In fact, I’m pretty sure the flaming shite is about to hit the fan.
Tune in next week for the terrifying conclusion…
“So the girl who was supposed to marry Forsythe’s demon son,” I say to Drae, “is now a shadow mage fugitive? One we’re harboring in our home?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it,” he says. “Yes.”
“What about Forsythe? The Cerridwen Codex?”
He shakes his head, wings slumping. “This certainly complicates matters in that regard.”
“So what’s our move, then?” Panic rises inside me once more, chasing away all rational thoughts. “You brought her here, Drae. Tell me you’ve got a plan. Tell me you’ve got afuckingplan that doesn’t involve ransoming her for thatfuckingCodex or I swear to the devil I’ll—”
“Rook,” Drae says, keeping his eyes locked on mine, “I need you to find out everything you can about the families. Her parents, any known siblings, the Archmage, his wife and son, any known connections to demons. Are the Thornwood cameras still recording?”
Rook nods. “Two dozen cameras, and they’re all still live. I’ve got the feeds backing up to three different servers at five-minute intervals, all of it encrypted.”
“Good. I want those feeds left running for the next week at least. I’m putting additional security on the premises and closing the cathedral to events until further notice. If anyone shows up uninvited—including more birds—I want to know about it.”
“Got it.” Rook gives the crest of my wing an affectionate squeeze, then heads to the other side of the manor, locking himself inside the lair where he spends the majority of his waking hours cuddling with his various computers, inventing technological breakthroughs that would put Nobel laureates to shame, and playing enough video games to rot the brains of a dozen mortals.
The rest of us make for the kitchen. No one’s eaten yet tonight, and it’s clear we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us before the sun rises and turns us all to stone.
Glancing at his watch, Drae says, “We’ve got about four hours until sunrise. I’m going to help Rook with his research—see what we might dig up about shadow mages and demons. Augustine, you stay with the girl for now. The last thing we need is for her to wake up and—”
“Oh, I think the fucknot.” I shake my head, my blood simmering at the thought. “No one but me is going anywherenearher again tonight. You two just… I don’t know. Keep doing whatever you need to do to figure out what the fuck happened to her, who the fuck’s to blame, and how the fuck soon I can hunt them down, bleed ’em dry, and make a necklace out of their teeth.”
“Jude,” Drae warns. “No one is making necklaces out of teeth. We need—”
“If you’re not keen on the necklace idea, fine.” I bang around the cupboards in search of the sugar, coconut oil, and almond extract. “Bracelets are also an option. Belly chains have fallen a bit out of fashion, but I’m happy to do a custom order if you ask nicely. For fuck’s sake, Auggie. Where thefuckis the almond extract?”
“Um, Jude?” He reaches past me and retrieves the small brown bottle. “Far be it from me to question a raging psychopath who’s clearly in the middle of a raging psychotic break, but… what exactly are you doing?”
I snatch the bastard bottle from his stupid bastard hand and snarl at him. “You can’t make an almond joy latte without almond extract, Auggie. I figured you’d know that, considering it’s your signature drink. Keep up.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but the only drink I’m interested in tonight rhymes with dickskey and burns on the way down.”
“It’s not foryou, you bloody heathen. It’s forher.” My human glamour flickers back to life, and I grab the almond milk from the fridge and get to work setting up the cappuccino machine, a beast of a thing I only know how to work on account of the barista at Stella’s, and you can bet your arse I’ll be sending her a thank-you card as soon as this is over.
“You’re… making Westlyn a latte?” Auggie gives me his patented what-the-fuck look. “Why?”
“She likes them, you dickhead. Now fuck off and let me do this proper before the poor girl wakes up and decides to stabyouin the throat, too. I’m still in a mood and not entirely sure I’d stop her.”
Chapter Twelve
WESTLYN
Soft breath ghosting across my lips.
The weight and warmth of another body lying beside me.
The scent of sweet almond and chocolate on the air, and—just beneath it—a hint of candle flame and black pepper.
All of this coalesces in my mind, slowly teasing me back to consciousness, and I finally open my eyes. I’m lying on my side, the space illuminated only by the moonlight. It feels like… like a bed, but—
Suddenly, a lamp clicks on, washing the room in a golden glow.
And there, mere inches from my face, two striking cobalt-blue eyes stare straight at me.
