Or this wasn’t it at all. As a sickly-sweet food smell almost as foul as the stagnant water odor hit her, Ash passed the bar and tables, cutting straight through the restaurant and out the back door.

They came out into a crooked, narrow path between buildings, barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other. Luckily, there was no one else in sight. He strode swiftly down the rows of back entrances, then stopped at one on the opposite side of the alley to the restaurant they’d cut through.

Pulling his face wrap down, he knocked twice on the door. A moment later, it opened a crack.

“You’re late,” a voice hissed from within. “Did you bring the incubus?”

“He’s here.”

The door swung wide. Ash vanished into the dark interior, and Clio cautiously followed. Inside, there wasn’t much to see—just a dusty backroom stacked with wooden crates.

The daemon muttering to Ash had huge furred ears, pierced with multiple gold and silver hoops, and his feet ended in cloven hooves. He tugged absently at his apron as he scrutinized Lyre, ears perked forward.

“Thirty minutes. That’s it. Make him change first.” The daemon gestured at a stack of white fabric waiting on a crate. “If he’s caught, I don’t know any of you.”

“Of course,” Ash agreed. He handed the daemon a small pouch that clanked with coins. “Where is she?”

“In the private dining hall. I’ll have the boys step out in five minutes.” The daemon thudded toward a curtained doorway. “Don’t make me regret this, draconian.”

“We’ll be done and gone in half an hour.”

Grunting, the daemon pushed through the curtain and vanished.

“Uh.” Lyre arched his eyebrows at Ash. “You told me I’d be charming a female informant, but I’m thinking you left out key details.”

Ash pointed at the folded white garments. “Hurry up and change.”

With an annoyed grumble, Lyre investigated the clothing, then sighed and started unbuckling weapons.

“Your mark is the assistant to the head of a top security group,” Ash explained in a low voice. “They’re employed by the most exclusive daemon families in the city, including some in the Ivory Tower.”

“Is there anything in particular I’m supposed to get out of this woman?” Lyre stripped down to his undershorts and shook out a pair of white leather pants. He started to yank them on and almost fell over. “Damn, these are tight.”

“Everything you can learn about the Ivory Tower,” Ash answered. “I can’t get much out of anyone about its security, and if I ask too many questions, someone will notice.”

Frowning, Clio picked up another piece of the white outfit—an incomprehensible contraption of white leather straps. “What is this? How is it supposed to go on? Where does it go on?”

Lyre finished squeezing into the skintight pants and buckled the belt. It clung scandalously low on his hips. “What the hell have you volunteered me for, Ash?”

The draconian plucked the leather straps from her hands. “Clio, check in the main room to see how he’s supposed to wear this.” He turned to Lyre. “Your mark is a banshee. She’s been working for …”

His low voice grew inaudible, his rundown of the banshee target lost as Clio stepped through the curtained doorway. On the other side was a grungy industrial kitchen where half a dozen daemons worked over sizzling pans and magical fires. The cloven-hoofed daemon who’d let them in was yelling at another guy, a puddle of pink sauce staining the floor between them.

No one looked at her, so she quickly crossed to a pair of swinging doors and cracked one open.

The room beyond couldn’t have been more different from the grubby kitchen. Polished wood floors gleamed, the timber pillars rimmed with tasteful gold accents. Soft white curtains partitioned the space into a series of small, private rooms. Waiters—at least, she thought they were waiters—breezed between the rooms, carrying trays of drinks or food.

And every single one was an incubus.

They wore identical uniforms, and the weird leather thing Lyre was supposed to put on wrapped around their shoulders and crisscrossed their toned chests. They were all in glamour, and with the matching outfits, they looked like a bunch of identical twins.

Tittering laughter erupted from a curtained room near Clio. An incubus backed out, a tray of empty drinks balanced easily on one hand, and blew a kiss back into the room. More giggles answered. As he turned, letting the curtain fall again, his sultry smile vanished, and he rolled his eyes at a passing coworker. The other incubus mimed gagging, then pulled a smile onto his face before slipping through a different curtain.

Clio retreated to the backroom. Lyre was holding the strap thing as he listened to Ash’s history on the banshee.

“What is this place?” she blurted as soon as she was through the curtain. “An incubus restaurant?”

“A ladies’ club,” Ash corrected.

“Oh.” Lyre snorted. “An incubus whorehouse, then. Lovely. Thanks, Ash. Really appreciate the heads up.”

“I didn’t want to listen to you whine about it the whole way here.” Ash shrugged and gestured to Clio. “Can you put that on him?”

