’t been able to locate them yet, so—”

“Huh?” someone in the pack cuts in.

The guy already celebrating his bonus adds an adamant nod. “Didn’t you already find them, Emma? Over by the Lipchitz fountain? Like, ten minutes ago?”

My heartbeat thuds in my throat. “M-Me?” I squeak—already slamming all the pieces together and trying not to betray the fury that’s spouting inside me just like the spouts of the Center’s iconic fountain.

“Yeah,” he answers. “You. Over there. You must have found your friends, right? Were those little girls theirs, then?”

“Little. Girls.” I get the words out but aren’t sure if they’re even intelligible, considering my mouth is full of bile-filled marbles. That bitch is still parading around as me. Letting the paps take pictures of her, Mis, and Ira!