Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter 1 Full noon sun in the middle of a busy downtown street, and I was about to steal a baby. An older white two-door, with a bumper that obviously wasn’t original to the car, angled its way into a parking spot. I whistled, signaling the two warriors I’d brought with me that our target was close. Thea Caras, our new high priestess, opened the door to our Jeep and set one foot on the pavement. I motioned for Tess, a hearth-keeper and our driver, to be ready. Then I followed suit, trying to look casual, although Thea with her full-sleeve tattoos was not your usual downtown Beloit shopper. For that matter neither was I, nor were the two warriors hidden in shaded doorways nearby. Still, I grabbed a hoodie from the seat beside me and threw it at Thea. She frowned but pulled it on. It was the middle of July and hot, but better she be sweaty than flashing her unusual art. The men took their time getting out of the vehicle. I glanced over my shoulder, checking to make sure the fifth member of our team, Lao, a three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old hearth-keeper, was in position to take the child once we had retrieved her from the sons who had stolen her. Finally the men exited the car. The tallest reached into the backseat and pulled out the carrier. I could see the baby inside, fast asleep with a blue-and-white checked blanket tucked around her. The shorter of the two, maybe six foot three to the other man’s lanky six six, scanned the street. I ducked down in a pretense of checking my tire. Thea cut around behind the back of the Jeep to approach them from the street. Back on my feet, I signaled Areto. She was short for an Amazon, with no visible tattoos. Dressed in mom shorts and a scoop-necked T-shirt, she blended nicely with the humans. Fumbling in a purse we’d picked up at Goodwill before setting this stage, she walked between the sons and stopped. Disguised as a man, complete with a trucker hat, Bern moved too. She headed toward an old VW Bug that Lao had hotwired earlier and parked at the corner. With Bern and Areto in place, Lao was next. Pushing a rolling shopping cart, she moved into the tall son’s path, then stumbled and fell. The cart tipped over. Onions and peppers rolled across the concrete. Lao lay sprawled across the sidewalk, the picture of elderly distress. Areto rushed to Lao’s “aid.” Falling to her knees, she stared at the Amazon son. “She needs help.” I joined Areto and placed a hand on Lao’s shoulder. “She’s hurt,” I cried. “Her arm is bent. Can one of you help me?” I moved as if struggling to flip the older Amazon onto her side. Neither male moved. Eight feet behind the man with the infant, Thea lifted a blowpipe. Something shot from its end. The man slapped at his neck, then took an unsteady step to the side. Confusion clouding his eyes, he set the carrier down. Also confused, I blinked. I had assumed Thea would use magic to divert the men; I hadn’t expected the priestess to use a weapon and what appeared to be some kind of drug. However, in the middle of our mission, I didn’t have time to analyze the priestess’s unusual choice. The shorter man had missed the exchange. When I looked back at him, his attention was still on me. “Mateo, Amazons!” he yelled, leaping toward us. I stood, meeting him head-on, and jammed the heel of my hand into his nose. He cursed; blood streamed down his face. The first son, the tall one, was barely standing; only his arms, locked at the elbows and wedged against the cars beside him, kept him from falling. His face drawn, he lunged toward the carrier, but it was too late. Tess had already pulled up behind his car and Thea, the baby carrier firmly in hand, had already leapt inside. With a shriek of the Jeep’s tires, they raced away. The son whose nose I had just busted cursed. He took a step toward me, but the taller son yelled there was no time. The first son headed toward me, hesitated, emitted an angry growl, and flashed hi