Shooting the draconian an annoyed look, she took the leather straps, turned them around, and helped Lyre into them. As she buckled the straps over his chest, she noted her tension level must be off the charts, because Lyre’s mouthwatering near-nakedness wasn’t distracting her.

Well, wasn’t distracting her much.

“There,” she said, stepping back. “You look just like the incubus clones out there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Incubi don’t look that alike.”

“Yes, you do,” Ash said. “And we’re counting on most daemons not being able to tell incubi apart. The banshee always takes the room in the corner to your right. You have twenty-five minutes.”

Lyre drew in a deep breath, the inflexible leather pressing against his shoulders and chest. Clio watched, fascinated, as he straightened and relaxed, a new fluidity imbuing his body language. An invisible mask slid over him, his shrewd intelligence disappearing behind a charmingly seductive smile, a mischievous sparkle in his bright amber eyes.

This playful, harmless version of the deadly master weaver gave her a teasing wink, then sauntered past Ash without a hint of self-consciousness and disappeared through the curtain. It fluttered into place behind him, and she puffed out a breath.

“Disconcerting,” Ash muttered, frowning at the curtain.

“Huh?”

He waved vaguely in Lyre’s direction.

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think it works because it’s not entirely an act. That’s one side of his personality. He just makes the other side … disappear somehow. Do you think he’s always had that ability, or if he taught himself how to do it?”

“No idea,” Ash grunted. “Either way, it’s a useful talent.”

“I don’t think you could do it,” she told him dryly.

He snorted. “Not even going to try.”

“Ash …” Her humor faded. “Are you sure we can do this?”

His dark, stormy eyes slid over her, making her shiver. “I’m not sure about anything.”

Dread doused her veins, leaving her cold all over. “Is this a suicide mission?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We won’t know until we make the attempt.” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the prospect of likely death. “I need to check on something. Wait here and stay out of sight. I won’t be long.”

Pulling his wrap over his face, he slipped out the door, leaving her alone. Fidgeting nervously, she glanced at the curtained threshold. She wouldn’t have much warning if someone came in. Collecting Lyre’s weapons and clothes, she stuffed them behind a stack of crates, then crouched in the shadows and cast a cloaking spell over herself.

The minutes crawled by as she waited, wondering how Lyre’s banshee questioning was going. How far would he have to go to seduce information out of the woman? Would she realize he wasn’t one of the incubi who worked here?

An incubi whorehouse, Lyre had called it. If that was an accurate description, the restaurant couldn’t be the entire business. He’d told her before that many incubi monetized their sex appeal. If he hadn’t been born into a spell weaver family, would Lyre have ended up in a place like this?

“I don’t care!” someone shouted from the kitchen. “Save your excuses and go get some more!”

The curtain jerked open and a short daemon with neon-pink hair stormed through, her face twisted with anger. Clio froze in her corner, not daring to move as the daemon stalked to a stack of crates and opened the top one, muttering under her breath.

Not finding what she was looking for, the daemon moved on to the next stack, working her way closer to Clio’s hiding spot. If the woman got too close, Clio’s cloaking spell would fail. There was nowhere else to hide, and the door to the alley was closed.

Stay out of sight. Ash had been clear.

When the daemon stuck her head in a crate, Clio darted out of her spot and ducked into the kitchen. She’d intended to hide in a cupboard nook, but the moment she came through the curtain, the cloven-hooved daemon almost fell over her.

Snarling in annoyance, he shoved her out of his way. She stumbled backward, and when the other cooks turned to look, she dove for the nearest escape—the double doors into the restaurant.

She froze two steps into the large room, no idea what to do next. She definitely didn’t want to disturb Lyre and the banshee. Squaring her shoulders, she strode purposefully toward the front doors. Two incubi flicked curious stares at her—why wasn’t the cloaking spell working on them?—but they didn’t stop her.

Breezing past the host, she stepped into the entryway, set back from the street. She’d circle around and come in the rear entrance again. It couldn’t be that difficult to find a way into the alley, could it? She zipped out into the street, took a few steps, and saw that a heavy fog had rolled over Kokytos. A white haze blanketed the far end of the street—but that wasn’t what set her heart pounding.

The street was empty. Silent. Tension hung in the air, thick and palpable.

Then hands grabbed her.

She was yanked into a narrow crevice between the incubi club and the next building. Twisting to see who held her, she half-expected Ash—but instead, she came nose to skull with Beak-face, the creepy daemon from the barge.

She tried to jerk away, preparing to cast a defensive spell, but his grip on her shoulders tightened, talons threatening to break her skin.

