Chapter 27
Pulling into the parking garage beneath Sevenfold, I felt more relaxed than I had in some time. The day I envisioned my Little Spade’s arrival at my casino had marked the start of an obsession that consumed me.
At first it was the idea of her that overtook my thoughts.
Once I had her, keeping her was all that dominated everything else.
The time spent at the grotto hadn’t been about apologies. It’d been about allowing her to see what I see.
I clasped her hand in mine as I led her up the concrete steps to the main level, but I quickly realized something was off.
Opening the door that led onto the casino floor, everything was quiet. Something it should never be. There should have been waves of conversation, the whir of slot machine reels, and the clinking of chips being tossed down.
Instead? Nothing.
My grip on Eve’s hand tightened, drawing her closer to me.
The silence wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight that greeted us as we emerged from the stairwell.
Dealers stood at the tables like statues. Patrons sat frozen, staring straight ahead. Only the occasional blink told us they were alive at all.
“Iggy!” Eve cried out as she pulled away from me.
It drew my attention to Ignatius lying on the floor, not paralyzed like the others.
He wheezed and gasped as he clutched his shoulder.
The glamor demon before us looked nothing like the eclectic stylist we all knew.
Instead, he was beaten and bloodied, the sticky red substance staining his flesh in ways that made it impossible to determine where the worst of the wounds were located.
My Little Spade crouched down, her hands hovering over him, unsure of how to help.
I stepped up behind Eve, eyes already scanning the area for the threat to expose itself.
Without looking down at Ignatius, I asked, “Who did this?”
He coughed on his words, either saliva or blood catching in his throat.
“I-I… I don’t know,” he gasped out, struggling for breath while writhing in pain.
Unhelpful and useless, given the current situation.
Movement from the corner of my eye triggered me to pull Eve upright, my protective instincts flaring violently.
“Genevieve!” a woman’s voice called out as she rounded the corner.
My eyes narrowed dangerously as she ran towards us.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Eve’s surprise put me even further on edge.
Because of fucking course, Mirra showing up here was just what we needed while my casino looked like a goddamn wax museum set in a horror film.
Mirra came up to Eve, reaching out for her forearm.
I moved instantly, cutting between them.
“Don’t touch her,” I snarled, pushing Eve behind me, ignoring her protest.
“Ace, what are you doing?”
My eyes locked onto Mirra’s, making it clear she would be treated like a threat until proven otherwise.
She didn’t try to go around me, but she looked offended at my intervention.
“I need to get my daughter out of here. She’s not safe here. I can help, but you have to let me get her elsewhere.” Her plea came out desperate and concerned, and her eyes glanced around with paranoia.
Eve’s hand settled against my back, fingers curling into the fabric of my henley.
“Why should I?” I didn’t trust this bitch any more than I trusted a loaded die.
“Genevieve, please—” She tried to step closer to get a better look at Eve.
I advanced into her space, towering over her.
“Back the fuck up, Mirra!” I snapped, my voice rough with the promise of violence.
The Knight inside me swiftly rose to the surface, red burning my vision.
Eve’s mother wisely backed up a step, raising her hands in a show of supposed harmlessness. She had some self-preservation instincts after all. But she still didn’t know when to shut her mouth.
“You have to trust me, sweetheart. I know what’s best for you. This man only seeks to use you for what you are, keep you for himself.”
Huffing in annoyance behind me, my Little Spade tried to push past me without any success.
“How would you know?” Eve scoffed.
“He took you to a grotto today, didn’t he?”
My Little Spade went quiet for a second. “How do you know about that?”
Her mother’s face shifted into something close to pity. “Didn’t he tell you what is in those waters? I can smell the trace of their magic on your skin.”
“That’s enough. I won’t have you filling her head with blatant lies,” I warned Mirra.
Uncertainty crept into Eve’s tone. “What is she talking about, Ace? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Later, Eve,” I urged.
A single, sharp laugh of disbelief erupted from Mirra.
“How convenient. Do you plan on giving her the whole truth?” She drew her lips into a knowing smile as she glanced at Eve. “The allure of the lagoon is that the waters amplify bonds between demons, making whatever connection exists nearly unbreakable.”
“What the—” Eve cut herself off as she stared at me, the beginnings of suspected betrayal creeping into her eyes. “Is she telling the truth? Is that why you brought me there?”
