Chapter 12

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Ok, look.

I’m a big fan of men in suits. They accentuate their body shapes. They look classy as hell. You can pretend to be a spy. And we all know that when guys wear tailored vests, they are instantly, and always, fuckable.

It’s like a law of nature.

That being said, I hate wearing them for more than an hour. While they are, in fact, deadly sexy, and I know I look like a rakish rogue about to cause mayhem, I hit my limit when I have to fight while wearing cufflinks on my rented tux.

We don’t have time for me to scream about how asinine the concept of renting articles of clothing is right now. I’ll come back to it.

Zane and I arrived at the gala fashionably late, because the train we needed to take to get there was delayed and because I wanted a burrito. But we did arrive, looking like two handsome rich dudes, and I only had a tiny stomachache from anxiety and the previously stated burrito.

I knew that Sias wouldn’t have told me he would get the tickets if he didn’t mean it, but there was a small part of me that wasn’t sure they would be waiting for us. After resting and replaying the absolute shitshow that was the previous night, I wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving me high and dry when I needed a favor.

Somehow the tickets being there made me feel worse. It was salt in the wound that I had let him down, but he hadn’t.

“You think this place has an open bar?”

“Probably.” Zane made a sweep of the place with his eyes, which looked strange as hell with the colored contacts in them. Since I didn’t have access to glamour anymore due to past bullshit involving an ambitious imp trying to rob me, we had to go back to the basics when it came to covering up Zane’s vampireness. The pale skin wasn’t nearly as bad since he had fed recently, but there was no denying his red eyes were harder to explain away.

We decided that some basic brown contacts would work best for him, and for the most part they did the trick. To everyone else he looked normal, but to me, he looked weird as hell. I had finally gotten used to the gross red eyes, and now he was just…normal.

I didn’t like it.

“Any sign of Marthas?” he asked me, turning the fake brown eyes my way.

“Nothing yet, but I have a feeling it’s just a matter of time. Even in a sea of formal attire, eventually he’s going to realize we’re here.”

Zane followed me as we politely skirted around elegant gowns and crisp suits, making our way deeper into the lion’s den.

“What’s the plan?”

“We need to figure out when the handoff is and snatch them. The security is tight, but I didn’t see any guns on them. Did you?”

“You want to steal them here?” His brows creased, voice shifting to annoyed dad pitches. “That’s idiotic. We trail them afterward, hit them outside the gala.”

“You think Florence Pierce doesn’t have muscle following her expensive purchases? C’mon, Zane.”

“Hunter, going after the artifacts in the middle of a gala is going to start a damn panic.”

“No shit.” I snatched a flute of champagne off a tray and sipped it, hated it, and put it down on a table. “Chaos is the best cover.”

“No, it isn’t. Not when there’s this many people. It’s risky and stupid.”

“Assuming we’ll be able to tail them after the exchange and get away without being seen is a worse idea,” I countered. “We wait until they’re loading the artifacts into her car, then we knock over the help and steal them back. If we wait until they’re on the road, we may as well write them off.”

“If we do this plan, we go in quietly. Don’t start a riot, and we should be able to do this without getting shot or arrested. Hunter.” Zane scowled at me as I turned back in his direction, spitting the drink I had grabbed off the bar back into the glass.

“Ugh, Saints! This isn’t alcohol! What the hell is this? Fucking kale??”

“Focus,” Zane growled.

“Who the hell sells green juice at a gala? Gods, that’s gross. Can you believe this? Everything on the menu is pressed juices and vegetables. Look!”

My very rude vampire bodyguard ripped the menu from my hand and slapped it down on the bar.

“This is a gala run by the queen of vitamins. What the hell did you think she’d be serving if not her products ?”

“Fair,” I lamented. “But I’m still outraged. Hey, you can do the mist trick now that you had some blood, right? Can you go do some recon?”

“Can you stay out of trouble for a few minutes?”

Between my question and his response, I decided that I actually did like the drink and grabbed another one. It tasted better the second time, and I felt my liver thanking me.

