“The blood bar is the only part of the plan that I can get behind,” Aurora said. “Because I’m a little cranky before I have my evening drink.”
Caine eyed Rosalind’s outfit. “But you can’t go in there wearing that virginal white dress. They’ll eat you alive.”
“Literally,” Aurora said.
“What am I supposed to wear?”
Aurora looked her over. “I’ll take care of the outfit.”
Great. Not only were they muddling her mind, but she was going to start dressing like them, too. “Is that really necessary?”
Caine narrowed his eyes. “Unless you have a death wish, which I’m starting to think you do.”
Chapter 13
Rosalind, sitting on the back of Caine’s bike, wrapped her arms tight around him. They roared down a narrow Salem street, past crooked colonial houses, on their way to meet Aurora at the bar. Lilu trailed behind them.
A marine wind rushed over Rosalind’s bare arms, and moonlight dazzled off puddles as they rushed past.
It was beautiful by the water, but she didn’t belong in Salem with her arms wrapped around a mage’s body. Her plan had been simple: become a Guardian and fight evil. Until now, her worst-case scenario involved leaving the Brotherhood to become some kind of software engineer. Maybe a computational biologist, to keep things a little interesting.
No part of her plans had involved donning a black leather dress, covering herself in fake alchemical tattoos, and straddling a sorcerer’s motorcycle. But things didn’t always go to plan.
Caine had cast a spell to cover her in magical markings that snaked around her arms and back, disguising her as a mage. It so happened there was a lot of exposed skin to cover, thanks to Aurora’s outfit choices. Apparently, demons didn’t like leaving anything to the imagination. As she sat on the back of Caine’s bike, the short dress was hitched all the way up her thighs. At her insistence, she’d kept her own boots on.
As they pulled up to a rickety old pier, Rosalind spotted Aurora standing in the amber light of a streetlamp not far from the harbor. The low-cut back of her dress exposed a brutal network of scars.
Gods, what happened to her? It looked as though she’d accidentally exposed her skin to the sunlight and never healed.
As Rosalind stepped off the bike, she shuddered. Whatever had caused those scars must have been agonizing.
Aurora turned, eyeing Rosalind’s outfit. “I told you that dress would suit you.”
Maybe it did suit her. Rosalind hadn’t failed to notice Caine’s jaw drop when she’d stepped out of the room in the tiny black dress. Still, she felt exposed, and tugged the neckline up.
“But you’ve got to stop fidgeting,” Aurora added. “You’re acting like a pedestrian.”
Rosalind frowned. “A pedestrian?”
“Ordinary people,” Aurora said. “Those without magic. Boring. Stuck on the ground. Like you with that stupid iron ring. I told you. Stop fidgeting.”
“This isn’t how I normally dress. And there’s no room in this dress for my weapon belt.” Not to mention a bra.
“Only pedestrians need weapons,” Caine said.
She liked her weapons. But even without them, a Hunter had other tools. Josiah had taught her to scan her environment for anything that was usable as a weapon. Ingenuity was the one area where Hunters had the upper hand. Iron dust could defeat magic, and Hunters knew how to fight the old-fashioned way: fists, broken bottles, big blocks of wood—whatever they could find.
In the cool sea air, goose bumps raised on her skin. Nothing stood on the wharf apart from a ramshackle, two-story house labelled Sail Loft. Weather-beaten and boarded with old wood, it must have been deserted for centuries.
She hugged herself. “That’s where we’re going?”
“Glamoured,” Caine said. “Unlike me.”
Rosalind paused, touching his arm. “I’m supposed to act like a mage, and they’ll believe it?”
Caine nodded. “As much as you can. They’ll know you’re human by your scent, but they won’t touch a mage. If they think you’re pedestrian, things will become unpleasant fast. And if they discover you’re a Hunter, you can expect an excruciating death.”
“Fantastic,” she said.
“That’s why you should take the ring off,” Aurora said. “What if a high demon comes in? Some of them could smell your Hunter blood even if you haven’t drunk ambrosia in a day. A bit of real magic would protect you.”
Instinctively, Rosalind tightened her hand into a fist. The whole point of this was that she’d never again have to suffer the wild, burning rage of the witch’s soul, that uncontrolled animal mind that threatened to swallow her whole. “That is not a good idea.”
“It’s true. She’s not ready for that yet,” Caine said. “We’ll just hope no high demons are there tonight.”
Aurora arched an eyebrow. “You just want to hope? That’s your plan? We should’ve left her at home.”