“We know you have connections to covens in the area,” Leeanna grinds out. “We need you to find out what they know that could be helpful to us.”
“You want me to consort with witches?”
Michael’s head snaps to hers and she nods, but her eyes are cast down, knowing what she’s asking is wrong.
“In this instance, if they have information we need, we have to.”
“Leeanna, you can’t ask that of her.”
“She’s fallen, Michael. Who else can go to them?”
He purses his lips but appears to come to the same conclusion she did. I’m their only chance of working with the witches.
“Fine, but if I do this, you both have to promise you’ll speak on my behalf if and when the time comes for me to stand trial to get back into Heaven.”
“If that happens,” Michael hisses, “I’ll speak for you. Assuming you toe the line in every other aspect. Work against us, and you’ll get nothing from me.”
It’s my turn to nod.
I step up to Leeanna. “Why did you meet with Zeke earlier?”
She stiffens. “H-how do you know about that?”
I internally cringe, as my source would not go over well for me.
“He let it slip,” I lie. “But he wouldn’t tell me what you talked about.”
She puffs out her cheeks. “Zeke didn’t fall for me. He didn’t fall at all. He’s here to make sure you stay and fulfill your punishment here on Earth.”
“What?” I jerk back. “What does that even mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael jeers. “He’s been working against you all along.”
My body sways and my eyes glaze over.
They have to be lying. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“He did, Victoria.” Leeanna’s tone isn’t mocking. It’s sympathetic, and I might hate that more. “He’s here on assignment.”
“I-I’m the assignment?”
She simply nods.
The son of a bitch tricked me. He took my virginity, and straight up lied to me. He’s no better than Lucifer, and he will feel my wrath.
HELL FROZE OVER
The next morning, I’m strolling the far end of Bourbon Street. On this side of town, every vice a sinner has can be sated. Sex permeates the air even at this time of day. Behind any of these walls, I’d likely find myself in the middle of an orgy, complete with drugs and alcohol flowing like a waterfall—never ending.
My mind is numb as I focus on the task at hand, using all the energy I have left to smash out the human emotions that are trying to break through. I’m done feeling.
I look at the peeling numbers above the shops as I pass, but in the end, there’s no need. The place I’m looking for stands out from every other building. The Solheim Coven doesn’t have to go for inconspicuous. While every other building on either side of this block is dilapidated, the home of one of the most highly respected voodoo priestesses in the South is well kept, with a fresh coat of paint. However, only magical beings can see it. The home has been shaded so that to everyone else, it looks like every other building—well on its way to collapsing.
The blood-red front door stands out starkly against the bright white on every other surface. A black wrought-iron fence surrounds the home, likely to keep the drunken partygoers who stray too far from the heavily lit part of Bourbon Street off its pristine lawn.
Magic swirls in the air, so thick I can taste it. It coats every surface, leaving a shimmering gleam that only a magical being can see. This signals that the woman I came to see is here: Madame Solheim, the oldest sister of the Solheim Coven. I knock briskly four times before turning the knob and allowing myself in. I know the drill; I’ve been here before, but never in the daytime.
The foyer of the house is quiet, and there’s not a person in sight. I walk toward the back, make a right down the long narrow hallway, and pass through the curtain of beads hanging in the doorway to the heart of the place. The coven sits in a circle, holding hands and chanting, while sage burns in the center.
