Chapter 9
Jon
“Can I heal him?”
Those had been Sylvia’s first words to Delilah when she and Cliff resurfaced from the spectral plane.
Of course, nothing could be that simple. Delilah confirmed my suspicions. Any damage I’d received would be too complex, too risky to attempt blindly healing. Tampering recklessly with spellwork could easily do more harm than good.
Fuck, the way Sylvia’s face had crumpled made me want to throw everything away to hold her close.
But I didn’t have the luxury of indulging that fantasy.
The plan needed to be set in motion, and I couldn’t borrow time from the spectral plane anymore.
Tammy was counting on us to find her, not to mention the fate of countless innocent lives.
There was so much to say, but time wasn’t on our side.
In fact, it was starting to feel like time was actively rooting against our happiness.
The Crimson Gala had begun, and we couldn’t afford the whispered comforts we so desperately wanted to offer each other.
All I managed to do before we left was give her delicate hands a small squeeze and assure her in a soft voice: I’m fine. I’m okay.
But was I?
If I were being honest with myself, I was shaken by the thought of not being able to wield the strange flavor of magic in the spectral plane anymore.
It was a foreign, bitter thing fluttering across my mind.
I was human; I knew better than to mingle with magic of any form.
I never should have ventured so far in trying to control it there.
Still, I couldn’t push the image of Sylvia’s dazzling smile whenever I’d managed to make the shadows swirl around our reclined forms in our sanctuary. Her breathless laughter was like bottled sunshine—an angelic sound that felt undeserving for the likes of me.
That had to be what was dragging me down. Surely, this hollow gnawing was purely for losing access to my private world with Sylvia, where we could be alone and equals.
Liar, a voice hissed in my head.
I squared my jaw. If I didn’t admit to Cliff that I’d miss the feeling of wielding fae magic, would that make it any better?
Pushing the guilt down, I refocused on the far more important fact that I was alive.
Judging by Delilah’s face, this was nothing short of a goddamn miracle.
I was lucky, and it was hard not to let the knowledge of how close I’d brushed against death make the trained steadiness in my hands break into a tremor.
Whatever stars Sylvia had been praying to these last few months, maybe they were looking out for me too.
For now, at least.
We left the hotel in two staggered groups, spacing fifteen minutes before Lee and I followed downstairs.
Security was, as Lee had predicted, an absolute fortress to get through.
We filed into one of five lines to be processed.
Guests were asked to provide their invitation and step through a metal detector, followed by a full-body patdown.
Phones and weapons were strictly forbidden without exception.
There were no fewer than six armed security details on the upper floor watching at fixed points.
The facilitators of this event were sparing no expense in ensuring whatever happened in this room stayed in there.
Despite hating how the tux jacket restricted my range of movement, I had to concede that Lee was right.
The clothes we’d walked in with would have been an eyesore in this sea of silk dresses and tailored suits.
This looked like any other upper-class crowd eager to donate to the cause of the night, if not for the spark of hunger I caught in so many gazes.
An excitement that didn’t sit well with me.
An air of palpable anticipation that set my hair on end.
I held my breath when I passed off my invitation to the greeter at the checkpoint. For a moment, I worried Lee and Delilah had given us false papers, that this was all some insanely elaborate trap.
But the greeter turned my invitation in the light to reveal the iridescent text and gave me a cordial smile. “Welcome to the Crimson Gala.”
As I was waved through the metal detector in our line, a stringent alarm pierced the air.
I froze, locking wide eyes with Lee before spotting the source of the commotion.
Two lanes down, someone had tried to smuggle in a pistol.
I couldn’t make out all the details as I hastened to pass the checkpoint without incident.
It seemed the offender was some politician who thought he was above the rules—a reputation that clearly didn’t hold in this place, as his pistol was confiscated and he was pulled into an office at the back of the hall against his will.
And then, with a few short steps, we were in the ballroom.
My first instinct was to scan for Tammy.
No luck—there had to be over a hundred people in attendance.
I couldn’t spot Cliff and Delilah, either.
