“There has to be a way,” I say softly, lowering my hands. “Do you know anything about how he spent his time when he wasn’t with me?”
“Only that he lived among vampires when he wasn’t working for us.”
Vampires. What do I know about vampires? “What about Morpheus?”
Maeve seems to tense at the name. “What about him?”
“Damien told me he’s also a shade and his bar, Bad Witches’ Club, caters to supernaturals. Maybe he knows something.”
“Morpheus isn’t someone I’d ever consider to be intentionally helpful.”
I pivot in my chair so I can see her face. “Why not? He seemed nice enough the night I met him. He remembered my mother.”
She groans. “He did seem to have a soft spot for you.” Her eyes narrow. “Just so you know, that reaction wasn’t exactly typical. He’s usually quite the hard-ass. And?—”
“And?”
“Well, my ancestors are the ones responsible for opening the rift that brought him here and for binding Damien for centuries. Morpheus isn’t exactly a fan of my family.”
“Oh. Right.” My shoulders slump. I must be tired not to have thought of that. Of course there’s animosity between the two. Only, Maeve is my only way into Bad Witches’ Club. I can’t ask Morpheus for help without her. And I’m convinced he’s my best chance to locate Damien.
Maeve’s hand lands on my back. “I’m not saying no, Eloise. The Gowdies and the Caspians are allies. As a member of the Caspian triune, Morpheus has to take an audience with me if I request one. I’m just not sure he’ll be receptive to helping us.”
“Even with your history, surely he has a soft spot for Damien. They’re both shades from the same world after all.”
“True.”
“Morpheus must hear rumors in his position. We have to try.”
She sighs. “It’s not as if we have anyplace better to start.”
A spark of hope ignites deep within my chest.
Maeve gives a resigned shrug. “Yeah, all right. We’ll go as soon as the sun sets.”
“Why wait,” I say, hating the long delay. “I thought he could walk in the sun?”
“Yes. As a shade, Morpheus can walk in the sun, and being a part of a triune allows him to do so while preserving all of his powers.” The toast pops up, startling us both. “But he’s also a club owner who serves vampires who can’t. He’s been up all night. I, for one, have no intention of waking him up in the middle of the day to ask him to do us a favor.”
“Right. We want him in a good mood.”
She scrapes some butter over the toast before sliding the plate in front of me. “I’m not sure Morpheus has ever been in a good mood. Let’s just hope he’s in a generous one.”
I ponder that over a bite, silently praying that tonight we’ll have answers.
5
Bad Witches’ Club
ELOISE
Bad Witches’ Club is a nightclub for supernatural beings living among humans. It’s themed after all the dark characters from well-known stories and fairy tales, each section enchanted with magical ambience. The last time I was here, I had an uncomfortable run-in with the freezing temperatures of Narnia’s white-witch section. That visit changed everything.
Only a few months ago, I didn’t know witches were even real, let alone vampires and shifters, but they are, and apparently they like to party like the rest of us. I ordered Damien to bring me here to investigate Gold Weaver before we discovered Tony was using the magazine as a front to counterfeit and launder money. Then, I hadn’t a clue what I was in for. This time, when Maeve uses her special gold key to let me into the stark white room with the bare bulb swinging from the center of the ceiling, I’m already facing the wall we’ll walk through to get inside even before she relocks the door.
“Take a deep breath,” she says without even looking my way, as if she can smell my anxiety. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.”
“Right. Morpheus has to know something.” Blowing out a deep breath, I step through the enchanted barrier and am welcomed by the steady thump of house music. Before me, an enormous mural of an evil queen, her crown tipping back with her laugh, greets me. She’s my mother’s design. How could I have ever missed the sharp details that are the hallmark of her art? But then, I never suspected Mom could be a witch. “Looking back, there were signs,” I say absently as Maeve sidles up to me. “Like how she stood so close to the edge of the cliffs behind our house and how her hair looked freshly brushed even when the wind blew it every which way.”