“Shhh,” he hissed. His skull mask bobbed as he nodded toward the street.

Her stomach flipped with nerves but she took a chance and looked around. Only when she blinked her asper into focus did she see it—the auras of the daemons in the street. Every one was tucked into shadowy corners and doorways, still and silent.

As she looked back at Beak-face’s ugly brown aura, she spotted the gleam of a deep purple aura behind him. Another daemon was lounging in the gap—tall and fit, his long black hair tied back, his dark clothes interspersed with light armor, and several weapons hanging from his belt.

He arched an eyebrow above vibrant amethyst eyes and held a finger to his lips. Fighting to ignore the ekek’s taloned hands holding her shoulders, she peeked into the street again. Some sort of procession was moving slowly closer, but she couldn’t make out any details through the fog.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Beak-face squeezed her shoulders and croaked something in an unintelligible language. The violet-eyed daemon shifted closer.

“New here?” he asked her in a rich, rumbling voice.

She reluctantly nodded, seeing no point in pretending otherwise. She shrugged her shoulders, hoping Beak-face would let her go, but he tightened his grip again.

The violet-eyed daemon leaned against the wall beside her and folded his arms. “One of the queens of Kokytos has deigned to descend from the palace. If you get in her way, you’ll be mincemeat before you can blink twice.”

“The palace?” Clio repeated in confusion.

“One of the towers.” He shrugged. “The Ivory, I think?”

The ekek rattled off something else incomprehensible. The other daemon listened, then replied in the same language.

“She’s taking her sweet time,” the daemon added, directing the quiet words at Clio. “I think they stopped for something and we’re all stuck waiting until she moves again.”

Squinting into the fog, Clio tried to lean forward to get a better look but the ekek yanked her deeper into the shadows.

She jerked her arms. “Let me go.”

Beak-face didn’t move.

The other daemon said something in the ekek’s language. Beak-face hissed angrily and the daemon spoke again with more emphasis. Growling softly, the ekek released her. She rolled her shoulders and inched forward, uncomfortable with him behind her but unwilling to turn her back on the street—or leave the dark nook. If all the nearby daemons thought it was too risky to be in the street with the “queen” on her way, Clio would follow their example.

“Do you know him?” she asked the violet-eyed daemon, who was still leaning against the wall beside her and the ekek. The space was barely wide enough for the three of them.

“Nope. Do you?”

“We came in on the barge together.”

The daemon arched his eyebrows again. “Interesting coincidence that you both ended up on the same street.”

“Yeah,” she muttered darkly.

Behind her, Beak-face poked at her hair, tugging gently on the bun like he’d never seen one before. The procession was moving again, shadowy figures drawing closer. Two nondescript daemons in glamour and wearing black came first, followed by four creatures—heavyset lizard men with snake faces and scaled bodies—carrying a canopied litter on their shoulders.

As they passed Clio’s hiding spot, the faint breeze lifted the curtains of the litter, revealing the woman sitting inside. Large fin-like appendages framed her face, and waves of turquoise hair flowed over her shoulders, decorated with fine gold chains. Her pale skin was flawless, and a turquoise stripe ran down her forehead and over her nose. Then the litter passed, and the small procession continued down the street.

“Where is she going?” Clio asked.

“Who knows? Probably to the ley line. Her type doesn’t leave the towers for many other reasons.”

“Why does—”

With a sharp tug, the ekek pulled her bun apart. Her braid tumbled loose and he lifted it under the beak of his mask, inhaling loudly.

The other daemon snorted. “Barbarian. Don’t you have any manners?”

The ekek croaked a long string of noises.

“Whatever he said,” Clio growled through gritted teeth, “could you tell him to let go before I blast him right off the island?”

The daemon smirked, humor lightening his eyes. “He said you smell of faraway places he’s never visited.”

The ekek sniffed her hair again, then hissed something else.

“He asks where you come from, and also if he can taste you.”

“How thoughtful of him to ask this time.” She grabbed her hair and yanked it out of his hand, then whirled on the ekek. “No, you may not taste me.”

The violet-eyed daemon repeated that in the other language. The ekek growled unhappily.

“Tell him to stop following me as well.”

He arched his eyebrows.

“Please,” she added belatedly.

Mouth quirked in a half smile, he turned to the ekek and spoke again. Beak-face hissed something back.

“He says he followed you because someone is going to eat you soon and he will never find out why you smell so interesting.”

She blinked and looked at the ekek. He hooked a talon under the beak of his skull mask and lifted it enough for the light to catch on iridescent jade eyes with slitted pupils—and the matching third eye in the center of his forehead, surrounded by dark markings with the texture of bone.

