Giles fixed him with a death glare. "Whose side you on, compadre? Xaglath was right, you're pussy-whipped by the fleshbags."

  At the mention of Xaglath, me and Haedemus both froze. "The fuck did you just say?" I demanded.

  Giles blanched, realizing he fucked up. "You heard me," he said, voice low and mean.

  "Xaglath's your jefa now?" Haedemus sounded like Giles just shit in his Cheerios.

  Giles shifted, suddenly fascinated by his hooves. "After you ditched her bony ass back in Hell, she came to me. Claimed me as her bitch. Didn't have much choice."

  "And she wants this gaudy headwear why, exactly?" I prodded.

  "Power play. She wants Hadriel's throne, but she knows Hadriel would punt her into the shit pits of Hell if she tried. So she needs an army, and to get that, she needs juice. That's where this cockamamie crown comes in."

  "Why ain't she here cracking skulls herself?"

  "Fuck if I know. Busy, I guess. Soon as she gave me my marching orders, I bailed. Needed a vacay from her nagging. Besides," he cut a glance at Haedemus. "Figured I'd check in on my old running buddy."

  Haedemus backed away like Giles had leprosy. "I can't believe you, Giles. Lying to my face this whole fucking time."

  "Hey, I mostly told it straight! Just left out the Xaglath part.”

  Xaglath. That bitch. If I never heard that name again, it'd be too fucking soon. No telling how Hannah'll react when she finds out her evil twin is back on her bullshit. Sure, Xaglath's stunts are Hell-side for now, but how long till her hard-on for carnage bleeds over to our world? No way she'd be satisfied just playing Queen of the Damned. She'll want Earth as her bitch too.

  I barged past Giles and yanked the Crown of Solomon out of its hay hidey-hole. I held it up, turning it over in my hands. The thing was a fucking masterpiece, ancient and undeniably awesome. Heavy gold, cool against my skin, glittering with a metric fuck-ton of sparkly rocks—rubies, sapphires, emeralds. They were laid out in a dizzying pattern that seemed to tell some story about ultimate wisdom and power, or some crap. The big honking diamond front and center gave off a glow that was downright spooky. I squinted at the squiggles etched around the rim, some flavor of ancient Hebrew. Couldn't make heads or tails of it.

  “The fuck you aiming to do with that, hombre?" Giles piped up. "Technically, it don't belong to you."

  "Fuck you right back, Giles. Don't belong to you either, if we're getting technical." I wheeled on Haedemus. "Who's it belong to anyhow?"

  Haedemus at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Lifted it from some museum uptown. Front for some cult, apparently."

  "Jesus Christ. A fucking cult? You think maybe they'll want their bling back?"

  "Probably," Haedemus admitted. "But pretty sure they ain't made us yet."

  "And technically," Giles chimed in, "it ain't theirs either, so..."

  "Fuck your technicalities, Giles. How'd you two smooth-brains boost this in the first place?"

  Giles puffed up. "Well, see, it was all thanks to my impenetrable plan⁠—"

  "Shit-can it. I don't wanna know."

  "But you just asked⁠—"

  "And now I'm telling you to cork it. This fucking thing is coming with me till I suss out how to unfuck this situation."

  Giles got in my face again. "You know if I go back empty-handed, Xaglath'll will flay my ass.”

  "Sounds like a you problem. I want you gone. Far away. Yesterday."

  "Gone where?"

  "Back to Hell, for all I care."

  "I go back without that crown, there'll be hell to pay. Literally."

  "Boo-fucking-hoo."

  Haedemus stepped up, something like sympathy in his flickering red eyes. "Ethan, maybe we oughta let Giles crash here for a minute. Just till we figure out our next move. You know better than anyone how Xaglath gets when someone crosses her. Wouldn't be pretty."

  "Yeah, what he said!" Giles crowed. "You're a solid one, Haedemus."

  "Can it, bitchface. I'm still pissed you played me."

  "But I didn’t⁠—"

  "Will you two shut your fucking cock holsters for a second?" I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the mother of all stress headaches. "There is no 'we' here, comprende? This crown is mine now. And first chance I get, it's going back to the cult it came from."

  Giles brayed like a jackass. "Oh, that's real smart. They'll thank you kindly, then slot you in the back of the head."

