Devilish Game (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 4)

She had a point. It was still morning, and we’d be best off arriving in the dark. “I like this plan. We can approach from the sea, and Eve can tell us the best place to land. Then we sneak in on foot.”

“Exactly,” Seraphia said. “I’ll just call and see if they’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” I caught her eye and nodded gratefully.

“Anything for a fellow Shadow Guild member.” She grinned, then turned to make her phone calls.

I looked at my other friends. “Shall we get ready?”

11

Grey

I left Carrow at the library and walked. At first, I didn’t know where I was going. In itself, that was entirely odd.

I was always in control.

But now? After last night?

I had no idea what was happening.

When we’d first met, I’d appeared in her visions—right at the scene of the murder that had brought her to my doorstep. We’d spoken, but that was all.

Last night should have been impossible, but it had happened. Something about us was dragging us together, even in our dreams. Whether it was fate or her magic or something else, I had no idea.

“Oy, watch out!”

A voice sounded from my left, and I turned to see a bicycle delivery driver headed straight for me. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d crossed the street into his lane.

My gaze met his, and his eyes widened in recognition. Immediately, he veered the bike to avoid me and almost slammed into some rubbish bins.

I shook my head. While it was true that I’d cultivated a fearsome reputation around town, it shouldn’t be so bad that a cyclist nearly threw himself into a wall to avoid inconveniencing me when I was in his lane.

And yet, such was life.

I looked up, taking in my surroundings. I’d come to Hellebore Alley without realizing it. Or at least, without consciously realizing it. I needed to be here anyway to hunt down Christoph Venderklein, and that had been my plan for the day, but I’d come here for another reason, I now realized.

Quickly, I strode down the dark street toward Cyrenthia’s shop. Surely, she would know what was going wrong. There had to be something I could do about it.

I reached her vine-covered door a moment later and pricked my finger on one of the thorns. As the blood hung suspended over the air, the tiny trap door opened and the goblet appeared, clutched in a hand that didn’t look quite as old as it had last time. Rather, it appeared to be middle-aged, at most. Cyrenthia was still thriving from our last offering, apparently.

Still, I pierced my thumb with a fang and let blood pour into the cup. Rules were rules, after all.

The cup retreated, and the little door slammed shut. A moment later, Cyrenthia swung open the door and grinned like a cat, leaning against it as she ran her gaze over me. She looked flawless and young once more, her lips gleaming from the blood she’d just drunk. Though she was leaning right against the blood covered thorns that covered the exterior of her door, she didn’t seem to mind.

She raised a brow. “Back so soon, Devil?”

“Yes.” My voice was sharp. “There is something wrong with the spell you performed.”

“There certainly isn’t.” She flicked a hand, a gesture indicating I should come forward. “Come, follow me.”

She turned and sauntered down the hall, her gauzy, blood-red gown flowing around her. I strode after her, feeling a frown pulling at my lips. She went to the same room as before—it was the only room in her house that I’d seen, despite her efforts to lure me upstairs—and sank gracefully onto one of the modern, black leather couches.

“So.” Her red lips pursed. “What has a bee in your bonnet?”

I raised an eyebrow at her choice of phrase.

“Chip on your fang?” she tried.