The coffeehouse was always fairly busy in the mornings, so Harper was used to standing in the long line. Patience wasn’t her strong point, but it would be worth the wait. She didn’t need to look at the menu board or the chalkboard advertising the specials. She always ordered a caramel latte – it had become her ritual, and nowhere did lattes better than this place.
So she stood there, surrounded by the sounds of chatting, the hum of the blenders and espresso machines, and the clatter of mugs and dishes being stacked in the dishwasher. She didn’t mind the noise, though. She did mind that her tongue was burning like crazy for no apparent reason. Hopefully the latte would help with that.
Harper inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smells and coffee beans. She loved it. Loved how the scents of chocolate, cinnamon, caramel, and nutmeg blended so nicely with it. Usually, she’d be tempted by the pastries inside the glass case. Honestly, she was more interested in snatching the tall canister of whipped cream and eating it all to herself. An interest she would, of course, totally ignore because it was just plain weird.
Tanner and the girls were gathered around the bistro table near the window; it had become their spot. Tanner, as usual, was flicking through a newspaper, but Harper knew he was fully aware of everything going on around him.
Finally reaching the front of the line, Harper smiled at the barista. “Morning.”
“Good morning. I placed your usual order as soon as I spotted you – it should be ready by now.” It was something the she-demon often did, since they always ordered the same things.
“Thank you.” Harper handed her the money and, after placing her change in the tip jar, headed to the end of the counter. There, another barista was placing cups on a tray. This particular she-demon, Wren, reminded Harper of one of her cousins – she was bright, ditsy, and extremely quirky.
She smiled at Harper. “Got your order right here.” She placed one of the cups in Harper’s hand. “Try this instead of a latte.”
Harper sniffed. “What is it?”
“Just frothed vanilla milk.”
“But I love my lattes.” Harper was ashamed to say she almost whined that.
“I know, but spice is the variety of life… or whatever.” Her brow creased in concern as she added, “I heard about the attack. How are you?”
Harper wasn’t surprised that the news was getting around. The demonic grapevine worked at a seriously fast speed. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll feel even better if you give me my latte.”
Wren smiled. “Not scared of a little milk, are you?”
Harper felt her lips quirk. “You can be weird sometimes, you know.”
Wren’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe we’re twins.”
Harper laughed. “Maybe.” A whistle made her look over her shoulder. Devon was stood at the condiment trolley, tapping her watch impatiently. Harper rolled her eyes and turned back to Wren. “I’ll try the damn milk.” She took a cautious sip. Harper had always been a caramel girl, but the frothed vanilla tasted super good. Even better, it seemed to soothe her burning tongue. Still, Harper made a put-out huff. “Fine, I’ll take it.”
Wren chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lifting the tray, Harper headed to Devon, who then quickly helped her add sugar, milk, and other toppings to the drinks.
“I’ll carry the tray,” said Devon. “You waited in the line.”
Fine with that, Harper turned… and almost bumped right into none other than Carla. Well, fuck a freaking duck.
Her inner demon hissed, having no time or patience for this woman who’d abandoned them. It was the first time Harper had come face to face with her since before Roan’s death. The resentful glitter in her eyes told her that Carla wasn’t there to check that she’d recovered from the hunters’ attack. No surprise there.
Harper was conscious that the chatter had died down and everyone was watching, waiting to see how it would play out. Carla would no doubt be thrilled about that. She did so love being the center of attention… such was the life of a narcissist.
Part of Harper felt sorry for this person who was so emotionally stunted that she was still stuck at the infantile age where her own wants and needs were more important than those of others. Because of the gaping emotional hole inside her, she’d always perpetually seek the attention that she needed just as intensely as an addict needed crack. And Carla’s drug of choice seemed to be sympathy. She was a never-ending victim, and drama made her feel alive somehow. As such, she was milking whatever sympathy she could get for having lost her son.
Maybe Harper’s thoughts should have shown a little more sensitivity to Carla’s current situation. After all, the woman was grieving. But, honestly, Harper didn’t believe that Carla could experience grief the way others did. She just didn’t seem truly capable of forming an emotional connection with anyone. Neither of her sons had a kind word to say about her, which was telling. And loving a person often meant putting them first, and Carla was far too self-absorbed to put anyone before herself.
