20. Blood Ties
ELOISE
“Ididn’t—” I start to protest, then realize, fuck, I had exposed my wrist to the vampire. When I’d shown him the picture, my pulse was on full display. “Okay, well maybe I accidentally did, but honestly, he already knew what I was. If he stared at me any harder, he’d leave a bruise.”
“It’s a dead giveaway that you’re human,” Damien says. “I knew this was a bad idea. Jimmy has never kept a secret in his life. He’s likely spreading the news I’m here with you even now.”
“I won’t do it again.”
He snorts. “We’re on borrowed time. Let’s move.” He makes a growly sound and hauls me up the rest of the stairs. When we reach the top, he opens the door to a gigantic wardrobe at the end of the landing. I enter a dark passageway lined with furs. The back of the wardrobe gives way, and we step into a winter wonderland, complete with falling snow.
I hug myself against a blast of cold air. “Wow.” The tables and chairs are made out of clear acrylic to resemble ice, driving home the Narnia theme. “The artificial snow is a nice touch.”
“It’s all real.” His hand smooths to the center of my back. “This section is enchanted to always be winter.”
“So these are...?” I touch an unoccupied chair next to me and yank my fingers back from the cold, slightly wet surface. Not acrylic. Real ice. I shiver and clutch my jacket tighter around me. “Shit, it’s freezing in here.” I look around the lounge. No one is wearing a coat. My shivering is going to give me away as human before I even have a chance to talk to anyone.
Damien seems to realize my predicament the same time I do because he wraps an arm around me the way a lover might and walks me straight through the White Witch’s domain and into a corridor covered in spots. The air warms immediately. “It won’t help either of us if you’re turned into a human popsicle or bitten by some hungry vampire before we get answers.”
“Fair assessment,” I say, giving one last shiver.
Shadows rise around us, blanketing us, as his hand warms my lower back and he escorts me along a hallway decorated in Dalmatian print to a lounge with Cruella’s mural on the wall and couches upholstered in what I pray to God isn’t real dog hide. He only drops the cloak he has around us once we’re in the darkest corner of the lounge. This section of the club must not be popular because there’s no one else in here but a bartender who”s more than twenty feet away and busy washing glasses.
“I’ll question Thaddeus alone. Wait for me here. Don’t move or speak to anyone. I’ll make this fast.”
Reluctantly, I nod. “Do you need me to forward that picture of Tony?” Does Damien even have a cell phone?
He shakes his head. “Wait here. And put your phone away, the light from the screen will draw attention.”
I obey, dropping my phone into my bag, then watch him slip from the empty lounge.
“What. The. Fuck.” Maeve appears out of nowhere, glaring at me from the other side of the table.
“Where did you...?” I look both ways, but can’t fathom where she came from without me noticing.
She slides into the chair opposite me, looking furious. “You shouldn’t be here, El. I mean, really. How?—”
“I came with Damien. We’re investigating a lead on Tony’s side business.”
Maeve gapes like a fish. “Oh, my goddess, Eloise. I thought I explained this to you. That’s not how this works.” She leans across the small table and grabs the sides of my face. “You call the advocate. You tell him to do something. He does it. You don’t go with him to do the thing. He can’t be killed. You can, and believe me, this is where it could happen.”
I shrug. “You’re here.”
Releasing me, Maeve leans back in her chair. “I’m a witch. I have a key. Also, I can hold my own.”
Wearing a black dress with spiderweb-patterned tights, she bobs her platform heel out of a level of annoyance I’ve never ignited in my friend before. Here, in this place, I wonder how I’d ever thought she wasn’t a witch. Her sleek dark hair seems to flirt with the shadows in the room, and her army of skeleton tattoos all stare at me, the ocular cavities becoming blacker, more three-dimensional. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Maeve, but now, I observe her with new eyes. “You’re not exactly a love, light, and lavender sachet witch, are you?”
She snorts. “No.”
“You need to bring me up to speed on the real you, Maeve. My God, we’ve been friends for over a decade. Did I ever really know you at all?”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. “Yes, you do know me. All the important parts. Magic, it’s a tool, that’s all. It would be like me not knowing you could paint. You are still you without painting, right?”
“Right,” I drawl. “But art is a pretty big factor in my life, and it seems like magic is a huge one in yours.”
“Fair. And we will share everything. I promise we will. But first, I need to get you out of here.” She stands and takes me by the hand.
I hold my ground. “No. I have to wait for Damien. Oh, there he is now.”
Maeve releases me as Damien strides toward us with his usual swagger. The man moves like a shadow, like ink spilled in water, smooth, intoxicating. I sigh as he nears and don’t miss the way that draws Maeve’s attention or the way she narrows her eyes at Damien.
“Maeve,” he says by way of greeting.
“How could you bring her here? You know the risks,” Maeve hisses.
“She commanded me by your magic.” His voice is so low I can barely hear it. Resentment causes his teeth to clench and a muscle in his jaw to tic. What must it be like to have all that power and be bound by a centuries-old curse?
