When the Fae took his seat in Telavar's car, I expected obnoxious innuendos and subtle, maligning attempts to coerce more requests from me. I prepared myself for that behavior—and yet, when Xerex settled, his mien changed from that of a dangerous flirt to a professional businessman. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, slid his sunglasses onto his face, and waited for me to drive. Dressed in a black button-down with an off-white sports coat, he almost looked professional. 

I think I know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving, I mused as I threw the car into gear and began to navigate through the evening traffic. I glanced at Xerex occasionally as he took out his phone and began to text, his thumbs moving faster than I could follow. I grew more curious about the Fae, wondering what exactly Xerex Darhan did when he wasn't peddling knick-knacks or skulking about RNU.

If he was willing to take a presumably human woman into a blood pit with little argument against it, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what kind of business Xerex dealt in when he decided to be a professional.

It took some time to navigate the crowded streets and to escape into the east bank once more. By then, it was fully dark and I knew we'd find vampires inside the seedy lounge, much to my disappointment. I only hoped they wouldn't be fighting, and if they were, that I could avoid seeing it. I'd witnessed more violence than most in my life, but that didn't mean I could tolerate it when surrounded by vicious men and women trying to kill one another for money.

My mouth went dry and I wiped cold sweat from my brow.

When we approached Eighth and Primavera, Xerex directed me away from Bob's Bowl-a-Rama in favor of an unlit, grubby lot on Eighth about a building down from our destination. The entire block was populated with black, uninhabited warehouses abandoned in the Riots and never touched again. Some were reduced to rubble, others were refuge to the homeless—the homeless who dared live in Roccia Nera, anyway. Living on the streets was dangerous with creatures like vampires—or Maligaphrius—out on the prowl. 

"This isn't my car," I told Xerex with a look out the window at the dubious lot he'd chosen. There were a few other vehicles about, mostly rusted junkers and tireless heaps eroding into the faded asphalt. No security lamps were installed in the area. "I can't have something happen to it." 

"It'll be watched," Xerex said without further explanation as he exited the car. I followed, taking my purse, unwilling to leave it behind, and Xerex came around the sedan to offer me his arm.

I stared at it, then at him, and Xerex's expression never changed, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. I wanted to tell him he looked like an idiot wearing those at night—but I wisely kept my mouth shut. 

"You need to touch me for the glamour to extend to you, yeah?" he explained with a gesture toward his upheld arm. "As you pointed out earlier, they don't allow humans inside."

"Oh." Unsure, I threaded my arm around his and held on when Xerex set off at a brisk pace along the cracked sidewalk. 

The magic ensconcing us changed, a sheet of it surrounding me in an uncomfortable veil of spiraling wind as the Darkling wove his spell. Glamours worked by altering others' perceptions of an item or a person, not by physically changing the target itself. In a way, it was as if Xerex was setting a mirror in front of me, and the image it reflected was whatever he wanted others to see. Because the magic wasn't acting upon my body, my innate talent left it alone. Otherwise, I would have had some very difficult questions to answer for Xerex.

The bar and its entrance came into sight, brought into relief by a single lamp throwing light across the black door and the man leaning at its side, smoking.

The man looked up as we approached, Xerex's stride slowing into something casual and sedate, his posture more affectionate and considerate of my presence. I didn't bother to school my features or to mimic his behavior, as I knew the glamour was already doing it for me.

"Mr. Darhan," the man greeted with a short, stiff nod. "We haven't seen you for a while."

"I've had better places to be, Calvin." Xerex's arm left mine and wound about my waist, his fingers digging into my hip. The guard—Calvin—leered, displaying a set of fake, plastic fangs. I scoffed, and fought the urge to ram my elbow into the Darkling's gut.

"Are you going to open the door, or keep us waiting, Cal?"

"Of course, Mr. Darhan. I've just got to see her ID first. Rules, you know." 

Crap, I thought as my stomach dropped and I looked to Xerex for direction. The Fae only shrugged and snapped his fingers. "C'mon. Give him your ID."

I dug in my purse for my wallet, exasperated, and found what he wanted. As I went to place the card in the meaty palm of the lounge's lookout, Xerex snatched it from me with lightning grace and handed it to the man instead. He, in turn, gave the ID a cursory glance—then stepped aside to open the door.

What...?

Xerex took my ID and handed it back without a thought as we entered into the warm dark of the waiting lounge. I looked over the small card and, in the weak light coming through the open door, saw that the information printed there had been rearranged. Next to the species label was a bold "US" for Unseelie, with my designation being "CoA 1," a member of the Court of the Archon, level one foreign national restrictions.

