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“Leave that to me.”

“No offense, but it easily and spectacularly threw you out a window.”

“Because I wasn’t expecting a fight. Now I am.” His eyes and teeth shone in the low light.

“Alright, but we can’t just wait around for it to show up while Zee suffers. We need something to draw it out. Bait.”

“Or an event,” he suggested. “Something Gideon won’t be able to resist ruining.”

“A celebration?”

“Exactly.”

“Ooh, an opening party!”

“And once the beast arrives through this spot, we trap and torture it to within an inch of its existence, until it reveals where Zodiac is.”

Had his fangs grown longer and his eyes brighter? “Do you know how to torture a shadowbeast?”

Reynard’s smile turned positively vicious. “Torture is something of a hobby of mine.”

“Oh. Each to their own.” We had a plan—and it might even work. “Zee’s going to be pissed he missed a party.”

“If all goes well, Adam, we’ll save the demon before it’s over.”

CHAPTER 11

With the help of Noreen Greene, and social media, last minute plans were made for a party that same evening. Reynard prepared for our guest of honor—the shadowbeast—while I uncovered some old bunting, and had the staff string it along the front porch with balloons, in a sorry-looking excuse for a celebration.

The balloons drooped, and the bunting had been nibbled by gremlins, but it would have to do.

Although, as it turned out, Reynard had thought of that too. A few hours before dusk, an army of well-dressed city-types arrived, claiming to be from Reynard Technologies, and with a few claps of their manicured hands, they filled the lobby with decorations that far outshone my sorry attempt.

Soon, curious passers-by dropped in, taking advantage of the free bar—all paid for by our patron, Lord Victor Reynard. It seemed like a lot, but it was worth it, to get Zee back.

I kept an eye on Tom Collins, after warning him not to drug the guests. He claimed to be innocent of adding cocaine to my drink, but also had a mischievous glint in his eye. I must have purchased the most inappropriate bartender to ever have existed. But there was something about his charming, chipper attitude, speckled with expletives, that was also kinda growing on me. Yes, he swore . . . at everyone. And he completely ignored most orders, giving guests the drinks he wanted to serve them, not those they’d ordered. But as I watched, most guests went away happy. Perhaps because Reynard was picking up the tab, but even so, Tom Collins had something special because he was broken—just like the rest of us.

“So where’s the demon? This seems like his kind of rodeo,” Tom said, taking a moment between orders to chat with me.

I scanned the packed bar. The jukebox was playing, loud and clear, and there was barely a clear gap on the floor. Only the stage was empty, missing its main act. “Yeah, he’d love it.”

“He’s not coming? Did you two have a disagreement?”

“Nothing like that. He uh . . . well, he’s been kidnapped by a megalomaniac sorcerer who is hell-bent on destroying me, and this hotel.”

The glass Tom had been drying slipped from his fingers. I lunged, caught it, and frowned at his glitch. “Butterfingers.”

“Kidnapped?” Tom squeaked.

I nodded sadly and handed over the glass. “This party is all part of a plan to get him back.”

“My, my . . . what a fucking shit-show. Are you expecting the kidnapper to be here?”

“Not in person, just his minion.”

“Point them out, and I’ll make sure to fix them a drink with a little something extra potent.” He winked.

“You . . . wait, what? No.”