Maeve grimaces. “Morpheus is coming. There’s been a change. He’s?—”
“I know.” Damien rolls his shoulders back and turns toward an elderly-looking... man? Vampire? Shade? I don’t know what he is but his face is scarred, and his skin is sallow. Dark eyes turn my way, and a wave of fear ripples through me at the intensity in that gaze.
An understanding passes between Damien and Morpheus, and they drift off toward an unmarked door in the wall.
“Listen to me carefully,” Maeve says in a voice that can only be described as no-nonsense. She’s speaking to me like I speak to the children in my class. “I’m not sure what is going on between you and the advocate?—”
“Damien.”
She scoffs. “Fine. You and Damien, but you need to cut it out, El. I mean it. He’s a monster, a killer. Do not become involved with him. Tell me you haven’t… done anything with him.”
My cheeks blaze. “Uh, not really.”
“Is that why you’re blushing like you’re fifteen, and your crush just noticed you for the first time? Wicked hell, the way he looked at you! I haven’t seen that much lust in a creature’s eyes in a long time, Eloise. I have half a mind to take the candle from you right now.”
The notion sends a sharp pang through my heart. “Please don’t. We’re so close to nailing Tony.”
She gives me a sideways look. “Seems like Tony’s not the only one getting nailed.”
“Maeve!” My mouth gapes.
She sighs. “Never mind. Tell me what you found out.”
I tell her about Gold Weaver, the warehouse, and what the man revealed to us about what went on there. “He has a side hustle, one he hasn’t disclosed to me or either legal team.”
“I’ll get my financial team on it. Maybe there’s something in the accounts they’ve missed,” she says. “And I’ll trust you to keep the candle because if I take it now, I’m not sure what the advocate will do to you?—”
“He wouldn’t hurt me?—”
“Oh, my goddess. Wake the hell up!” Maeve’s pupils constrict, purple sparks igniting in their depths. “He’s not a dog or a security guard. Damien is a shade, the most lethal creature ever drawn into this realm. He’s a monster. A killer. My ancestor conjured him here from a deadly world of darkness, and he murdered her in cold blood before my coven could bind him to the candle. You can’t trust him. Not ever.”
I stare down at my tangled fingers on the table. “The candle is almost burned through the base. What happens when the wick runs out?”
“That won’t happen.”
“What do you mean?”
She squeezes my hand. “Later. Damien is currently in a world of shit, and since you still need him, you have to get him out of it.”
“Wait, what?” I point a thumb in the direction the two creatures went. “Was that because of me?”
“Non-magical guests are prohibited in Bad Witches Club. He took a huge risk bringing you here. Risked your life and his.” She shakes her head. “He should have tried harder to talk you out of it.”
“What’s the punishment for bringing a human into a place like this?”
“Morpheus will decide, but it could be anything from a pint of blood to a week chained inside a coffin. Whatever it is, it won’t be pleasant and could put a wrinkle in our plans to stop Tony.”
“Wrinkle in our plans?” I remove my sunglasses, absolutely gobsmacked. I’m far more concerned about Damien being locked in a coffin and starved than my problems at the moment. “We’ve got to help him. This wasn’t his fault.”
“We will, okay? All I need you to do is remove your jacket. That dress is backless underneath, right? I remember you showing it to me a few years ago.”
“Yeah, but why would that?—”
“Your tattoo. Trust me. When they come back here, show Morpheus your tattoo.”
“Why?” I hate this. It feels like I’m playing a game, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know the rules. But the door opens, and Damien and Morpheus stride toward our table. Maeve nods at me, and I stand, removing my jacket. With my back facing them, I can’t see their reaction, but Maeve shoots me one of her secret smiles. I glance over my shoulder to find the two directly behind me.
“Damien, why didn’t you explain that your guest was a Harcourt?”
Damien’s expression is unreadable. “My apologies, Morpheus. I wasn’t sure the young lady was ready to disclose her identity.” His attention skirts to Maeve, who shrugs.
“You look just like your mother.” Morpheus places a hand over his heart. “We were all sorry to hear what happened to her. I do hope you’ll visit us again.” He bows, then retreats, leaving me gaping.
“How the hell did he know my last name was Harcourt?” I whisper.
Maeve takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I thought the tattoo would convince him you were magical, but I had no idea... Damien?”
“I don’t know either, and I’d prefer not to ask after the conversation I just had. Morpheus and I have a history, but his loyalties now lie with the triune he serves.” His warm hand lands on my waist. “Let’s get you out of here.”
But the Cruella mural behind the bar has my full attention now, the way the oversized eyes give the observer a window into her dark soul, the bony protrusions of her shoulders, the lines in her neck that give her a simultaneous look of hunger and insanity. Bright colors. Light, delicate line work. An ethereal quality that adds a fantasy element. I wasn’t able to name the artist when I saw the evil queen or the sea witch, but I stride closer to the bar, intentionally studying the far right corner of the mural. There it is, a scrollwork D H.
“What’s wrong, Eloise? Breathe. Goddess, you look like you’re going to be sick.” Maeve wraps her arm around my shoulders.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “My mother painted this mural. She painted all of them.”