“And you drove them out?”

  Bella shook her head. “No, I just anchored her. She’s pretty strong spiritually. She just needed something to keep her grounded.”

  He nodded, eyes drifting down to the floor as he thought. His brow furrowed in concentration. He was trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, but there was no way to locate the one that would make the picture come into focus.

  “Have you ever had a talent with the dead or spirits before?” he asked me.

  “I... um... I can see them and talk to them. I used to pretend to do seances but I’m not a medium if that’s what you’re asking. My only real talent is that I’m somewhat of an empath.”

  “An empath?”

  I nodded. “I can feel people’s emotions and their feelings.”

  “Explains why you haven’t eaten anything Simon left,” Anthony muttered. “I bet steak offends your gift, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m a tofu kind of girl,” I agreed, smiling in spite of myself when he pulled a face.

  “Give me a minute. I’ll be back,” he said.

  Anthony closed the door behind him after he strode out. I turned to give Bella a questioning look.

  “You knew who he was?”

  “I only found out on accident.”

  “Okay, so what is he doing here? And why?”

  Bella shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.”

  I tried to flip onto my side to get a better look at her and instantly regretted it. My skin scraped against the remains of my shirt and it was like a razor sliding under my flesh, trying to peel me like a grape.

  “Does it still hurt?” Bella fretted.

  “No, it magically got better in the last two minutes,” I said dryly, and then felt bad about my flippant reply a moment later. Bella wasn’t the person I was angry at. “Sorry, Bells. It still hurts, but it’s a little better, thanks to you.”

  “As soon as I can, I’ll try and heal you some more.”

  “Thank you.”

  Anthony returned a few minutes later. He stood in the doorway, watching me for a moment before stepping inside again, closing the door behind him.

  “Was he trying to kill me?” I asked when Anthony straddled my legs, positioning himself over me as he pulled a bottle of something out of his coat pocket. Indie heartily approved of the position. I was uncomfortable but willing to put up with it if whatever he had was going to make the pain go away.

  “Simon? No. He wouldn’t kill someone he plans to sell unless they gave him no other options. My guess is that he was aiming for Bluebell and missed, hitting you instead. He was pissed about the whole thing. I think he would probably have killed her if he didn’t need someone to guard you from the White Thieves. You’re worthless as a corpse.” He paused, and then in a gentler tone said, “I’m going to have to remove your shirt. Sorry. It’ll just get in my way.”

  I stared at him for a long moment, stomach clenching and unclenching with embarrassment. I’d rather put the stuff on my own back, but I wasn’t flexible enough to reach the point between my shoulder blades. The pain was becoming a stale, plasticky throb, and moving was only making it worse. So, I nodded slowly. Anthony returned it, eyes soft as he took in the flush on my cheeks. I winced when he produced a pair of scissors and began cutting a line up my tank top, spreading it to each side to get at my back.

  “Hold still, okay?”

  Eventually, he laid the scissors on the floor beside me and sucked in air through his teeth as he got a better look at my back.

  “How’s it look?” I asked.

  He took a breath. “Not pleasant, let’s just say that. This is… probably going to hurt. A lot.”

  “Thanks, doctor, I would never have guessed.”

  “I’m going to start at the edges and work my way in, okay? Start where it’s not so bad and you can let me know how it feels.”

  “What is it?”

  “A salve that’s imbued with magic. Between it and Bluebell, we should be able to get you decently healed up.”

  I nodded. The air in the room was warm, some of the ambient heat rising from the wooden floor itself. According to Indie, Ignus trees somehow defied logic and burned on the inside without dying. Even furniture or floor made out of them still held sparks.

  “Try to just breathe, okay?”

  I nodded and tried to prepare myself. Even so, I barely suppressed a squawk of pain when he dabbed along the edge of my shoulder blade. It stung like a son of a bitch, and I had to clench my teeth around a howl of pain. It wouldn’t help either of us and would probably draw Simon to our room.

  Anthony noticed my posture, hunched, shivering with pain, and digging my nails into the floor beneath me. He sighed.

  “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

  Not in the slightest, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

  “Okay.”

  “How long was I out? What day is it, exactly?”

  Anthony paused. Silence reigned supreme in the room for several minutes as he continued his silent work. Eventually, he said, “It’s Friday afternoon.”

  I almost choked on my own tongue. Friday? It had been a Wednesday, the last time I’d checked. How close had Simon come to killing me that I’d stayed asleep for the better part of forty-eight hours?

  “Does that mean...?”

  “That the auction is tonight? Yeah, that’s exactly what it means. If I’d known you were here, I would have tried to get you out sooner, but I’ve been busy. Getting you out will be tricky. You may have to allow yourself to be sold, and I’ll find my way to wherever you’re taken. If you’re telling the truth about Indigo, you know what I do. I won’t just let you go.”

  I swallowed thickly. “Is... is that really such a good idea? I mean... some of these demons eat people.”

  Anthony chuckled wearily. “Yeah, I know. I’ll make you a promise. If you get sold to something carnivorous, I’ll break cover. If not, you sit tight until I can get you. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Good,” Anthony paused again. “Ah... there are blisters here. Brace yourself. This part is going to hurt.”

