CHAPTER ELEVEN
Everyone in the SUV went still, finding something other than Sorin to focus on. But I held the Shifter King’s gaze, determined not to look away.
After an uncomfortable amount of time, Magda cleared her throat. “The only reason the dynamic between the leaders devolved was that ward your new friend put around you.” Magda’s words were quiet, soft. “Understandable given your suffering. But here, there’s no need. You’re far enough from the hold, from magic, that it shouldn’t be a problem any longer. Now please, let’s stop digging up the past and think about where we’re going to stay for the next three days.”
Magda had a point, but I was still pissed at Sorin for trying to use my secret against me. I sat back and crossed my arms, putting a point on the sentiment.
If the neighborhood hadn’t noticed before, they sure as hell did when Callum pealed wheels down the street. I braced myself against the ceiling as the tires crashed and bounced over every bump and crack in the road.
“Oh, for Lillith’s sake, are all vehicles this uncomfortable?” Raksha asked as she bounced next to me.
Callum threw us a hurt glance before braking at a traffic light so hard we all jerked forward. “Sorry,” he said.
“Yeah, focus on the driving, Callum,” I said as I pulled the seatbelt off my neck.
Poor Jadzeera turned green.
Verrill changed the subject. “Zurie, you don’t have any family with large, empty vacation houses, do you? That would work well, I think.”
“Nope. No family at all. Can’t you just, I don’t know, conjure up a mansion or something?”
“We could,” Verrill said with a smile. “But humans notice when buildings appear from nowhere. We need to keep a low profile.”
“Right. That’s why we’re driving around in this thing.”
Callum shot me a glare. “I told you I panicked.”
“A hotel, then.” Jadzeera snapped, wanting to end her carsickness any way possible. She covered her mouth as her complexion tipped further into green. “We could commandeer enough space to accommodate all of us.”
“Okay, two problems with that. One, none of you look like you belong here. And two, we don’t just take what we want, okay?”
Jadzeera sketched a hasty a sigil in the air, pulling a stack of cash from its golden light. “Noted, but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what a glamour is.”
“Right,” I said, eyes wide and fixed on the absurd amount of money resting in the Arcana Queen’s palm. “Um, is that real?”
“Of course.”
“But, I mean, is it spendable? It won’t disappear from someone’s cash register in a few hours, right?”
Jadzeera pursed her lips. “That wouldn’t be very convincing spellwork, would it? I assure you, it’s perfectly legal tender.”
“Okay, good. Now we only need a backstory. A reason we’re all staying in a hotel, presumably on the same floor together.”
“We don’t need excuses; we have my cousin, the Shadow King himself. He can adjust the staff’s memories if need be.”
I shook my head. “No. Help me think of a story.”
Verrill turned to face me. “What’s the difference? Lying with words and lying with thoughts is still deceit.”
“True. But lying is something people do all the time. Having their thoughts and memories manipulated by demons is not. Let’s keep our magical impact at a minimum.”
Verrill shrugged, and I directed Callum downtown to the fanciest, most expensive hotel in the city—the only venue this car wouldn’t look out of place.
A harried call to the front desk in my best New York talent manager accent, a department store’s worth of conjured clothes, and forty minutes later, we pulled into the secure rear entrance of the Grand Marquee Palatial Suites where a team of on-site security guards waited to escort my “talent” and his entourage to the sixteenth floor.
“Don’t stare, don’t stare,” I groused at the security detail as we piled out of the SUV, tugging my leopard-print skirt and blazer into place as we closed around Callum, our rap god. We followed the detail through the back entrance and employee hallways, each playing our part. Sorin and Verrill, dressed in dark, bespoke suits with glamoured guns holstered and visible on their hips, silently walked two paces behind Callum.
“Oh, great news,” Jadzeera said as she stared at her just-conjured smartphone. She’d glamoured herself into a tailored, dark-gray pantsuit, covering her carsick pallor with a layer of glamoured makeup. “You’ve sold out the rest of the show! I’ll request better greenroom accommodations in celebration.” She tapped away at her screen, nodding and murmuring with each new buzz.
Raksha and Madga took turns annoying the large men escorting us, both playing the part of assistants and dressed more casually, in black pants and designer silk tops.
“Are all the rooms connected? With a separate kitchen? We need to prepare all his meals ourselves.” Madga asked.
Raksha nodded, jotting a note into a small pad. “Yes, we specifically requested that.”
Madga tugged on one of the guard’s sleeves. “And there should be plenty of alkaline water. It’s a crucial part of keeping his voice healthy.”
I tucked myself in next to Callum, sliding my arm in his. “This is it, baby. You’ve made it. No more singing on the street for your dinner.”
Callum only nodded as per my instructions to play it cool behind the sunglasses and seasonally inappropriate fur coat we’d conjured for him.
I had to admit, I didn’t expect they’d pull this off quite so well.
“This way to the service elevator,” the burliest guard said. We followed him around the dry storage area, the kitchen, and what seemed to be an employee break room where several people gawked at the scene we made and crammed ourselves into the elevator.
Ten people in an elevator wasn’t ideal in any circumstance but especially not with three over-sized demons and a few humans who definitely shopped in the big and tall section. We stood shoulder to shoulder and silent except for the buzz and hum of Jadzeera’s fake messages.
The doors opened to a waiting man, dressed like a—butler? No. A concierge. “Welcome to the Grand Marquee,” he said as we exited. His gaze lingered on all of us, assessing whether we’d leave the room intact or not, then focused on Callum. “We hope your stay is comfortable, Mr. Smith. We’ve afforded you every comfort, every luxury we have to offer. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if there’s anything else you need.”
“The fuck is Mr. Smith?” Callum asked with a spot-on Brooklyn accent. “Are we in some other dude’s penthouse? Fuck, Sharon, I told you to take care of this for me. You know I can’t deal with no kinda stress before I perform.”
I patted Callum’s furred arm and tried my fucking best not to crack a smile. “Sweetie, he’s just using the pseudonym we booked the room under. We can’t have your fans knowing where you’re staying, can we?” The concierge met my gaze and offered a knowing, service industry smile.
“Oh yeah. I knew that,” he said and flopped sideways into the nearest chair.
“As you can see, despite the short notice, we readied our penthouse for you. The whole of this floor and the one below it is yours to do with as you wish.”
Jadzeera, still absently typing on her phone, handed the man a few hundred-dollar bills. “Please make sure we aren’t disturbed. Mr. Smith needs his rest.”
“Of course,” the man said and excused himself to the elevator.
The moment the doors slid shut, Jadzeera shed her pantsuit for leathers and went to work warding the penthouse from both the Blood King and any nosy hotel employees.
“All right,” I said, looking at my horde. “We have three days. Let’s go over the plan.”