"Wow," she breathed, her gaze skimming over the vast room. She had never seen so much red velvet and lacquer gathered in one place.
Clearly demons had a taste for the lush and opulent.
Touching her arm, Dante flashed a warning frown. "Don't touch anything."
"Why?"
"Imps tend to have a few of their objects enchanted. One touch and you will find yourself compelled to return to this coffee shop over and over."
She wrinkled her nose. "No wonder they're such good businessmen."
"It doesn't hurt."
Less than a beat passed before Troy sashayed into the room, imperiously holding his hand out. Dante obligingly dropped his watch into the open palm, and the imp held it up to inspect it with an expert eye.
"Let me see. Gold… real. Diamonds… real. A small scratch on the crystal." He pursed his lips and dropped the watch into the pocket of his shirt. "I can give you half an hour. Will you have a seat? Some coffee?"
Dante gave Abby's arm a warning squeeze before he was offering a smooth shake of his head.
"Nothing, thank you. This won't take long."
Troy tossed back his fiery mane of hair. "What can I do for you?"
"We're looking for witches."
The emerald gaze shifted to Abby. "Ah. You desire a potion or perhaps a hex? I have a friend who I promise will not disappoint."
Dante answered, "These witches will be living in a coven, and they won't dabble in potions. They have power. A great deal of power."
The too-pretty features abruptly pinched into an expression of distaste. "Oh… those witches."
Dante took a step forward. 'You know of them?"
"They arrived a few days ago. The worth of real estate has been plummeting ever since."
Abby blinked in confusion. "Real estate?"
"The demons are uneasy. These witches are not like others. They do not worship the beauty and glory of Mother Earth. They call their powers from the blood sacrifice. Already there have been several Sespi sprites who have simply disappeared."
Blood sacrifice? Abby bit her lower lip. That didn't sound good.
In fact, she was becoming more and more convinced that seeking out these witches was a very bad idea.
If Dante was shocked, he didn't show it. His alabaster face might have been carved from marble.
"What do you know of them?" he demanded.
"Their house is the large Victorian monstrosity at the end of Iris Avenue."
"How many?"
"Ten."
"Is the house guarded?"
The imp grimaced. "Well guarded. They have a tame Shalott that protects the grounds."
'Yeah, we've met," Abby muttered.
Dante took a moment to consider. "Any binding spells?"
"Not that anyone has detected."
"They must be conserving their strength," he murmured.
Troy moved forward, a smile on his lips and a wicked glint in his eyes as he lightly touched Dante's hair. "I do hope they are on your dinner plans, beautiful. They are beginning to affect business."
Dante smiled coldly. 'Tor now I just want to speak with them."
"Pity." The imp heaved a dramatic sigh and moved toward Abby. He stroked her hair as he did Dante's. Then slowly he bent forward to sniff at her neck. Abby forced herself to remain still. The Prince of Imps seemed harmless, but he was large enough to crush her with one hand. "What is that smell? There is something within you…"
"That's all we needed." With a smooth motion, Dante was stepping between Abby and the imp, his entire body humming with danger. "Thank you for your time."
The emerald eyes narrowed, but with a sardonic smile the imp was performing a deep bow.
"The pleasure was all mine." He glanced over Dante's shoulder to stab Abby with a knowing smile. "Still, I think it best you not return. My establishment possesses a few minor spells to dampen the more feral tendencies of my customers, but I don't think anything could halt bloodshed if they caught scent of you, my precious."
"We won't be back," Dante promised, hustling Abby from the room and into the back alley. Once the door was shut, he peered into the shadows. "Well, we have the information we wanted. Now what the hell do we do with it?"
The cellar was straight off the set of a horror film.
The floor was packed dirt and littered with the droppings of mice and rats. The worn stone walls were damp with a slick layer of mold. Even the air was heavy and filled with a dark sense of menace.
It combined to create an atmosphere that would send most people fleeing in terror. But Edra was made of sterner stuff.
She had no love for the shadows, but she was willing to use them for her own purpose. And after centuries of battling the darkness, she had at last accepted that only by directly confronting evil could she put an end to it once and for all.
Setting her candle on the large altar she had commanded built after being forced to flee the secret coven outside the city, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small amulet.
The darkness seemed to deepen, and the candle flickered. A bone-chilling cold crept through the air.
Edra smiled. So much power.
Enough power to alter the world.
The soft scrape of the door was the only warning that someone approached. With controlled haste, Edra slipped the amulet in her pocket and muttered a few words beneath her breath.
The few remaining witches could barely conjure a binding spell let alone be sensitive enough to the dark aura that clung to the amulet Still, she wasn't about to take any risks. Not now.
Not when she was so close to success she could taste it.
With a groan, she forced her stiff joints to kneel before the altar and bent her head in prayer. It was not until she could sense the woman halt at her side that she at last lifted her head.
The intruder was thin with lank brown hair. She no doubt had a name, but Edra had never bothered to learn it. Most of those she had once loved were now dead and gone. The lesser witches in the coven were merely necessary inconveniences.
"The demon lives?"
"It lives, but her wounds are grievous," the woman reported with a frown. "Salty was forced to heal her."
"She shouldn't have bothered. Soon enough we will have no need of the creature." Edra didn't miss the annoyance that flashed through the dark eyes, and she rose to her feet. Deliberately she allowed her power to fill the room. There were times when her underlings needed to be reminded that beneath her aging frailty was a will that would destroy without mercy. 'You have something to say?"
The witch momentarily faltered before she was squaring her shoulders.
"You have promised for the past year we would be rid of the demons, but we are no closer to achieving our goals, and now too many of us are dead."
"It was not my fault that Selena became greedy and used the spell books before I could assist her or that the wizard attacked without warning," she snapped in annoyance.
"We should have been better prepared."
Edra's hand dipped into her pocket to finger the amulet. "Are you suggesting that I failed?"
"I suggest that we became complacent."
"And you wish to challenge my authority?"
Perhaps sensing her imminent death, the witch took a hasty step back.
"No. I simply want to pull back and gather our strength. To continue with the plan while we are so weak is madness."
"Impossible. All the signs are in alignment. We must strike while we can."
"But we don't even know where the Phoenix is. The Shalott failed us."
A flare of anger raced through the ancient witch before she fiercely thrust it aside. She could not be distracted. Not now.
A cold smile touched her lips. "The Chalice is close. Even now she seeks us out."
The younger witch blinked in surprise. 'You feel her?"
'"fes." A shiver of anticipation raced through her body. "Prepare the sacrifice. Our time is coming."
"But—"
"Do not make me repeat myself," Edra warned in a lethal voice. "Prepare the sacrifice."
Not entirely stupid, the younger woman was hastily backing toward the stairs. 'Yes, mistress."
Dismissing her companion with a wave of her hand, Edra concentrated upon the vague awareness that was becoming steadier with every passing moment.
At last.
Despite all the grim setbacks. Despite the deaths. Despite the failure of her underlings. Her dream was about to become a reality.
"Come to me," she whispered softly.
Chapter 22
"This is it."
Squatting beside Dante in the overgrown hedges, Abby studied the house.
Set well away from the street and nearly hidden behind the hedges, it was an aging Victorian structure. Although aging seemed too kind a description. Crumbling to dust was more accurate.
Even in the shadows it was easy to spot the peeling paint and sagging porch. If Norman Bates needed a vacation home, she had just found if for him. Abby gave a shake of her head. Holy freaking cow. The only surprise would be if there wasn't a dead mother hidden in the bedroom and a homicidal maniac prowling the grounds.