“Legend says a mortal wished to protect his lover — a witch of the old line who was being hunted relentlessly by demons. He beseeched the gods for a way to conceal her true powers, and the gods granted him the stone.”
I frowned. “Why were they hunting her?”
“You do not know of the Coranthe line?” The Ringmaster sounded genuinely surprised. “They are the same witches responsible for the runes on that magnificent bladeyou carry.” His eyes flickered to the dagger hidden beneath my jacket, confirming my suspicions that he could somehow see or sense it.
I frowned and repeated my question. “Why were they hunting her?”
The Ringmaster tilted his head to one side, regarding me with a level of interest that made me squirm. “I have already answered your question, huntress, and the show is over for tonight. Come back for tomorrow’s performance if you have something else to barter. For now, it is time for you to go.”
Chapter
Eight
Frustration and hopelessness gnawed at my insides as I shoved my way back through the mass of silks, past the female in the top hat standing at the entrance, and out into the sticky heat.
Far from the garish lights of the Quarter, stars winked brightly overhead. The vast expanse of sky above felt disorienting after the claustrophobia of the big top, and for a moment, I just stood there, letting the wind caress my face.
Why had I thought the Ringmaster would help? He was fae. Even if he had some piece of information about the stone, he was unlikely to share it with a hunter. Coming here had been a waste of time, and it had only heightened my paranoia. The Ringmaster knew I was one of Silas’s, and now he knew I was hunting for the stone.
I should never have listened to Adelaide.
The vampire bars and clubs were in full swing as I drove along the backstreets of the Quarter. I parked Imogen’s car in the alley and killed the engine, keeping my head on a swivel as I let myself into her apartment building.
A familiar scent hit me as I walked in the door, but with the overpowering stench of old cigarette smoke clinging to the stained walls and filthy tile, it was impossible to place.
Still fighting the edgy feeling I’d gotten in the Ringmaster’s presence, I climbed the steep set of stairs and froze just outside of Imogen’s apartment. The door stood slightly ajar — not enough for a casual passerby to notice, but just enough that it hadn’t latched.
My heart did a painful somersault, and my mouth went dry. It was nearly midnight. Imogen should have been asleep. I hadn’t run into her in the lobby, so she hadn’t gone down to get her mail. And there was nowayshe’d leave the building with her front door unlocked. She was too smart for that.
Reaching out with my senses, I tried to feel her. Her magic was familiar to me, and I could have sensed her in a crowd. But I felt nothing on the other side of that door — not her magic, nor the magic of a stranger.
Dread squeezed my insides. If I couldn’t sense her, that meant . . .
I snapped my mind closed against that thought before it could take hold. I would not let myself consider that possibility. Imogenhadto be all right.
Careful not to make a sound, I palmed a dagger and kicked the door open. It crashed into the wall behind it and bounced off with athunk, sending the yellowish light from the hallway pouring into the dark apartment.
It was empty. At least itlookedempty.
But then I flipped on the light switch nearest the door, and all the blood pooled in my feet.
Imogen’s apartment bore all the telltale signs of a struggle. A spindly wooden chair had been upended, the littletable knocked askew. One of our chipped teacups lay in shards on the kitchen floor, and several of Imogen’s plants had been knocked over in the living room.
A low hiss drew my attention to a pair of yellow eyes. They gleamed at me from beside the radiator, framed by ears that were flattened against a feline head.
Goose.
I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt as though they were full of broken glass.
Someone hadtakenImogen.
Panic rose within me, crowding out all logic, but I shoved it down and forced myself to focus. Closing my eyes, I took three shaky breaths and opened my senses. Beneath the familiar fragrance of Imogen’s apartment, I detected that same scent I’d caught in the lobby.
It was stronger in here — stronger because Imogen had put up a fight, and whoever had grabbed her had struggled. Perspired.
The image of a black bomber jacket formed in my mind, and my stomach clenched.
Vince.
