“We know you wear the demon’s sigil,” Ethan explained. “Got it in the seventeenth century, if our records are accurate. Will you show it to me?”
She wouldn’t give him anything. Not until she heard what weird and strange plans he—they; Acquisitions?—had for her.
“The sigil is some kind of blood curse, yes?” He paced a few steps to the side then turned back to her. “Doesn’t matter how you got it. Or what it does. But I’ve been told, because of your connection to the demon, it makes you one of the darkest of the dark witches. I don’t like dark witches, by the way.”
“Would have never guessed. Your hosting skills are severely lacking. And I don’t care what the hell you are, Pierce, I don’t like you.”
“I’m vampire.”
“I knew that.” She sneered. “A flesh pricker. Who is also a Richard.”
“A... Richard?” The man narrowed his eyes and shrugged in question.
“Think about it a bit,” she offered. He’d get it, sooner or later. “So you think you have the right to pluck any old witch off the streets and force her to do your bidding?”
“I wouldn’t use the word force. But you are old, aren’t you?”
His self-satisfied smirk did not rile her. Too much. Age was relative when a person had immortality; he should know that. She snapped the rubber band she wore about her wrist. The man would not like to see her dark magic in all its wicked glory.
“You have been brought to Paris to assist us in locating Gazariel.”
The sigil she’d worn since the seventeenth century burned over her skin. “Quit saying that name,” she insisted. “You only grant the demon more power with each utterance. Do you know that?”
Apparently he did not.
The man hung his head for a few seconds, then looked up at her. “I know my demon lore. Basically. The saying a name three times thing generally only works with Himself. Demons are much more slippery when it comes to summoning them. Which is why you are here in Paris.”
Paris! She could not believe this.
“Now, you’ll serve to lure the demon to us—me, since I’m in charge of this mission—and then I will obtain from him what we seek to contain.”
“The demon has something you want?”
He nodded. “It’s dangerous to all. In the demon’s hands, the world could be destroyed.”
Tuesday scoffed. Always so dramatic with the end-of-the-world crap. It was never a small portion of the world, but the whole thing. What kind of villain would even think to destroy a world he would like to remain on to rule? The demon couldn’t rule anything if he didn’t have followers to bow down to him. End of the world, her ass.
But then she considered what she knew about Gazariel. He was a trickster. His title was The Beautiful One. Because he was a pretty bit of charm and allure. Vain and self-serving, as well. And deadly. He liked to take advantage of a person when they were at their lowest, defeated. But most importantly, he was an asshole. And she didn’t want to get any closer to him than she already was. Wearing his sigil did not make her his bitch—so long as she kept her distance from him.
“So let me get this straight.” She walked up to the bars until the shock waves from the wards teased at her skin and lifted the hairs in her pores. Must have been warded by another dark witch with a tech edge. It messed with her personal vibrations, so she took a step back and, with a thought, pulled a white light over herself. All she could manage in this damnable cage was a weak veil, but it gave her some solace. “You want to dangle me before the demon as bait?”
The man tapped a finger against his jaw, then nodded. “Yes, that’s about it.”
She turned and paced in a half arc, hands to her hips, head down in thought. A glance to the man’s face found him stoic, trying to show her he would not back down, no matter what. Tough guy, pushing around a helpless woman. Been there, done that. Never going to let it happen again.
If she should refuse him, he would force her. And enjoy it. Typical male.
But he didn’t know Tuesday Knightsbridge at all. Helplessness was not a condition she had ever ascribed to. And that would give her the upper hand.
“Sounds like fun,” she said cheerily. “Let’s do it.”
Another man entered the clean room and Tuesday immediately felt familiar vibrations flow off of him. Another dark witch. He was tall and lean, and everything about him was black, from his long straight hair and thin mustache to his clothing. Spell tattoos covered his hands and exposed neck. A coil of thin rope was attached to his hip holster à la the Wild West. Weird. Also, he wasn’t wearing shoes.
“You’ve got her in a cage?” he said to the vampire. “What the hell?”
“She’s dangerous,” Ethan said.
Yeah, and don’t forget it, buddy. But Tuesday didn’t say that.
Instead she crossed her arms and stood in the cage center, taking in her opponents. The dark one was on alert in his movements as he walked around the cage as if sizing up an animal. Shame threatened to rise up in her. She’d been made to feel like less than dirt many times before. Always by those who claimed witches were foul and evil things, and who would seek to allay their shortcomings and misguided beliefs by harming her. But that had been centuries ago.
Would this world never get a clue and drop the old, ingrained prejudices?
“This is Certainly Jones,” Ethan said to her. “He’s head of the Archives and our resident dark witch.”
“Are you okay? Have you been treated well?” Certainly asked her. A touch of British accented his voice, and his tone felt calming.
“I’ve been kidnapped. Most likely drugged. I’m hungry. And I have to pee,” she offered. “How’s tricks with you?”
He stopped before the front of the cage and looked over his shoulder at the militant vampire. “You should feed her. And let her go to the bathroom.”
“As soon as we’ve shackled her, she can do whatever she desires.”
“Shackle?” Tuesday closed her eyes, fisting her fingers at her sides. “What the hell is going on?”
“We need you to work for us. You’ve agreed, saying it would be fun,” Ethan said. “But in order to work alongside me you’ll have to be out of this cage. And I can’t risk you running off or using your magic against me. CJ here has a simple shackle spell that’ll keep you subdued.”
“You are a—” She lunged, aiming to grasp through the cage bars, but too late, she remembered it was electrified. The jolt sent her flying backward again to land on her back in a sprawl. “I hate you!”
“I don’t