I ground my teeth together. Everything was being taken out of context. “The waters amplify existing bonds, yes. But they also stabilize abilities that—”
The elevator dinged.
I turned to look as the doors parted.
Out stepped a figure I hadn’t expected to see. The fucking icing on top of Superbian Chaos Special, the type the local diners served at three A.M. that had you scrambling to keep your inner organs inside where they belonged.
“Ace!” Rip bellowed, raising his arms like he was greeting an old acquaintance. His smile showed too many teeth and was too large for one belonging to a dead man.
Things were going from bad to worse. Losing control over a situation in my own fucking casino was unacceptable. Yet here we were, surrounded by overwhelming odds in favor of Sevenfold becoming a warzone.
The unkempt bastard approached at a leisurely pace, unhurried as if he had already won a race that no one else had participated in. His gait remained uneven from whatever injury plagued him.
“I heard it on good word that you were put out of your misery, Rip. Who did you end up bribing to stop you from rotting?”
If Felix had served me false information, I’d sever his limbs in the most painful way imaginable.
Ignatius shifted, attempting to sit up as he gestured at Rip and shook his head. Words came out in a strained warning. “Not… him.”
Not Rip?
Glancing down at one of my most loyal acquaintances, there was nothing but truth in his statement. Even lying there broken, he used what little strength remained to warn me.
Taking advantage of my divided attention, Mirra pulled Eve into her arms. She held my Little Spade like she were a small child too fragile to bear witness to whatever reckoning was about to happen.
The lingering seeds of doubt Mirra planted with expertise left Eve looking torn between her mother and me.
“Not so fast, Mirra,” Rip—or whoever had his face on—warned. “You’ll wait until we’re done here. Then you can run off with your precious little pet project.”
He waved his hands, a motion reminiscent of a conductor before an orchestra. The sweep of his hands prompted all the bodies that had remained stationary this whole time to move in unison.
They mindlessly crept towards us, forming a wall of flesh and bone between the nearest exits and us. My mind ran through a slew of potential strategies that weren’t annihilating the whole building and everybody in it. At least not until I understood all the stakes.
Mirra shook her head. “That wasn’t the deal! She’s none of your concern.”
A sharp ache traveled from my clenched jaw right into my temples.
“Brilliant, Mirra. Making a deal using your daughter as a poker chip?” The bitter sarcasm in my voice cut through, undisguised. I didn’t give a fuck what the deal had been. Nobody used my Little Spade as collateral.
Meanwhile, Eve pushed away from her mother at the mention of being treated as something to negotiate over.
One couldn’t barter the crown when it had already been claimed.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, already stepping closer to me without being told.
I searched the face of the man who had managed to control a crowd of people with a few flicks of his wrists. There had to be a clue as to who existed beneath the mask.
“You’re not Rip. Who are you?” I asked.
A sinister smirk curled across his face.
“Do you not recognize me, Barnabel?” He tutted in disappointment.
With a specific sequence of finger movements, sulfuric smoke rained down over him, erasing the illusion of Rip’s presence.
Once the glamor was gone, an elderly man in a black robe with sparse white hair remained. Stitched onto the breast of the ceremonial garment was a patch, a familiar symbol of the realm. The crest of the Knights of Hell.
It felt like searching through an eternity of memories as I racked my brain for recognition of who this imposter was.
I stiffened when the familiarity of his hindered gait, the crimson cord tied around his waist, and the superiority in his amber eyes came together in realization.
“Crestpin.”
There was no doubt about it. The braided cord around his midsection was only worn by Knights when they entered their period of reflection. He was the only one of our kind I had known to ever be able to manipulate and pull on the minds of others.
“Always were sharp as a tack, Barnabel. Sometimes too sharp.” He offered up a wry smile.
Crestpin tucked his hands inside opposite sleeves like some sort of monk prepared to chant a few prayers.
“Glamor is a wonderful ability. I had considered making use of your esteemed glamorist here, but his loyalty has no bounds. However, that trait is notably absent in his sister. Made her much more amenable to perform a few parlor tricks for adequate payment.”
He sighed wistfully as he looked at Ignatius. “You could have made a fine ally. Such a shame that loyalty was your downfall.”
“You’ve gone to great lengths, Crestpin. It’s flattering to know you’ve come out of your period of reflection to pay me a visit.”