“Just tell me where to find her, and I won’t bother you again,” I bargain, only to have them pretend not to hear.
If I wasn’t so pressed for time, I’d probably be impressed with their level of deep concentration and commitment. But, as it stands, I’m a little under the gun. And while I know I shouldn’t do it, while Paloma warned me early on about the dangers of using my magick in immature ways, I can’t think of any other way to get through to them.
So the second the lip gloss wands emerge from their respective purses—perfectly timed, as though they rehearsed it (which is amazing in and of itself considering their current state of drunkenness)—I steel my focus, raise my hand, and drag both those wands clear along the sides of their cheeks. Painting wide stripes of berry and pink that drag from lip to ear, before flinging them to the opposite side of the room where they crash against the wall and land on the filthy tiled floor.
“You ready to acknowledge me and tell me where Phyre went with Cade?” I allow two full seconds for them to consider. “’Cause if not, the purses go next. And you’ll quickly follow.”
They look at each other in silent communion, and Jacy is the first to fold. “She’s taken your place,” she says, scowling as she overenunciates the third word.
My place?
I glance in the mirror, surprised to see what they see. I’d almost forgotten I’m wearing Lita’s Marilyn mask. And they’re so far gone, they’ve mistaken me for her.
“She’s hooking up with Cade—not like it’s any of your business. I mean, excuse me, but—aren’t you the one who dumped him?” Jacy places her hand on her hip, teeters on her heels, and uses that same hand to right herself again.
“Exactly where is she meeting him?” I switch my focus between them, voicing it more like a demand than a question.
They glance at each other, silently weighing whether or not they should tell me. So I give them a little nudge and lift Crickett’s purse right off the sink’s edge and into my hand. Planning to hold it hostage until someone responds.
“Outside,” she says, warily eyeing her faux designer handbag now in my possession.
“Where outside?” I dangle the bag before her.
“Outside by the chain-link fence. Supposed to be some kind of sacred, romantic space or something. Look—whatever. Just—can I have my freaking purse back?”
I’m about to hand it over, when I notice the shiny blue tourmaline pendant she wears at her neck. “Where’d you get that?” I ask, having to force my gaze away in order to return my focus to them.
Cricket shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Sheesh, were you always this annoying?” She looks to Jacy for the answer.
“Where’d you get it?” I lift her purse higher, swing it from its short vinyl strap.
“The swag bag. Everyone got one at the door. Okay? Happy now?” Crickett heaves a dramatic sigh, and swipes a hand forward, snatching her purse from my grip.
“No,” I say, that doesn’t make me happy at all. “But it helps.” I race out the door, eager to tell Dace what I learned—only to find Dace isn’t there.
I push through the mob of inebriated New Year’s revelers, searching for Dace among them, but he’s nowhere in sight. And now that I know what I know, there’s no time to search for him. All I can do is hope he’s okay as I make for Phyre and Cade.
I plow through the exit, racing for the chain-link fence with the small gold lock clinging to it. Phyre must’ve been watching us the ni
ght I put it there. There’s no other way she could’ve known it held any significant meaning.
And sure enough, the moment it springs into view, I find her right where I expected.
Her back pressed against the fence, her cat mask discarded at her feet, as Cade looms before her.
She hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him in close, angling his face toward hers, about to make contact, when I rush up behind them, yank hard on Cade’s coat, and jerk him right off her.
“What’re you—crazy?” she shouts, her expression ranging from startled to fury, the moment she sees that it’s me. Appealing to Cade when she says, “Do something! Stop her—make her go away!”
But Cade just stands there and grins. “Never figured you for the jealous type, Santos.” He dips his head, swipes a hand through his hair. “But I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news. Thing is, I’m just not that into you.” He blows his cheeks out, pausing long enough for the words to sink in—the better to devastate me. “Yes, I know it’s you, Seeker. Nice try with the switching of the masks. While you might be able to fool dumb and dumber in there.” He hooks a thumb toward the club—a thinly veiled reference to Jacy and Crickett that doesn’t make sense.
How could he possibly know they directed me here?
Though I barely have time to ponder, before he goes on to say, “Your little ruse is far too sophomoric to fool someone like me. You see, I can smell your Raven scent a mile away. And I have to tell you, Seeker, this game you insist on playing is getting more than a little tiresome. That’s the second time you’ve interrupted Phyre and me, and it’s really beginning to grate. If you want to sit back and watch, I got no problem with that. Hell, you might even learn a few things. But if you interfere one more time—you die. And this time for good. Understood?”
With an annoyed shake of his head, he turns back to Phyre who’s waiting for him with glassy eyes and glistening lips.
He centers himself before her, and she hooks a leg around his, pulling him in, as he angles in for the kiss. And despite his warning, I yank on his coat once again, shouting, “You kiss her—you die!”