Chapter 3 #2
“Yeah, yeah.” As I stood to stretch, something caught my eye in a nearby corner—a glass case I hadn’t noticed before, containing what appeared to be invitations, programs, and other fancy social stuff.
“Felix collects party invitations? That’s…exactly the kind of weird hobby he would have,” I said, already moving toward it.
The case opened at my touch, recognizing me as someone Felix had authorized. Inside, arranged chronologically, were hundreds of elegant cards and papers, some so old they were barely holding together despite preservation spells.
Damien appeared next to me so quickly that I jumped.
“Gah!” I slapped my hand over my heart to keep it contained. “Don’t make me put a bell on you.”
“Sorry. The Wolf Queen’s creations often passed through the hands of collectors before disappearing from history,” he said, excitement lighting his eyes as he studied the collection. “Supernatural social events were—and still are—where such items change hands most frequently.”
“So you think there might be records of the Shadow Fang changing hands at one of these fancy parties in the past?” I asked, sorting through the older items.
“It’s possible,” he replied, searching with his gloved hands too. “At minimum, we might find connections to those who would know its whereabouts.”
His fingers paused on a particularly elegant invitation, its paper heavy-looking and cream-colored with silver embossing that seemed to shift under the light. Felix’s name was written elegantly at the top.
“Madame Selene’s Equinox Gala,” he read aloud, a note of surprise in his voice.
I moved closer to peer at the invitation. “Happening in…holy shit, three days from now.”
Damien’s shoulder nearly touched mine as we examined the invitation. I caught a hint of his scent, something that reminded me of snowstorms and warm, spicy…spices. I couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but I found myself inhaling until I couldn’t anymore.
“This is fortunate timing,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Too carefully neutral.
I turned to face him. “You knew about this already, didn’t you?”
He met my gaze then shook his head with a rueful smile. “Not the invitation specifically, no. But I’d heard rumors about Madame Selene hosting an event. I just didn’t know the exact date.”
“Uh-huh.” I studied his face, trying to read past that expression of mild amusement. “Quite a coincidence.”
“Sometimes the universe aligns in unexpected ways,” he said with a slight shrug.
“If you knew about the event, then why didn’t we just start with the invitation collection?” I asked, my patience wearing dangerously thin.
As soon as I reached the hangry stage, I had about five minutes to feast, or I might go murdery.
“Because I’ve never looked through Dr. Morgan’s collection before.” He looked around in awe once more. “I had no idea that a doctor would have such a variety of texts in his basement. I’d love to talk more with him someday—“
“Sorry, the Bibliophiles Geek Out meeting has been canceled. Get back on track with this Madame Selene. Who is she, and why does she have such expensive taste in invitations?”
“She’s one of the most connected artifact brokers in the supernatural world,” Damien explained, his expression animated in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Her collection rivals museums, but she’s notoriously selective about who gets to see it.
“She hosts a major event twice a year, not necessarily on the exact date of the equinox, bringing together collectors, hunters, and those with items to sell. It’s very hush-hush and elite.
If anyone has information about the Shadow Fang’s current whereabouts, it would be Selene or one of her guests. I’m sure of it.”
I studied the invitation more closely. The venue was a historic mansion outside New Orleans, and the dress code stated Masks and formal attire required.
“So we’d need to secure invitations to this exclusive party, convince this Selene person to share information about an artifact that may not even exist, and do all this without alerting other potential seekers?” I summarized. “Sounds straightforward.”
“Sarcasm noted,” Damien said, his lip curling. “But yes, essentially.”
“So how do we get on this exclusive guest list?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Pretend we’re both Felix?”
“I have connections who could secure invitations,” he said, absently running a hand through his dark curls. “With some effort. But Selene’s gatherings are closely monitored. Security is supernatural and extremely thorough. We would need ironclad covers to gain access.”
“So even if we do get inside, how do we get information from Madame Selene? I’m guessing she doesn’t just chat about priceless artifacts with anyone who asks nicely over cocktails.”
“No,” Damien said. “But according to recent information…”
He pulled out his phone—a ridiculously expensive model—and showed me a photo. The image was of a carved wooden case with silver inlay. Inside lay what appeared to be an ancient map made of some strange, translucent material that seemed to shimmer with an internal light.
“What am I looking at?” I leaned closer, so close that one of Damien’s curls brushed my cheek.
Silky… I wondered what kind of conditioner he used.
“A skin map,” Damien said. “Created from the hide of a creature sensitive to magical energies. When activated, it reveals the location of whatever it was created to find.”
I wrinkled my nose. “That’s both gross and fascinating. So it’s like magical GPS made out of monster skin?”
Damien laughed, an actual, genuine laugh that transformed his whole face. It was a warm, rich sound that seemed to startle him as much as it did me.
“A crude but not entirely inaccurate comparison,” he said, clearing his throat as if embarrassed by his outburst. “These maps were rare even in ancient times, requiring both considerable power and specific materials to create. The Wolf Queen was said to have made several to help locate her most important creations if they were ever lost or stolen.”
