Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

HARPER

I opened my eyes, and everything was gray. An unpleasant odor hung in the air, like cheap cleaner mixed with mold. As my eyes adjusted, I took stock of my surroundings.

I lay on my side on a surface so hard it had to be concrete. Damp seeped into my clothes, which were thankfully still on my body. I had no reason to think Armand had designs on me, but self-preservation meant assuming everything was on the table.

The pain in my forearm had faded to a dull ache. The pain in the back of my skull was a bright, shiny beacon of motherfucking ow . I squeezed my eyes shut as I took shallow breaths, willing away my sudden nausea. Wherever I was, it wasn't good. Puking would make everything worse.

"Harper?"

My eyes flew open. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I sat up and turned toward the sound of my father's voice. Dizziness slammed into me, followed by another wave of nausea. My head throbbed, and I groaned as I leaned forward, saliva flooding my mouth.

"Harper!" Shoes shuffled on concrete, and then my father knelt next to me. His hand shook as he touched my shoulder, and his voice was low and hoarse. "Oh god, what have they done to you?"

The pain and nausea receded enough for me to lift my head. My eyes focused enough for me to make out the windowless concrete cell around us. No bars, though. Just a big metal door painted the same dingy gray. An open toilet stood against one wall. There was nothing else. Just concrete.

And my father.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. He looked terrible, his jaw covered in what appeared to be several days' worth of white stubble. His hair stuck up in greasy spikes, and he'd lost his glasses. A yellowish stain ringed his neckline where he'd obviously sweat.

Dad's face crumpled. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I was only trying to help. The gauze came in the mail, and I didn't know what to do, so I went to the Sound. I never should have let you go with Rothkilde. Your mother always said my pride was going to eclipse my talent, and she was right." He gave a short, broken sob. "Maggie was always right. She was so smart…so good, she?—"

"Dad," I said, cutting off his babbling. I gripped his shoulders and tried to ignore the way the movement made a fresh spike of pain stab the back of my head. "What do you mean about gauze? What came in the mail? Give me the facts as they happened."

Those were the magic words. My father's gaze sharpened, and he drew a shuddering breath. "A couple days after you left, Rothkilde sent bloodied gauze to the house, along with a note letting me know I could expect worse if I didn't turn over all the footage of his shift."

My breath froze in my lungs. In my mind's eye, Einar bent over my foot, his long, elegant fingers skillfully wrapping gauze around my toe. He'd tended my injury—and then shipped the bloodied aftermath to my father.

"I was terrified," Dad said, "and I was so ashamed. The footage wasn't important anymore. My only priority was getting you out of Rothkilde's house." A hard edge entered my father's voice. "Contrary to what he might think, I don't have contacts in the supernatural world. I didn't know where to turn, so I returned to the place where everything started."

"You went back to the Puget Sound," I said.

Dad nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "I took a tent and made camp near the spot where I saw Rothkilde shift. The first night, nothing happened. But the second night, the werewolves found me. They promised to help if I gave them the gauze. They said Rothkilde was a horrible man, and they could track you through your blood. The second I handed it over, they beat me and then brought me here." My father ran his bloodshot gaze over my face. "Did they hurt you?"

I reached up and probed the back of my scalp. A knot rose from the center of my skull, but my hair was dry, and I didn't feel any open wounds. "I think I'm okay," I said. "How long have I been here?"

"A few hours." My father's expression turned grave. "Harper, listen to me. Whatever happens, cooperate as much as you can. Armand is more dangerous than you think."

"Sage advice," Armand said through the door. It swung open with a loud squeal, and he entered with Hector behind him. Armand smiled at me. The expression didn't reach his icy blue eyes. "You should listen to your father, chère ."

Dad stood. His voice trembled, but he looked Armand in the eye as he spoke. "Harper hasn't done anything wrong, Mr. Reverdin. She's innocent in all of this."

"Hector," Armand said softly.

Hector moved around him, gripped my father by the throat, and flung him against the wall.

A scream ripped from me as I surged to my feet. Hector delivered a brutal kick to my father's stomach. I screamed again as Armand gripped my upper arm and dragged me from the cell.

"Please!" I pleaded. "Don't hurt him!"

"That's up to you," Armand said, manhandling me into what appeared to be a massive warehouse. Giant metal shelving soared toward the ceiling that had to be forty feet high. Stone statuary and plastic fencing materials lined the shelves, but even at a distance, I could see that everything was coated in dust. Wherever Armand had brought me, it wasn't an active business.

I struggled to stay on my feet as he strode down a broad aisle, his fingers biting into my bicep. We rounded the end of a row of shelves, and my heart plummeted at the sight of Arlo tied to a metal chair. He was in human form, and his face was a black-and-blue mess. One eye was half swollen shut. Blood ran freely from a cut on his cheekbone. His arms were secured behind his back. A rope ran around his chest, binding him to the chair.

Four men with gold-sheened eyes stood in a half circle behind him. One broke from the group, grabbed a second metal chair from behind a stack of wooden pallets, and set it down. He grinned at me as he stepped back and bowed.

"A throne fit for a princess," he said, mockery in his tone.

"More like a whore," Hector said, striding from behind Armand. "She spread her legs for Rothkilde easily enough. I can smell the lycan stench from here."

Armand shoved me into the chair so hard it skidded on the concrete and started to tip. The first man caught me and slammed the chair onto all four legs so hard my teeth clicked together.

"There you go, princess," he said, smoothing my hair off my shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I growled, jerking away. The men laughed.

Arlo made a soft sound. When I looked at him, warning gleamed in his dark eyes.

Armand caught the silent communication. "Your friend?" he asked me, gesturing to Arlo. "That was a mistake on your part, human. A Legerdemain demon will slit his own mother's throat for enough coin."

