The sybil lifted her empty margarita glass, shaking it. “Seems that way.”
Devastated, Rosalind trembled. This was it—her life was over. She lifted her eyes to the sybil, fingers tightening around her drink. “Is there another possible solution? Couldn’t the soul go into the afterworld, where it belongs?”
The waitress sashayed over to the table, lowering the tray of margaritas, and Sambethe grabbed another. “No. It’s stuck in a body until someone dies with it. That’s your parents’ fault.”
“What about another person?” Rosalind asked, desperation eating at her.
“Who would want to take that on? You could force someone, I guess.” The sybil rose, licking the salt off her drink as she shuffled out of the booth. “You kids have a lot to talk about. I’m going to dance.”
The news knocked the wind out of Rosalind, and she could hardly breathe. She was ruined. And, with a wave of dread, she realized Tammi’s life was destroyed too. Unless Rosalind turned herself in, the Brotherhood would hunt them both to the ends of the earth.
Her fingers tightened around Caine’s arm. Corrupted. For good.
He eyed her warily. “I can feel your panic. You need to calm down. The other demons will be able to smell your fear.”
She shot him a dirty look, then gripped her Manhattan and chugged it down in one go. “Of course I’m freaking out. I’m cursed. And Tammi’s life is ruined too.”
He leaned in close, his breath warming her neck. “You can’t make a scene here. You’re supposed to be a courtesan.”
Anger burned through her body. “What difference does it make? My life is over. I might as well let one of these monsters drain my blood now. Then maybe the Brotherhood will stop coming after Tammi.”
Caine narrowed his eyes. “Your life is not over, but it will be if you don’t get a hold of yourself.”
The weight of the sybil’s revelation crushed the air from her lungs. “Tammi and I have nowhere to go. We can’t escape the Brotherhood.” She scanned the room, her eyes landing on the flame-haired courtesan, eagerly massaging the feet of a horned demon. “We’ll have to become courtesans for real. I’ll have to rub demon feet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caine said. “You’d make a terrible courtesan. You’re going to become a mage.”
“You don’t understand.” Her pulse raced, and she couldn’t keep her voice from rising. She needed to get a grip, but her world had just completely crashed down on her, and she could no longer control herself. She waved a hand at the crowd. “All of this disgusts me. Demons use humans for their own pleasure, and I don’t want any part of the magical world.”
“For a smart girl, you have awfully simple analyses of complex situations.”
He wanted to distract her with his moral equivalence again. “Using humans comes easily to you, doesn’t it? I saw how you treated Josiah. It’s just in your nature. You were born to feed from humans for sustenance.”
“And you were apparently born to make my life hell by recklessly invoking the wrath of every demon you encounter. Including me.” He took a slow, steadying breath, clearly trying to control himself. “You need to stop talking. I’m going to help you calm down, not because I want to control you, but because it’s the only way you’ll get out of here without one of these demons murdering you.” He whispered, and his aura wound around her skin before pulsing through her chest, relaxing her muscles.
Some of the panic ebbed, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness. The world as she’d thought she understood it was gone—the divisions between good and evil, the order of things, her place in it all. None of it had meaning anymore, so what was the point of her life?
Trying to ignore the hollowness in her chest, she rose.
Caine stood, taking her by the hand to lead her from the club. The lights flashed garish shades of red and orange, pulsing over gyrating dancers. The thumping bass rattled her bones, and she tried to push out all thoughts of the evil lurking in her body.
She caught a glimpse of Tammi and Aurora dancing, losing themselves in the music. How was she going to break this news to her friend?
The question didn’t linger in her thoughts long because, in the next moment, the valkyrie stepped into Rosalind’s path, her cold eyes scanning Rosalind’s body. “You’re not a real courtesan. You don’t behave like one.”
Dread rushed up Rosalind’s spine, mixed with an odd sense of relief. Maybe this encounter would end it all.
“I’m a novice courtesan,” she said, her voice hollow.
In a blur of white and copper, the valkyrie lunged, long fingers clamping tighter on Rosalind’s throat. Mists’s aura, cold and furious as storm clouds, flooded Rosalind’s body.