Without direct contact from Xerex, the illusion quickly dissolved, and my ID returned to normal. I was impressed by how quickly he'd managed to stitch together such a strong spell.

"Well now...it seems I've gotten you through the door, professor." Xerex pulled away as said door slammed closed, plunging us into neon-tinged darkness. I could hear the music and shouts coming from ahead, through a thick curtain where the thunder of stomping feet shook in my legs. "It'll be fun to see how far you get."

The Unseelie Prince leaned upon the wall and the harsh embrace of his glamour slid away, receding once more into the tempest of his magic. Though it'd been stifling, I felt exposed with the glamour gone and my heart began to beat much faster.

"I owe you a debt and wish to know how I should repay you—," I said, careful to word my statement as unambiguously as possible. "Within the parameters of our original bargain."

Xerex's hand bobbed back and forth as if batting away a bothersome gnat. "After."

"After?"

I saw his lazy smile widen in the low, crimson glow of the neon. "After."

There were voices outside the door, the vamp-wannabe guard chatting with whoever was about to come inside. I was suddenly afraid I'd see someone I knew, as unlikely as that was—someone who thought I was just an odd human, and would begin to question my nature if they saw me inside a preternatural-only blood pit.

Steeling myself against the knots twisting in my stomach, I left Xerex in the empty front room and passed through the curtain into the back.

The sound of snarling mouths and fists striking flesh hit my ears with unrelenting ferocity as I let the curtain flop shut behind me. Despite it being early in the evening, the bar and lounge surrounding the blood pit itself were crammed with bodies, the heat and smell overwhelming in such tight quarters. My normal eyes were at a loss here, as they kept the blood pit dark enough for only those with preternatural vision to have visibility. 

The pit was invisible from my vantage anyway, blocked by the crowd and the hazy red neon highlighting each step on the stands. One of the combatants must have hit the floor, for the adrenaline-pumping shouts increased in volume, and a man's elbow came flying toward my face when he threw his arms out in disgust. I managed to dodge—barely—and stumbled to the wall.

"Kill him!" the voices touted in choir, chanting their bloodthirsty epitaph over and over as those in the pit struggled and screamed. 

Where do I go? I can't see anything. 

It was too dark, the entrance to the basement hidden somewhere in the teeming shadows and shifting masses. I wouldn't be able to find my way with just my mundane eyes, so—resigned—I pressed myself more firmly to the brick wall at my back and opened my second sight, willing my soul to only peer into the dark, not to lose itself in it. 

The violence crawled through me in pulsating waves. My lip curled without thought as the pit, its inhabitants, and the spectators were brought into sharp, emotion-lined technicolor. Those watching the deathmatch with rapt attention were doused in greedy orange, their features clear to me, sharp eyes following every motion, every blow. Those who cried out for more death had red and black in their hearts and in their minds.

Of the two vampires in the sunken pit with their limbs flailing, kicking up blood-soaked earth, one was soaked with putrescent fear, splayed upon his back while the other, larger leech pounced upon him, the berserking creature nothing but a crimson blur burned in my sight. The fight continued until the winning vampire got his hands around the loser's throat. A shot of blue sadness streaked through the weaker vamp before the crack of his neck breaking silenced his emotions forever.

The shouts doubled in volume, and my stomach twisted as I fought the urge to gag. Fists were thrown as those who'd betted upon the losing combatant rallied against their debt collectors. One man was even thrown into the pit as well—and went down under the raging vampire. Laughter joined with the shouts, and the man's screamed turned into gurgling sobs.

I have to get out of here. 

Searching for the basement in earnest, I refused to return my attention toward the pit, shaking and shivering with nausea and no small amount of terror. There were no laws here, no ethics. One wrong step, and it'd be me—the "human"—being flung headlong to my death as a mid-bout snack.

I found Theda's trail again, thin and wispy as dispersing smoke, and traced it to the far side of the lounge. I would have ran if it'd been possible, but I was relegated to sidling along the wall, dodging vampires and growling Weres, willing myself to be nothing more than part of the scant décor. The coppery smell of spilled blood rose and I choked on it.

A sign was posted upon the narrow basement door, readable when I was right next to it, the words "Employees Only" written in a bold red scrawl. Employees? This place had employees? Was there also a sign in the restroom telling them to wash their hands after they dragged dead competitors to the trash?

The commotion culminated as another victim was forced into the ring with the enraged monster. Everyone's attention was focused upon the pit—so I tried the door, and when the knob twisted under my sweaty palm, I pried it open without hesitation. I slipped inside the cooler stairwell and, when the door sealed shut, allowed myself a cleansing breath.

