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“Oh, Victor, you tease.” She laughed, and a touch of color warmed her face. “No need to be so formal. How long has it been? Three years? You don’t text, you never call. One might assume you no longer care about your oldest friend.”

My mouth fell open. They were friends?

“And who’s this little bundle of human doughiness?” Lady de La Cour continued, eyeing me.

“This is Adam, my assistant. Adam, please do meet Agatha, a dear old friend of mine.” Reynard’s silvery eyes shone, silently demanding I not make a fuss.

“Oh, Victor, now, now, let’s not be so crass as to mention age.” She tittered, and her laugh sounded like broken glass tinkling to the ground. “Adam, what a pleasure.”

I took her cool, pale hand, as Reynard had done, and brushed a flutter of a kiss against the back of her fingers. My mind reeled. Reynard knew a syndicate crime boss. A boss who sold demon body parts to be turned into paste and made into exclusive beauty products.

And he hadn’t said a word?

“Not Adam Vex, perchance?” Agatha asked.

“You know of Adam?” Reynard asked.

Was it bad if she recognized me? She had given the order to throw me in the freezer, but I’d never met her—unlike Reynard.

“Let’s just say, his name is causing a few ripples in certain circles. Circles you haven’t been present in, Victor. Sorry about the little freezer incident, dear. Just a miscommunication. You got out of that just fine, I see.” She tittered and shrugged, as though trying to kill people was just another note in her diary, then planted all her laser-focused attention back on Reynard. “We’ve missed your dour if wise presence, Victor. Reynard Technologies has been keeping you busy, no?” Agatha turned on her heels and clipped toward a back door, and Reynard casually fell into step beside her.

The pair of them looked like surreal supermodels, while I stumbled along behind like an ugly duckling.

No wonder Reynard didn’t want Zee here. This was more personal than the sly vampire had revealed.

At least it explained why Reynard had been invited into the workings of the syndicate’s operation like an old friend. He was one.

“Victor, dear, let me show you our latest product line,” Agatha was explaining. “Oh, how is that darling wife of yours?”

“Dead.”

“Good. I never liked her. Stuck up bitch.”

“Quite.”

I hurried along, keeping an eye on Agatha’s two silent fae twins, Cohen and his brother, who were tailing us. They didn’t seem half as friendly as Agatha, and eyed me with that same crow-like inquisitiveness, as though waiting for me to die so they could rob the shinies off my corpse. Reynard was comfortable here, but I was not.

We entered a sophisticated production lab. Slick stainless-steel work surfaces gleamed, the contents of big bulbous jars bubbled, and Bunsen burners licked at the air. At the far wall, an array of marketing material proclaimed that FaeMade® defied human aging. Not tested on animals.

It didn’t say anything in the fine print about being made from Lost Ones.

I spotted a large stack of crates—the same style of crates that had been in the freezer—and ambled toward them.

“Clearly, you don’t need this, Victor, since you’re as handsome as the day we met,” Agatha continued. “But our newest brand of age-defying serum is flying off the shelves. Humans are obsessed with youthful looks. Can’t blame them really. Is there anything as ugly as a vintage human?”

“Fabulous. And what’s it made of?” Victor asked.

“Oh, this and that.”

Sure enough, a few demon horns poked out from the slats in the side of the crates. There had to be several thousand in here. That was a lot of demons conned out of their body parts. Now, if Reynard would just hurry on over so his secret camera could film it, we’d have invaluable evidence.

“Are these uhm . . . demon horns?” I asked, turning to face the room and thumbing over my shoulder at the crates.

Agatha smiled. “All willingly traded, I assure you.”

“If we’re going to propel your brand of products into the spotlight, Agatha, I’ll need to know your process.” Victor headed toward me. “If it’s somewhat unconventional, we can circumvent that with a few technical ingredient names. Humans rarely do their due diligence, and when they do, few care if the cream they’re lathering on their faces has potent origins. So, please do be frank with me. As an old friend.” He studied the crates, then his gaze caught mine, and an understanding passed between us.

This was horrific, and we were going to end it.