I clamped my mouth shut, hatred searing my insides. At the same time, confusion coursed through me. Arlo was just sitting there. He was bound, yes, but he was also capable of pulling weapons out of thin air and locking doors with magic. Why wasn't he fighting back?

"They're all thieves and assassins," Armand said. He went to Arlo and kicked the front leg of Arlo's chair, knocking it so Arlo faced me. Then he circled the chair and yanked Arlo's head back. "Duplicity is baked into their bones. But they're powerful. I'll give them that." Armand's lips curved, his blue eyes cold and flat as he looked at me. "However, the Legerdemain have one glaring weakness. Tie their arms behind their back, and they can't perform any of their party tricks. If you want to nullify their magic permanently, it's as easy as chopping their hands off."

"Don't!" I cried before I could stop myself. My heart pounded, sending fresh blasts of pain through the knot on my head.

Armand chuckled as he released Arlo's hair. " Non . Not right now, anyway. I have other business to attend to."

Footsteps rang out. A man with long, curved horns appeared around the end of a row of metal shelves. Shirtless, he wore a pair of light brown leather pants slung low on his hips. Several beaded necklaces descended to the center of his chest. He was obviously a demon, but his horns were the color of bone, and his features were reptilian. As he neared, I realized the beads on his necklaces were teeth.

My nausea came roaring back. It intensified as I got a better look at his pants. A faded anchor with a rose wrapped around it was inked onto one of his thighs. Because the pants weren't animal skin. They were human skin.

"Some of that business better be mine," the demon called out. As he passed Arlo's chair, Arlo caught sight of him and stiffened.

Armand narrowed his eyes.

The demon's necklaces clinked softly as he stopped before Armand. "I did my part, Reverdin. Now give me my money so I can be on my way."

Armand's eyes grew colder. "Not yet, Urzeb. Three of my wolves are unaccounted for. They were excellent fighters. I want them back. I need a bloodhound."

Urzeb snarled, displaying curved fangs. When he spoke, a forked tongue flashed in his mouth. "That name is offensive to my people. If you want to find your wolves, find them yourself. I tracked the human female and led you to Draithmere. That was our agreement."

Tension vibrated in the space between Armand and the demon. My scalp prickled, and my mouth went dry as I held my breath. In the corner of my vision, Hector and one of the other werewolves eased forward.

Urzeb's nostrils flared. He kept his gaze pinned on Armand, but there was no question he was aware of the wolves closing in on him.

"If you kill me, Reverdin," he said softly, "you'll die screaming on a Scorab table as my kin dine on your flesh."

The air itself seemed to hold its breath. I waited, my heart racing, prepared for violence to break out.

Finally, Armand snapped his fingers. "Fine. You'll have your payment." As Hector moved forward and placed a velvet bag in his hand, Armand glowered at Urzeb. "But don't expect to do business with me again."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Urzeb said. He tested the bag's weight in his palm, then withdrew a gold coin and examined it. Apparently satisfied, he replaced the coin and then turned to Arlo. "Should I give my regards to the Legerdemain when I return to Durzu? I can pass a message along if you like."

Arlo glared at him. Ghostly horns flickered around his head.

Urzeb laughed. "Nothing to say, princeling? I suppose you're not allowed to speak unless Rothkilde gives his permission." He tossed the bag of coins into the air and then caught it. "Being a lycan's lapdog must pay well."

Menace glittered in Arlo's eyes. "You and I will meet again one day. I vow it. And your bones will litter the plains of Durzu."

Urzeb smirked, but something like wariness flitted through his eyes, the emotion there and gone so quickly I couldn't be certain I'd seen it.

"Doubtful," he told Arlo. "You've always been a disgrace. Unworthy of your father's name. Perhaps that's why you hide on this plane with the stink of humans clogging your nose." Urzeb turned back to Armand and swept a mocking bow. "It's been a pleasure, Reverdin." Straightening, he disappeared.

For a moment, Armand was still and silent, his gaze on the spot where Urzeb had stood. "Put her on her stomach," he said finally.

Hands seized me. Fear exploded in my chest as I was shoved face down on the concrete.

"No!" Arlo shouted. "Don't!—" His voice ended in a grunt as the sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the warehouse.

The men held me down. My breath came in gasps as I turned my head, my cheek pressed to the concrete. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice high-pitched and foreign in my ears.

"Hold her arm out to the side," Armand ordered.

I fought but it was useless. Hector gripped my elbow and straightened my arm. Another man stepped on my forearm, his boot digging into Einar's claw marks hidden under my sweater. Pain lashed me, and I couldn't hold back my scream.

"Now, now," Armand said, crouching next to my head. A knife glinted in his hand. "You're getting ahead of yourself, chère . You should save your strength. And your cries." He pushed my hair off my forehead. "I assure you, the worst is yet to come."

I panted, fear clawing at my guts. The knife filled my vision. "Please, don't do this," I begged.

"I don't have a choice," Armand said. His tone turned polite, almost reasonable. "Draithmere is spelled. Only its inhabitants can find it. But your father was kind enough to give me a sample of your blood, which allowed me to hire Urzeb to track you." Armand flipped the knife once, the hilt slapping into his palm. "Scorab demons can find anyone with even the smallest drop of blood. It's a pity they're such assholes, non ?"

My heart pounded against the concrete. My mouth was so dry that my tongue stuck to the inside of my cheek.

Armand sighed. "I admit, the loss of my wolves irks me. But I can face Rothkilde without them. Now that he doesn't have his Legerdemain handler, he's vulnerable. And when he's vulnerable, he can be killed. I just need a powerful enough motivator to make him break the chains of his prison. That's where you come in."

Fear choked me. Tears and sweat stung my eyes.

Hector stepped on my wrist.

Armand smiled.

Then he sliced my pinky off.