Chapter 12

As her nails dug into her palms, Ursula stood by the empty reception desk of Ostema, a hair salon near the Plaza Hotel. Around the room, tall mirrors gleamed over bamboo countertops. The air had a faint citrus sent. The place was designed to lull customers into a sense of peace, but Ursula’s head was a war zone. Her mind burned with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours: her newfound wealth, Kester’s hound form, a soul that was no longer quite her own.

And her new, icy companion wasn’t doing anything to calm her nerves.

That morning, Kester had brought with him a slender young woman named Zemfira. With platinum-blond hair cut in a chic bob, and a patterned mini dress, she looked like some sort of retro supermodel. Ursula, on the other hand, wore the same black clothes from the day before, her red hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She’d been too overwhelmed to care how she looked this morning.

Before Kester had left, he’d explained that Zemfira—or Zee, as she called herself—would be getting Ursula settled. And, at Zemfira’s insistence, their first crucial stop was a hair salon.

“Try to look cool,” said the girl, her accent faintly Russian.

“I don’t even know what that means.” Be nice, Ursula. This girl was frosty, but if Ursula could get on her good side, maybe Zee would be a little more forthcoming than Kester. Like, about what had happened to the last guy who had Ursula’s job.

Working at Rufus’s bar, Ursula had met glamorous girls like Zee before. They loved to gossip.

Zee leveled cobalt blue eyes at her. “I don’t enjoy being seen around the city with someone who looks like she drank twenty wine coolers at a skanky art student party last night.”

Or maybe not. For some reason, Zee had decided she hated Ursula. Something had obviously struck a nerve, and Ursula needed to figure out what it was. “That’s how you’d describe me? A drunk art skank?”

“I suppose.” Zemfira’s eyes flicked to her steel-grey nails, as though they were the most fascinating things in the room. “But Luis is a master with hair. He’ll be able to help you with… the thing you’ve got going on with your head. Is it a British thing?”

“Is what a British thing?” Ursula asked, no longer trying to hide the irritation in her voice. Zee was a nightmare.

“Having your hair plastered flat to your head like that. Like it wants to escape its miserable existence on your head, and you won’t let it.”

Ursula gritted her teeth. She would find a way to be nice to Zee, even if it killed her. She could do this. “I don’t know, but your hair is pretty.” She’d been trying for a compliment, but with her jaw clenched like that, it had somehow come out sounding like a threat. Like she’d just proposed scalping Zee and wearing her platinum hair as a wig.

“It is pretty,” Zee agreed cautiously.

“Absolutely. Very… straight. And blond.”

“At least you noticed. Kester did not.”

Aha. “Oh. Is he your boyfriend?”

Zee cut her a cold look. “He is not. He likes to pick up strays. Women who are beneath him.” Her narrowed eyes implied that this included Ursula.

And I’ve just found the raw nerve. “I hope you don’t think I’m one of his strays. We’ve only just met, and he’s my mentor. I work with him, as of last night, but our relationship is purely professional. In fact, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t like me.” That was certainly true.

“Right. Like he ‘worked’ with that orange-skinned girl from Hoboken he met at Tatty O’Rourke’s. And yet he doesn’t seem interested in ‘working’ with me. Because he likes skanks.” She picked up a magazine, flipping a page with a ferocity that suggested she had a vendetta against paper. “He likes slumming it.”

“I wasn’t using ‘working’ as a euphemism. I mean actual work.” Sure, it involved reaping souls and traveling through a fire portal, but it was work all the same. “Do you know what we do for work, by any chance?”

“Of course I do.” Zee arched a thin eyebrow and snapped her magazine shut. “Ah. Here is Luis.”

A dark-haired young man approached them, his crisp white shirt vibrant against his bronze skin. He was nearly as big as Kester, and he’d accessorized beautifully with a gold watch and chunky glasses. He peered over them, staring at Ursula’s hair. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Ursula straightened. Odd behavior for a hairdresser, but okay.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Luis,” said Zee. “She works for Kester.”

“I’ll behave.” He smiled at Zee. “So glad you could bring in this beauty. I love redheads.”

“Beauty?” Zee glared at Ursula. “Her head is an aesthetic crime scene. I was hoping you could clean it up. I told her you were the best. And very discreet, of course.”

Luis brightened and waggled a finger. “I never tell Emerazel’s secrets.”

Ursula raised an eyebrow. Does everyone know about Emerazel but me?

“Of course you don’t tell our secrets. You wouldn’t want to land on the Headsman’s bad side.”

The Headsman. A shiver crawled up Ursula’s spine. She didn’t like the sound of that. Of course, life among the demons was bound to be unnerving.

Luis pursed his lips, studying Ursula. “The cut is all wrong, but her auburn hair is simply delicious.” He reached out, wrapping a tendril of her hair around his fingers. He stared at it, licking his lips in a way she could only describe as lascivious, as a glazed look overtook his eyes. What the hell? He took a shuddering breath before dropping the lock of her hair, his eyes becoming alert again. “A treatment with my Brazilian conditioner will really bring out the color.” He beckoned her to a room in the back, his gaze still lingering on her hair.

He seated Ursula in a soft leather chair, easing her head into a shampoo sink. Warm water trickled through her hair, and his fingers lathered her scalp with sensual swirls. “Red hair is my favorite.”

Ursula almost thought she heard Luis moan, but she shut out that disturbing thought.

Zee plopped into the chair next to her. “Oh, Luis. You and your redheads. As if you don’t get enough of them at Oberon’s.”

Ursula had no clue what they were talking about, but she breathed in the calming aroma of the pineapple-scented shampoo. Maybe she could get used to this life if she absolutely had to. As soon as she left the salon, she was going to buy paints to brighten up her new bedroom. She’d paint bluebells and aster, to make herself feel at home again.

Then again, there was that whole Headsman thing. Whoever that was, he sounded terrifying.

She opened her eyes, glancing at Zee. “Zee. Did you say something about a Headsman?”

Luis stopped lathering her hair.

Zee let out a long sigh. “Oh. That’s Kester’s nickname.”

Goose bumps raised over Ursula’s skin. “Why the Headsman?”

“It means executioner. He’s Emerazel’s most senior hellhound. Kester gets the most difficult cases, and his numbers are unparalleled. He has sent more souls into Emerazel’s flames than you can imagine. He’s lethal, and practically like a god himself.”

And she’d fought him last night. She was lucky to have survived her eighteenth birthday at all. No wonder he’d warned her that she wouldn’t win in a fight against him.

Luis’s fingers resumed their massage.

At least I got Zee talking.What she was hearing was terrifying, but at least she was hearing something. “So what you’re saying is that I’m in good hands?”

“As long as you stay on his good side. You’ll need his protection, you know.” Zee sighed loudly. “All this effort to make you look presentable, and you’ll probably just be shredded anyway.”

Ursula’s pulse raced. This is getting worse. “What do you mean, shredded?”

Zee straightened, peering over at Ursula’s face. “You mean Kester didn’t tell you why there was an opening in New York?”

Her stomach clenched. “No, he was a little quiet on that point.”

“Ugh, it was ghastly. Someone gutted the last guy, and strung his entrails over the trees in Central Park. They looked like Christmas tree ornaments, only made of flesh.” Zee smiled sweetly. “And now you have his job.”

Bloody hell. Pictures of bluebells and asters won’t be nearly enough to help me sleep soundly tonight.