Sabrine was gone. Sabrine was missing, and it was all her fault.
No one believed her. Not a single person at the Angelthene Law Enforcement holding center had looked at her with anything but disbelief when they’d heard her side of the story. She knew Dallas would be telling the other officers the very same thing—the truth of what happened tonight—in the room adjacent to hers. Maybe they would be more inclined to listen to the Red Baron’s biological daughter than the human orphan who had never been—and never would be—anything more than that:human.
“Let me get this straight,” said the peace officer, in that gruff, no-bullshit tone.
Loren tore her gaze from her reflection—and the people she knew were watching from behind the glass—and turned to face the warlock. The expression he wore was as harsh and unyielding as the room they were in; the frigid concrete beneath her bare and blistered feet, the hard chair she was sitting on that was bolted to the floor, the glaring white lightbulbs stabbing into her eyes from where they were mounted in the corners of the room.
She slid her hands between her scraped knees to stop them from shaking. The tattoo glowing on the inside of her forearm had changed from a pale blue to a glaring red. If she didn’t get some medication or food into her soon, she would faint.
The warlock was middle-aged as far as physical appearance went, though the watery cast to his eyes hinted that he was far older than he looked—and had likely abused the reserves of his magic in his years as commissioner to soon come down with the Tricking. In fact, she would be surprised if he hadn’t already been diagnosed with it.
The officer laced his fingers on the tabletop and looked her over with a steely gaze. “You believe the Darkslayer was afteryou?”
“I already told you.” Loren barely recognized the crackle of her own voice. It was as cold and void of emotion as the expression she could feel herself wearing. “When he held a gun to Sabrine’s head, I asked him what he wanted. He said, ‘I want you to get in the car.’” This was the third time she’d explained it to this bastard.
He blew out a huff and pretended to look over the paper at the top of the stack. “You are nineteen, Miss Calla. Correct?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke.
“And you’ve lived in Angelthene your whole life?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t think I need to explain to you that hellsehers are a very powerful breed.” He set the paper back on the stack. “Their magic is not as restricted as that of veneficae, nor lamiae, and because of this, they know their worth. Hellsehers who hunt for bounties charge hefty prices, Miss Calla. Those prices can run as high as one million gold mynet. Sometimes even higher.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Commissioner.” He was saying no hellseher would bother with someone like her—with a human target whose life had no value worthy enough for them to track down. There was no reason for anyone to want to hunt her, nor pay a Darkslayer’s outrageous cost to find her. And yet, sheknew…
She knew it was supposed to have been her who was taken tonight.
The officer sat back, his chair creaking under his weight. “Can you describe what the phoenix tattoo looked like, Miss Calla?”
She held out a hand in request for a pen. After a moment, he handed his over, along with a piece of ruled paper he tore from his notepad. The scratch of pen on paper was loud in the otherwise silent room as her trembling hand swept across the page. When she was finished, she spun the paper around and slid it his way.
Half a second was all he spared for her drawing. “How’s your vision, Miss Calla?”
She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“My vision is fine.” It wasn’t twenty-twenty, but it was clear enough that this jerk shouldn’t be doubting her. “I know what I saw. The tattoo was aphoenixhead, Commissioner.” Not the over-lapping wings of the Angels of Death; not the God of Death that was the symbol of the Reapers, nor the striking serpent of the Vipers; not the hellhound of the Huntsmen, nor the crescent moon of the Wargs. And it certainly wasn’t the horned letterS,the sigil of the Seven Devils, the most feared Darkslaying circle in the city.
The officer stuffed the drawing into his shirt pocket. “Your guardian has been contacted. She will be here shortly to take you home.” Loren’s head turned featherlight, her fists slackening.
Taega Bright, Dallas’s mother, had been contacted. As if this night—she supposed it was technically morning now—could get any worse.
“Is there anything else you would like to say?” the officer asked. The silver ringing his pupils—a peculiar characteristic all veneficae possessed—was as reflective as mirrors under the lights. “Anything worthy of pointing out that we haven’t already covered?”
Loren remained silent for so long that he made to stand. But her voice froze him in place.
“You may feel we’ve covered a great deal, Commissioner. But I don’t. Every statement I’ve made tonight is the truth, yet you’ve done nothing but dismiss my claims.”
He settled back into the chair with another of those heavy sighs that was more of a growl. The badge pinned to his dress-shirt gleamed in the fluorescents. “Can you think of any reason as to why they would’ve been tracking you?” The tone he used was flat, his disinterest in entertaining what he believed was a cry for attention blatantly obvious. “Is there anything of value on your person that they might’ve been looking for?”
Loren mirrored his no-bullshit expression. “I have a tube of lip gloss, a half-empty pack of gum, and barely three hundred gold mynet in my bank account, Commissioner. Do you think the Darkslayer might’ve been after any of these things?”
“Miss Calla—”
“Sabrine was held at gunpoint as a strategy to getmein the car.” Loren’s voice came out as broken as she felt. “They only took her instead of me because they ran out of time when your officers came flying around the corner.” Tears burned her eyes, and her lip wobbled. “If you’re not going to believe me, then that’s not my problem. But I want my friend back, so I beg you to reconsider your opinion after what I just told you.”
