“Never thought I’d hear such a thing fromyou, Gabriel Redthorne.” The witch in question pushed through the doorway, limned in light and trailed by the faint scent of incense. She carried a leather case full of magical tools and potions—something she rarely left home without, now that she was bonded to the Redthornes and constantly on call, running interference on one supernatural emergency or another. “So what’ve you got for me, boys?”
Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Dorian took over instead.
“In no particular order,” he said firmly, “an eyeless, tongueless Chernikov demon to banish. A deadly, mind-jacking succubus to track down. And finally, if it’s not too much trouble…” He smacked the back of Gabriel’s head in that special brotherly way that bordered on infuriating. “A drunken vampire to sober up, preferably before anything else goes to seed today.”
“Hate to rain on your parade of endless optimism, Dori,” Aiden said, “as pleasant as it always is. But…” He turned his phone to show them something on the screen—a video from a social media feed, the shot zoomed in on Union Square Park. The guy streaming it muttered something about “an uncanny experience” and “images that were definitely not safe for work.” That was all Gabriel processed before the sight shocked him numb.
The whole area was packed with people—not unusual, given the holiday pop-up markets that lined the park pathways this time of year.
But rather than shopping for gifts, every last adult was naked, engaged in the only activity that could possibly chase off the frigid December air.
“A spontaneous public orgy?” Isabelle grabbed the phone and stared down at the screen, her brow furrowed. “In broad daylight, in the middle of winter? And goodness, look at those poor kids!”
Children had been left to wander the park alone, some crying, some mute with confusion, all of them abandoned as readily as their parents’ clothing, inhibitions, and minds.
Dorian closed his eyes and sighed. “It appears we’ve found our succubus.”
Chapter Two
“There! That’s her.” Gabriel pointed out a raven-haired woman in the crowd, naked and glittering like a jewel against the gray winter scene, her head thrown back in laughter. His skin crawled with revulsion at the sight.
But just as soon as he spotted her, she literally vanished. The naked revelers paid no mind to the disappearing act, but within seconds of her exit, the humans snapped out of their trance, scrambling in a rush of confusion and embarrassment for their clothing.
“Did you see that?” Gabriel asked. “Where the hell did she go?”
“If I had to make an educated guess,” Colin said, scrolling through his own phone, “Columbus Circle.” He showed them the screen—a different feed, streamed from a location more than forty blocks from the first.
Gabriel wanted to deny it—chalk it up to something in the air, in the water, just a bloody coincidence. But there she was again, black hair flapping like a dark flag in the wind, her nude body frolicking through the crowd as New Yorkers stripped off their winter coats in her wake.
“Is all of this live footage?” Dorian asked.
“Allegedly.” Aiden flipped to another feed, finding the same Columbus Circle mayhem shot from another angle. Then, as if the passerby on the screen could hear him, “No, you daft bastard! No! Don’t get any closer! And… There he goes. And that’s….Wow. Certainly not the brightest bulb, are you, mate? Humping a statue. What will your mother think?”
Behind the statue guy, Viansa laughed again, then vanished, leaving another group of very cold, very confused New Yorkers to quickly gather their clothes and dart away in mutual shame and fear.
“One of you had better fill me in,” Isabelle said.
Gabriel did his best to relay the story, just as he had to his brothers. And all the while, Viansa continued to make the rounds, popping up randomly all over the city, grinning for every camera, dancing for every crowd, leaving them thirsty and breathless and ashamed.
“How is she bloodydoingthis?” Dorian asked, glancing at the latest feed—this one from one of the news networks that’d picked up the story. They were calling it an instance of mass localized hysteria, possibly related to a gas leak, urging people to stay home and stay calm.
Gabriel recalled the feel of the succubus rooting around in his mind—the insistent pressure, the loss of control. “Hell hath no fury like a woman determined to take down the world.”
“One stiffy at a time,” Aiden added. Another incident had just broken out on the Upper East Side. “Bloody miracle, that kind of stamina. It’s below freezing out there.”
“My instinct is to go after her,” Dorian said, “but I’m not sure it would do much good.”
Isabelle shook her head. “We need magic.Strongmagic. A binding spell, something to weaken or eliminate her power.”
“Perhaps we could draw her to a different location,” Dorian said. “Trap her.”
The two of them tossed around some more ideas, but Gabriel was only half-listening. Now that the alcohol had faded, his thoughts were sharpening quickly.
This morning, after his fight with Jacinda, tracking down and torturing the demon had given him a purpose. A distraction. And later, when the feelings threatened to overtake him again, he’d drowned them in bourbon.
Now, they clawed their way back to his awareness, scraping and jabbing at his heart like rusty daggers.
Jacinda…
