“Yes.”
“With what? Infernal garland and brimstone eggnog?”
A beat of silence. Then—“…Actually, yes.”
I grip the back of the chair. “Slade. Why would I ever go to that?”
“Because the Ninth Realm has the oldest untouched archives in existence,” he says. “Some predating witchcraft. Some predating humanity.”
My breath catches.
“And those records,” he continues, “may hold the truth Veda erased.”
A shiver curls down my spine. I hate that he’s right. I hate that heknowshe’s right. And Iespeciallyhate that part of me wants to say yes.
“So?” he asks softly. “Deal?”
I look at the bell. Then at him. Then at Newt, who is licking his paw like this is all beneath him. I blow out a breath, conceding defeat. “Fine.”
Slade goes perfectly still.
“So long as Rhea fails to give me the answers,” I say, lifting a finger, “only then do I agree. And only if you stay here with Newt for the next hour.”
Slade’s jaw flexes. He hates this. Truly hates it. But he nods. “Deal.”
A demon’s deal is binding. I feel it settle over my skin like a warm ribbon tightening around my ribs. Slade steps back, eyes burning. “Be careful.”
“I’m going to get coffee.”
“Exactly.”
I grab my coat, the bell wrapped in linen, and my keys. Slade’s voice follows me out the door—low, dark, entirely too intimate. “Don’t make me come find you, Piper.”
I slam the door shut before he can see the way that line turns my bones into molten sugar.
Newt hisses at him from the counter. Slade stares at the cat.
“Well,” he mutters, “this will be hell.”
I snicker all the way down the hall, not bothering to hide my choked laughter. It’ll be a miracleif my apartment survives this. I grin, decidedly choosing to let the catastrophe unfold. Slade is Newt’s problem now…
Chapter 11
Piper
Snow swirls lazily outside Bean & Bell, our tiny local coffee shop strung with warm lights and evergreen garland. The windows are fogged from the heat inside, giving the place a cozy, snow-globe quality.
Inside, everything smells like cinnamon, espresso, and comfort. Perfectly normal, andexactlywhat I need.
Rhea is already at a corner table, coat tossed over her chair, curls wild around her face. She’s stirring her latte like she’s trying to divine a prophecy in the foam. The moment she sees me, her amber eyes widen. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“That’s because I haven’t.”
She pats the seat beside her. “Come. Tell me everything.”
I slide into the booth, lowering the linen-wrapped bell onto the table between us.
Rhea leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Oh…That’s a…vibe.”
