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  The Frenchman studied Jesse’s face. Finally, he shook his head and replied in French. “No, my love. He might be lying, or he may know something else we can use. You must put him in—” And then a phrase Jesse had never heard before: le sommeil tordu. He had to work through it for a moment to get the meaning.

  The twisted slumber.

  The woman pouted. “Killian! You know how it tires me!”

  “I know.” The man—Killian—checked his watch and answered her in the same language. “But we have time. You can afford the distraction. Besides, retrieving Belle is only half our task. Do you want to tell Grandfather that the null slipped through our fingers?”

  Jesse couldn’t see the woman’s expression, but when she spoke, she sounded subdued. “No. I will do it.”

  Jesse desperately wished for those witch bags. He was still trying to think of something to convince them to go away when Sabine’s pinched face clouded over with a vacant look that creeped him out. She held out her hands toward Jesse and began to chant.

  “You don’t need to do this . . .” Jesse began, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. Something was wrong. His chest felt . . .

  He crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter 6

  Foolish Craig’s Cafe was situated right on Pearl Street, which was apparently the main drag of commerce in Boulder. We found street parking a few blocks away, and had to wander through an outdoor mall area packed with various kinds of restaurants, bars, shops, and public art. It reminded me of the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica: one of the few parts of town that was equally friendly to tourists and locals. Molly stuck close to me, to stay in my radius.

  On the inside, Foolish Craig’s was a pretty good miniature reflection of Pearl Street, with exposed brick and funky colors. There was also an overall feeling of coordination to it, like the effect had been carefully planned by shrewd developers.

  The smell in the restaurant was overpowering. I could tell, intellectually, that it was probably a really nice, breakfasty smell, but it was all I could do not to hurl again. I tried to breathe through my mouth. “You need to get some food in your stomach,” Molly advised. “Some crackers or something. It’ll help the nausea.”

  I stared at her. “How do you know?”

  She held up her new burner cell phone. “While you were sleeping, I was listening to What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” she declared, looking smug. “The audiobook.”

  “Oh,” was all I managed to say.

  The waitress was walking past, so Molly reached out and touched her wrist. “Excuse me, do you have any crackers?”

  The young woman gave us an apologetic look. She was about twenty, with green streaks in her hair and one of those cartilage nose piercings that unfortunately reminded me of cows. “I’m sorry! We usually carry organic, gluten-free crackers baked by a local artisan shop, but we’re out at the moment.”

  “Dry toast?” I said weakly.

  “Of course!” she chirped. “Wheat, rye, baguette, gluten-free, challah, or twelve-grain?”

  I blanched. I hadn’t known there were even twelve different grains out there. “Um . . . bread toast?”

  When she’d gone back to procure my toast—probably by, I don’t know, harvesting the wheat from a field behind the restaurant and crushing it with a mortar and pestle she’d hand-carved out of marble—I looked around the crowded restaurant, deciding it was a minor miracle that we’d managed to hit the right lull to get a table. I’d never been to Boulder before, but everyone looked so . . . healthy. They were chatting and laughing in variations of hiking boots and shorts, practically glowing with wholesome good humor. Nearly every patron had a reusable water bottle in front of them or peeking out of a purse. They were also almost exclusively white.

  “Man, I don’t get this place,” Molly declared. She was studying the people around us with obvious curiosity. “I mean, LA has plenty of rich hippies, but it’s like we’re stuck inside a commercial for the world’s happiest and most expensive summer camp.”

  “I think it has something to do with the fact that their tans are real,” I suggested.

  Lex walked in a few minutes later, moving through the restaurant with confidence and purpose, like the soldier she used to be. She was about my height, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. Her face was surprisingly youthful, and I realized that she didn’t look a day older than when I’d first met her, three years earlier. This probably had to do with her witchblood: boundary witches age very slowly. Something about their cells not wanting to die.