Tanner was instantly at Harper’s side, his stance protective. There an issue here?
There could be, Harper replied.
“I wouldn’t advise you to say whatever it is that’s going through your mind, Carla,” said Devon. None of the girls had ever liked Carla, particularly Khloë, who insisted on referring to both Harper’s parents as merely her “primary blood relations”.
Carla’s shoulders lifted as she took in a long breath. Apart from their small figure, pointed chin, and dark hair, they didn’t share much resemblance at all. It was something Harper, petty though it might be, was thankful for. “I just want to say one thing.”
Harper doubted she would only say one thing. Carla loved the sound of her own voice.
“Roan… he had his faults,” Carla continued. “He wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But he wouldn’t ever have considered being part of some scheme to see the US Primes overthrown. It doesn’t even make sense – he would never have benefitted from it.”
“Okay.”
Carla blinked. “Okay?”
“There’s nothing at all that I could say that would appease you. If you wish to believe he wasn’t part of it, who am I to interfere with that?” Harper had no intention of giving the woman the argument she was looking for.
“But you don’t agree with me,” Carla pushed.
“It’s possible that he was lying, but I don’t see why he would have.”
“But maybe you’re the one who’s lying.”
Harper’s demon snarled. “And would I?”
“Maybe you’re jealous that I kept him but I gave you away.”
Harper couldn’t help it; she laughed. But it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Oh yeah, Carla, you got me there,” she said dryly. There were a few snickers.
Carla’s expression was hard as stone. “Doesn’t it bother you that you killed your own brother?”
Did it bother Harper that she’d been in a position where she’d had to kill him or be killed by him? Yes. Did it bother her that he was dead? No. Roan had conspired against the US Primes. Worse, he’d wanted Knox dead. That was something Harper would never forgive or excuse.
“You might not have liked him, but I loved him. I —”
Harper took a single step toward her, eating up her personal space. “Do you know what he did while I was tied to a table? He took a pair of scissors, and he cut into my earlobe… claiming you’d once done the same thing to him.”
Carla’s eyes flickered. The twisted bitch had done it.
“From what he told me, that wasn’t an isolated incident. You’d hurt him before that and you hurt him again afterward. Play the devastated, crumbling mother if you want, Carla, but don’t expect me to buy it.”
There was a huff, and then another voice spoke. “You never could resist causing a scene, could you, Carla?”
Harper peered over Carla’s shoulder to see a small old woman in a gypsy dress. It was Nora, the grandmother of one of the Primes, Dario. Harper had only met her once before, when they learned that Nora had premonitions. To be specific, she knew and felt events that would soon occur.
It was through Nora that Harper and Knox had learned about the Four Horsemen. Nora hadn’t seen Roan’s face, but she’d known through her ability what his motivations were. She’d warned them that the person pulling Crow’s strings was cold and power-hungry with a void that would always leave him unsatisfied with life.
Frowning at Carla in both disappointment and impatience, Nora added, “Do you not think you’ve done enough to this girl?”
Looking like she was sucking on a lemon, Carla said, “She killed —”
“A son you mistreated and controlled, from what I heard,” Nora finished. “A son you didn’t see as a person in his own right – he was only ever an extension of you. It was little wonder he grew to be greedy for power. He spent so many years under your rule that he needed the greatest power possible to feel in control. Or, at least, that is what everyone is speculating.”
Cheeks reddening, Carla hissed, “He was not one of the Horsemen, if the Horsemen even exist.”
“Oh, they exist. And he was one of them – never doubt it. The only person at fault for his death is Roan. He made his choices. They were bad choices that could only ever have resulted in his own demise.”
Before Carla could say another word in her son’s defense, Tanner forced her to step aside and said, “You’ve said your piece. Now it’s over. Get the fuck out of our way.”
Once Carla shuffled to the side, Nora gestured for Harper to move forward and then linked her arm through hers. Instead of escorting Harper to the bistro table, Nora headed straight out the door with Tanner close behind them.
Outside, Nora said, “There. Now take a breath.”
Harper settled her hands on her hips as she inhaled deeply, urging her pissed-the-fuck-off demon to calm down. The entity despised Carla and always would.
