“If you get uncomfortable for any reason,” Auggie says, too focused on the mission to enjoy my teasing, “just say the code phrase and we’re there.”
“Code phrase: hot waffles,” I confirm, and a nervous laugh bubbles up at the ridiculousness of it all—me, walking down Lexington Avenue en route to meet the most powerful mage and witch in the city, parents of the asshole mage-and-or-demon I stabbed at the altar, muttering to myself about hot waffles while two sexy, dangerous gargoyles watch my back from their positions on the restaurant roof…
How is this even my life?
I’m still not entirely sure it is.
It took me a full day to convince Draegan to agree to my Westlyn-as-bait plan, and the whole rest of the week to talk Jude into letting me get anywherenearmy enemies without a full-on army at my back. I even did three separate Tarot draws asking if this was the right call, and each time I pulled the same card: the Queen of Swords.
In other words, take no bullshit, get ’er done, you’ve got this, girl.
But in the end, it was Rook who helped sway the votes with his high-tech spy gear. Not just my mic and camera setup, but a fully warded, mage-proof, bulletproof car for the boys to drive me into the city, and a phone tower relay system that allowed me to call the Forsythes from the manor while making it look like the call came from an office on Wall Street.
My acting skills were definitely put to the test with that phone call. Through a mess of fake tears, I told them I made a huge mistake. That I got cold feet and freaked out, and I’ve been so worried about Hunter I haven’t been able to sleep, and I never meant to screw things up between our families, and could we maybe meet for dinner and talk about getting back on track? Oh, and if it’s not too much to ask, could Hunter sit this one out? I’m not quite ready to face him yet after my violent outburst—so uncharacteristic of me, I’m in counseling for it, I really do feel terrible, boo hoo, boo hoo.
Whether they bought my sob story or not is irrelevant. Like I told Draegan when I pitched him the idea—I didn’t need to be convincing, just tempting. The Forsythes are smart and calculating, but they’re also desperate to find me, and desperation makes even the most clever, cunning people do some really dumb shit.
Like venturing out to meet up with the woman who stabbed their pet demon at the altar, leaving the precious Cerridwen Codex blissfully unguarded long enough for Draegan and Rook to break in and steal it.
I’m not worried about the Forsythes trying to kill or seriously hurt me tonight. Regardless of my actions at the wedding, they still need me. An augmenter is no good to a demon prince if she’s dead or bleeding out.
But there’s a ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance they’ll try to kidnap me, and we’ve planned for that. They won’t get very far, of course, but still. Annoying.
“I’m here, guys,” I finally say, flashing one more smile at my cocktail ring. “Here’s hoping we don’t have to mention the waffles.”
Then I open the door to Carmine’s Trattoria, call up a few distraught tears, and step inside.
Chapter Thirty
WESTLYN
The Archmage and his wife are seated at a table in the back, looking supremely uncomfortable in a dark suit and an emerald-green wrap dress. I’m not used to seeing them in so-called civilian clothes; on the few occasions we’ve met before, they were both dressed in elaborate ceremonial robes designed to set them apart from the witchy riff-raff like me.
Several other couples and families occupy the surrounding tables, the wait staff bustling about, and I relax. The restaurant was my suggestion, and I chose it specifically because it’s popular with the city’s late-night dinner crowd. The Archmage may have a few tricks up his sleeve for me tonight, but the last thing he’ll want is to cause a scene in front of a large group. Shadow mages aren’t big on drawing attention to themselves among mundane humans—too many questions, too many cover-ups, a big pain in everyone’s collective ass.
“Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe! Thank you so much for coming,” I say breathlessly, taking a seat across from them and swiping my fingers beneath my eyes to catch those crocodile tears. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show. I know this must be really hard for you.”
“We just want what’s best for you and our son,” Lennon says, and Celine nods, her lips curved in what I think is supposed to be a smile but looks more like she just sat on something sharp. “Anything we can do to facilitate that, we will.”
“Really?” I force a grateful smile. “Goddess, that means so much to me. You have no idea.”
“Lots of marriages have rocky starts, dear,” Celine says. “That’s no reason to give up on them.”
Rocky starts? So that’s what we’re calling this?
“Is… is Hunter okay?” I ask, my face a mask of concern. “I just feel so terrible about what happened. Rather—what Idid. Those weremyactions at the wedding—my choices. I need to take responsibility for them. My counselor says that’s the first step to making amends.”
“It’s good that you recognize that,” Celine says. “Physically, Hunter is fine. Fortunately, the blade just nicked him.”
Jude’s laugher rings through my ear. “Nicked him, my arse! Our girl straight up shish-kabobbed that motherfucker.”
“What a relief!” I say, pressing my hand to my chest to give the boys a peek at my dining companions.
“Emotionally, however…” Celine dabs her eyes with the cloth napkin, shaking her head as if she’s simply too overcome to continue.
Jude snorts. “Somebody pass the old cunt a Kleenex before she ruins the nice white linens.”
The waiter finally shows up to take our drink and appetizer order, but before I can even open my mouth to ask for a glass of wine, Lennon’s already waving him away.
