Indigo didn’t know how Dean managed to get all the information he needed while cooped up in her bedroom and still recuperating, but he did. Three days after she found him, he had everything he needed for them and had her do everything needed for him. Indigo had to scramble to research everything as fast as possible, poring over her father’s book until she finally found the spell needed. Part of her thought it wouldn’t work—until Dean’s face started to change along with his body, giving him the scars he wanted. The voice didn’t need to be modulated, because he already knew how the shifter he killed sounded.
And they were ready.
As collateral acting as a spy and pretend slave, she supposed she should be nervous as hell and research her role better. But Indigo couldn’t care less. She just wanted this to be over and done with, which was why she found herself sauntering inside the mission venue with all the confidence in the world.
It was an art gallery named Chalice, one that was grand and luxurious at first glance. But a second glance and further scrutiny made her realize that what looked luxurious on the outside was actually…gaudy on the inside—the current installation was like a cabaret show. Her eyes roamed the dim lights, strobes that looked similar to club disco lights. There was the flash of gold and crystal everywhere she turned, and it was so overwhelming that it had to be on purpose.
She stifled the urge to roll her eyes at how deliberate everything was—obviously, to flaunt the wealth that this owner had. It made her wonder what Dean’s gallery looked like, currently avoiding that place in case they were being watched. Dean had, after all, pretended to be out of the neighborhood for some assignment. But she had a feeling that his gallery was much more understated and classy than this one, and she wondered if she could ask for a tour sometime.
“So did you actually get to meet the owner? Or is this gonna be our first time meeting him?”
Her, Dean corrected, his voice low but crystal clear over the device she wore in her ear. It was one of those standard communicating devices humans used, enhanced by Kasper. Apparently, they had a more high-tech one developed in the marketplace, but that was regulated by the shifter world, and Dean couldn’t sneak some out without getting found. And I haven’t met her. I delivered the hides to one of her addresses and gave her an email to contact me if she needed more.
“You know, I’m not in the human world enough to understand whatever you’re saying,” she muttered. “Don’t go all techie on me now. Where are you, anyway?”
Three o’clock.
She rolled her eyes again. “Dean, I swear if you get any more high and mighty…”
Right beside you. Don’t talk to me.
She didn’t. Instead, Indigo glanced at her side, where she found Dean’s broad back encased in a tuxedo. She didn’t look long, knowing the gallery owner was probably somewhere around here. Or some shifters.
Maybe, maybe not. The point was they couldn’t risk it.
“So what’s the deal with this owner? Is this some week-long gallery opening she’s hosting or what?”
She’s a very rich businesswoman in the marketing world, he murmured. Kasper managed to dig some arms dealing controversy around her that was eventually cleared. Obviously, she’s venturing into other hobbies.
“Obviously,” she murmured back. She didn’t need to point out that collecting supernatural body parts wasn’t a good hobby in general, because she knew Dean was already angry enough as it was about the topic. She wasn’t angry, but she was bothered. People often thought hags couldn’t care less, and maybe they didn’t—but people didn’t know she wasn’t a full hag, and she did have feelings, though she was good at masking them. “Dean?”
What?
“Go away. I’ll handle it from here.”
Alright. Good luck.
“I don’t need it.”
Don’t get cocky.
“Shut up and go.”
He strode away, giving her enough breathing space to get ready. Indigo took one of the glasses the waiter passed around, tasting the alcohol inside and letting it seep into her system. Then she strode over to the center of the gallery, where a platform was elevated with a microphone in the middle. She took that microphone confidently, deliberately tapping it a few times until the sound vibrated and multiplied.
Whatever buzzing there was went quiet, then got followed by a stream of more buzzing as people started whispering. She couldn’t blame them. Indigo wore a tight silver dress that hugged her every curve and left not much room for imagination, and she knew her every movement made the beads in her dress glow. Her gray-streaked hair was left as it was, combed up to volume and just a little bit messy for any human’s ordinary tastes. Her eyes, while retaining their black color, glinted in the strobe lights, and she used them by scanning the place and meeting the eyes of those she could before smirking.
“Isn’t it a great night? I hope everyone’s having fun.”
That was all the introduction she gave them before Indigo went for it.
She sang. She sang her heart out, which wasn’t much because her heart wasn’t really into it, anyway. But her magic was into it, and that magic was in the form of a spell she weaved into her voice earlier—one that made it as sweet as honey, as smooth as silk and coming out so bright that everyone was guaranteed to be mesmerized.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the guards at the entrance earlier approaching her, probably to get her off the stage. She sang the verse higher, making sure she turned her voice in that direction until she watched their steps falter. Eventually, they were just as enraptured as the rest of the crowd, and she couldn’t help but smirk as her spell worked better than she anticipated.
So that’s your plan? Sing them to oblivion? Dean’s doubtful voice filled her ear, and she wished she could respond. But she kept on singing, finishing her song before eyeing the crowd and addressing them.
Watch me.
“Thank you,” she said. “I wanted to dedicate that to the gallery owner, who has the grandest opening in SoHo thus far. I’m impressed. Can we give her a round of applause?”
The round of applause came from the still-mesmerized crowd, directed at someone to the right. Indigo’s eyes turned in that direction, where she found a beautiful, middle-aged blond woman on the receiving end of it. The woman only looked half-pleased, as if she still didn’t know what to make of Indigo.
“Now, I’m not for free. Please donate whatever you can,” Indigo said sweetly, pointing at the floor beside her.
Then, before anyone could protest or question that, she was singing again.
