Chapter Thirteen

Lord Alastair Neville, supreme ruler of the Chamber, took a private phone call from Hanford Kurchausen in his study in London.

Dr. Kurchausen had been the director of a private institute on the east coast of the United States before it burned down, and he was also a member of the Chamber’s highest echelon. The Institute had purported to be a therapeutic environment for mentally disturbed individuals.

In actuality, the place had served more as a stepping stone to hell for its unfortunate residents.

Kurchausen had gleefully manipulated—and contributed to—the patients’ mental and physical agony in order to fuel ever deeper and more depraved magics.

Lord Neville quite approved.

However, there had been one particularly powerful patient who’d managed to escape. Kurchausen had demonstrated an unpleasant tendency ever since to whine about the “ghost whisperer who got away.”

Now that Lord Neville had found her, quite by accident, he decided he’d prefer to capture her for his own use. The only problem was getting her out of Bane’s territory. That upstart vampire had caused the Chamber quite a few problems, but he had plans for Bane and his motley group of bloodsuckers. And even more exciting plans for Bane’s Nephilim mate or, at least, for Dr. Ryan St. Cloud’s blood.

Lord Neville’s smile, had anyone seen it, would have terrified years off their lives.

Literally.

He pushed the button that took the call off hold.

“Hanford? Yes, Neville here. No, we still have no idea where Alice Jones might be. Such a common name, Jones. No. No idea at all.”