  I ground my teeth. I hated to admit it, but the Hellicorn had a point. "If I had my gun on me, I'd splatter both your treacherous pony brains all over this barn."

  "Joke's on you, hombre," Giles smirked. "Won't do much besides make a mess."

  Fucking hell.

  "How long did Xaglath give you to retrieve this fucking thing?" I asked.

  Giles gave a dismissive snort. "Didn't give me a hard deadline. Just said to make it snappy."

  I was mighty tempted to shove the crown over Giles' horn and tell him to hightail it back to Hell with the stupid thing. However the hell he planned on getting there. Xaglath must have shown him some backdoor to the basement. But if I kicked that particular hornets' nest, Hadriel would be on my ass quicker than stink on shit. And she would find out, see it as a massive affront to her. I was boned coming and going.

  "You ignorant shit-stains have any idea what you've roped me into?" I asked, rhetorically. I wasn't expecting an answer, and surprise surprise, I didn't get one.

  "Both of you, stay the fuck out of my sight till I figure out how to clean up your mess. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go scream into a pillow for a few hours."

  As I stomped out, Haedemus called after me. "Ethan... I'm sorry."

  I flipped him the bird over my shoulder and kept walking. I stashed Solomon's gaudy headpiece in a hidey-hole in the bunker wall and slammed the door, praying to whoever might be listening that neither Xaglath nor some cultist fuck would coming knocking.

  But let's be real. When have my prayers ever been worth a damn?

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  After the raging clusterfuck with Giles and Haedemus in the barn, I was wound tight. I paced around the trailer, cursing those dumbfucks for the shit they pulled and kicking myself for not putting my boot up their asses sooner. The minute I laid eyes on that limey hellicorn prick, I knew he'd be nothing but trouble. Shifty bastard had that look, the kind that screams "I'm gonna fuck you sideways first chance I get." Guess that's what happens when you've got a psycho skank like Xaglath holding your leash. She probably twisted him up like she did to Haedemus. Either way, I wanted him gone. Last thing I needed was that hell-bitch sniffing around here looking for her lost puppy.

  But that little slice of joy would have to wait. I had to drag my sorry carcass to work, a prospect about as appealing as a root canal with a rusty drill. I stood under the showerhead, hot water pounding my skin, every muscle still bitching from the fight with Duvall. Then I suited up for the precinct, my guts churning at the thought of those FBI fuckwits haunting the place like the ghosts of assholes past.

  I shuffled out of the trailer, feeling like I'd aged a decade in a day. The Dodge squatted in the yard, judging me. I slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine, taking a moment to spark a cig and let the Mud I'd just popped start greasing the wheels in my head. Christ, there was a poor sap in the other trailer, shaking and puking her guts out to kick the habit, and here I was, gleefully bum-rushing the other direction. Role model of the fucking year.

  As I pulled out onto the street, my phone started screaming at me from the passenger seat, sending my heart rate spiking like I'd just mainlined a gallon of espresso.

  Christ, what fresh hell now?

  I squinted at the screen. Danika. I thumbed the answer button. "Yeah? This better be good."

  "I think I've got a lead on my brother." She sounded like she'd been awake since the dawn of time, running on fumes, caffeine, and pure, uncut spite.

  "I'm all ears," I said, blowing smoke out the window.

  "That tattoo we found on Trevino? I've been chasing that rabbit down a motherfucker of a hole. Turns out, it's the mark of the cult, like we figured. And let me tell you, Drake, the shit I had to wade through to get even a whiff of these sickos..." She lowered her voice, like speaking the name might summon something nasty. "They call themselves 'The Cult of Noct,’ and they aren’t your average bunch of batshit crazies. They're wrapped in so much shadow and fucked-up mojo, they're more like a bad bedtime story than something real. The more I poked around, the more I felt like the dark was staring right back, just waiting for me to blink. And with the freaky shit we've seen? It probably was."

  I flicked my cig out the window, the name 'Cult of Noct' sinking into my gut like a lead weight. "So, who or what is this Noct asshole?"

  "From what I can tell? Something old. Something that'd make your garden-variety boogeyman piss itself—something Fae. The traffickers, they use the cult for their connections, but I don't think they really get what they're fucking with. It's like watching a kid juggle live grenades and thinking it's a party trick."