“I can guarantee a soft ten.”

“Make it a solid ten and I won’t kick you in the ass.”

“Aye-aye.”

Zane did not like my salute, and mumbled something about me being an idiot or something like that as he meandered away.

We hadn’t talked about last night.

After I woke up, the pillow fort was dismantled, my bed tossed back together, and our normal bickering bullshit was back in play. Zane was back to his standard grumpy self, maybe a little worse for wear after being accidentally drugged, but all in all, the same vampire. I wasn’t sure if he even remembered most of what happened.

Or what was said.

I had a lot to process between what Zane had bombed me with and how badly I’d screwed up with Sias, but it was much easier to narrow my focus on finding the artifacts. Taking on a gang leader and ripping off a supplement tycoon was much less scary than dealing with crushing guilt or confusing feelings.

Even better if it turned into a chaotic mess I could lose myself in for a while.

While Zane was off vampiring with his cool ability to turn into black mist, I got to work Dallasing by mingling through the throngs of rich jerks who spent lavish amounts on crap that didn’t matter. Honestly, it was how I found some of my best clients. Every person in power had enemies they needed dead or fish that needed training.

Polite conversation hung in the air like the perfume of manufactured flowers, the soft music of the live orchestra almost lost in the equally plastic laughter. I floated around in a bored haze for a while, scanning the tables for signs of Marthas or Florence, eventually finishing my blended juice drink. Zane had five minutes left before I got to go full chaos and attempt to break into locked backroom areas. It was a perfect excuse to go order another drink.

I parked myself at the juice bar musing between another kale thing or maybe jazzing it up with an avocado affront to my senses when the inevitable happened.

The tip of Marthas’s knife was a sharp kiss against my kidney, his hand on my shoulder to keep me from whipping around at the sensation.

“You have some nerve, Wilde.” Marthas spoke close to my ear, like he was leaning down to speak to an old friend. I was impressed he was able to school his ugly mug into a pleasant placid look of ease, instead of the snarling fury dripping from his words.

“Hey, Marthas. Want a blended juice thing for that chronic constipation?”

“You think you’re funny. That’s fine.” The tip of the knife bit through more of my rented tux, and I winced more at the fact I wasn’t getting the deposit back than the pain. “I’m going to enjoy carving your kidney out after all the stupid shit you’ve done.”

“Which part? Busting up your office or figuring out your stash spots?” I slid the menu back across the bar. “You stole my pilfered goods and you’re acting like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Get up.” Marthas squeezed my shoulder, knife refusing to budge. “You do anything stupid, I’ll end you.”

“I promised my bodyguard that I’d wait ten minutes before causing chaos, otherwise I’d flip you over this bar.” I got to my feet carefully. “You have five minutes left, hot shot. Actually, make that four.”

Marthas steered me away from the bar, the knife tip biting into skin as we weaved through the crowd. It was a strange sensation feeling cold metal jabbing into the meat of your back while also smiling at party guests who had to step out of your way. Out of everyone attending, Marthas and I were absolutely the eyesores. He was a huge imp with knuckle tattoos, and I was some random human trying to pass out assassination business cards.

Quite the pair.

Marthas piloted us down a quiet hallway where the bathrooms were, and ducked into one that had been marked off as “under repair.” I was shoved into the empty room, tiles ripped from the floor and new toilets waiting to be installed, and Marthas made a show of locking the main door behind us.

“What was your plan, Wilde? Show up at the gala and try and steal back your shit before I sold it off?” He shucked his tux jacket and tossed it over the sink, rolling up the sleeves to his button down.

“Yeah. Or rob them afterward.” I pulled my jacket off and checked the hole in the back. “Ugh. You could have just showed me the knife, you had to fuck up the rental? You’re such an asshole.”

Marthas rolled his neck until his spine popped, then flipped the knife around in his hand.

“I’m done playing with you, Wilde. When I’m done beating that pretty face into a pulp, I’m going to slit your throat and my boys will come collect your corpse. We’re not doing this crap anymore.”