In a sudden movement, he snapped the mask into place and sprang backward. An instant later, Ash dropped off a nearby rooftop and landed behind her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Making friends?” he muttered to her.

“Kind of.”

The violet-eyed daemon sidestepped out of the crevice and into the street, caution replacing his earlier good humor. “Draconian.”

“Daeva.”

The tall daemon took another step away from Ash and his relaxed demeanor returned. He flashed a brief smile. “Daring choice in companions, pretty lady. Don’t get eaten.”

Turning, he walked off, and she was surprised to see that his hair, tied into a thin ponytail, fell well past his waist. When she glanced back into the crevice, the ekek was already gone.

Ash shook his head. “Can you stay out of trouble at all?”

“I had to bail on my hiding spot because someone came in.” She twisted her hair back into a bun and tied it into place. “The ekek must have followed us.”

“I know. Zwi was keeping an eye on him, but she lost his trail. Evasive rat.”

Clio gave the draconian a look. “Is that what you went to check on? Looking for the ekek?”

He nodded. “Where did the daeva come from?”

“He was already there, waiting out the tower ‘queen.’”

Grunting, Ash started forward and Clio hurried to keep up. The violet-eyed daemon had vanished in the fog.

“Hey, wait.” Her head snapped up. “The guy was a daeva? As in the same caste as that skeevy warlord from Samael’s party you killed?”

She shuddered at the memory of Suhul, the grossly obese warlord who’d been overly fascinated with her before making the mistake of trying to touch Ash in a show of superiority.

Ash swung into a gap between buildings. The moment she stepped into the shadows after him, he whipped around and grabbed the front of her shirt, shoving her in front of him.

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “And don’t talk about Samael here—or anywhere. If you run your mouth off about anything you saw in Asphodel, I’ll permanently silence you.”

Her blood chilled. That threat, unlike the one he’d directed at Lyre a couple days ago, rang with vicious intent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I won’t say anything else.”

He took a step away from her, his eyes lightening from black to storm-cloud gray. “That warlord didn’t die. Lost a few fingers, though.”

“So Suhul and that daemon are both daevas?” she asked as Ash continued down the alley. “They’re completely different.”

“That daemon is a better representative of the caste. Their warlord is a pig and none of them like him.”

They came to the door of the ladies’ club and Ash reached for the handle. Before he could touch it, the door flew open and Lyre fell out, still dressed in the white waiter “uniform” and his arms full of his clothes and weapons. Shouts burst from the building’s interior.

“There you are!” Lyre blurted, wild-eyed. “Time to go.”

“What happened?” Ash barked.

Clio was still gawking when Lyre launched down the alley, leaving her and Ash to rush after him.

“Some women react poorly to rejection,” Lyre explained breathlessly. “Especially when they’ve paid a lot of money to not be rejected.”

“You blew your cover by rejecting her?” Ash snapped.

They fled down several alleys before Lyre skidded to a stop and whirled on Ash, still clutching his belongings.

“I’ll dress up in stupid costumes,” the incubus snarled with unexpected temper, “and I’ll pretend to be a paid whore, and I’ll even let a crucial informant pinch and paw at me.” He thrust an accusatory finger at Ash. “But I will not allow that nasty old hag’s tongue anywhere near me, not even to save the damn world!”

Ash blinked.

Scowling blackly, Lyre shoved his armload at Ash, then pulled a dagger from the pile and cut his leather-strap top off. “Next time, you can do the nasty stuff and I’ll kill people.”

Ash blinked again, seemingly at a loss for words. Lyre continued to mutter angrily as he dragged the pants off and redressed in his black outfit. Clio stood a few steps away, her hand pressed over her mouth to hide her smile. Even with most of his face covered, Ash looked off-balance for the first time she could remember, a wrinkle between his dark eyebrows.

“Was she that disgusting?” he ventured, sounding a lot less like a hardened mercenary than usual. He normally seemed years older than Clio, but she was pretty sure he was actually a little younger.

“Worse,” Lyre growled. “Whatever you’re imagining as ‘disgusting,’ make it about ten times more revolting.”

The draconian winced as though he had pictured it, and the mental image had hurt. “I never saw her myself.”

Lyre slung his quiver over his shoulder and buckled it. “Be glad you didn’t.” His anger faded and he smirked. “It’s fine, Ash. Hardly the most scarring thing I’ve ever done. And”—his smile sharpened predatorily—“the banshee was a goldmine of information.”

Ash straightened, all business again. “Did you get what we need?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He started forward. “Then it’s time for phase two of the plan.”