  I let that marinate for a second, the weight of our shit-heap doubling by the second. "So, finding your brother..."

  "Means we're not just dealing with the dregs of humanity," Danika finished. "We're about to kick down the door on something that's been lurking in the dark since we were still trying to figure out which end of the spear to hold."

  I hung a left, my mind chewing on the razor-edged implications. "MURK's really cornered the market on 'fuck around and find out,' huh?" I sighed. "You said something about a lead on Artemis?"

  "Yeah, so, while I was sifting through the digital dumpster fire, I kept seeing mentions of a place connected to our new pals in the Cult of Noct. They call it the Neon Black. If the rest of the city's underbelly is a playground, the Neon Black is the part where the kids go to smoke crack and fuck corpses."

  Even the name sent a greasy shiver down my spine. The Neon Black. People whispered about it like it was the bogeyman's bachelor pad. An urban legend that was all too real for the poor bastards who stumbled into it. A labyrinth of abandoned alleys and derelict buildings out in the ass-end of the industrial district, lit by neon tubes that never quite died, spewing just enough light to let the dark play peekaboo. Word was, the place was a haven for every freak, spook, and go-bump in the night looking for a place to hang their hat. And now, seems like it was a flophouse for the Cult of Noct, too.

  "If they took Artemis anywhere, it's there," Danika said, her voice dipping low. "If they took him at all and didn't just..."

  "That thing wanted him alive," I cut in. "It wasn't a hit, it was a fucking harvest. If these Noct pricks are squatting in the Neon Black, ten to one that's where we'll find Artemis. We need to go there.”

  "When?"

  I chewed my lip. "Tonight, after I punch out."

  "Why not now?"

  "Because some of us have actual jobs. Captain'll shitcan me if I don't show my face."

  "Good to know where your priorities are, Drake. Really warms my fucking heart."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, staving off the aneurysm I could feel revving up. "That's not... Look, we can't just go in there with our dicks in our hands. We need a plan of attack."

  "What's to plan? Get in, fuck shit up, get Artemis, get out."

  "Dani..."

  "Fine. But I'm going tonight, with or without you."

  Christ.

  "What about Pan?" I asked.

  "He's awake. Came to last night."

  I loosened my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel a fraction. "Thank fuck for small favors."

  "He was asking about Artemis."

  "What'd you tell him?"

  "The truth. Had to sit on him to keep him from pulling a Prison Break."

  "Sounds about right. I'll swing by, check on him later. Knight with you?"

  "No. Why would she be?"

  "She was headed your way yesterday. Figured she might've stuck around."

  "Nah, she dipped last night."

  "No worries. Was gonna swing by and pick her up. Sit tight till go-time, yeah?"

  "Whatever you say, boss." The line went dead.

  I tossed the phone on the seat, simmering in the special blend of frustration and anxiety Danika always managed to whip up. I got it, I did. If it was my brother out there, I'd be climbing the walls too. But charging face-first into the Neon Black with nothing but a few guns and a whole lot of trauma was a real good way to end up dead or worse.

  Hold on, Artemis. Just a little longer.

  I stormed into the precinct, and the vibe hit me like a sack of wet assholes. Tension so thick you could spread it on toast. Anxiety humming in the air. The place was usually a nuthouse on its best day, but this was different. The chaos had an edge to it, sharp enough to slice through Kevlar. Cops scurried around like rats in a flooding sewer, their faces tight, conversations clipped and loaded with all the shit they weren't saying.

  Routman caught my eye from across the bullpen, looking like he'd just watched his dog get run over. As I made my way over, the clench of his jaw told me he was about to dump a steaming pile of bad news right in my lap. "Five of our boys in blue aren't picking up when we call," he said, his voice pitched low like he was sharing state secrets. "Cells, landlines, fucking smoke signals—nada. Like they got snatched by the goddamn Rapture."

  The news hit me like a tire iron to the teeth. Cops don't just up and poof, not without a damn good reason. Then Routman dropped another dick-punch. "Carson's in the wind too—Agent Carson. No one's heard dick from him since last night."

  My guts did a sickening flip at that little nugget. "Jesus fucking Christ,” I hissed. Then a thought hit me like a mack truck, and I nearly spewed my coffee. Knight wasn't haunting the precinct either. "Where the fuck is Knight?"