  She wore jeans and a gray tank top under an unbuttoned flannel shirt, and I could see the cords of muscle on her forearms and shoulders. As she entered my radius, I was amazed, once again, by how powerful she was. Kirsten was easily the most powerful witch in LA, but Lex left even her in the dust.

  I half-rose from my chair and waved. She nodded and came over, looking a little irritated. As she got closer and took in my appearance, though, her face blanched. “What happened to you?” she asked me, taking a seat. “You look terrible.”

  “Hello to you too,” I said dryly. “I just got over the flu.” The lie came out of my mouth fast and easy . . . but then, covering shit up is what I do for a living.

  Lex shrugged, her eyes cutting over to Molly. They’d met a few months earlier, during the Vampire Trials in LA. “I didn’t know you were coming along,” she said, her voice neutral. “Isn’t that . . . kind of dangerous?”

  “Because of the sunlight?” Molly said, cheerful as ever. “Nah, Scarlett’s got my back. She expands her bubble to make sure I stay human. She’s really good at it.”

  “Huh.” Lex looked sort of wistful, and I remembered that last I heard, she still had a vampire boyfriend. I wanted to ask if the two of them spent time around Lex’s niece, who was also a null, but I had the feeling that bringing Charlie into the conversation wouldn’t go well for me. And besides, it wasn’t really any of my business.

  The waitress dropped off my toast and wrote down orders: coffee for Lex and a giant stack of pancakes for Molly. When she’d disappeared back to the kitchen, Lex turned to me. “So? What’s going on?”

  Right. Lex wasn’t exactly known for small talk. I pushed out a breath. “I need a favor. I’d like you to get me an audience with Maven. Tonight.”

  She arched an eyebrow. After a moment, she said in a low voice, “Couldn’t your cardinal vampire have set that up?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the other part of the favor. I don’t want Dashiell to find out we came here.”

  Lex leaned back in her chair, regarding me. “You know I have to ask you what this is about,” she said eventually.

  “It really isn’t complicated. I have a question about nulls. Maven is very old; therefore, I’m hoping she’ll know the answer.”

  Lex stared me down. “You sneak into Maven’s territory to quiz her without your boss knowing, and you think I’m going to buy that this isn’t complicated?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  She didn’t roll her eyes, because Lex is too scary for that. Instead, her expression suggested I was on my way to a serious ass-kicking. “You’re a null, Scarlett. I would be a complete idiot to put you alone in a room with one of the world’s most powerful vampires.”

  “Look, I don’t even need to be close enough to turn her human again. It’s just a question.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said sarcastically. “Just a question that you drove fifteen hours overnight to ask at the spur of the moment. Presumably because it’s too sensitive to discuss over the phone. And you expect me to take your word that you won’t turn her human?”

  We went silent as the waitress returned with the other orders. Molly, who had been watching our exchange with undisguised interest, gleefully attacked her plate of pancakes and hash browns. Lex took a sip of her coffee and then set it down, temporarily distracted by Molly’s obvious enjoyment. She watched her w
ith frank curiosity.

  I leaned forward. “Lex . . . come on. This isn’t us. I know you place as much value on vampire political shit as I do, which is zero units of value. So how about we don’t do the political negotiation dance, and instead you just ask your boss if I can have five minutes of her time?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but just then her eyes flicked sideways, taking in the woman making her way toward our table. She was in her late thirties, with dark blonde hair and tired brown eyes, and she carried a thick binder with scraps of paper sticking out.

  “Oh, shit,” Lex muttered under her breath. “My cousin. She’s a civilian.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Hey, Brie,” she said as the other woman came over to give her a hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, yourself,” the woman replied. “I’m meeting Elise for brunch, so we can do wedding planning.” She glanced at us with open curiosity. “I don’t think I’ve met your . . . Army friends?”

  “No, they’re, um . . .” She started to look panicked, so I stood up, pasting on a smile.

