“I’m sorry we’re putting you at risk.”

“Please, this is the most fun I’ve had all month.” She looked back. “Anyway, I’m intrigued now. I want to push the case forward. All we have to do is not get shot.”

“Is the Dockside Den that dangerous?”

“Only if you aren’t supposed to be there. I mean, it’s a free city. In theory, we should all be able to go where we want and talk to whomever we like. Normally, I would be fine going in. They might give me a hard time because I’m a known agent, but they wouldn’t mess with me too much.”

“So why are we trying to slip in under cover of night?” I asked.

Neve nodded back at Grey. “He makes this a lot harder. Bosses are supposed to stay out of each other’s territory. Professional courtesy and all. But since he’s the one with the curse…”

Neve looked at the dark shapes looming along the shoreline. The buildings here weren’t as tall, and few were lit. “Speaking of getting in the hard way, I think I’d better drive.”

I gave her the wheel, and she turned down the throttle. The engines reduced to a low murmur as we puttered along the shorefront.

“Just whispers now for this last part,” Neve said in a low voice. “Sound carries over water.”

I quit the chitchat and watched the structures of the dockyards slip by. Their enormous, looming piers had once been used for freighters and were backed by abandoned factories and unlit warehouses. The dockside area was expansive. There were a few harbors for small boats, and a motley assortment of vessels were tied off to bobbing orange buoys further along the shore. We came to an area of old wooden docks, which led to a cluster of warehouses and tall brick buildings that lined the waterfront.

“Here we go,” Neve whispered.

She cut the throttle, and we coasted silently in, sliding under the tall dock and navigating between the tall pilings. They were in bad shape, covered with crustaceans and tattered bits of old rope. Everything smelled of dead fish and something strange, like smoky tar.

Neve pointed to a piling with wooden slats nailed to it. “That’s how we get up.”

She secured the speedboat, tying off the bow and the stern, then turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.

By then, Grey was already at the ladder, scaling it swiftly and naturally despite his suit.

“I don’t know how that man makes a suit look so appropriate for everything,” she mused.

“He’s like James Bond.”

Neve nodded. “Yep.”

I followed Grey, and Neve brought up the rear. At the top of the makeshift ladder, a small wooden hatch was propped open. Grey was already on the dock, and I shimmied through the hatch to join him.

It had begun to sprinkle lightly, a faint rain that was cool against my skin. Shipping containers towered around us, blocking our view. We tucked ourselves into the shadows as Neve joined us.

“This way,” she whispered, leading us out of the maze and toward the glow of lamps.

We reached the edge of the crates, and I caught a glimpse of the dock. Gas lamps flickered gold in the darkness, their light gleaming on the puddles and glass windows of the crumbling factories along the waterfront. Wooden slats ran between us and the buildings.

Everything was brick and iron, a remnant of an industrial past that had been abandoned in this part of the city.

Something moved in the shadows.

“Guards.” Neve pointed to the two men. “Those are the boss’s goons. Marsh Men.”

I frowned. “Marsh Men?”

“People say they came from the lake, but I don’t know if it’s true.” Neve indicated a guard roughly twenty feet away. “I’ll take that one.” She crept forward, soundless and lethal. Stepping from the shadows, she called, “Yoo-hoo!”

The Marsh Man turned in surprise, but Neve was on him in seconds. She ducked a blow and spun behind him, bringing her elbow down hard on his shoulder. He dropped to his knees, and Neve followed with a swift blow to the back of his head. The guard stiffened and toppled facedown.

Neve shot me a grin. “He’ll be out for a while.”

"Holy crap. You move like the wind. How did you learn to do that?”

“It’s Silat, a Southeast Asian martial art. A lot of law enforcement agencies use it.”

To my right, Grey darted out on silent feet, his movements a blur. A moment later, I spotted him dragging the second guard into an alley between two of the old factory buildings.

“Looks like he’s taken care of the other one.” Neve stood. “Come on.”

She sprinted across the open section of docks and disappeared into the alley where Grey had dragged the Marsh Man. I dashed after her and found Grey standing over the guard, whom he’d bound with his own belt. There were gills on the side of the guard’s neck, and he glared at me with green eyes.

“The boss will have your heads for this,” he said.

“He’ll have to catch us first.” Grey removed his tie in a sexy one-handed gesture, then crouched and gagged the Marsh Man with it. “But tell him that the Devil of Darkvale sends his regards.”

“You play a risky game, Devil,” Neve said.

Grey grinned. “What’s life without a little risk?”

He stood and stared down the alley. “Is this the way to your Curse Diviner?”

“Madame Duvoir lives at the end.” Neve hurried quietly down the road. One end of the building abutted a small Art Deco tower, and Neve cut around to the back, where

she pointed at a fire escape that hung out of reach. Grey sprang up, grabbed hold of the metal ladder, and pulled it down.

“Will she mind that we’re sneaking up on her?” I asked.

“Friends’ entrance,” Neve said. “And she’ll know we’re here by now.”

“The boss knows you’re here as well.” A feminine voice, tinged lightly with a French accent, sounded from above.

I looked up, spotting a woman with dark, curly hair and unusually bright eyes. She wore a flowing dress with long sleeves, bangles around her wrists, and a broad amber necklace. She grinned widely. “Long time no see, Neve.”

“Hey, Madame Duvoir. Got some time to lend us a hand?”

“All the time in the world.” She raised her brows. “You, however, will be in a world of hurt when the boss shows up.”

“How long do we have?” Neve asked.

Madame Duvoir shrugged. “Well, it’s Thursday, so he’s down at Gigi’s. The show has started, but he’s already received word that there are intruders on the docks.”

Us.

“So it depends on how good the show is,” Madame Duvoir said. “If it’s good enough to distract him, he might just send more Marsh Men. If it’s not…”

“He’ll come himself.” There was a slightly bloodthirsty lilt to Grey’s voice. It would serve me well not to be distracted by his sophisticated manners and elegant suits. He was ruthless at heart, likely addicted to danger.

“Just come on up,” Madame Duvoir said.

“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.

But I could see his point. We needed whatever info we could get out of Madame Duvoir. I could grill her on Mac and Seraphia once we had more.

Madame Duvoir leaned over the book, studying it, absorbing it. She breathed deeply through her nose and stared at it with a dagger glare. “This is definitely cursed.”