The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

“I expect to see some bug clusters by late afternoon—hard to say for sure. There’s a hundred and eighteen miles of quarry tunnel. And those are just the ones on the map.”

“You believe there’s more, off the map?” Exeter asked.

“I know it, mate. The bugs are going to find more than one or two warm bodies, especially the bugs I laid down in Outremer Paris. There’s an underground nightclub, art galleries—all kinds of illegal stuff going on in the catacombs. Prospero will have a hideout in both worlds—likely close together.”

Ping shot a piercing look over the rims of his dark glasses. “And how is Outremer Paris?”

The question stopped Tim’s fork midway to his mouth. “The Eiffel Tower is looking more like the leaning tower of Pisa—it has a few weeks at best.” He shoveled food and shrugged. “Just a guess.”

Exeter settled back and returned the genie’s uneasy gaze. If Prospero enjoyed relations with both sexes, he would be unduly intrigued with Ping and Jinn. “We’re going to need all your talents for this one, Mr. Ping.”

Ping smiled as he sipped his Darjeeling tea. Mysterious silver eyes met Exeter’s over the edge of his cup. “Truly.”

Mia finished her breakfast in relative silence—as they all did. Afterward, she and Exeter trailed behind the others as they crossed the Seine on the Pont Neuf. “We have an appointment for a showing at the House of Worth this morning. Would you like me to cancel?”

Mia paused to admire dark and light swirls of water rush under the bridge. “Call it a premonition, but I keep picturing a hasty retreat out of Paris. It might be best to get the shopping over with.”

“I hate to rush you, but . . .” Exeter pulled her close, rocking her gently in his arms. “Let’s get your new wardrobe selected and purchased, Baroness de Roos.”

His reference to her title caused a flare of heat to sweep over her cheeks. Mia glanced at the emerald on her ring finger. “I’m quite a tireless shopper, Baron de Roos. We shall get the job done in one day.” Exeter grabbed hold of her hand and maneuvered through a tangle of carriage traffic to the tree-lined quay that ran along the Seine.

“I believe it might be time to discuss the next phase of your training, my dear.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand; in fact, he wove those long tapered fingers through hers. Mia’s heart did a bit of dancing about in her chest. “And that would be?”

“It is time for you to get comfortable in your cat suit.” His eyes crinkled, slightly. “Valentine’s notes were quite adamant about the fact that these metamorphoses are hard on the system, at least initially. To give your body a chance to recover from each shift, you must try to remain a cat for a few hours at a time.”

Exeter stopped beside a low wall overlooking the river. “We have yet to acknowledge this to one another, but we have begun to communicate telepathically.” He curled a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward. “When you are the panther, I am quite sure you recognize me—and you understand what I say. On the roof of the train, you knew Jersey and Valentine as well, did you not?” He moved closer, searching her face. The harsh morning light played across his dark beard stubble. He appeared tired, though ever her handsome, stoic protector. The man she loved with all her heart.

“Of course she knows you, Exeter.” She smiled to reassure him. “She understands instinctively who is friend or foe.” In fact, the cat was a rather excellent judge of character; she found Exeter to be the most intriguing male in all the world. “While I am the cat, I am completely present—aware of all the elements, some of them beyond my ken. Her sensory abilities are raw and unfiltered and she is both wary as well as enthralled by . . . everything.”

For a moment, she could feel her feline essence; a dazzling bit of sunlight off the Seine caused her pupils to narrow into slits. “I am seeing the world again, through new eyes.”

“We might encourage you to shift for several hours tonight.” Exeter smiled somewhat wistfully. “But, I must ask one thing of you, Mia.”

She searched his face. He appeared hesitant, as though he was embarrassed to ask. “What is it, Exeter?”

“May I collar you?”

A flush of heat moved across Mia’s cheeks. “You would put me on a leash?” The wild feline inside stirred.

“Only because . . . I don’t want to lose you. The cat often runs off, you could get lost in the catacombs.” Exeter swept a stray wisp of hair away from her face, and tucked it under her cap. “My word, you are provocative in newsboy attire.”

Mia chewed on a bottom lip. “I’m not sure she will take to it—but I suppose we must try.” Myriad thoughts, many of them wild and wicked, accompanied this strange idea he proposed. The flutter in her stomach reminded her of their first night together—when he had fastened her wrists to the poster bed. Mia leaned against Exeter and rubbed her cheek against his.

“We will continue your lessons this afternoon. This time, at the edge of climax, you will let her shift.” He used his husky bedding voice—the one that encouraged moisture between her legs, even when he hadn’t touched her.

“Might that be dangerous? Her fangs left you marked.”

“A mere scratch.” He kissed her lightly. “My darling, Mia, you have taken possession of me body and soul.”

Her pulse thrummed a strange, erratic rhythm as his soft kisses and sensuous bites angled back and forth across her lips. And she had neither solicited nor cajoled him into such affection. She badly wanted to ask, even as she repressed the thought.

But what of your heart, Exeter?

Chapter Thirteen

IN THE WAR ROOM, nee “dining room,” of their hotel suite, Exeter studied the image maker intently. “What is a hologram, exactly?” he queried, as Tim set up yet another odd contraption.

“In this case, it is a moving photograph of an interference pattern that, when suitably illuminated, produces a three-dimensional image.” Tim’s shoulders bounced up and down. “This little portable player doesn’t really do the transmission justice, but you’ll get the picture.”

At first, there was nothing but a voice in the dark. “If there is a way to crack open Pandora’s egg, I will find it.” The voice was soft, gravelly—measured.

Phaeton Black sat behind bars and yanked absently on his bindings. “You are persistent, I’ll grant you that, but you cling to myths, Prospero.” The cell appeared to be shallow, enclosed by an old iron gate. Exeter squinted at a rather daunting lock mechanism. Absent a keyhole, but adorned with colorful lights, the device blinked in the dark. “Ping was quite clear,” Phaeton continued, “the Moonstone knows your intentions. You cannot trick the stone with your wily wizardly ways.”

A figure moved through shadows like a wraith in the dark. And a face, in profile, appeared inches away— nose to nose with Phaeton. “If that is the case, why hide it from me?”

A grin that was pure Phaeton Black lifted Exeter’s spirits. “Might I suggest more sex torture? Might loosen my lips a bit—and mind I get a bit of anal play this time—before you bugger me. Or perhaps you might suck my cock?” Phaeton boldly stared the wizard down. It was as if they were two sides of the same coin—the cruel emperor on one, the court jester on the other.

“Continue to prevaricate, Phaeton, and I shall be obliged to use additional force. If I cannot have the stone, you will be kept . . . subdued.” Exeter concentrated on the man called by many names—scientist, sorcerer, the tinker, the master—the lathe and plaster in Skeezick speak. The Nightshades had settled on the name Prospero for this enigmatic foe, and the isolated character from The Tempest appeared to suit. The enemy even answered to his name.

These captured images, along with snippets of conversation, had been sent to Black Box in London. According to Tim, his brother Oakley had personally extracted the transmission. Exeter could not shake the thought that Prospero continued to spin his web and he was drawing them in. Surprisingly cat and mouse, for such a