“I know you hate me because of Danny?—”

“Dancer,” he said through his teeth, vein throbbing near his eye.

“Sorry. Dancer.” I cleared my throat. “But listen to me for a second. Those artifacts you took? They’re dangerous, and I don’t know what the hell Florence Pierce has planned for them. Trust me when I say she’s up to some really wicked, mad scientist shit, Marthas. She can’t get her hands on them.”

“I don’t care.”

Marthas charged like a bull, shoulders low so he could try and tackle me to the messy tiles. I danced backwards and pivoted into a stall when he got close, kicking him in the hip to throw him off balance.

“They’re not just historical pieces, they might actually have some magic in them,” I explained as I dodged one of his meaty fists, rolling across the ground to get around him. “If she gets them, she might use them to make magic tech.”

“I don’t fucking care , Wilde!” He grabbed one of the toilet seats and chucked it at my head, the plastic bouncing off a sink as I ducked. “I’m getting paid, and you’re getting your face bashed in.”

“Counteroffer—” I whizzed a tile at his face like a Frisbee and used the moment he took to dodge to grab a piece of discarded piping. Craning back, I swung the thing full force like a bat, aiming to clobber him in the temple and knock him out cold. The sound of the weapon whiffing over his head as he ducked made my stomach flip, and I was soon airborne.

My shirt choked me as he grabbed my collar with his fist, lifting me up so my feet kicked off the ground before he slammed me back down on my shoulders. All the air in my lungs left in one glorious grunt, and I got to see fun little sparkles of air deprivation around the flash of his knife.

The tile I grabbed off the ground shattered into powder as I slammed it into the side of his skull, and I used my forearm to block the downward swing of his knife. The fabric of my shirt bit into my skin as he twisted his grip, but my quick, sharp punch to his throat forced him backward in a reeling gasp.

His weapon was dislodged after I twisted his hand and forced it limp, and I took my chance to try and roll away from him. I didn’t get far, his fingers grabbing the back of my waistband and dragging me back his direction so he could slam his fists down on my liver.

Whatever good that juice had done hopefully cushioned the blow, because it stung like a bastard.

My hair was wrung in his fist and my head pulled back, and I knew he was about to slam my face down on the sharp tiles that had cracked during our brawl so I grabbed his wrist and spun like a crocodile, landing two brutal kicks between his legs. Sure, I lost some hair in that exchange, but it got him to let go and sent him pitching backward.

I used my body weight to tackle him fully to the ground, snatching up the pipe I had missed with earlier and arched back to land the final blow onto his stupid face.

“Gentlemen.”

I paused in mid-strike, pipe still above my head, panting from pain and exertion. Marthas tilted his head backward, still reaching for his knife that was just out of reach, and we both stared at the woman standing in the doorway.

She wore heavy fabric pants that flared toward the bottom, but were tapered tight to her ankles. The wide sash used as the belt narrowed her thick frame, broad shoulders covered with a similar fabric that gathered at her wrists. Her long, white hair was braided in a rope of elegance, her oni tusks curved inward in very slight crescents.

I recognized her instantly.

She was the same woman from the island—the same deadly oni with ruby eyes we had run into while trying to flee with Omar’s animated corpse.

She regarded us, unbothered and polite.

“Miss Pierce is requesting your presence.” She presented the door to us with one hand, the other remaining at rest in the small of her back.

“Can you give us a few minutes?” I tried, but she shook her head.

“She insisted on you joining her immediately.”

I glared down at Marthas, who was snarling up at me, both of us still very much ready to pick up where we left off. When Marthas presented his palms begrudgingly, I climbed off him slowly.

I didn’t drop the pipe until he moved away from his knife, and both of us grabbed our jackets off the sinks. The oni woman waited patiently as we tucked our shirts back in and dusted away tile fragments, nodding with approval once we no longer looked fresh from a fight.

“You’re still a dead man, Wilde,” Marthas growled as we followed the woman. “I’m going to hang your guts over a light pole.”

