She bent closer, watching the smoke spread out like a curtain. “Show me what the one joined to this spell sees.” Hopefully she’d find out where her mother had gone. The demon’s words that her mother was no longer on this plane rang in Evie’s ears as shapes and movement wavered on the surface of the smoke. Pushing the meaning of those words away, she smoothed the smoke until the images became clearer.

She would find her mother. She glanced back in the direction of the demon. If anything had happened to Ma, anything at all, Evie would bring hellfire down upon the person responsible.

At the sound of Laurent walking toward the dining room, Tatiana bent over the dossier he’d left splayed out on the table, fixing her face as though she were intently studying the detailed notes. She had every intention of getting through the next few hours as quickly as possible. Giving Laurent no reason to question his wife’s knowledge of Tatiana’s information would go a long way in that direction.

“Evening, my pet.” He kissed the top of her head. “No need to wear yourself out memorizing all this information.” He scooped the papers away from her and into the leather portfolio. “I know the dossier inside and out. I should have no trouble apprehending the comarré at her home this evening, then we’ll return to Corvinestri tonight. Tatiana will be pleased, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Tatiana smiled, and for once it wasn’t forced.

He tucked the portfolio under his arm. “Not sure why she couldn’t accomplish this herself the first time she was here. Doesn’t say much about her as a leader.”

Her smile vanished. “Do you think it’s wise to speak of her so boldly?”

He laughed. “What? You think this house has ears?” He shrugged. “I don’t worry about such things and neither should you. She’s a dangerous woman, yes, but one who relies more on muscle than brains.”

Tatiana knew her eyes must be silvering but didn’t care. She shivered with the force of repressed anger, playing it off as fear. “You risk what I wouldn’t.”

He chucked a knuckle under her chin with more force than seem warranted for such a gesture. “That’s why I’m the man and you’re the woman.” He glanced around. “You have the satchel of supplies she sent?”

How did Daciana stomach this buffoon? “Yes.” Tatiana touched the small pouch tucked into her interior jacket pocket.

“Then let’s go. This place wears on me. It has no character, no sense of history. I’ll be happy to leave it behind and return to Corvinestri to claim my new position.”

That makes two of us, Tatiana thought. But if she could help it, only one of them would be returning. And it would not be Laurent.

Chapter Thirteen

Just from watching the subtle play between Mal and Chrysabelle in the car, Creek knew she’d made her choice and it wasn’t him. He was okay with that. Not happy. But okay. The more he got to know Mal, the more Creek understood the vampire wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be. He clearly cared for Chrysabelle and would do anything to protect her. Creek could respect that. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to watch out for her, too.

The guards at the mayor’s gate had let them pass but not the car, so now the car was parked on the street and the three of them strolled toward the front door of the mayor’s house. Havoc stood on the porch waiting for them. From the expression the shifter wore, it was clear he hadn’t expected Creek to actually show up with a vampire and a comarré.

“Havoc.” Creek nodded, knowing his smug look wouldn’t help the already-icy relations between them, but proving people wrong felt damn good. Not as good as walking out of the Florida State Pen, but close.

“Creek.” He lifted his chin, indicating Mal and Chrysabelle. “I take it these are the guests you promised the mayor?”

“That’s right.” Like Havoc didn’t already know that. What varcolai couldn’t identify a vampire? And Chrysabelle, hell, anyone who saw those signum would know she was something special.

“Gotta be frisked.”

Chrysabelle shook her head. “Touch me and you’ll sing soprano, wolfie.”

Creek and Mal looked at each other simultaneously. The new Chrysabelle was a real kick in the pants. Creek stepped up to defuse the situation as best he could. “She’s got blades on her, nothing else. Same for the vampire. I’ve got my halm and crossbow. None of us will use the weapons. Especially not them.” He nodded at Mal and Chrysabelle. “They’re here to help me.”

“Doesn’t matter. They don’t get in to see the mayor carrying anything sharper than a button.” He put one hand on his hip, sliding his leather jacket back enough to reveal the piece holstered on his side.

Mal snorted.

Creek’s brows pulled together. “You really think that’s going to stop a vampire or a comarré?” Or a KM for that matter, but no point in giving away more than necessary.

Havoc’s face registered no emotion. “The bullets are hollow-tipped silver, quenched in holy water. So hot I can’t load them without gloves.” Creek glanced at Chrysabelle. Her sacre were also hot, made to do lasting damage to the undead. “They may not stop the vampire, but they sure will tickle. The comarré I’m not concerned with.”

Mal laughed. “Then you clearly haven’t met one before.” He turned to Creek. “Look, we showed up. Did our part. I’m ready to go—”