“You won’t get in trouble?” I asked, guilt streaking through me. If the boss was so dangerous, and she worked for him…
I desperately needed her help—Mac and Seraphia needed her help—but I couldn’t help worrying about her.
Madame Duvoir waved her hand. “Don’t fret. I do what I want.”
“Come on.” Neve scaled the ladder.
I followed her, with Grey bringing up the rear.
Madame Duvoir’s place was a large, open space and dimly lit, outfitted with Bohemian décor.
“This way.” Madam Duvoir led us toward a round table.
We sat, and she leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “So, what do you have for me?”
I pulled the book out of my bag, along with the two locks of hair. I put them on the table in front of her and told her the tale.
Her expression was impassive as she listened. When I finished, she looked at Grey. “And you’re cursed, too?”
“My memory has been modified.”
“Could be a spell,” she said. “Not as degenerative as a curse, but it would get the job done.”
“Can you determine what it is?” he asked.
“For the right price.”
“Which is?”
She named a number that made my brows go up. It had more zeros than I usually saw in a year, but Grey just nodded. “It will be transferred immediately.”
She pursed her lips and stared at him.
He smiled blandly and raised his wrist to his lips, speaking into his comms charm. “Miranda, could you transfer fifty thousand pounds to the account of Madame Duvoir in Magic Side, Chicago?”
“Immediately, sir.”
“Excellent.” Madame Duvoir said. “Everyone knows how efficient your Miranda is.”
“Indeed.”
“Now, let’s see this book.” Madam Duvoir pulled it across the table and flipped it open. She reached for the two locks of hair as well, frowning as she touched them. “You said these are cursed?”
“Yes.”
“They’re not cursed.”
“Yes, they are.” Confusion pulled at me. “Mac and Seraphia were surrounded by the same shadows that hovered around the city wall. Then they became ill.”
“It’s not a curse. I would feel it.”
“Try harder.” Frustration surged through my veins.
“Mind your manners.” Madame Duvoir glared. “I’m never wrong.”
“The book.” Grey’s tone was soothing, and he gripped my hand under the table. Gently, as if he were trying to soothe me as well.
It didn’t work. Much.