“Does it help at all that I honestly didn’t remember he was your boyfriend?” I whispered, feeling the spot on my head where Marthas ripped some hair out. It didn’t feel too bald but I still raked some hair over it just in case. “He came onto me, dude. Maybe he’s not worth it.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You never even apologized, Wilde. You just act and hurt people and you don’t care .”

Well.

I hadn’t expected that level of introspective honesty from Marthas. Nor did I expect it to sting that much.

Marthas was a gang leader, and I could argue that the Broken Horns weren’t exactly an altruistic group of charitable sweethearts, but he had never hurt me directly. He never busted up any of my relationships because of bad choices and selfish intentions.

So, yeah.

Marthas was the good guy in this scenario.

Great.

The oni woman, who was mysterious and terrifying and kinda badass, led us to a private suite overlooking the garden outside. In the false moonlight, the garden was a perfect snapshot of serene tranquility, with a meditation rock garden in the center and stone benches to reflect on.

“Please wait here.” She motioned to the two seats angled across a bamboo coffee table with warm tea waiting, each of us receiving a cup we didn’t ask for.

We sat in silence as she left, the tea smelling like flowers and antioxidants. The steam curled up in thick swirls before disappearing, my sigh dispelling it further.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you, Wilde.”

“I know it doesn’t change anything, and you’re still going to hang my guts or whatever, but you’re right. I didn’t apologize and what I did was shitty. I do act and hurt people, and you never gave me a reason to do that. So. I’m sorry.”

Marthas adjusted in his seat.

“Too late for that,” he said, but he sounded tired.

“I know.”

When the door opened again, I lifted my gaze to see Zane being escorted in by the oni woman. He lifted a brow in my direction and checked his watch.

“I made it about eight minutes,” I told him. “Full disclosure though, Marthas found me, not the other way around.”

Zane grunted and sat beside me in a matching chair that was brought over. Like before, the scary woman sat her new hostage, offered him tea, then left.

“Where’s my jacket?” Marthas demanded from Zane.

“At home. You want it back, we can go another round.” The vampire stretched his long legs out. “If you lose this time, I’m taking your watch.”

“How’d they find you?” I asked, pulling Zane’s attention back my way. “I thought you were gonna do the mist thing.”

“I did. They caught me coming back looking for you. I have a feeling they were watching the entire time.” Zane set his tea aside after smelling it. “We might be in over our heads on this one, hunter.”

“Nah,” I dismissed his concerns, but I knew he was right. Something about the situation sat weird with me, like I was slowly becoming aware that I was running through a maze and the cheese had been a lie. “I’ve gotten out of worse.”

Zane didn’t seem convinced. “Sure you have.”

The door opened again, and this time the mysterious oni woman was following instead of leading. In front of her, almost one fourth her size, was the petite, iconic frame of Florence Pierce. She was human, dressed in the type of impossible high fashion that looked like one panel of cloth draped around her like a blanket, wearing the ugliest damn shoes that had likely cost a few grand. Pale, almost white-blond hair was slicked back into a ponytail, and she obviously spent a long time applying makeup to make it look like she was wearing absolutely nothing on her skin.

She smiled at us like a content shark, and took a seat across from me, picking up a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Hei,” Florence said to the oni, who inclined her head politely. “Sorry to keep you all waiting. I had to finish my conversation downstairs before I could join you.”

“I hope my…run-in…with this jackass hasn’t affected our deal, Ms. Pierce.” Marthas set his tea down, none of us actually drinking any of it. “I can make sure he’s not a problem for you in the future.”

“I’m not worried about that, Marthas.” Florence sipped her tea, taking out her phone and gave it a few taps. “Hei already checked on the items you sold me and everything is in order. I just sent you payment. I prefer to do business face to face, otherwise I would have sent it earlier.”

Marthas checked his phone, a grin sliding over his face. My stomach shriveled at how pleased he looked.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Pierce. You sure you don’t want me to?—”

“No, thank you. Please, go enjoy the gala.”