  “I’m Scarlett,” I said politely, standing up and holding out my hand. “Actually, Lex and I don’t know each other too well, but we have a mutual friend in Las Vegas. I was passing through town with my roommate, Molly, on our way to Denver.” Molls dutifully stood up and shook hands, too, still chewing a mouthful of pancakes. “We thought we’d spend a day seeing Boulder, and Sashi suggested we get coffee with Lex.”

  There, that covered all the details, right?

  Lex was staring at me, her eyes bugging out a little, but the moment I said the word Sashi, her cousin was instantly smiling. “Well, I’m Brie, Lex’s cousin. And we all adore Sashi. And Grace, of course.” Her face brightened, and she looked at her cousin. “Lex, you should invite them to May Birthdays tonight.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” Lex started, but Molly perked up, swallowing her food.

  “What’s May Birthdays?” she asked.

  “The Luthers get together every few weeks to celebrate the birthdays from that month,” Brie explained. “Usually it’s the first weekend of the month, but our cousin Jake and his family will be on vacation, so we’re doing it a week early. And Grace will be there.”

  “I’m sure Scarlett and Molly want to explore Boulder—” Lex began, but Molly interrupted again.

  “That sounds like fun,” she said brightly. “If you’re sure we wouldn’t be imposing.”

  Huh? My head swiveled toward her, and I recognized the gleam in Molly’s eye. What was she up to?

  “Not at all,” Brie assured us, her eyes sparkling. “There are always plenty of friends of the family there.” She seemed to be suppressing a mischievous smile as she added, “Of course, they’re not usually Lex’s friends . . .”

  Lex looked like she was about to argue, but Brie turned to her and said, “Are you bringing Quinn too? Or does he still have that weird work schedule?”

  Lex looked at me, and we had a perfect mind-meld moment. I nodded at her, and a tiny, unguarded smile broke over her face. Probably the first one I’d seen from her. “Yeah,” she said to Brie. “Yeah, he’s coming.”

  “Great. Five thirty at your mom and dad’s,” Brie reminded Lex. “Don’t forget this time.”

  “I won’t.”

  Brie waved and went off to a table near the window. Lex perched on the edge of her chair. “I should go before my other cousin gets here,” she said, taking a final sip of coffee and putting it down. “She’s a cop; she’ll have lots of questions.” She hesitated for a second, looking at me. “You’ll really wake Quinn up to come with us?”

  “If you’re sure he won’t mind,” I said. “Most vampires flip out when I wake them without express permission.”

  The same tiny smile. “Quinn isn’t most vampires.”

  “And Maven?” I pushed.

  The smile faded. “I’ll leave word at the coffee shop. She’ll get it when she wakes up. But even if she agrees, I need to be in the room. That’s nonnegotiable.”

  I chewed on my lip for a second, but when Lex said “nonnegotiable,” she meant it. We were going to have to trust her. I nodded.

  “I’ll text my address to your new number. Quinn’s there now. Come around five.” She turned to go, then paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Stay out of trouble today.” The phrase This is my town was clearly implied.

  “Oh, we will,” Molly said cheerfully.

  When she was gone, I turned to Molly. “What was that about? Why do you want to go to a family party for a family you don’t even know?”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re not curious about Lex’s life. And I want to meet the baby null. Besides, we’ve got time to kill before sunset.”

  “These points are not bad points,” I admitted. It would be interesting to see Lex in her natural habitat. And if enabling Quinn to attend the party ingratiated me to her a little, that couldn’t hurt my case later. “Okay. Family party it is.”

  Chapter 7

  When Jesse Cruz opened his eyes again, he was lying on the floor of an LAPD evidence room.

  That’s what it looked like, anyway. He didn’t recognize the specific lockup—the LAPD had twenty-one separate division stations, and he’d only visited a handful of them—but there were metal shelves surrounding him on every side, and they were loaded down with overflowing boxes, each one stamped with the official LAPD seal.

