“Done. Let’s go.” She held her hand out. “Lead the way. This is your turf.”

“Not in years,” Mortalis muttered, but he pushed through the right-hand set of doors anyway.

As soon as Chrysabelle stepped over the threshold, the sounds she’d expected to hear outside—the chatter, the clink of glasses, the music and laughter—all hit her in a rush. The spell that sealed in the noise was a good one. Inside, the place was as charming as its exterior. Up on a dais in the front of the room, a jazz quartet played behind a singer belting out tunes that must have been very popular, judging by the patrons clapping along. A few gazes skimmed her, but most were directed at Mal. Vampires might be allowed in here, but they were certainly not ignored.

Mortalis and Mal broke away as planned while she went up to the bar. The scales flanking the bartender’s neck and the shape of his teeth gave him away as a varcolai of some kind. She leaned her arm on the bar top, instantly wishing she hadn’t when the sleeve of her silk tunic stuck to the tacky surface. Hiding her revulsion, she smiled at the bartender the way she’d smiled at Creek’s friend Slim Jim. Comarré charm was a powerful tool in its own right.

The bartender smiled back and headed in her direction, leaning in close to be heard. “Heya. We don’t get many comarré in here. You traveling with tall, dark, and fangy over there?” He nodded toward Mal.

“Not exactly.” She licked her bottom lip. The man smelled like cleanser and gin. Or maybe that was the gin. “He’s traveling with me.”

The bartender’s brows shot up. “Z’at right? Well, now, I like a woman in charge.”

“I bet you do.” She ran a finger down his arm. His skin was the mottled green-brown of a reptile. What kind of varcolai was he? “You think you could help me find someone?”

The flash of red-green fire in his slit-pupil eyes almost made her jerk in surprise. He spread his arms out wide and grinned, showing off a pair of long, rounded canines. “You’ve found him, baby. What do you need?”

Not this. With a shudder, she realized what kind of animal he was. Time to pull way back. She straightened a little, unsticking her sleeve from the bar. “I need to talk to a fae named Khell. I was told I could find him here.”

The bartender hid his disappointment poorly. “What do you want with him?”

“Business proposition. Can’t say more than that.” She reached under the wrist sheath on her left arm and snagged the slick plastic bill she’d stashed there earlier, then slid it across the bar to him. Five hundred was enough to make anyone talk.

He glanced at the money before covering it with his hand, but his smile didn’t return. “Back corner table behind the spiral stairs. Green jacket.” He moved to walk away, then stopped. “You cause trouble, I’ll take you out personally, understand?”

“Perfectly.” She understood he’d lose, so long as she could get her sacre into his gullet before he went full gator on her. With a roll of her eyes, she turned and gave a short, quick nod to Mal and Mortalis, then headed back to the table the bartender had indicated.

Weaving through the crowd proved interesting, if only for the vast array of fae in the place. There were more types than she could identify. That alone made her a little nervous. Not knowing one’s opponent and what they were capable of could be a fatal error in battle, which meant this had to go well.

She checked behind her. Mal and Mortalis were there. The plan was for her and Mortalis to approach Khell and explain the situation. If he was as eager for the guardianship as Augustine claimed, this shouldn’t take long.

He was exactly where the bartender said he’d be, but he wasn’t alone. A plump redhead sat with him, swinging her foot to the music and drinking a bottled beer. She looked up as Chrysabelle approached, her demeanor becoming less friendly the closer Chrysabelle got.

Chrysabelle tried a smile, but the woman glared. Chrysabelle almost laughed. If this woman thought she was interested in the guy next to her for anything remotely romantic… she was sadly mistaken. The fae beside her wasn’t exactly male-model material, despite his smoky wysper coloring. More young professor than guardian-to-be, but looks could be deceiving, especially in fae.

“Khell?” she asked, resting her hands on the back of the table’s one empty chair.

He looked up, gray eyes curious behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses. “Sure ’nuff. What can I do for you?”

“I have a business matter I’d like to discuss with you, if I could have a minute of your time?”

“Sure, sit down.” He pushed the empty chair back with his foot.

She slanted her eyes at his female companion. “Privately.”

He nudged the woman with his elbow. “Go get us another round, Norma.”

Norma kissed him hard on the mouth, leaving a smudge of lipstick behind, then got up and sauntered past Chrysabelle. The heat radiating off her almost made Chrysabelle back away.

Instead, she sat. “Norma’s some kind of fire fae, I take it?”

Khell wiped the lipstick off his face. “Ignus fae. Harmless to anything sentient, hell on everything else.” He laughed. “Literally.”

“So she can’t burn me?”

“No, but she could scorch the clothes off your body.” He bunched his mouth to one side like he was thinking about what that might look like. Men didn’t change much, no matter what their species. “You have me at a disadvantage. I have no idea who you are, other than comarré.”