The Highvale Guard provided me with European identification in record time for the trip.
“When governments need our help with supernatural threats, we step up—for a nice paycheck—so, we have an agreement with several countries when we need papers,” Gideon explained.
My passport identified me as Cas Highvale, which was as good a name as any, and strangely close to the one I’d been born with, which Gideon couldn’t have known.
Charles Harvey. The name of a dead man, with dead parents and a dead little brother. Plus, I never liked Charles. Far too pompous for me.
Half an hour later, Silver and I were hopping in the back of a chopper, piloted by an old fae, who dropped us off at one of the train stations at the foot of the mountain.
From Highvale, we could alight in small towns in Italy, Austria, or Switzerland depending on our heading. We chose Switzerland, traveling to the south of France, before taking a TGV to Paris—a trip that only took three hours, so we were in the city of love by dinner time.
Just in time, too.
“I’m starved,” I announced.
“Let’s check into the hotel first. There’s a restaurant there.”
Silver was visibly familiar with the city’s metro, guiding us from the garre de Lyon to the hotel with the confidence of someone who’d been there often.
At the front door, I stated, “No.”
She frowned. “What?”
I pointed to the vibrant sign of the dingy chain hotel she was trying to herd us toward. “I’m not staying there. Have you seen the name? It says Luxury on it. That alone means bedbugs.”
Silver snorted. “I’ve stayed here many times. It’s just fine.”
“I would rather sleep under the stars,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. I’m going to check in.”
She took a step, so I had no other choice than to grab her wrist, tug her to me, and pull her up to my shoulder from under the knees.
Silver screamed, punching my back. “Let me go, you heathen!”
“That’s not very inconspicuous now, is it?” I admonished her, crossing the street as I spotted what I was looking for.
The elegant building’s metallic sign simply stated L’Hotel.
That was more like it.
I let the little fury back down to her feet. “The Guard is so not going to pay for this place,” she huffed.
I shrugged. “Good thing we’re wealthy, isn’t it?”
20
SILVER
Iwas not going to tell Cas he was right about switching our booking. I refused, even while moaning around a mouthful of heavenly food.
At breakfast, the fresh croissant almost made me slip, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
I knew we were here for work, and we’d have to spend the day discreetly scoping out the auction site, but it didn’t hurt to sleep in Oscar Wilde’s old room and wake up to freshly pressed orange juice.
“You know where the auction’s taking place?” Cas asked across the table on the balcony, eating his third croissant.
I bobbed my head. “A popular club with a fairly steady supernatural clientele—mostly shifters, some witches. And enthusiastic regular humans. Rich people, hence the area.”