My nerves revolted at having Sylvia out of my sight, but at least she was with Cliff.
Even though she would soon offer herself up like a lamb to slaughter, I could count on him to look after her.
Lee subtly elbowed my side, encouraging me to accept a glass of champagne from a passing server. I guessed it would look suspicious not to indulge at a place like this.
We descended a carpeted staircase toward the main floor, where I could see guests collecting around tables of delicate food and various entertainment.
The ceilings were vast as a cathedral, dripping with sparkling chandeliers even larger than the ones that adorned the lobby.
Red velvet curtains hung along the walls, giving the entire space a feeling that was both modern and ancient all at once.
I sipped from the crystal flute. Expensive champagne sparked against my tongue, but it may as well have been acid.
My mind was still snapping back to the revelation about the spectral plane every two seconds.
I couldn’t help it. Maybe I should’ve felt stupid for grieving, but all I felt was numbness.
Apart from the nosebleeds and occasional headaches after a plane visit, I’d never have guessed it was gnawing at my brain.
The image made my stomach churn every time.
Sure, I could still practically load a gun in my sleep, but would I wake up one morning and not remember?
Was my brain quietly turning into Swiss cheese?
Was it worth it?
The question ate at me. I might be dying, but I’d faced death countless times now at the hands of living nightmares.
This had been different. This had been for us.
I’d seen Sylvia’s magic, held her in that otherworldly realm.
Falling in love after losing everything was a gift.
Nothing could negate that. Nothing could put into words the feeling of being loved and desired after they’ve seen you at your worst. It was something that, before meeting her, I’d lost hope that I’d ever experience in my lifetime.
Not to mention, no other human alive could say they’d experienced what I have, seen what I’ve seen in that astral realm, suspended between heaven and earth.
Because they’re all dead, cabrón.
As Lee and I wandered the main floor, I let my nerves channel into my urge: casually swiping jewelry from attendees.
An accidental brush here, a handshake there, and a flirtatious touch on the arm.
Rings, brooches, a bracelet studded with sparkling stones.
If nothing else, it eased some of my racing thoughts and might garner a fae gemstone Sylvia could harness.
I was careful to space out my targets, lest I draw attention to my wake of victims.
But someone noticed, nonetheless.
“You’re smooth. Didn’t expect that from a hunter.
” Lee’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
He sipped at his drink, a flick of his eyes toward my pocket the only indication he’d caught me.
“Though to be fair, Ben’s stories are pretty much the stuff of horror movies without variation. I know a good fence if you need one.”
I debated whether I was flattered or not, this coming from a career burglar. “It’s not about the money.”
“Well, we may need to switch you to a stronger drink than champagne. You look… How do I put this nicely?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to?”
“Like you sat on a cactus,” Lee finished, clasping my shoulder. “You want to blend in, it’s not just about the clothes.”
“I know.” I scowled, only to school my expression when I realized that was only worsening the issue. Fuck, this might’ve been harder than I thought.
Lee’s bright eyes flicked over me. “Foster care?”
I lifted an eyebrow, briefly startled by how deeply his gaze read.
“Not quite like that. My folks both worked full-time jobs, but it was always a grind,” I said. “Scrappy Christmases and coupon clipping. I can’t remember a time growing up when we weren’t anxious about money. And seeing this… It’s grotesque.”
“Some of us aren’t born with daddy’s checkbook in their pocket,” Lee agreed, something darker laced in his voice despite the pleasant expression.
I glanced at him more closely, noting how it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
People didn’t become career criminals because privilege was at their beck and call.
They also didn’t knowingly fuck witches out of the goodness of their hearts either, so I’d continue to keep him at arm’s length.
“I’ve worked this scene enough to know their type.
Power always corrupts. In this room, it’s just bad and worse,” Lee said.
“Most of these people replace human emotion with things. What they barely miss could turn someone else’s life around.
Can’t say who’s worse—the ones too out of touch to notice, or the ones who fight tooth and nail to keep it that way. ”