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“Which is?” Maddox asked.
“You two are going to infiltrate a cult, my friends. Sounds easy, right?”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Maddox asked. “We already spoke to one of the leaders, and he’s got some kind of connection to the outside world. There’s no way he didn’t tip them off.”
“Caleb, Maddox said you were a Marvel, correct?”
I nodded, even though that label never felt comfortable for me to claim.
“And which threads do you primarily work with?”
“Blues,” I said.
“There’s your answer.” Claire’s big brown eyes looked pleased. She had no idea I had a huge mental block when it came to using my powers. “You can whip up an illusion and keep your identities undercover. I suggest you start by going to the Center Of Betterment in Hollywood.”
Everyone had heard of the C.O.B. building right near the center of Hollywood, a glass-and-marble structure that held more secrets than a teenage girl’s diary. It was how the cult lured unsuspecting tourists, transients, and other vulnerable people, selling them on free food and shelter and offering them the answer to all their problems. They coated their honey traps in lies and empty promises of stardom and unlimited riches while also selling lost souls on the idea of having a “family.’”
Trust me, I knew exactly how they worked. It was how I became one of them.
I swallowed down a lump of nerves. I should say no to this. I should let Maddox and Claire handle it. This was asking for way more trouble than I could handle. I needed to turn around and leave, thanking the handsome ice dragon for all his help and forgetting all about the butterflies and sparkles he made me feel with a simple look.
“What do you think?” Maddox asked. “Down to infiltrate a cult with me?”
No, no, no. I should answer with a resounding “fuck no” and just leave. This was dangerous. Foolish.
“Sure,” I said instead. “Why the hell not.”
Chapter 18
Detour
Maddox
Hollywood Boulevard was a riot of lights and sounds and beautiful people trying to find their next big breaks. Even the tourists seemed to be dressed and ready for a casting call.
There were women with breasts that could moonlight as dining tables, pushed all the way up so that they nearly spilled out of their shirts. Then there were men, with bulging biceps and perfect haircuts that made them seem like models ready for the runway. Long legs and lean bodies walked over the star-studded sidewalk, the midafternoon sun shining down from a cloudless sky and making everyone’s fake spray tan glow.
It was one of the reasons why I loved the Harmony District so much. It wasn’t as over-the-top as the floating buildings and storybook feel as the Marvel District and wasn’t anywhere near as neutered as the Concrete District with its metallic towers of glass and stone. It definitely wasn’t anything like the Obsidian District, located in the Valley and home to the more unsavory members of society, the ones who enjoyed being cloaked in a permanent darkness, magnified by the ink-black streets.
Yeah, Harmony District was my shit. I enjoyed clubbing here, where humans and supernaturals weaved together to form the most entertaining tapestry, fueled by endless bottles of the most expensive bottles of champagne I could have brought to my table.
Hollywood. Beautiful people everywhere.
And all I could really focus on was Caleb Forrester, the most beautiful of all.
He didn’t need bodybuilder muscles or a chest begging to be motorboated. He had an effortlessness to him that made me even more drawn to his flame. He didn’t need to spend hours in front of the mirror primming himself to look good, nor did he need any creams or injections to keep his complexion flawless. I was pretty sure Caleb rolled out of bed like this and still managed to look hotter than every other person I laid eyes on. Maybe it helped that I could picture his O-face, the way his eyes grew dazed and his toes curled and his body erupted for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, actually. I wanted more of it. More of him.
I kept stealing glances at him as we walked down the street, past the wax museum and the souvenir shop and the sex toy store. Which… “Hold on,” I said, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. He looked through the glass display at the mannequins that moved, wearing sheer and lacy lingerie, hands on their hips or fingers beckoning tourists to come in.
“Think we have a little time to go shopping?” I asked, hand no longer holding Caleb’s wrist but his hand instead.
When did that happen? And why did I fucking love it? Our fingers felt like they locked together perfectly. And for someone like me, someone who craved physical connection, hand-holding was always my least favorite form of it. I didn’t like broadcasting to the world who I was with. It never felt good to me. Never felt right. I was a commitmentphobe in all senses of the word, so holding someone’s hand in public was rarely on my to-do list. It was actually one of the things that drove me and my boyfriend, Ben, apart. He was a very touchy kind of guy, and I just wasn’t used to that. I couldn’t break down that barrier with him.