  “More than it already does?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Can you answer me one thing first?” I asked, eager to forestall the pain that was coming.

  “That depends on what you ask,” he said, not bothering to disguise the suspicion in his voice.

  “Can you tell me who killed Indigo? I’ve been going over it repeatedly and I can’t figure out who would hate her enough to do that to her.”

  Anthony hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was full of pain. “My best guess? It was a necromancer. But I can’t prove it. She had so many enemies that it’s hard to list them all.”

  “So, you don’t know?”

  “If I knew,” Anthony said darkly. “The son of a bitch would already be dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Angelo

  I’d gotten so used to seeing Fifi in her human form that I scarcely remembered what she’d been born to look like.

  She seemed so determined to pretend her succubus side didn’t exist that she’d gotten her wish. I’d forgotten just how exotic and beautiful she was underneath the human shell she wore. Her skin was the same wine-red as mine, though hers appeared softer. It glistened subtly, as if she was permanently bathed in candlelight, even when the lights in the room were less than optimal. Her silver hair was longer, dropping well past her hips in lustrous waves. They all but obscured her dainty horns, which curled over her pointed ears like a ram’s. She’d inherited that trait from our grandmother, instead of the more traditional look I sported. Her eyes were almond-shaped and as crimson as a maid’s first blush.

  But it was the luminous markings on her arms and back that set her apart from most succubae. The six birthmarks she’d also inherited from our grandmother looked vaguely reminiscent of wings and glowed like hellfire. It was the reason Father had named her Seraphina, a jab at the six-winged protectors in the celestial realms.

  I caught men, demons and other monsters alike, staring at her as she perused the program, legs crossed primly in front of her. She’d worn a shorter skirt than she usually preferred, giving the onlookers a good show. They’d be more preoccupied with her garters and what they might be attached to than anything we were discussing. And that was just as well.

  “Lot 1465,” she muttered. “Damn.”

  “Damn?” I repeated, peering over her shoulder at the program. She yanked it back with a sigh, removing it from view.

  “Yes, damn. Lydia is second to last in the show, which means her starting price is going to be insane. Gotta have a big finale.”

  “Does our...” I paused, trying to think of a way to discuss Ty without drawing the wrong kind of attention. “Does our mutual friend have enough to buy something like that?”

  She pursed her lips unhappily. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “What else is in the lot?” I asked. “Surely it’s not just Lydia?” I mean, why was Simon charging so much for a gypsy? It didn’t make a lot of sense.

  “It isn’t just Lydia,” Fifi replied, skimming a finger over her program as she settled more deeply into the plush velvet chair. She looked natural here, in the middle of all this opulence, and I wondered, not for the first time, why she’d decided to settle for the Hollow and her sasquatch boyfriend. This was where she was meant to be. She could have been a queen down here, if she’d wanted. With her beauty and our lineage, she would be at the top of any man’s list.

  “What else is in it?” I asked.

  “A grimoire, a sample of blood to demonstrate one of the spells inside it, and an additional Spring Faerie servant. Basically, as far as I can tell, the book is the most valuable thing in the lot, and Lydia is just the key to unlocking one of the most powerful spells inside it.”

  “Does it tell you what kind of spell it is?”

  Fifi shook her head. “No. I think that’s probably part and parcel of the shock and awe routine Simon’s going for. We’ll have to wait.”

  I sank lower into my seat as more bodies filed into the room. This was a fairly exclusive party, as things went. The room was only as large as a luxury hotel suite and cluttered with evidence of the promoter’s wealth and influence. Anything less than our Father’s name wouldn’t have been enough to get us inside. There were archfiends from the depths of hell in residence, their forms so twisted and alien that a human would lose their mind at just the sight of one. There was a vampire executive I didn’t recognize, a pair of witches that looked familiar, but I didn’t know them by name. And then there was the last guest. It was impossible to make a determination about age, gender, or species past the flowing black robe. The shape was nebulous and fluctuated in the air currents like a living cloud had wrapped around the wearer. The only thing distinguishable beyond the cowl was a pair of glittering beetle-black eyes that somehow managed to appear brighter than the surrounding darkness.

  But beyond the eeriness of its appearance was the pall he cast over the room. Everyone in the vicinity was either consciously or unconsciously shying away from the thing, cringing into their seats or scooting closer to their conversation partners as it passed. Even the usher showing the thing to its seat looked like he wanted to bolt. Frightening an imp like that was a feat. You didn’t often spook something that had grown up in literal Hell.

  Hmm. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t good.

  I pushed out of my seat and strode for the door. Fifi sat up straighter in her chair and mouthed, “What are you doing?”

  “Just finding a nice woman or two to snack on before the festivities start,” I answered, giving her a wink. “I won’t be long.”

  I walked past the shivering usher not long after he returned to the door, slipping into the corridor beyond. Screw waiting for Lot 1465 to roll around. I was going to find Lydia before the sale started. Because something told me that if I didn’t, the thing in the black robe would, and he wouldn’t take her to dinner.

  He’d probably eat her alive.

  ***

  Lydia

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” I asked anxiously as Anthony raised my arm, inking more symbols onto my flesh.

