“And your father could make anything grow. His landscaping business performed miracles.”
“Miracles,” I parrot. I can’t help it. The idea that my parents were magical, my mother a witch by birth and my father made one by drinking dragon’s blood, still seems unreal to me.
“We should go. I made an appointment, but Morpheus won’t wait around if we’re late.”
I take one last look at my mother’s mural and follow Maeve.
Morpheus’s office is in the back, the Hansel and Gretel section. Here the tables and chairs are all made to look like candy with peppermint stools and licorice railings. A trail of lacquered breadcrumbs is the hallmark of the walkway. The bar is decorated like the witch’s sugar-windowed cottage with a mural of the witch herself on the back wall, complete with an open, bloodstained oven. I catch a couple of vampires in the corner, making out atop a sofa designed to look like a pile of bones.
Maeve nudges me toward an unmarked door in the wall. She knocks three times, and it opens for us from the inside. We enter a surprisingly mundane office where Morpheus types vigorously on a sleek silver desktop Mac.
“Have a seat,” he rumbles without looking at us. The vibe reminds me of opening an account at my local bank. There are definite bank vibes in this office. Bank sounds.
I slowly sink into one of two GUBI meeting chairs across from him—again, very bank-like. Morpheus is an older-looking shade, an odd thing considering the creatures are immortal for all intents and purposes. Yes, they can be killed if they’re exposed to sunlight first, but Damien told me they otherwise don’t age. Also, now that I’ve seen Damien in his monster form—black-skinned, leather-winged, with talons and fangs—I know that the image I’m looking at is an illusion. So I wonder at Morpheus’s choice of appearance. A scar runs through his right eyebrow down to his upper lip. His skin is sallow, his dark eyes beady as a rat’s. If I’ve understood Damien correctly, he could make himself attractive by human standards if he chose to, but instead, he looks like this.
But when he turns those dark eyes on Maeve, I get it. I squirm in my seat at the intensity coming off him. Morpheus doesn’t want to be attractive. He wants to be intimidating. And he is. When his attention shifts to me, my palms instantly start to sweat.
“Ms. Harcourt!” His brow lifts as if he’s surprised to see me, and his entire face softens. “A pleasure to see the daughter of Diana Harcourt once again. Is this about getting you your own key? Maeve should have told you the front desk can handle that request.”
“No. Not that,” I say quickly. “Damien was taken. We need your help.”
Maeve shoots me a stern look like I’ve made a grave error. I don’t understand why until Morpheus leans back in his chair and laces his fingers over his waist. His previously warm smile morphs into something far more chilling. He glares at Maeve, eyes burning with repugnance. “Do the Gowdies wish to enlist the triune’s help in returning their guard dog?”
Shit. Now I understand why Maeve was hesitant to come here. Morpheus loathes her. His expression is dripping with barely restrained malice.
“No,” Maeve says. “But?—”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you. Show yourself out.” Morpheus turns back to his computer.
I open my mouth. “No… No…” I raise both hands. “This isn’t about her family at all. He’s my?—”
Maeve stomps on my foot. Oww.
“What Eloise means to say is he was her friend. We know you have a connection to Damien, and he’s missing. We are afraid something nefarious has happened to him. We were wondering if you’d heard anything about his disappearance.”
“Right,” I chime in. “You must be as concerned for him as we are. Damien told me you both come from the same world… Tenebris, right? Along with…” I try to remember the name of the third shade that was caught up in the Gowdies’ spell.
“Cassius,” Morpheus supplies flatly.
I nod once. “You have a history together.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “That was a long time ago.”
I scoot to the edge of my chair and lean across the desk. “He sacrificed himself for you. He bore the Gowdie curse for centuries so you and Cassius could be free.”
Morpheus studies me. “You seem to know a lot about the situation, Ms. Harcourt. How exactly does this have anything to do with you?”
“They’re friends,” Maeve interjects.
Morpheus rolls his eyes.
“I’m the one who freed him from the candle’s hold,” I interject.
The room plunges into a sudden and complete silence.
“You freed him?” Morpheus finally says, leveling a stare as if I’ve suddenly become far more interesting to him. His nostrils flare and he leans in, studying me. I swallow hard, edging away until my back hits the chair, my hands gripping the armrests. Have I said the wrong thing again? “I heard he’d been freed but not how. Perhaps you have more of your mother in you than I assumed, Ms. Harcourt, to be powerful enough to break a Gowdie curse.”
Maeve shifts, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. “How exactly did you come to find out that our binding spell was broken, Morpheus?” she asks, drawing the heat of his attention back on herself.