Marthas stood, straightening out his suit. He cut me a very happy “go fuck yourself” sneer before making his exit. Hei shut the door behind him and stood at her post after he left.

“You’re totally going to have him killed later, aren’t you?” I whispered, leaning over the tea. “I have really competitive rates if you wanna talk shop.”

“Dallas Wilde.” Florence smiled, razor sharp and amused. “I have been waiting to meet you since you first came to the island. Did you enjoy the amenities during your stay?”

“Mud bath was pretty legit.” I set my teacup aside to make sure my hands were free. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you had us pulled into your suite because of Omar. He’s very dead now, if you were worried about him testifying against you or anything.”

Something about my statement puzzled the supplement queen, her brows twitching as her smile warped into a bent angle.

“Testify against me?”

“Yeah. For the whole nightmare eye situation.” I mimed spikes coming from my eye sockets. Omar had been a haunting example of Florence’s influence, his jinn powers mutating into a crystalized waterfall that formed out of his eyes.

I continued, “Whatever crazy-ass supplements you had him on turned him into a terrifying experiment gone wrong. His powers were incredible though, so bonus points there.”

“I see.” Florence sipped her tea and set it aside. “I appreciate that you think my supplements have the capability to make a person’s inherent magical abilities that of a demigod, but no, that wasn’t because of ReNew. Those were the artifacts Omar kept at his home.”

“The ones he had for years that just suddenly caused him to sprout spikes out of his face?” I couldn’t control the snicker that bubbled out of me at her statement. “Can we pretend to still respect each other for a second here? I’m not wearing a wire, I’m not a snitch. You don’t have to lie. I kill people for a living, so you don’t need to dance around morality for me. Offer is still on the table to talk about taking out Marthas, by the way.”

“And you hunt necromancers.” She topped her tea off quietly. “That’s why I wanted to chat with you.”

“We can talk about that after you admit you fucked with Omar’s jinn powers and turned him into a monster,” I pressed. “I’m not letting that go. That crap was intense, and I want to know how you did it.”

“Dallas, if I had the ability to enhance people’s biological magic to that degree, don’t you think I would have monetized it by now?” She lifted a brow. “I could sell that to any politician or member of royalty across the world and be the richest woman on the planet. My supplements are the best in the world, but they can’t do that.”

“Then why the fuck was Omar on your pretentious island hiding out in your VIP beach condo? Why were you hiding him?”

I watched as her smile returned, calm and tranquil like a lion. Her easy posture and relaxed tone let me know that she didn’t regard me as a threat by any means, and that I was more entertaining than anything.

“Because Omar very publicly did business with me and was a loyal customer,” she said. “He was a PR nightmare in his current state. When I saw how far gone he was, I hid him on my island to help try and reverse it. I was in the process of obtaining power of attorney to get his artifacts removed.”

Hei materialized at my side, handing me a very official-looking envelope stuffed with papers. I flipped over the documents inside, the legal jargon made my head hurt, but it looked solid enough. Florence had pushed for seizure of Omar’s assets, claiming he was mentally unwell after the disappearance of his fiancé, and that she needed to take control of his estate.

It was a black and white stack of evidence of how ruthless she was, and how powerful her money made her.

“Saints.” I flipped through the documents, before passing them to Zane. “You took everything he had.”

She sipped her tea.

“His death certificate says nothing about his eyes,” Zane pointed out. “Nothing is mentioned about it.”

“Of course not.” Florence almost sounded offended. “That would raise questions. I had it removed.”

“Questions about your supplements,” I supplied.

“Yes,” she agreed. “People would assume I could reproduce that level of magical ability, and I can’t. Not yet.”

“There it is,” I said with a flare of triumph. “I knew you were ramping up to something evil. No one has a suite like this over a moonlit garden and doesn’t have evil shit planned.”

Florence took a long, quiet breath.

“I think we misunderstand each other, Dallas Wilde.”

