“Bonne nuit.”Brontë angles my jaw up with a knuckle and kisses me once, deliriously deep. I instantly mourn his lips when they’re gone and chase him for another. Chuckling, he obliges and shifts me onto my back and tucks me under the covers. “Ma reine.”
“Say that again,” I mumble into my pillow. “It’s fucking hot.”
“And you wonder why I’m an egotistical brute.” His grin settles against my lips. “Ma reine.”
HELLFIRE
Brontë
Despite living on a detective’s salary, Scull resides in a backwater apartment in Salem’s slums.
The streets cloaked in night are infested with criminals. Barrel fires litter the alleyways like fleas. Drugs openly pass hands. Metal flashes at hips, guns and knives alike. Serpentine laughter slithers through the air, scaling up my spine.
Keeping my hood up and chin low, I stick to the path Emi advised me to take for the least amount of camera disruption to manage on her end. If Scull really is a member of Leviathan, these cams are likely the most monitored.
Aside from a few feral cats hissing my way, I encounter zero issues in finding the fire escape leading up to Scull’s apartment. At the door, I snap on a pair of nitrile gloves, pick the lock, and soundlessly step into the lackluster space devoid of any personality. No wall portraits nor décor of any theme to show what kind of man lives here.
Fitting, for a potential cult leader.
Kimber at the ready, I make quick work of sleuthing through the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and his personal office. Finding only eerily tidied belongings and enough espresso to stock a café, I move to the bedroom.
Itreeksof sex in here.
Stifling a gag, I scour the dresser and find an absurd amount of panties I assume are Quinn’s. The nightstand is a trove of lube, toys, and XXL condoms.
And Poppy callsmeegotistical.
Discovering nothing out of the ordinary after checking every crevice in the room, I sigh and turn to leave. Perhaps we’re wrong about him.
As I head for the exit, I spy a book on a shelf above the sofa—Quinn’s reboundCarmilla.The cat’s eye embedded in the leather watches me like it can see straight through me. I swear it winks as if it knows something I don’t.
Keeping my face hidden in shadow should a camera be planted in the cover, I lift it cautiously and pause at the sight of a small metal safe lodged in the wall behind it.
The design is old, with a combination dial standing between me and what’s inside. A red dot beneath it blinks at me in warning. Any wrong inputs will undoubtedly alert Scull.
There’s no room for error.
Scull is a lone wolf; no family, no noteworthy friends. He’s vain, but he’s not foolish as to use his birthday. I don’t know enough about his past to guess any other personal dates. What else would a member of a satanic cult use to guard his secrets? The devil’s number?
…Is itthateasy?
There’s only one way to find out.
I dial the code6-6-6.Sweat trickles down my temple as the red light blinks faster.
Then the light flashes green, and the lock slides loose.
Jackpot.Even if there’s nothing inside, the code alone is proof enough. What lies in wait, though, isn’t what I expect.
Gingerly, I seize the old and weathered tome. It’s large, heavy. I flip through the thin and delicate pages, slowly recognizing the Latin script paired with sketches of runes and ritualistic instructions. It’s a spellbook.
A grimoire.
A loose page slips out. Written upon it is the Morgenstern family tree. Seven siblings are noted beneath Lucian and Josephine Morgenstern, along with their spouses and children and a few grandchildren. Many I recall speaking with my first time at the manor with Poppy. Black lines slash through every name but three:
Alexander Morgenstern
Rin Morgenstern