  In truth, the process hurt a little. After rubbing the magical salve on my burns, Anthony left and returned around fifteen minutes later with a bottle of ink and an honest-to-God quill in hand. Like he was a Byronic poet, ready to sit down and pen an ode. Once upon a time, Rodney and I had packed the front shelves in the store with memorabilia like that. Tourists and sightseers who’d come into the shop to browse felt compelled to buy something small, and the overpriced baubles kept us afloat during the lean days. I’d never expected to actually have one used on me, scratching sigils onto me in red ink like some kind of tribal war paint. Nor did I expect the sigils to fizzle and sting on my skin before sinking into me, disappearing as if they’d never existed in the first place.

  As Anthony worked, Bella continued her attempts to heal me—something that wasn’t an easy feat considering she’d depleted her magical reserves. Apparently, she felt they had returned enough to try again and I hoped she was right.

  Anthony’s smile was a grim slash in the gloom. “No, I’m not sure it’s going to work. If I’d had more advanced notice, I could have come up with something more concrete sooner. But, you were a last-minute addition to the auction, and I didn’t have time to formulate a proper exit strategy. The best thing I can do is to make you look defective.”

  “Make me look defective?” I repeated, confused.

  He nodded. “The Appropriator will have to take a lower bid or keep you in reserve for a different auction, which would allow me more time to smuggle you out.”

  Pissing Simon off wasn’t a good idea, and I had the scorch marks on my back to prove it. I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t have anything better to add. I was so far out of my depth here, it was ludicrous. Any suggestion I made was going to be met with a condescending stare or a lecture from Indie about just how impossible my idea would be to pull off, and I wasn’t in the mood for a tongue-lashing.

  “What do these do, exactly?” I asked, motioning to the inked marks.

  Anthony raised a brow. “You don’t know?”

  “Half-gypsy over here,” I lied. “I’m not exactly in the loop. I ran an occult shop and never truly understood the power of the objects I had until Indigo rained like fleshy confetti on my life.”

  The colorful expression made Anthony blanch, and his lips twisted in pain for just a second before he could marshal his expression again. Guilt slipped like a lead weight into my guts as I realized he must have really cared about her. Just because I was salty about having to share my head with the hidebound witch didn’t mean I should take it out on the one person who could actually help me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Pain makes me grouchy. Ignore what I said.”

  Anthony nodded stiffly. “They’re binding spells.” Then he looked at Bella. “How’s the healing going?”

  “It’s going,” Bella answered.

  In truth, it was going because I did feel slightly better.

  “I thought males from a witch line didn’t have that much magic,” I said to Anthony.

  “I don’t, but you do. Even a modest gypsy gift is more magic than what I have. I make do by working smarter, not harder. The potion in this ink will latch onto your own magic and fuel the sigils. Once contained, the magic can’t escape without the proper reversal agent. You’ll appear powerless, but you aren’t. It’s the best solution I have on short notice. The auction starts in an hour and there are a lot of interested parties.”

  My stomach performed a queasy roll at the thought that there were demons not far away who were looking to buy me. I’d never imagined something like this would ever happen to me. What would my life have looked like if I’d just taken the day off, keeping the doors closed on the day Indie died? I’d been having a hell of a day already before she strolled into my life and made it infinitely worse. Someone (most likely Rodney) had left a scathing review online, warning people away from the shop, and I’d gotten another letter about my divorce proceedings. If I’d crawled into bed, would she have exploded somewhere else? Could her soul have moved on to wherever it was meant to go and left me in peace?

  But it had happened, and I was here. So, I figured I might as well get my head in the game and figure out what I was up against.

  “Did you recognize any of the people here to bid on me?”

  “A few. Roman Conwyn is from one of the oldest European vampire lines. He’s a billionaire, heads up a corporation, and he’s notorious for collecting potent magical beings and keeping them as feeders against their will. It makes him that much stronger than the rest of his kind. If he bought you, you’d stay alive, but you’d look like a junkie by the end of the week. Bite marks from men like Conwyn scar. He’s not like the war criminals that hunted and killed witches during the Blood Wars, but I do think he got a taste for magic during that time.”

  Well, I could probably do worse than getting sold to a vampire billionaire. It sounded like the beginning of a cheap but salacious novel, not a fate worse than death. My stomach disagreed vehemently, however, heaving like I’d just swallowed a live snake. Indie’s instinctive revulsion towards vampires made my skin crawl. She would have rather let Simon burn us to death than let a vampire lay one fang on her. She seemed disgusted that I was slightly intrigued by the idea. My guilty pleasure a few years ago had been vampire romance.

  “Seriously?” I demanded. “I thought it was vampires and werewolves that were mortal enemies.”

  “Hardly,” Indie said, voice dripping venom. “Vampires and witches hate each other. Get used to that, and do not, I repeat DO NOT get any ideas about letting a vampire nibble on your neck. Do that and... well, I don’t know how, but I’ll take us both out with an aneurysm if I have to. Or maybe I’ll force you to poop or something.”

  “Okay, okay. Geez, I get the message. No blood drinking.”

  “Damn right. Now pay attention. Anthony is still talking.”