Nora patted her back. “You were right to believe there’s nothing you can say that will appease her. She’ll never accept that Roan was virtually responsible for his own death.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Harper. “I can understand why she wouldn’t want to acknowledge what he did.”
“It doesn’t make it okay that she just confronted you in there,” Tanner clipped.
No, it didn’t, which was why her demon wanted Harper to go back inside the coffeehouse and bitch slap her. Instead, Harper spoke to Nora. “I hope you’re not here because you’ve had some kind of bad premonition.”
The woman cackled, sounding just like Jolene. “No premonition. I heard you were attacked by hunters, so when I saw you inside the coffeehouse I took the opportunity to check that you’re healed.”
“I’m fine,” Harper told her. “Pissed, of course, but otherwise okay.”
Nora opened her mouth to speak again, but then the bell chimed as the coffeehouse door opened. The girls all filed out, carrying their mugs. Technically, they weren’t supposed to take the mugs, but Harper doubted the baristas would give them a hard time about it as long as they returned them.
“You okay?” Raini asked.
Harper nodded. “It’s not exactly the first time she saw fit to cause a scene.”
Khloë sneered at Carla through the glass window. “It’s what attention junkies do.”
“Come on,” began Devon, leading Khloë toward the studio. “Let’s get inside or we’ll be late opening up.”
Nodding, Harper smiled at Nora. “It was good to see you. Tell Dario I said hi.”
Nora patted her arm. “Will do. Take care of yourself, Harper.” She waved at the others and then walked away.
Raini unlocked the studio door, and they all strode inside. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked Harper.
“Fine.” Harper sipped at her drink. “Not looking forward to telling Knox about it, though. He’ll be pissed.” And he’d no doubt point out that if she’d stayed home, she could have escaped the ugly encounter blah, blah, blah. He’d be wrong, though. Carla would have found another opportunity to confront her.
“You should tell him now before someone else does,” Tanner advised. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Frothed vanilla milk, apparently.”
Devon frowned. “Since when do you drink frothed vanilla milk?”
“Since the barista gave it to me to try.” And since it eased a weird burn on her tongue. “It’s good.” Knox, you busy?
His mind brushed against hers. Never too busy to talk to you. Everything okay?
I just wanted to let you know – and it’s no big deal, I’m not upset – that Carla caused a little scene in the coffeehouse. It wasn’t bad, she quickly added. There was no yelling or threats or anything. She just made it clear that she doesn’t believe Roan was one of the Horsemen. There was complete silence. Knox?
A vibe of anger touched her mind. I’ll deal with it.
No, I already dealt with it. I’m just telling you because I figured you’d want to know.
She has no right to confront you, Harper.
No, she doesn’t, so I dealt with it. She’ll be gone from the lair soon. Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Carla was the type of person who found bad attention better than no attention, which was just plain pathetic in Harper’s opinion. She’s not important. Let her see that.
There was a long silence. Fine, but if she tries anything else… He let the sentence trail, but the threat was clear.
I understand.
His mind stroked hers once again, comforting her, and then he was gone. And as her stomach unexpectedly churned and lethargy quickly crept up on her, she started to wish she’d stayed home.
Keenan sank into the chair in front of Knox’s office desk and slapped a piece of paper on it. “I was hoping there would only be a few collectors of demonic wings and that this would be a process of elimination. If only life was that simple.”
Knox picked up the sheet of paper and scanned the long list of names, doing his best to shove aside his anger at Carla Hayden. The she-demon had done enough damage to Harper. She had no right to even speak to her, let alone confront her. But he’d respect Harper’s wishes as long as Carla kept a distance from her from this point onwards.
“Those people are simply the ones who are known to buy them on the black market – there’ll be God knows how many more.” The incubus pulled a flask out of the inside of his jacket and took a swig. “There’s one guy in particular who I think we should be looking at. He’s the main collector of sphinx wings. His name is Francisco Alaniz.”
Knox frowned. “I recognize the name, but I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“He’s a casting agent who runs his own very successful agency in Malibu. He represents a lot of celebrities, sportsmen, and other media professionals. He’s also Thatcher’s cousin.” Keenan’s blue eyes hardened. “Funny how Thatcher was one of the demons we were recently investigating as a possible Horseman when – bam – Harper was attacked.”
