Wicked Deal (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 2)

“Come, we’ll get a table.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm like we were on a date, and I followed. He leaned down and murmured, “Just play along.”

I shivered at the warmth of his breath against my skin and nodded.

People stared at us as we navigated the room. Everyone.

Did I really look that fabulous?

No.

I looked damned good, no doubt about it. But there were half a dozen women here who looked like supermodels.

People were staring at the Devil with the kind of avid interest usually reserved for celebrities and top-profile criminals.

In the magical world, it seemed he was both. Particularly here in Transylvania. There was a lot to this man that I didn’t know, and with every second that passed, I was sure he knew more about the dead guy than he let on.

I scanned the room, catching sight of several bulky men. Guards, I assumed. Each sported a perfect, identical suit over a muscular body. Their eyes were cold and determined.

The Devil was right about blending in before we pounced for info. We needed to lull them into thinking we were just on a date.

He took us to the best table in the place, one set away from the crowd in its own alcove. The walls were made of windows that allowed a fabulous view of the Eiffel tower.

“I thought we were in Bra?ov?” I asked.

“We are. It’s an illusion.”

“Wow. That’s phenomenal.” I felt like I could break through the glass and be in Paris.

“It changes daily, but I think the owner is partial to Paris.”

“You come here often?” Yes. An opportunity to dig.

“Not anymore.”

“Oh?” I tried to sound disinterested as I sat in the tiny but comfortable chair. “Why not?”

/> “That’s as much as you’re getting.”

“Fine.” I looked around, inspecting other patrons with what I hoped was vague interest. In fact, I was ravenous for details.

“We’ll get a drink and see if you can glean anything with your magic,” he said.

“Right here?”

“Why not?”

“What if he didn't sit at this table? We can’t sit at all of them.”

“It will be good practice. And we need to sit for a bit and pretend to be here for a drink before we can go scouting for info.”

A server in a perfect black minidress approached. Before she reached the table, the Devil held up two fingers, and she nodded and disappeared.

I gave him an appraising look. “You might not have been here in a while, but they seem to know your order.”

“Indeed.” He didn’t elaborate, and I found myself desperate for more info.

The server returned moments later with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Silently, she poured, then disappeared like a ghost. I had no eye for wine labels, but my first taste told me that this was the good stuff.

“Now, practice,” the Devil said. “Or we’ll save the city, and you’ll still end up in the dungeons of Black Church.”