This was why humans feared the preternatural—because they were different, because they delighted in blood sports such as these, because they gathered in society's blind spots and murdered and maimed without the humans being aware of it. True, humans weren't much better—but they liked to believe they were. The preternatural didn't pretend to be anything different than what they were, and that was terrifying.

I descended the stairs one cautious step at a time, my hands blindly following the rough handrail, soft scratching noises arising from my booted feet. As far as I could sense, I was alone in the basement, the area clean of essence but for some strewn splotches abandoned here and there. I kept sampling Theda's trail, puzzling over the odd flavor, but couldn't quite identify why it confused me. Her emotions tasted...muddled.

The stairs continued deep into the earth, circling the sunken pit, and finally coming to a stop far underneath its unending, violent swell. I was on the bottom step when it hit me; Theda had been drugged. That was the reason for her confusion, those wavering spurts of fear followed by insouciance. She'd gone to the bar as Telavar's contact reported, and she'd been drugged.

Hell. This is where she disappeared, isn't it?

There was a light switch on the wall. I was alone, so I dared risk flipping it—wincing at the sudden glow hitting my eyes. Most of the interior was what one would expect to find in a shady basement: metal shelves, questionable stains in the greasy carpet, walls spattered in graffiti and chipped paint. Other items, like the bloodstained sacks tossed in one corner, the stash of semi-automatics, and the woodcarving bench, were decidedly less common. There was a pair of bolted double doors on the other side of the low, flat space.

I studied the texture of Theda's essence, noting that it had only lingered here for a minute or so before cutting a sharp trail toward those double doors, as if someone had dragged her. Hurrying to the doors, I snatched hold of the chains looped about the handles and tugged, but nothing happened. Each link in the chains was as thick as my wrist, and the doors were comprised of a sturdy iron. No way through.

The door's corroded metal was cool beneath my palm as I lay a hand against it, sending out a slip of my ability to follow Theda's trail inside. I didn't get a sense of what was beyond the barred doors, aside for a general impression of hollowness, of an airless dark stretching on for an impressive way. It had to be a tunnel. Near the end of my range, the passage began to rise in a sharp incline and head toward the surface.

"Where did they take you?" I muttered, dropping my hand and stepping back. Why take Theda? Why risk exposure? Aside from being difficult to kill, vampires weren't easily missed. They were registered, their behaviors monitored by the masters, by the Baron, and by the human authorities. If one went missing, or their routines changed, someone would notice—especially if the missing vampire was a master's daughter.

So why take her?

Scrunching my eyes closed, I surveyed the essence within the basement again, ignoring what remained of Theda's presence and the vicious emotions bleeding in from the pit above. I sought something familiar, something that would disclose the identity of the kidnappers—but I didn't recognize any other signatures I found. There'd been others here like the Havik vampire, scared and listless, and some who emitted boredom or apathy, but nothing conclusive.

"Damn," I breathed, scratching my head—and my arms, my neck, my chest, and my stomach. Every inch of me was beginning to itch from the latent heat of the energy surging through my body.

I turned my attention to the woodcarving station, narrowing my eyes. At first, I didn't think anything of it, as I didn't sense anything there—until I realized that was exactly what I sensed. Nothing. No emotion, no essence. Such a state was unnatural, especially in a place like this. The nothingness was so thick it was almost tangible, and I recognized it.

It's like Dominick, my mind supplied, images of the now dead vampire flitting through my thoughts. And the vamp in Amondale. And the one by the Court of the River. 

There was nothing remarkable about the station, aside from it being in the basement of a blood pit and having not a single drop of emotion to show for it. That weird, nebulous magic was a void in my senses, and passing my soul through it filled me with unsettling dread. It was my fourth time encountering this brand of magic, but I knew nothing about it. Where did it come from? Why was it here?

What did it have to do with the missing vampires?

I touched one of the metal tools on the station's top and disturbed a pile of shavings and sawdust. There was a wood emblem hidden under the debris, carved into a wheel with jagged, uneven spindles. My fingertips brush some of the dust away—and I hissed as the upsetting magic so heavily concentrated within the wheel burned my skin.

"Is that where it's coming from?" I used the carving tool to prod the emblem out into the light. It was an ugly thing. It couldn't possibly be the source of the strange, void magic...could it?

Should I find a way to take it with me and show Havik?

Too late, I felt breath tickling against my ear and a cold body hovering inches behind my own. "Curious humans should learn to keep their sticky fingers to themselves, Ms. Winters."

I spun with a gasp, slamming my spine into the station's edge as I found myself face to face with Roccia Nera's Baron. Ishcer did not look pleased to see me.

In fact, he looked furious.

Oh, damn.