Knox stilled as the implications sank into his brain. “I’ve considered that the hunters were sent as a distraction. We’ve been actively investigating the identities of the other two Horsemen for some time now. I wondered if maybe we got too close.”
The main reason he’d suspected Thatcher was that the Prime was an incantor. Only blood magick could have extracted Laurence Crow from Knox’s prison, which meant that either one of the Horsemen was an incantor or that they’d hired one to free Crow. Knox had to explore both possibilities. His demons had been discreet in investigating Thatcher, but that didn’t mean the Prime hadn’t somehow found out about it.
“Thatcher’s a strong incantor who’s been known to use blood magick in the past,” said Keenan. “But what really interests me about this guy is that he seems to be the only Prime who isn’t looking into the matter of the Horsemen.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed. “That could mean he thinks the theory is bullshit, or that he sees no need to investigate it because he knows exactly who they are. If he did set his cousin’s sights on Harper, we may have made Thatcher nervous. But… I don’t see how he could have known that Harper’s wings came to her.”
“Maybe he didn’t know,” suggested Larkin, sitting on the sofa near the window that overlooked the combat circle beneath the office. “Maybe he thought he was lying to the hunters.”
Knox inclined his head at the harpy. “True, but whoever did it would have known that we’d do our best to track who hired the hunters. That trail has led to his cousin, which puts Thatcher in our sights. He’s smart. Would he really do anything to turn our attention to him that way?”
Levi rubbed at his nape. “It could be that he didn’t expect you to get your hands on the hunters and find out they’d been hired. Hunters often act alone.”
“From what I learned, Francisco isn’t known to hire hunters,” said Keenan. “I also learned that his father and brother were sphinxes – both of whom he hated right up until the day he killed them. It’s believed that their wings were the first to be hung on his wall.”
“If that’s true, they’re probably like trophies to him,” said Larkin, toying with her long braid. “Maybe the other wings belong to people he wanted dead.”
Knox’s thoughts exactly. “We need to hear what Francisco has to say, but I don’t have the patience to take the trip using the private jet.” He needed answers yesterday.
Sure, he could pyroport to Malibu, but not many knew he had that ability. Knox liked to keep the demon world guessing on what he could or couldn’t do. It made it hard for them to work out just what breed of demon he was. If they ever did, they’d no doubt unite against Knox in the hope of killing him. It wouldn’t work, of course, but he’d prefer not to have to wipe out most of the demonic population.
“We could use Armand,” suggested Larkin, referring to a member of the Force who had the ability to teleport. “He could take us to Francisco.”
Knox nodded. “Summon him.”
Moments later, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said Knox. Armand strolled inside, no doubt having teleported outside the office after receiving Larkin’s telepathic summons.
“We need you to teleport us somewhere,” Knox told him. “How many can you teleport at one time?”
The tall, bald demon said, “Four, including myself.”
Knox twisted his mouth. “Is there a limit to how far you can go?”
“I’ve yet to have a problem reaching a destination.”
Keenan rattled off the address of Francisco’s Malibu office. “Can you take us there?”
“Absolutely,” said Armand. “When?”
“No time like the present,” said Knox.
Resting his clasped hands on his office desk, Francisco Alaniz smiled, making the lines of his tanned face deepen. Knox had always thought that the purpose of fake tan was for it to appear natural, not to look literally fake. Maybe Francisco’s skin wouldn’t have seemed quite so dark if his hair wasn’t so light.
Knox accepted the invitation to sit opposite Francisco, but he didn’t return the smile. It was possible that this demon was responsible for what happened to Harper. Knox wanted to shove the guy against the wall and threaten to cut him open and yank out each and every one of his organs, but Knox knew better than to ease the reins on his control. He also had to bear in mind that the Horsemen wanted him to lose it. They persistently targeted Harper because they believed she was his one weakness. They were correct about that.
He did have the option of simply thrusting his mind into Francisco’s to find the truth for himself, but it wasn’t an act that Knox enjoyed doing; it meant sieving through a person’s thoughts, fantasies, memories, and secrets. It was always an overload of information – information he would often rather not have known.