The spell was weaved once more, putting the crowd into a hushed silence as her song was slower this time—or, to be more precise, more seductive. She drew it out, waiting, until some of the guests finally started moving in her direction, their footsteps slow as if hypnotized. They brought their wallets and bags with them, and it wasn’t long before the spot beside her was filled with all the things hags like her loved: money, jewelry, and just recently, credit cards. She picked them up slowly, glancing in the direction of the gallery owner, who was slowly walking in her direction, too.
That’s right. Give me all that you have. See what I am. Make your move.
She half-expected some shifters to appear—some of the only creatures immune to this kind of magic, as her spell was mostly modulated to work only on humans or anyone weaker. She even expected those bodyguards to be shifters, but that wasn’t the case as they took out their wallets, too, and gave her what they could. Maybe the gallery owner had secret bodyguards, and they would swoop in and surprise her when she least expected it, then kidnap her as planned.
After all, that was the agenda.
But no shifters came, even while she effortlessly moved from second to third song and the pile beside her became too high. She sweetly asked for a large bag, which someone tossed at her and she filled with the jewelry only. Then she told everyone to have a nice night before stepping off the stage, setting the motion for the next step.
Where the hell were those shifters?
While she was asking that question to herself, something entered her mind—something tangible, as if a stick prodding her brain by hitting it repeatedly. She froze at its familiar feeling, froze at the knowledge that that hitting was going to turn harder any second now until her brain would be in so much pain. She knew, because it was magic.
She knew because she’d been subjected to that magic years ago.
The freezing stopped, to be replaced by panic as it hit her in waves. She dropped the bag of jewelry she carried, her vision suddenly blurring with her panic. She couldn’t see where the direction of the entrance or exit was. Her eyesight eventually cleared, and she frantically scanned around for the source of the prodding in her mind, which was painful.
She must have made a sound, because a voice was suddenly in her ear, the tone urgent.
What’s wrong?
“I have to get out of here,” she said.
What? Why—
“I have to get out of here,” she repeated, her voice going higher now. Some people glanced at her, but she ignored them as she bulldozed her way to the entrance, which she could see now. The probing turned more intentional, like a needle being plunged inside her skin. She stifled the scream and kept running, bumping into one of the guests at the entrance area and making a glass crash to the floor. She didn’t stop until she made it out, where she tossed her shoes to the side and kept running.
Indigo, circle around. Give it five minutes. Go to the left alley after.
The words were barely heard, but she heard them, and part of her mind that was still functioning followed his instructions as she kept running barefoot now. The probing was gone, but wisps of it still remained inside her head, like strings waiting at an inopportune moment to drag her back in at their convenience. Sick of it, horrified at the memories that were starting to surface, she ran as fast as she could, abandoning all protocol and Dean’s words in her ear as one instinct rose above all: to get away from her past and never, ever come back.
The voice in her ear died down to silence, but the memories started consuming her, flashes after flashes triggered by that needle-like feeling. She couldn’t see where she was going and couldn’t hear anything past the roar in her head. At one point, a car almost ran over her—or she almost ran into one, rendering her knee painful as it slammed into the metal. But she kept going, not stopping even to apologize, a single-minded purpose that no one could stop as she ran and ran—
Her body slammed into something hard, jarring her out of her steadily increasing motion. Indigo stepped back, but whatever it was clamped around her and pinned her in place. She struggled against it, put up a fight when she comprehended that the hard object moved and wasn’t an object after all.
They found her. They found her, and they were going to take her.
She punched. She kicked, but the person kicked back. Then the person clamped his arms around her and pulled her in, and as she kept struggling, she heard the voice over and over in her head.
It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me. Dean. It’s Dean. It’s Dean.
Dean. It was Dean.
Her struggling stopped. Indigo looked up, the fear coating her heart replaced by relief so stark that she held on to it fiercely. His body radiated warmth, and something else that beat along with his steady heart.
Comfort.
It was comfort offered as he hugged her. She clung on to him, her hands fisting on his tuxedo and not letting go as she stared at his golden eyes and found nothing but steady assurance. Belatedly, she realized the wisps in her mind were gone, as if they hadn’t been there at all.
She started to shake, so hard that her teeth rattled with it. Dean frowned down at her, worry furrowing his brows. It registered in her mind that the expression looked odd on him.
“I’m okay,” she blurted out before he could ask. “I’m sorry. I messed up.”
“What happened?”
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding. A sob almost rose out of her throat, but she forced it back in. She tried to speak. “Black witches. The kind who…”
“Torture creatures for experiments.”
Surprise filled her at the certainty in his words. She swallowed. Then she nodded. “Yes. One tried to enter my mind.”
“Was she successful?”
“Almost,” she whispered. “But not quite.” As she spoke, she observed him—body language and facial expression, which were contradictory to each other. His face was smooth and calm again, but his body…it was as tight as a string, ready to snap at any second now.
She only had a split second to see the rage flash, turning his golden eyes molten. Then she only had another split second to snatch his arm, clamping tight as he took a definitive step forward.
“No.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“Why? Because of me?”
“Because she’s not meant to live in this world.”
There was viciousness in his tone that spoke of a dark past—one that she hadn’t seen until now. She knew he meant every word, and she knew if she let him go…he would go on a rampage inside that gallery and murder that witch, ruining all his plans in the process.
And that was just stupid.
Her mind clearer now, she held on to him and said the only words that she could.
“Please. We need to regroup.”
“Indigo—”
“Please. I need you. I can’t. Not now. Give me tonight. Please.”
That stopped his movement right away. Indigo’s hand stayed on his arm, and she watched as his tenseness dissipated bit by bit. He struggled with it internally before finally giving a sigh. Then, a nod.
The cool mask was back on.
“Fine. Let’s get out of here.”