“That was smart, baby,” Luca says. “Veydran can’t read minds—they’re chameleons without consciences. We’ll have to start verifying each other’s identities, at least until he’s taken care of.”
“You called him a shuck. What does that mean?”
Luca grinds his teeth. “It’s what he is—a soulless, faceless husk, stealing from others with no true identity of his own.”
“Really?” I ask. That sounds strange... beyond creepy. I’ve never heard of creatures like that before, not in the celestial realm or the Fringes. I shift my weight and grimace. The pain in my heel is getting harder to ignore.
“That’s the rumor at least,” Luca mutters. “Veydran run themonster realm. They’re basically wardens, keeping anyone from escaping. They’re evil?—”
“I believe you,” I say, squeezing his bruised hand gently. Luca talks about the veydra the way I used to vent about my father to—I gasp. “Where’s Malach?”
Luca scowls. “He got called away by his right-hand guy, some sort of disturbance.”
The itch spreads along my spine. Malach can take care of himself, but he’s not a god.
“We need to find him,” I say, yanking the wraps off my hands and tossing them in the direction of my locker. “Second Coming or whoever he is knew his name. If he sneaks up on him while wearing one of our faces...”
Luca curses. “You’re right. He said he would meet us at the apartment.”
“Then we’ll go there first.” I take one experimental step on my injured foot, and the blood drains from my face. “We need to get him a phone,” I moan, doing my best to hide the pain.
“And you need a healing potion.” Luca steadies me with one hand while fishing in his pocket for a glass vial of murky, sewage-colored liquid. “Alistair sent me with one. Just in case.”
“Is it awful that I’m relieved and disgusted?” I plug my nose and down the chunky goo, denying my gag reflex through pure force of will. This one tastes even worse than the others. “My tab is going to be expensive to close.”
Luca rolls his eyes, and I’m relieved to see they’ve returned to their familiar whiskey-soaked hazel. “There’s no world in which he lets you pay him back. You know that, right?”
“I’m good for the money,” I argue, groaning as the witch goop does its job and painfully mends my heel.
I test my weight and only cringe a little. It won’t be fun, but I can walk on it without limping if I keep up a steady internalmonologue made up entirely of curses. Steeling myself, I make for the door, gripping Luca’s hand firmly in mine.
“We have one stop to make before we go home.”
I shove through the door to Resker’s office without knocking. It smacks against the wall and sends a puff of aging drywall dust into the air.
“Hello, Verity,” Resker says calmly, reclining in her chair and steepling her fingers together. If she’s surprised by my violent entrance, she doesn’t show it. “You seem upset.”
“Did my father pay you to have me killed?” I demand, refusing to waste time on bullshit. The blades of my wings are stained a deep red from the blood of the veydra.
Resker’s eyebrows arch gracefully, drawing attention to the scar on her face. “If he did, I would owe him a refund, wouldn’t I?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” I snarl. “You let a veydra into the ring with me—no warning, nothing—a veydra hired to kill me.”
Resker pushes back from her desk and stands, stretching to her full height. “And I’ll tell you, exactly as I told the face-shifting menace, I don’t allow intentional deaths at the Mouth of Hell; only accidents.”
“But you love a good show,” I hiss. “Anything to entertain the crowd, right?”
She laughs. “This is the Vegas Fringes, Celine; we’re all playing to win here.”
“My life isn’t a game, Resker.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, angel. For people like us, survival is the only game that matters.” She opens the drawer by her hip and pulls out a fat wad of cash held together by a thick, waxy rubber band. “Congrats on your win.”
I take the money. It’s crisp, smooth, and utterly benign against my palm, so why do I feel like each bill is dripping with blood?
Tonight proved I can’t trust Resker, but I already knew that. Her bottom line will always come out on top. I’m not dead, and I got paid—so in her mind, we’re square. But I won’t forget this. And from the cool way she’s staring at me across the desk, she won’t either.
“By allowing him to fight here, you let him get his claws into the Fringes. Our Fringes.” I point through the door. “Every person out there is less safe now that he’s seen them.”