I stared at him. “And you think Selene has a skin map that leads to the Shadow Fang? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“Because until recently, I wasn’t certain the exact skin map we need even existed,” he said, gesturing to the book he’d been reading on the table. “The references there were vague at best. But I’ve heard rumors that Selene acquired a large map collection.”
“So we need to somehow convince Selene to show us this map? Or are you suggesting we steal it?” I asked, already mentally calculating angles and security considerations.
Purely hypothetically, of course.
“I suggest we begin with diplomacy before considering theft,” Damien said with a pointed look, though his eyes held unexpected warmth. “Collectors like Selene usually respond well to interesting trades. If we can identify something she desires…”
“Three days isn’t much time to prepare,” I pointed out, my mind already racing with all we’d need to do. “Especially if we need to establish solid cover identities.”
“Leave that to me,” Damien replied. “I have resources that can expedite such arrangements.”
Of course he did.
“Fine,” I said, making a split-second decision.
“We infiltrate Selene’s gala. But you need to be completely transparent with me about what we’re walking into.
What kinds of supernatural beings will be there?
What kind of security? And most importantly”—I fixed him with a hard stare—“what aren’t you telling me about your interest in the Shadow Fang? ”
Damien held my gaze, his blue eyes darkening.
“Most high-ranking supernatural factions will be represented—vampire houses, shifter packs, fae courts, witch covens. Security will be a combination of magical wards and trained guards. As for my interest…” He paused, something complex tightening the corners of his mouth.
“I told you the truth. Someone important to me is ill.”
“But not the whole truth,” I pressed, stepping closer to him.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as his lips firmed.
I wanted to push further, but something in his expression stopped me. Whatever he was hiding, it was deeply personal—and possibly painful. And right now, I needed his cooperation more than I needed his confession.
“We’ll revisit that later,” I promised, gathering the materials we’d found. “For now, tell me more about how we’re going to convince New Orleans’ supernatural elite that we belong at their fancy party.”
“Actually,” Damien said, “I have a suggestion about that. How do you feel about playing my fiancée?”
My jaw dropped open. “Your what now?”
“My fiancée,” he repeated, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “A newly engaged couple draws less suspicion than two unrelated individuals. It would give us a plausible reason to stay close throughout the evening and excuse any private conversations.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, heat creeping up my neck that I desperately hoped wasn’t visible. “There has to be another cover that doesn’t involve me pretending to be madly in love with you.”
“I said fiancée, not lovesick adolescent,” he countered, that hint of humor returning to his voice. “We could pose as a business arrangement, a political union between supernatural families. It’s common enough.”
“You’ve thought about this already,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
He shrugged. “I consider multiple scenarios for any operation. It’s simple strategy.”
I ran a hand through my hair, thinking quickly.
As much as I hated to admit it, his suggestion made sense.
Romantic partners—even those in arranged relationships—would be expected to arrive together, stay close, and have private conversations.
It would give us freedom of movement that separate covers might not.
“Fine,” I said. “But we’re an arranged match. Strictly business. Absolutely no lovey-dovey shit.”
“Agreed,” Damien said, looking faintly amused at my vehemence. “Though convincing everyone else might require some basic displays of comfort with each other’s presence.”
Cool, cool. So I’d just signed up to play house with a total stranger.
“We have three days to prepare,” I said, refusing to dwell on the implications. “Let’s focus on learning everything we can about Selene, her guests, and the security we’ll be facing.”
“A sensible approach,” Damien said. “I’d like to also suggest we allocate time for you to learn basic etiquette appropriate to supernatural high society. The wrong fork could give you away faster than any security check.”
I glared at him. “I know which fork to use.”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “Do you know the proper greeting for an Elder of the Third House of Night? Or how to accept a drink from a Fae Lord without binding yourself to unwanted obligations? Or the correct response when a Crone of the Western Covens offers you her hand?”
My glare intensified. “You have spent too much time at fancy supernatural parties.”
“I’ve spent enough time with those species to know they’re dangerous for the unprepared,” he said, his tone free of condescension. “Breaking social protocols in that world can have consequences far beyond mere embarrassment.”
“Fine. Etiquette lessons,” I conceded with a weary sigh. “But first, I need some sushi. Stat.”
We gathered our things and said goodbye to Felix, with a promise from Damien to reschedule the Bibliophiles Geek Out meeting. Damien’s actual words, to which Felix only blinked at.
I admit that made me laugh.
“See you tomorrow,” I told Damien.
“I’ll accompany you,” he insisted, holding the Repository door open.
“I don’t need a partner for eating,” I said with a shake of my head. “Besides, I eat sushi like a rabid squirrel. Chopsticks optional, dignity nonexistent. No one needs to witness that.”
Damien scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows raised. “So glad I get to teach you etiquette lessons.”
Smiling, I slapped him on his hard, muscular chest on my way out. “Good luck, big guy.”
As we stepped out into the New Orleans evening, the humid air sticking my clothes to my skin within seconds, I found myself wondering which would be harder—infiltrating Selene’s heavily guarded mansion or convincing anyone that Damien Cross and I could possibly be a couple.
Either way, we had three days to pull off the impossible.
No pressure.