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But Reynard was obviously concerned. No wonder he was distracted and in emotional turmoil. He’d had his vampire family breathing down his neck this whole time too. “These last few weeks have been crazy, and our last not-date was a bit of a disaster. We should go dancing, you and me? To relax.”

The smallest of smiles tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’d enjoy that, Adam.”

“After we fix this going-to-jail problem. And get Tom Collins back.”

“Naturally.”

A few more moments of silence rolled on by. We had to be close to our destination. I watched sleepy San Francisco turn into more run-down neighborhoods, and then into areas where the streetlights had stopped working, and areas we probably shouldn’t linger in Reynard’s fancy car.

“Adam, if I may broach the subject of your curse?”

“Nope.”

“As you wish.”

Well, that was easy. But I doubted he’d let it go for long.

“We have arrived,” the driver announced, cruising the car through an open pair of rusted gates and onto a cracked asphalt parking lot that hadn’t seen much traffic in the last ten years. I knew where we were. Pacific Fun Park. It had closed a few years ago when the Haunted House ride had caught fire. Mired in several legal battles, the owners had gone bust, and the park had never reopened. I knew about it because Gideon Cain had tried to purchase it at around the same time he’d been trying to buy the SOS Hotel.

We stepped from the car into a gusty San Francisco evening. The wind clanged a sign and rattled the metal fencing that looped around us.

“Remain nearby,” Reynard advised his driver, then sent him on his way.

The car’s red taillights blinked and vanished, leaving Reynard and me standing isolated in the shadows of a huge Pacific Fun Park sign made up of funky letters and a rusted clown face.

I was not getting warm and fuzzy feelings from the fun park.

“We’re being observed,” Reynard said, nodding toward the huge clown with its creepy fat-lipped grin.

Someone was back there. Agatha de La Cour’s lookout, maybe.

“This is an odd place to sell beauty products from,” I whispered.

“Or the perfect camouflage.”

Two almost identical looking male fae with platinum-blond hair, emerged from a building with broken windows. In their matching blue and grey pant suits, they wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Hollywood strip, which made their approach in this barren parking lot even more bizarre.

“I think I prefer vampires.” At least I knew what to expect from them.

Reynard’s lips ticked.

One of the twins said his name was Cohen. He grumbled at us to hand over our phones, and took Reynard’s, to be returned later. Reynard introduced me as his assistant, and in we went.

The entrance to the park was as desolate and trash strewn as I’d expected, but as we ventured deeper into the grounds, there were clues that not everything was as it seemed. Graffiti-riddled doors had been locked with new handles and hinges, and a camera caught our passing. Reynard was right. Nobody would suspect the abandoned park housed a black market beauty-products operation.

We entered a building with a sign over the door that read, Under the Sea! and immediately began descending down a wide, spiraling ramp. Fairy lights had been strung above our heads, leading the way. A few dolphin models loomed into sight, slung from wire, then a huge orca, the sight of which ran icy fingers down my spine. Oh-kay.

The air began to warm. Air ducts hummed. Old displays documented the importance of seagrass. We passed several giant walls of glass, which I assumed had once been the tanks that contained gallons of water. Now they were just enormous, black voids.

Nope, not creepy at all.

After forever descending the spiral ramp, we entered a brightly lit room, that besides the life cycle of sea turtles painted on the walls, appeared to be a normal office.

The fae leaning against the desk was in no way normal, however. As beautiful as a peace lily—lithe, elegant, with a lean face, thin cheeks, a severe nose, all framed by thin, straight, dark hair—she wore a suit so purple, in a different light it would have been black, making her pale, near-translucent skin shimmer. She reminded me of a crow, and had the same sly intelligence in her eyes.

“Baron Reynard.” She extended her hand. “My dear, you haven’t aged a day.”

Reynard collected her long, dainty fingers, and brought them to his lips. “Charmed to to be in your company, Lady de La Cour.”