“Nah, I think I got you figured out, Florence Pierce,” I countered. “You are a self-righteous billionaire who peddles bullshit that’s not regulated by the government because you have enough money to cheat the system. You manufacture cheap placebos at best, and literal god juice at worst, then sling it out there to make yourself untouchably rich. Omar was a mistake that almost cost you too much, and now you want us to…what? Tie up loose ends? How close am I getting?”

The way Florence Pierce smiled at me after I spoke my mind would have been bone chilling if I knew what was about to follow.

“I am a billionaire, and you’re a necromancer. I think we can work together.”

“What the hell makes you think I’m a necromancer? Maybe Zane’s just really pale.”

Florence actually looked offended. “Did you think Hei couldn’t tell that Omar was very dead when you piloted him off the island? Not to mention the fact that you radiate death magic like a beacon, Mr. Wilde, as does your vampire. Let’s respect each other enough to skip past the very obvious lies.”

“Alright. Fine. I might dabble in necromancy sometimes, and this guy follows me around.” I shrugged, ignoring the blaring warning horns going off in my mind. “So what?”

“I want to hire you.”

“Pass,” I practically interrupted her. “If you wanna hire me to kill Marthas, I’m all ears. Anything else, you can choke on it.”

“Allow me to change your mind,” she insisted.

I gestured for her to go ahead as I leaned back in the offensively comfortable chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You’re a ghost, you know,” she said softly. “After you came to the island and handled Omar for me, I looked into who you were. I wanted to know who this person was that somehow convinced Sias Llon’nai to follow him, and had a vampire tagging along.”

Zane didn’t speak, just watched her with his normal glare of annoyed boredom.

She continued.

“Dallas Wilde doesn’t exist. There is no record of you anywhere I could find. No birth certificate, no fingerprints.” More tea was added to her cup, her ponytail swaying as she shook her head. “It’s impressive, because there’s always a trace. There’s always something that isn’t fully scrubbed when someone tries to hide, but that’s not the case with you. Somehow, you are here, and no one else in the world knows who you are.”

“I am pretty awesome,” I agreed. “Fail to see your point though.”

“You might be a ghost, but your friends aren’t.” Florence crossed one long leg over the other, one ugly shoe suspended. “If I hire you, I could help fund your landlord’s failing business. I assume you know the bank is about to seize your apartment and his antique shop.”

My heart punched itself at the mention of poor Barns, but I bit my tongue.

“You and Sias are fairly close, right?” she added once I didn’t take the Barnaby bait.

“Sias doesn’t do business with you,” I snapped. “Especially not after the shit on the island.”

“Not with me,” she agreed. “But with some mutual acquaintances. I could nudge various associates of mine to increase their real estate assets, and encourage them to look to Llon’nai for various business dealings.” She smiled again, seeming almost sweet. “He could have you to thank for countless new business ventures.”

I wasn’t na?ve to think this offer wasn’t a double-edge sword. She was promising riches and opportunities, but she was also threatening the reverse. Florence Pierce had influence, power, and the ability to change lives in beautiful as well as terrifying ways.

She could make Sias richer, or cripple him.

She could save Barnaby, or take everything away.

And she put that burden directly on my shoulders.

The brilliant, evil, impressive bitch.

I had to relax my jaw so I didn’t bite through my tongue.

“I’m listening.”

Hei appeared again, handing me a leather book that weighed enough to be used as a deadly weapon. Stuck in the middle was a collection of printed papers in a language I didn’t recognize. Embossed on the worn, leather cover was a golden title, and a toothy, grinning skull.

“I was really hoping you weren’t about to ask me about necromancy shit,” I sighed. “But I have a feeling a thick-ass book called ‘Ancient Death Rituals and Practices’ is exactly the kind of thing that precedes necromancy shit.”

“I need to hire you to look into finding a very specific burial site,” she explained, without acknowledging the necromancy shit accusation. “The book and the printed information is all that is known about it.”

“You want me to go grave robbing? You know you can hire historians and archaeologists to do this, right? Hell, you can probably just wrangle up some jerks from the Swallows who will do it for some Dust and a hamburger. Why the fuck do you need me?”

