Chapter 22

Unnerved she glanced around, exhaling slowly as she caught a glimpse of Zee slipping into the row, dressed in a crimson gown. About time she showed up.

As Zee took her seat, she studied Ursula with an expression that fell somewhere between annoyance and concern. “Are you having another bad day?”

“What are you talking about?” But even as she said it, Ursula realized that a few tears had slid down her cheek. She started to wipe her eyes, but Zee pulled her hand away. “You’ll ruin your makeup,” she whispered. “Let me do it.”

Zee opened her purse, pulling out a tissue, and she dabbled Ursula’s cheeks. “I also cried the first time I saw La bohème,” she whispered.

“You’re an opera fan?”

“I love the romance. Puccini understood how it felt to get swept away by love.” There was something wistful about the way she spoke, and her eyes glistened. The ice princess had disappeared for just a moment, until her clear gaze focused again. “But we’re not here for the music. Where’s the target?”

“Up there.” Ursula nodded at the box on the upper level, where Hugo still sat whispering with Virginie. Maybe this was going to be easier than she’d anticipated.

The first act ended, and Ursula sucked in a long breath. It’s now or never. She turned to Zee. “Can we approach them in the booth? Would you be able to glamour his girlfriend again?”

“Of course.”

Zee slipped out of the box, and Ursula followed. In the hall, patrons mingled with glasses of wine. Zee slipped between them, like a deer weaving between trees in a forest, and Ursula hurried along behind her.

“Thank you for helping me, Zee.”

“Of course. It’s what I’m paid for.” She stepped into a curving flight of stairs. “But you must relax. You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m dreading my part in this.”

“Oh. The whole eternal torture thing. Well, Hugo asked for it.”

“Do you think there’s another way out, without me collecting souls?”

Zee shot her a sharp look. “Keep your voice down. And, no. What Kester says is the truth, or he’d have freed himself ages ago. You think he likes it any better than you do?”

“You trust him?” Ursula desperately wanted to ask Zee about the bleeding man in her apartment. What if he needed help—and what if Kester had put him there? She choked down the questions for now.

“Of course I trust Kester. I’ve known him a very long time.” They reached the top of the stairs—Hugo’s level. “I don’t think he likes collecting souls any more than you do. But there is no other option, believe me.”

They strode down the hall toward Hugo’s box, and Ursula clutched her wyrm-skin purse. “Do you know why Kester carved his mark?”

“Yes, but it’s not for me to tell.” Zee paused at a door. “I think this is Hugo’s. Do you want me to go in first?”

“I think that’s a good idea. It’s likely to alarm him when he sees his own damnation coming for him.” Plus, Zee could glamour everyone around him. Ursula pulled her pen from her purse, ready to charm the pants off Hugo.

Zee open the door, and Ursula lingered in the doorway, keeping in the shadows—just like a good hellhound.

“Oh hi, Zee!” Virginie trilled, throwing her arms in the air. “I didn’t know you were going to be at the Opera tonight.”

“Hi, Virginie.” Zee’s glamour was utterly convincing. Too bad Hugo wasn’t there.

Zee’s hand flew to her chest. “Where’s your gorgeous date?”

“He went to the little boy’s room.”

Ursula began to slip away. Of course. That’s where I have all my traumatic encounters with pop stars.

The theater’s lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission. Show time, Ursula. She turned, hurrying through the hall, the bone-colored pen clutched tight in her fist.

A few stragglers rushed back to their seats in the corridor. At the end of the hall, Ursula spied a door labeled Men in gold lettering. No bodyguards—good. That would simplify things.

Ursula swallowed hard, trying not to think about fire. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was around, then slipped inside.

Gilded moldings and pictures of famous opera singers decorated the walls.

“Hello?” she called out in her most soothing voice. “Hugo, darling?”

Only the sound of dripping water greeted her, and the faint swell of violins from the orchestra. Shit.

Ursula’s mind raced through the possibilities. If he’d returned to his box, she would have seen him in the corridor. He wouldn’t have just left Virginie alone at the opera while he went somewhere else, would he?

Actually, that did seem like something he’d do. This was a guy who’d dumped his girlfriend for wearing the wrong swimsuit.

But, no—his jacket had been hanging on the back of his chair in the box. He had to be here.

Maybe he’d gone out for a smoke? She turned, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her auburn hair was piled on her head in a glamorous up-do, a few tendrils cascading over her pale shoulders. If she couldn’t lure Hugo into his own damnation looking like this, she’d never get anyone to sign.

She turned, eyeing the stalls. The doors reached the floor, so she couldn’t peer under them. Instead, she began pushing them open, one by one. The doors creaked as she opened them. “Hugo, my love. I’ve been wanting to see you again.” Creak. “I thought perhaps I could explain things better.” Creak. “Maybe over some wine?—”

From the furthest stall, a sucking sound interrupted her investigation. What the hell?

“Hugo, darling?” she said in her most soothing voice. “Is that you?”

The noise stopped, replaced by the muffled voice of the tenor singing on stage.

“Hello?” She softened her voice into a low caress, walking toward the final stall, heels clacking on the floor. “Are you there? We got off the wrong foot before, I know. I’m here to make everything better.”

No response. As she stood before the final stall, the hair rose on her arms. Something felt wrong—the air felt a little too cold, almost electrified. Was it just a draft, or was that dark magic crackling in the air around her? She flicked out the blade of the reaping pen. Dread rose up her throat, and she leaned closer, knocking on the door. “Hugo, my darling. It’s not as bad as you think.” Lies. Horrible, evil lies, tumbling from perfectly-glossed pink lips. She was a monster now.

She took a deep breath, waiting for his response, but she heard only shuffling in the stall, and a low moan.

She stepped back. Her heels wouldn’t be good for running, but she could still kick down a door. She hiked up her dress and slammed her foot into the wood. Her kick snapped the lock, sending the door smacking open.

A rush of fear ran over her skin. The man she’d met earlier—the one with the pale grey eyes—stood, cradling Hugo in his arms like a baby. As soon as the man’s eyes locked on Ursula, he dropped Hugo onto the toilet seat, and the pop star’s head smacked hard against the stall’s wooden walls. His skin had taken on an unhealthy sheen.

Ursula swallowed hard. What. The. Fuck. “What are you?” she breathed.

Abe stepped toward her in a single flowing motion, like smoke rising from the wick of an extinguished candle. The air temperature dropped at least ten degrees. He fixed his otherworldly gaze on her, his eyes gunmetal grey.

He moved closer to her. When he smiled, fear twisted in her gut—but something else, too. She couldn’t stop staring at his smooth, golden skin.

“Hello, pretty girl.” His voice whispered over her body. When he spoke, it almost felt as though he were touching her with a feather-light stroke. “I was wondering if you’d stop by.”

She tore her eyes away from him, glancing at the crumpled pop star on the toilet. Nausea welled in her stomach. This was all wrong. “Did you kill him?”

“I may have been a bit greedy with him. His soul tasted delicious.”

“You devoured his soul?” Horror slithered over her skin. She had a dizzying feeling she was facing one of those shadow demons Kester had mentioned. And what would Emerazel do when she learned Hugo’s soul had been stolen?

Abe’s cheek dimpled as he smiled. “Nyxobas needed more souls. I know you understand.” He reached out, stroking her cheek, and his touch sent a thrill racing through her body, pushing out all of her dread. “But of course, you are the real prize this evening. You’re the most beautiful woman here, and it’s not every day I get to consume a hellhound’s soul.”