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“Details, please,” Cairo urged. The air seemed to shimmer around him, the magic of his djinn nature always just beneath the surface.
“Right. So,” Niko began, leaning against the wall with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t his first rodeo—or wolf hunt, for that matter. “On recon, I sniffed out several access points to the tunnels. But there’s one that stands out.”
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Before we grow roots, please.”
“The Dallas Crystal Court Pyramid,” he said.
“By the Renaissance Tower? Yeah, I know it,” I replied, remembering the glass structure that always caught the sunlight in a cascade of reflections.
“That’s the one,” he confirmed with a nod. “It’s got an entrance that leads directly down to our subterranean playground. And let me tell you, the acoustics in those tunnels could make a werewolf’s howl sound like Pavarotti.”
“Great, so we’re going in with a touch of Italian opera. Any chance Zayn’s a fan?” I said, earning a couple of snorts from the team.
“Let’s just hope he’s not waiting with a fireball encore,” Riker muttered, eyeing Niko with a mix of respect and rivalry.
I tapped a foot on the floor. “Okay, so we have our point of entry. We just need to make sure?—”
“Wait a second,” Helen cut in, her voice as smooth as the satin of her gown, “won’t that entrance be locked up tighter than a drag queen’s corset? Those tunnels are daytime drama only.”
“Ah, but you see,” Niko interjected with a sly grin that made his blue eyes gleam like moonlit steel, “that’s where being a billionaire with a shadowy past comes in handy.” He pulled out a keycard from his pocket. “Let’s just say I’ve got friends in high—and low—places.”
“Very ‘Ocean’s Eleven’ of you,” I said, eyebrows raised at the unexpected trump card he’d laid down on our makeshift planning table.
“More like ‘Wolf’s One,’“ Elijah said, looping an arm around Helen’s waist, who pretended to swoon at his side.
“Does this mean you can get us in without setting off a symphony of alarms?” I asked, my mind racing through the implications of breaking into one of Dallas’s architectural icons.
“Quiet as a cat burglar,” Niko confirmed, tucking the key back into his pocket. “Or at least as quiet as a wolf stalking its prey.”
“Preferably one that doesn’t howl,” I muttered, my mind conjuring images of us sneaking through the shadows.
“Great, another reason for the tabloids to swoon over Dallas’s dark, furry prince,” Riker muttered under his breath, his muscular arms folded across his chest. He shot Niko a look that could curdle milk—or at least spoil a perfectly good mood. It was no secret that the two of them shared about as much chemistry as oil and holy water.
“Hey, if it gets us in without a hitch, I’m all for it,” I said. “Besides, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Speaking of frying...” Riker began, shooting me a look.
“Riker and I have been cooking up a little plan ourselves.” I flashed my best ‘trust me, I’m a professional’ smile, which, admittedly, might need a bit more practice. “A side dish to complement Niko’s main course.”
Riker’s scowl softened into something resembling approval. We were a team, even if some of us didn’t play nice in the sandbox.
“Let’s just say, we’re prepared to turn up the heat on Zayn,” I continued, warming to the theme. “But first, we need to get Poppy out of the oven.”
“Metaphors aside,” Riker added, his voice taking on the low rumble of rolling thunder, “we’ve got contingencies. And weapons.”
“Of course, we do,” I said, letting the seriousness of our mission simmer beneath the surface. “Wouldn’t be much of a supernatural barbecue without the right tools to poke the coals.”
Riker and I laid out the arsenal on the battered oak table in a buffet of destruction. “Dinner is served,” I said, with a flourish of my hand over the gleaming metal and polished wood. It was an eclectic spread—a mix of medieval and modern, silver and iron, charm-infused bullets and vials of holy water.
“Please tell me there’s a steak knife in here for me,” Helen said, her eyes scanning for something less... explosive.
“Only if you’re planning to eat Zayn for dinner,” Riker replied, tossing her a silver dagger that glinted with runes. She caught it deftly, inspecting the blade with a practiced eye.
“I prefer my whip,” she said.
“Always be prepared,” Elijah said to her, picking up a pair of enchanted brass knuckles. They sparked with energy as he slid them onto his fists, looking every bit like a sorcerer gearing up for a magical brawl.
“Those are new,” I observed, eyebrows raised. “Custom job?”
