If I was half-demon, why didn’t I get any of their natural abilities? Their penchant for prowling soundlessly through the night would’ve come in pretty damn handy over the past few years.
We were standing outside the train station, watching as people approached from all angles. A few of them were wearing cloaks, while others wore balaclavas, or hats and sunglasses. Even knowing I was invisible, I had to fight the urge to cower behind the rubble.
The werewolves had ripped up most of the train tracks while they were rampaging through the station, and no one had bothered to move them away. They were sprawled around the station like stitches pulled from the wound of that day 72 years ago.
The old train station was just around the corner from Meredith’s. Given the location, it was surprising that the remains of the building hadn’t been knocked down so the space could be used for something else. But a witch claiming to see ghosts had come out a few years ago and insisted that the spirits of the humans who’d been slaughtered by the werewolves were here and had declared that anyone who built on this spot would be cursed.
The pararnormals didn’t seem to need the station, and most humans had believed the witch, although she’d later been found to be low on the power scale. It took serious power to see a ghost.
Still… this would be an incredible space if anyone ever fixed it up.
More people were arriving, and I slunk closer to the chairs that had been set up in neat lines close to a small stage. Vas shadowed my footsteps.
“Creepy place,” a voice muttered. “Why’d we have to come here, anyway?”
“It’s the best place for something like this,” a guy next to him explained patiently. “Now quit whining and help me carry these.”
I watched as they carried several paintings into the train station. My shoe scuffed along a broken brick and both men jumped, glancing around.
“Itoldyou it was haunted,” the smaller guy said.
“Haunted or not, we need this auction so we can sell this shit.”
My breath caught as I gazed at the paintings. They’d obviously been painted in another realm, because I’d never seen colors or flowers like those before. I could stare at those paintings for days.
The items being sold tonight were all being placed on the crude wooden stage, and I took a few steps closer as the men leaned the paintings against the wall.
Along with the paintings, there was an obviously priceless bracelet— dripping with glimmering stones I’d never seen in this world. Next to the bracelet sat a pair of brass knuckles which radiated power, a handful of old scrolls written in a language I didn’t recognize, and a stack of books which looked suspiciously similar to the grimoire the witches had used to kill Samael’s demons.
I tensed. “Are those books–”
Vas shook his head. “They’re copycats,” he whispered. “There are nine of the real grimoires, and Samael–” he cut himself off and I stared at him.
“How many does he have, Vas?”
He didn’t say a word. I scowled at him, opening my mouth, but then he went so tense I jolted, glancing behind me at the stage.
“What is it?”
“That bracelet belonged to Samael’s mother.”
I gaped at him. “How do you know that?”
“I remember my uncle looking for it before we left. Samael had been missing for centuries at that point, and everyone assumed he was dead. But Ag knew Samael’s mother and remembered how she’d adored that bracelet. He’d hoped to find it one day.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed me a picture of what looked like an ancient sketch. I studied both the sketch and the bracelet. They sure looked the same.
“How do you think they got their hands on it?”
He shrugged. “Enterprising humans can get their hands on almost anything. Likely, one of the underking’s men looted Samael’s mother’s jewelry when they took power and then they sold the pieces off when it was safe to do so.” He glanced at me. “I don’t like the look on your face right now.”
I ignored him, my gaze glued to the bracelet.
Eight-year-old Samael’s pain was branded in my memory. His little heart had broken as he stared at his mother’s body. Iwouldleave this auction with that bracelet.
I could feel Vas’s gaze on me. I gave him a wide smile and he shook his head, turning back to the auction. People had taken their seats and were giving each other the side-eye, scoping out who was here.
“Clint’s just arrived,” a couple of late-comers were striding in, moving so quickly that Vas had to yank me out of their path before one of them rammed into me.
One of the women laughed. “You know it’s going to be a good night then. He’s almost as magical as the artifacts he peddles, he’s so skilled at getting his hands on them.”