  How the hell could the Luparii witches have gotten him this deep inside an evidence room? Were they capable of teleportation?

  Jesse sat up slowly, checking himself for injuries. His mouth was dry and his head ached, but otherwise he felt okay. He reached for his phone, but it wasn’t in his pocket. How long had he been out? He checked his watch, but that was gone, too, along with his wallet.

  He stood up, intending to find his way out of there, or at least someone who could help him. The Luparii had taken Shadow, and Scarlett needed him. Jesse had no idea what he was going to say to whatever cops he found, but he couldn’t just sit around waiting for everything to resolve itself. “Hello?” he called. “Can I get some help?”

  There was no response, and nothing for Jesse to do but start walking. Which way was the exit, though? The room was dimly lit, and the shelves seemed to stretch on endlessly. He squinted in either direction, picked one, and started walking.

  He only passed a few of the shelves before realizing that something was very wrong. It was too quiet, for one thing—evidence rooms weren’t usually soundproofed, and he should have been able to hear the endless bustle of one of the busiest police forces in the world. But after he noticed this, he began to realize that other details were off, too. None of the boxes had lids, and there were no case numbers written on the sides. He stopped and pulled out a box, peering inside to see a Glock and an older-model cell phone. They were open to the elements, not even wrapped in plastic. Jesse reached in and touched the phone. It crumbled in his hand, turning into a chunky dust that somehow left his fingers greasy. He tried the gun next, but the same thing happened. Jesse pushed that box aside, wiped his hands on his jeans, and reached for the box next to it. This one held textbooks and clothes, the kind of stuff Jesse himself had owned as a high school student. He reached for them anyway, but everything crumbled again.

  When he turned back, the first box was in its original position, with the intact gun and cell phone sitting in their original spots.

  Jesse paused. Was he losing it? Had someone replaced the box with magic? He was really starting to wish he’d kept some of Kirsten’s witch bags close at hand. “Hello?” he called again. “Who’s out there?”

  If this had been a movie, he would have heard a sudden malicious giggle, but there was nothing but empty silence that seemed to go on forever. How big was this room?

  Jesse reached for the cell phone again. This time his fingers went right through it, like it was a ghost—or he was. His fingers felt cold where they touched the non-phone, and he jerked hi
s hand back. “Nothing is real,” he muttered to himself. He tried touching the shelf itself, wondering if he could walk through the damn thing, but no, of course that had structure.

  With no better ideas, Jesse resumed walking. It was a little ridiculous, but the lidless boxes were making him more edgy than anything else. Jesse had spent years having proper procedure drilled into him, and the sight of open evidence boxes was jangling his nerves, like seeing someone chain-smoking inside an elementary school. It was just wrong.

  Every now and then he pulled out boxes and tried to grab whatever was inside, just for the hell of it: key chains, old trophies, children’s toys, ticket stubs. Everything disintegrated.

  Next, he tried leaving boxes out to mark his path, but every time he looked away and then back again, they were gone.

  He walked and walked, sticking to a straight line so he wouldn’t risk going in circles, but the aisle he was in simply didn’t end. He was thirsty, and his empty stomach rumbled, but there was nothing to eat except cardboard boxes, and Jesse had a feeling even that wouldn’t work.

  After what felt like hours of this strange limbo, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A woman was curled up on the waist-high shelf, arms around her knees, watching him placidly.

  Jesse jumped. “Jesus!”

  She smiled at him, twisting sideways and unfolding her limbs like a giant insect. She stood up and tossed back her colorless hair, and Jesse realized it was the Luparii witch, Sabine. “You!” he said, darting forward to grab her. “Where—”

  But his hand passed right through her frail-looking arm. “Hello, Jesse,” she said with a smirk. “Welcome to the twisted slumber.”

  “You can speak English,” he said, the first thought that came to his mind. She didn’t even have an accent.

  But Sabine shook her head. “I control this space. If I want you to understand me in your dream, you will.”