I hug myself against a blast of cold air. “Wow.” Thetables 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 cellphone?
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.
