Devilish Game (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 4)

“You broke the mate bond with the other potion.”

“I did. And that is still broken. But you’ve formed a bond without fate’s magic, and it is still so strong.” Confusion flickered in her eyes. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

“No. I told you, I cannot love.”

She laughed. “I was skeptical before. You’re the Devil of Darkvale. Of course you couldn’t love. But you do.”

“I do not.” Confusion flickered within me.

“You can lie to yourself all you like, but it’s true.”

“How can I love her if I don’t remember her? It’s absurd.”

She clucked her tongue. “The heart knows.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Well, whatever it is, I suggest that you stay away from her. I don’t know that this spell is going to hold very well if you spend much time together. The thing between you two . . . it’s just too powerful.”

Frustration surged within me, so strong that I wanted to tear something apart. I’d just given up the best memories of my life—though I couldn’t remember them, I could feel their loss. And it wouldn’t even save Carrow?

I said a terse goodbye and left, trying to ignore the strange, aching emptiness in my chest that indicated something enormous was out there, waiting for me.

The day was cool and bright as I stepped out of Cyrenthia’s shop. Despite the sun overhead, Hellebore Alley was dark and dreary, as if a shadowy mist hung right at the level of the roofs, blocking the sun.

It suited my mood.

Now that I’d taken care of the issue with Carrow, I had work to do.

Christoph Venderklein lived on this street, according to Anton. The talent scout for evil, as Carrow had dubbed him.

I rubbed my head, the slightest pain flaring at the thought of her. That memory had remained, but there were so many missing.

For the best.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the paper Miranda had slipped me on my way out the door. She’d found Christoph’s address last night, and now I’d find him.

Though I was tempted to abduct him myself and question him, I doubted I’d get any more information. And it was vital that I did not interrupt any future chain of events. We’d gotten what information we could out of Anton, but we needed much more. Letting things unfold and observing them was the only way to get what we needed.

Quickly, I strode down the quiet street. A few supernaturals were out and about—they’d probably also been out when I’d first arrived, though I’d been in no state to notice them—and they darted out of my way as I passed.

About midway up Hellebore Alley, an even smaller street turned right. Nightshade Lane was damper and darker, smelling foully of wet rodent and body odor. I breathed shallowly as I passed the boarded-up shop windows and checked the walls of the buildings for numbers.

I found Christoph’s flat easily. It appeared to be a tiny place right above a long-shuttered butcher shop. A faint golden light glowed from the two small windows, but the angle wasn’t quite good enough to see by. I turned and looked up at the building behind me. It was situated right across the street from Christoph’s, but the windows were entirely boarded up.

Since I couldn’t set up a spy outside of Christoph’s flat, I’d have to go with Plan B. Fortunately, I’d come prepared.

I strode across the street and found the street-level entrance to Christoph’s flat. It was a rickety old wooden door with a shoddy lock that no one had bothered locking. The door swung open with a creek, and I climbed the narrow, dark stairs to his flat above.

A quick test of his doorknob showed that Christoph did indeed lock his door, but no matter.

I knocked, waiting patiently as I heard footsteps within.

“Who is it?” A creaky voice inquired.

“Open the door.” I imbued my voice with my power, and soon after, I heard the doorknob twist.

The door opened silently to reveal a middle-aged man with prematurely stooped shoulders and a mean glint to his eyes. The mage wore clothes far finer than his flat, and I could easily guess how he paid for them.