  Routman eyeballed me like I'd just slapped his grandma. "Thought she was still with you. You said⁠—"

  "Does it look like she’s fucking still with me, Jim?” I snarled, fumbling for my phone. I punched her number, but it rolled straight to voicemail. "Fuck!"

  "Sweet Jesus,” Routman wheezed, looking like he was about to upchuck his breakfast. "This can't be happening. Not now."

  "It's that giggling shit-goblin," I spat. "The Jester. He's snatching our people like fucking Pokémon!"

  Red filled my vision, rage clawing its way up my throat like a rabid wolverine. I spun and slammed my fist into the wall, cheap drywall exploding around my hand like confetti at a hate crime. "Motherfucker!"

  I paced like a caged animal, my mind whirling. This freak was upping his game, striking right at the heart of the force. And now he had Knight. The urge to put my fist through something a lot more breakable than drywall was rising by the second.

  Routman was ashen, his eyes darting around like he expected the Jester to come prancing out of the fucking fax machine. "What's the play here, Drake? We can't just..." He waved a hand, trying to encompass the sheer magnitude of how comprehensively fucked we were.

  I stopped pacing, a cold, vicious calm settling over me. "The play," I said, my voice a low growl, "is we find this chucklefuck. We find him, we find our people. And when we do..." I looked at my scraped knuckles. "I'm gonna show that son of a bitch what a real smile looks like. One I carve into him, nice and fucking slow."

  Routman blanched at that, but he didn't argue. He knew there was no point. Not with that psycho out there, wearing our people like merit badges. Not with Knight in the crosshairs.

  No, there was no playing nice anymore. No rulebook to follow. The Jester wanted to play rough? I'd show him rough. I'd drag his ass kicking and screaming back to whatever sideshow hell he crawled out of.

  And I'd do it with a fucking grin.

  FBI suits were crawling all over the precinct like roaches now that one of their own got snatched. Agent Shaw was cracking the whip, sending her lackeys to hunt for the missing Agent Carson. No mention of Knight or the other badges that vanished along with him. Typical feds, not giving two shits about anyone but their own. Carson was deadweight anyway, while Knight was worth a dozen of him. That's why my priority was finding her, not that useless prick.

  First thing, I buzzed Danika to fill her in. She was quiet a sec, then said in an icy tone, "What do you need?"

  I told her to comb the surveillance around Knight's place, see if she caught any scent. Had to be the Jester's goons grabbed her from her crib, or maybe jumped her on the way to the precinct this morning.

  "Fuckers," Danika hissed. "If they so much as scratch her⁠—"

  "I know," I grunted. "But we gotta keep our shit locked tight. For Knight. Sing out if you spot anything."

  Soon as I clicked off, the cattle started stampeding into the conference room. I knew what was up.

  "Here we go," I muttered, shouldering past g-men to get eyes on the big screen.

  The Jester's ugly mug filled the screen, his grin stretching wider than a shark at a blood bank. "Well, well, citizens and so-called protectors, have I got a game for you!" His voice oozed faux sincerity, making my skin want to crawl right off my bones. "The lives of your precious boys and girls in blue, snatched right from under your noses? They're in my hands now. And the only way to save their sorry hides is to play by my rules."

  He let that hang there, savoring the moment like a wine taster with a mouthful of vintage douchebaggery. "But I'm a fair man, believe it or not. I've scattered the keys to their freedom all across this festering cesspit you call a city. Clues, breadcrumbs, a trail of tears— you get the drift. Just one catch: to be the hero, you're gonna have to walk in the villain's shoes for a spell."

  Maps popped up, the city's arteries clogged with blinking tumors. "Each little blip, a piece of the puzzle. But fair warning, officers - this scavenger hunt's gonna take you places the badge don't shine. Robbery, assault, betrayal... hell, by the time you're done, you'll be dirtier than a truck stop toilet. The question is, how much of your soul are you willing to sell to save your own?"

  His cackle slithered through the speakers, a sound like rusted nails on a blackboard. "Oh, and did I mention? This is all going out live, a city-wide broadcast of your long, dark night of the soul. Time to see if all that rot goes straight to the core. Tick tock, detectives. The game's afoot." He winked, a dead-eyed shark about to bite. "Especially you, Detective Drake. Let's dance."