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THE END IS NIGH

Buckle up babycakes, gird your loins, cradle your sweater puppies, it’s time for the GRAND FINALE!

~ Zee

CHAPTER 1

Sebastien had been with us almost twenty-four hours. A whole twenty-three hours more than anyone would have liked. He’d been checked into his own room, just like he’d asked, and in exchange he’d give us the answer to bringing down Gideon Cain.

It seemed a simple enough deal. But in those twenty-four hours, the only answer he’d given was how many flaming sambucas one demon could consume without passing out. Although technically, we didn’t have that answer either, because he was still upright when I entered the bar.

I’d expected him to have moved from the table in front of the stage, where I’d left him last night—or maybe him showing up had just been a horrible dream—but nope, he was still there. He’d propped his shiny black and white shoes on the chair opposite, his dirty white suit bore the creases of a sleepless night, and his sparkly demon wings trailed either side of him. He resembled a demon mannequin that some kids had painted in black and white, braided its long white hair, and then briefly taken a blow torch to, melting it over the chair.

Empty shot glasses littered his table.

At another nearby table, Victor wasn’t happy. Victor was rarely happy, but since I’d left him yesterday evening he’d made an entire zoo of origami animals and gathered them together on his table. All those perfectly folded corners and straight lines had probably kept his murder urges at bay.

“Has Victor been there all night?” I asked, arriving at the bar counter to find Tom in his default pose of drying an already dry glass.

“All night,” Tom said. “Taking up seating space without ordering a single drink.”

It wasn’t as though we were brimming with customers. Victor and Seb were the only ones here.

Victor was guarding our unwanted guest, and I couldn’t blame him. Sebastien was technically our enemy, and we’d let him walk right in. Or, I had . . .

I’d told myself I’d give Seb a day to settle in, to get acquainted with the hotel, and that I’d give him the benefit of the doubt—but that deadline was almost up.

“You seen Zee?” I asked Tom.

Tom slid a cup of tea across the bartop counter, and peered at me with raised eyebrows. “I saw Zee. Right around the time he told us all to go fuck ourselves and left.”

There hadn’t been much time for us to discuss letting Seb stay, but there also hadn’t been much to discuss. We were a hotel for Lost Ones. We didn’t turn anyone away, unless they meant us harm, and the wards had allowed him in which meant he wasn’t here to hurt anyone. Plus, we really needed to stop Gideon Cain. If Seb could help with that, as dubious as the idea was, we should look at it. But Zee had been in no mood to listen, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d witnessed enough of his relationship with Seb to know it had not been a good one.

It hurt—hurting Zee—like Tom’s tea hurt my whiskey-loving soul. But it was necessary. I sipped the tea and winced. “It’s cold.”

“It’s iced,” the bartender hissed.

I eyed the tepid liquid in its chipped china cup. “There’s no ice in this. It’s just cold tea, Tom.”

He slung the cloth over his shoulder and peered harder. “Have you eaten today? Breakfast? Lunch? Are you getting your minerals? How about a milkshake?”

“Milkshake? Uh, no thank you.”

“Good, I only have minotaur milk and that shit will kill you.”

Wait . . . Weren’t all minotaurs male? What kind of milk—never mind, I didn’t want to know. Narrowing my eyes, I huffed and pushed the tea away. Tom was taking the whole I’m-actually-human thing too far. “I did eat today, yes,” I said, answering his earlier nannying.

Tom huffed as though I’d accused him of putting pets in pies. “Fine. Then you have earned one glass of whiskey. But only the one.”

My alcoholic heart tripped. It wasn’t a problem. I’d always needed the heat, being a dragon an’ all—although I was less dragon now than I’d ever been—and when Tom finally handed over my tumbler, the first sip of whiskey confirmed how un-dragon I was by scorching the back of my throat and yanking a cough from my chest.

Zee chose that moment to poof into the bar next to me, which would have been a relief if I’d had some warning. Startled, I coughed, wheezed from shock, almost swallowed my own tongue, gulped air, and clung to the counter.

“Fuck, Kitten. Are you dying?”

A desperate gasp was my only reply.

Zee flung his arms around me, and jerked my face against his Charity Begins on Your Knees T-shirt. “I got you! Breathe.”