“Because everyone else has failed,” she explained calmly. “I need a necromancer for this job, because it’s a necromancy item I’m after.”

“She wants you to find the Tomb of the Necromantic Council,” Zane spoke up for the first time, sounding the same level of irritated he usually directed my way. I was a little offended. “She’s trying to find the Goddess’s key.”

“The what?” I cringed. “Is that a euphemism?”

Zane sliced his fake brown eyes at me, the annoyance burning behind the contacts.

“I know we’re supposed to be a united front right now, hunter, but if you make a vagina joke about my Goddess, I will slap you out of your seat.”

“So, it’s a literal key then.” I pivoted, because I believed him. “To what? And is it real?”

“It is real,” Florence chimed in. “The key is the missing artifact I need.”

“Artifact of a Death Goddess,” I said slowly. “You want me to find you a powerful Death Goddess artifact? Are you fucking insane?”

“I want you to help me find a piece of magical history that can slow down or even stop death,” Florence said, the ease of her voice hardening into a steely resolve. “The key to defeating death and unlocking immortality.”

“I am not going to help you find a way to obtain the key to unlocking death, you impossibly insane jackass.” I handed the book over to Zane as he reached for it. “That’s so many red flags, Florence. You have to hear how crazy you sound right now. The last time a human had that kind of power, they unleashed an undead army and almost took out St. Athesall. We have a fucking museum about it!”

“I don’t want to create vampires and take over a city.” She laced her fingers together and placed them over her bent knee. “I can’t make money off of a horde of undead. I want to harness the ability to delay death, to push back the effects of illness and to prolong life so I can market it and sell it.”

“That is incredibly fucked up,” I told her.

“It’s brilliant.”

I looked at Zane after he spoke, dumbfounded.

“You agree with her?”

“No,” he corrected, flipping through the pages of the book. “It’s evil to hold that kind of power behind a paywall. Absolutely soulless and horrible, but it would make her the most powerful person in the world without having to lift a finger.”

“There’s more to necromancy than conquering vampires and raising the dead, Dallas. The key will help unlock all of its potential.” Florence rubbed some lotion onto her hands as Hei presented me with yet another envelope, this one something I was more familiar with receiving. As this was presented to me, Florence added, “To cover your expenses for the trip.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Of course you have.” She smiled, which was starting to have a Pavlovian effect of making me want to throw something. “That will cover whatever supplies you need for the trip, and I will have transportation arranged.”

“I can handle my own transportation.” I snatched the envelope from Hei and stood. “For the record, Florence, don’t ever threaten Barnaby or Sias in front of me again.”

Florence didn’t bother to stand, instead opting to sip more of her tea.

We left Florence’s office without another word, both of us silent as we made a slow escape out of the grand gala. Zane kept the thick tome under his arm, jaw bunching with a rage he was failing to hide.

“We can’t let her get that key, hunter,” Zane bit through his teeth. “She’s spitting in the face of everything Sandros stood for. She’ll dangle the promise of immortality in front of the elite so she can buy another couple summer homes.”

“She’ll buy a few summer planets with the money she’d be pulling in,” I mumbled.

Zane caught me by the arm as we got onto the street, far enough away from the party to not turn any heads.

“We cannot let her do this. Tell me we’re not going to actually get her what she wants.”

He was angry. Deeply angry. I didn’t have to read his emotions to know that what she was proposing churned in his gut like molten coals of resentment. Behind the contacts I knew his red eyes were boiling hot, and he was ready to rip out her heart over all of this.

Florence Pierce had us backed into a corner with knives to our throats, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand for it.

She was about to find out just how I reacted to sharp things near my throat.

“Oh, we’re getting that key, Zane,” I promised, my rage igniting a white-hot clarity. “We’ll play her game, go dig up whatever the hell she wants us to. Then, when we have it in our grubby little hands, we’re going to snap the damn thing in half, and I’m going to stab her with it.”