Also, walking around, thrusting his mind into that of others, would make Knox seem weak, in a sense – make him seem like he didn’t trust his own judgement. It would also lose him the respect of many, since it was indeed a violation. He only did it when absolutely necessary.
“I must say it was quite a surprise when my receptionist announced that Knox Thorne was outside my office,” Francisco told him, eyes briefly flicking to Levi, who was stood against the far wall. Only Levi had entered the office with Knox. The others were standing guard outside the door, which Francisco’s receptionist wasn’t too happy about.
Francisco leaned back in his chair. “So, what brings you here, Mr. Thorne? Do you need representation?”
“No. I have some questions for you.”
“Oh? Shame. You’ve got the face and charisma that would take you far in this industry.”
Knox got right to the point. “My mate was attacked recently.”
Expression sympathetic, Francisco sighed. “Yes, I heard about that. They were hunters, correct?”
“Yes. They were under the mistaken impression that she has wings. She’s fully healed. She fought them, which they should have anticipated. Still, it isn’t enough for me that I killed the hunters who attacked her.” Knox’s voice hardened as he added, “I want the demon who hired them.”
Francisco sat up straight. “They were hired?”
“Yes. Someone hired them to obtain her wings. My first thought was that it could be a collector.”
Realization dawned on Francisco’s face. “Ah, I see. You’ve heard about the wings that are displayed on my wall at home.” He sighed. “The only wings on my wall belong to my dead relatives – demons I despised for one reason or another. In truth, I don’t care much for sphinx wings. I’m not interested in collecting them.”
“Yet, you display them on your wall.”
“I took the part of those demons that defined them. You see, in my family, the sphinxes are considered the superior breed. I’m a reaper, just like my mother. She and I have never been good enough for the others. What makes them so different from us? Nothing. They’re not more powerful. They’re not stronger. Yet, some of them felt that they had the right to fuck with me and hurt my mother.”
So he’d stolen from them the one true thing that made the sphinxes so very different from Francisco and his mother, Knox realized.
“I don’t hire hunters, Mr. Thorne. And I do my own dirty work, no matter how dirty it is. Mostly because I don’t like to owe people anything.”
Knox’s instincts told him that Francisco was telling the truth. “I see. Any ideas on who the demon that hired the hunters could be? They sent the hunters an anonymous, encrypted email that deleted itself soon after being read.”
Francisco rubbed at his jaw. “I’ve heard of the method, but there’s only one person who I personally know that uses it.”
“Who?”
“His name’s Dion Boughton. He’s a collector of many things, not just wings. If you’re looking for someone who refuses to get his hands dirty but will risk any wrath to add things to his collection, you should look to him. He has a museum inside his home. From what I’ve heard, he also collects people.”
“People?” Knox echoed.
“He likes to surround himself with the unique, which could have a lot to do with him being a very average person.”
Both Harper and her wings were indeed unique, so Knox would definitely be having a chat with Dion.
“He won’t be easy to speak with. He lives on a private island, which is psychically shielded. If you want to speak to him, you’ll need an invite.”
“Do you have his number?”
Francisco clasped his hands again. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
Levi’s brows drew together. “Who doesn’t have a phone?”
“He’s a technophobe – he rejects any advances in technology, especially anything that interferes with personal privacy, like social media,” said Francisco. “He’s also a bit of a recluse. He doesn’t accept many visitors on his island.” He turned back to Knox. “If you wish to get in touch with him, you’ll need to write to him.”
Knox frowned. “Write to him?”
How archaic. Levi chuckled.
“I have his address.” Francisco retrieved a small, leather-bound file from his desk drawer and flicked through it until he settled on a specific page. “Just send a quick note expressing your wish to meet with him. He should reply within a few days – a week at most.”
Knox took the slip of paper on which Francisco had jotted down Dion’s address. “How is your cousin, Thatcher?”
The abrupt change of subject made Francisco double-blink. “I haven’t heard from him in a while. We don’t talk much.”
“Hmm. If you do speak with him, pass on my best wishes.”
“I will do, Mr. Thorne.”
Knox gave a curt nod and stood. He held Francisco’s gaze as he warned, “If I find out that you’ve lied to me about anything here today, I’ll come for you.”
Francisco swallowed. “I’d expect nothing less.”
“Good. We’ll see ourselves out.”