She tried to ignore the heat tingling through her body. She was here for the sybil—not to enjoy herself.
As they approached the booths at the back, a human woman in an emerald-green corset held a tray over her head. A single margarita stood on it.
Caine touched the woman’s arm, and she turned, flashing a stunning smile at him. Flame-red hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Hi, gorgeous.”
“Hello. I need this drink.” He plucked it from the tray.
“Oh.” The girl’s face crinkled in confusion. “It’s for Sambethe.”
“I’ll bring it to her. And while you’re at it, two Manhattans for us. Dry.”
Looking him over, she licked her lips. “I’ll be right there.”
Caine threaded his fingers through Rosalind’s, and wove his way to a darkened corner of the club.
In a booth, lit from above by glowing golden orbs, sat a white-haired woman in a stunning, coppery gown. Her frosty hair contrasted starkly with a smooth, creamy complexion. The woman’s milky eyes landed on the margarita in Caine’s hands, and she jabbed a finger at it. “Is that for me?”
“I brought it specially for you. My name is Caine.” He took a seat across from her in the booth, and Rosalind followed, squeezing in next to him so she could anchor herself to his aura.
Sambethe snatched the drink from the table, extending a long, pointed tongue to lick the salt off the rim.
Caine leaned in close, peering at Sambethe from below his lashes. “Is it true that you are very discreet with your oracles?”
“Don’t try to flirt with me, boy. I’m far too old for that.” She lifted her drink. “You keep these coming, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
Smiling obsequiously, the red-haired waitress rushed over to the table, her tray laden with two Manhattans.
Caine leaned back in his seat, eyeing the redhead. “How did you get those so fast?”
She glanced away, blushing. “I took them off another waitress’s tray. I thought you were more important.”
“Well done,” Caine said, snatching them from her tray. “Now, we’ll need five margaritas.”
Sambethe chuckled. “Now we’re talking.”
The waitress hurried away, and Rosalind turned back to the sybil. Was she still supposed to pretend to be mute? This was getting old.
Sambethe drained her cocktail. “We’ll need a private space.”
Caine closed his eyes, whispering an incantation. As his aura swirled through Rosalind’s body, a black curtain closed around the booth’s opening.
Sambethe’s milky eyes swerved to Rosalind. “You can stop pretending to be a courtesan. I know what you are.”
Rosalind’s chest tightened. Is that a warning? “But you won’t tell anyone?”
Golden light shimmered over the sybil’s skin. “What do I care? I’m seven thousand years old. Ask your question.”
Rosalind took a long breath. “I have another soul in my body. A mage’s soul. If I take off this ring—” She lifted her hand. “—I plummet into a world of hell. It’s like my mind is fracturing, and my body is on fire. I want to know how to fix it. How do I get the mage out of me?”
Sambethe held Rosalind’s gaze for an uncomfortably long time. “Hold on to your cocktails. This could get messy.” She slid her own empty glass out of the way and climbed onto the table.
After throwing back her head, the Sybil began to sway and jerk. Her arms twitched to the rhythmic pulsing of the club’s music. Then, with a frantic snarl, she hunched down to a crouching position, her head weaving around in the air like a snake’s, her muscles taut. Her eyes locked on Rosalind’s before she reached out to grip Rosalind’s head. A powerful aura coursed through Rosalind like a mountain wind, clean and ancient.
“Blodrial’s child, split in two.” Her deep voice howled like a gale. “The mage, tormented by fire. Nyxobas’s servant made her burn.” Her head lolled, eyelids fluttering. “On a full moon, find the hawthorn grove. The spell belongs to Blodrial. Coat yourself in iron, and the incubus will chant. He will take on the extra soul.”
Relief flooded Rosalind. They had an answer—a solution at last.
Sambethe threw her head back, sighing. She wasn’t done. “The incubus will take on the extra soul. Three souls in one body. Two that don’t belong together, shattered by broken love. Someone must be sacrificed. The incubus’s body will sicken and die.”
Horror slid through Rosalind’s bones. The incubus’s body will sicken and die. If Caine took on the soul, he would die? That was supposed to be the solution?
Sambethe’s muscles relaxed, and she slid back into her seat just as the black curtain disappeared.
Rosalind dropped her head into her hands as panic clenched around her lungs. This had been her one hope.
Caine took a gulp of his drink. “Just to clarify, I will die if I take on the other soul?”