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I slink closer to the camera and climbed the shelf beside it. Halfway up, footsteps rang farther into the interior of the wing. I froze and held my breath.
Seconds passed like hours as I waited for sirens to blare or lights to flash on. But nope. All clear. I tilted the camera upward with my newly acquired knife then I listened. With no new warning sounds, I ran my hands over the desk.
You’ll know it when you see it, Thorn had said.
Or I’ll identify it when it jumps into my fucking chest with its friend. I shuddered. One dweomer in my chest was enough, thank you.
Then Thorn’s signal hit me jumbled, heated, primal, and incoherent. I don’t have time to get mired in a Thorn sexual fantasy. I must ignore the heat building between my thighs prompted by whatever is going on with Thorn and focus on the artifact’s “scent.”
I walked cautiously through the room until a soft, dark glow at the edge of my vision beckoned, and I turned toward one of the bookcases. Moving closer, the thrumming between my breasts grew. In this metaphysical game of hot and cold, I’m burning up.
I touched the books closest to where I sensed the object I sought and finally received a shock as my fingers trailed on a book spine. After pulling the volume off the shelf, I opened it to find it hollowed out. Nestled in its center rested a black eye-shaped stone carving.
Drawing a deep breath, I wrapped the stone in a silk cloth to avoid contact with my skin—just in case it wanted to sink into my flesh—and tucked it into the thigh pocket of my jeans. When I shove the book back into place, another spark hit my fingers from a book two titles down on the same shelf. Inside lay a bottle of flower petals, but despite being plucked, they looked alive and whole, soft, supple, even moving a little as though they feel air moving through them.
For one long moment, I’m tempted to take them, too. But I’ve had enough close brushes with iffy magic to learn when it wants you to pick it up, it may hurt you.
Reluctantly, I closed the book, returned it to its slot, and exited the window with the lock theprofessionalthief broke for my benefit. Once on the safer side of the stone fence, I texted Thorn.
Me: Got it.
It only takes a second to get a text back.
Thorn:Meet me at the Talisman Casino. I’ve informed the front desk you are coming and they will direct you.
Me: WTF? You’re gambling while I’m risking my life????
A dangerous growl rumbled between my ears. Oops, I poked the bear, or rather the demon.
Thorn: I live here.
Really? But it makes sense. Greed is one of the seven deadly sins, and what does a demon love more than sin?
After checking my phone, I cursed.
Me: Ten miles away? Fuck, Thorn, how do you expect me to get there?
Thorn: Walk west. You’ll encounter the bus line.
Me: Come, get me.
Thorn: I’m busy.
Me: Doing what?
In my mind’s eye, Thorn grinned evilly.
Thorn: Coming.
Fucking A. I’ll make that bastard pay. Guaranteed.
With a sigh, I started the long trek, which lent me ample time to contemplate this question.
How do I make Hellspawn pay?
10
Two hours later, packing a filled tank of aggravation, I arrived at the Talisman Casino overlooking the Mississippi River.
