“But not the same curse that’s on Mac and Seraphia?” I asked.

“Like I said, they aren’t cursed.”

It made no freaking sense, but I pressed my lips together and waited.

Madame Duvoir held out a hand to Grey. “May I?”

“Yes.”

She touched his free hand, closed her eyes, and focused. “You are cursed as well. The curse is similar to the one on this book.”

“And therefore, similar to the curse on the wall,” Grey said. “They feel identical.”

Madame Duvoir nodded. “I’m going to look into this more closely.”

She rose and carried the book to a table on the far side of the room, which was covered in a variety of crystals and silver tools.

Placing the book in the center of the table, she circled it with a ring of red powder, lit two pale green candles, whispered an incantation, and blew them out. The smoke was much thicker than it should have been. Trails of it spiraled toward the book in strange patterns. Madame Duvoir turned to us, her eyes gleaming with interest. “You’ve got quite the problem on your hands.”

I leaned toward her. “Who cast the curse?”

“That, I cannot tell you, but it was likely a sorcerer, given the type of magic. However, I do know how you can break it.”

Elation surged through me. “That will save my friends.”

“They’re not cursed, honey.”

Irritation prickled my skin, followed by the chill of fear.

Grey’s grip on my hand tightened, bringing me back to myself before I snapped.

“If you can break the curse on the wall, you might learn more about your friends’ situation,” Madame Duvoir continued. “And you may fix the Devil’s memory as well.”

“You can’t break the curse on my mind?” Grey asked.

“I cannot. Messing around with minds is beyond my power. But I can give you a spell to break the curse on the city wall. From there, you are likely to find more clues.”

Even if that was all we’d get from her, it was still a lot.

Madame Duvoir scribbled something on a piece of paper, then collected a small bag of crystals and handed them to Grey. “These are on the house because I feel bad about your memory. You still need a few ingredients, and this spell is best cast when the moon is at its zenith.”

I stared at the paper in Grey’s hand. An incantation was written on it, along with instructions and a complicated drawing of swirls and spirals. But what if—

A shout sounded from below, and Neve hopped up. “Time to leave. The boss’s goons are here.”

“You’d better go,” Madame Duvoir said. “He’ll cut you apart as soon as he looks at you.”

9

Grey

Men shouted from below us, and Madame Duvoir gestured for us to follow. “Come on,” she said. “I can get you out the back way.”

“Will we avoid his goons?” Ms. Cross asked.

“Most of them,” Madame Duvoir said, cutting across her large flat. “Maybe not all.”

I grabbed Carrow’s hand, and we raced after her.

“Do you have one of those transportation charms you took off the demon back at the Crescent Hotel?” I asked Carrow.

I needed to know she had a quick and safe way out of this. I could cover her until she was through to Guild City.

“Yeah,” she said. “I keep one on me, just in case.”

“Won’t work here,” Madame Duvoir said. “The boss has this whole section blocked off. There are no easy escapes from his turf.”

Clever bastard. I’d done the same at my tower.

“This way.” She led us down a wide corridor.

We crept along the wooden boards, heading toward a part of the building we hadn’t been in before. Outside the brick walls, I heard men running along the alley.

“Some of them know about the back exit,” Madame Duvoir explained.

“We just need to get to the boat,” said Ms. Cross.

The Curse Diviner muttered, “They probably know about that, too.”

Ms. Cross winced. “Captain Bernard is going to be so pissed.”

“I’ll get him another boat,” I said.

I couldn’t allow her to encounter trouble on our behalf.

“If you can get to the old streetcar at the end of the dock, it will take you out of The Dens,” Madame Duvoir said. “It’s not technically part of the boss’s holdings, so it’s a safe space. Get there, and you’re fine.”

She hurried down a narrow spiral staircase constructed of wrought iron. I followed, my footsteps rattling against the metal. When we

reached the ground floor, she gestured to a small door. “That’s your out,” she said. “Follow the row of buildings all the way down to the city, and you’ll see the streetcar. Good luck.”

I reached it first, turning back to Ms. Cross and Carrow. “I’ll take out the first wave of men. You run for the streetcar.”

Both women gave me skeptical looks, as if they weren’t going to run while I watched their backs.

“Just be careful,” I said.

“Of course,” replied

Ms. Cross as she drew a wickedly curved blade from a sheath on her hip, a bloodthirsty grin on her face. The formerly reserved researcher looked ready to skin a demon alive.

“Badass.” Carrow grinned.

“It’s a khanjar blade from Oman. A gift from an old friend.” Ms. Cross flipped the blade and caught it. “Now, let’s get a move on.”

Carrow reached in her bag and withdrew a potion bomb. “Courtesy of Eve.”

I nodded, then turned to the door.

Madame Duvoir stepped up beside me. “Let me give you a head start.”

I nodded.

She reached into the pocket of her flowing dress and withdrew a glass orb similar to Carrow’s. Gray smoke swirled within the little globe. She pushed open the door and, without leaving the building, chucked the potion bomb outside.

A massive poof of dark smoke exploded upward, and men shouted from within the blinding cloud.

“Thanks.” I darted out, using my superior senses to locate my targets.

I could hear them, smell them, sense them through the fog. I charged right, colliding with a Marsh Man. He reeked of seaweed. Strength surged through me, and I grabbed him by the collar and hurled him toward the building. He slammed into the brick and collapsed.

Behind me, Ms. Cross sprinted down the street, headed straight for a man who stood between us and the streetcar. As she neared him, she ducked low, swiping at his legs with her blade. He reached for her, but she was faster, her blade whirling with wicked grace. The knife sliced through his thighs. He screamed and toppled backward.

I heard a noise from my right and spun around. A man surged out of the darkness, his eyes gleaming red. He held up a hand that flickered with flame.

“I was hoping for a challenge,” I said as he hurled the fire at me.

I took the hit, absorbing the magic as I always did with flame. He frowned and stumbled back, and I charged. My unnatural speed was impossible to avoid. There was no time to play with my prey, so I simply knocked him to the ground.

To my left, two goons tried to hit Carrow with blasts of water. She dodged the missiles and took them out with her potion bombs. In the distance, Ms. Cross raced toward another Marsh Man.

There were more than I could count, but they were easy to find with my heightened vampire senses. The goons fought back with jets of water, swift and icy.

An icicle hit me on the side of the arm, leaving a deep gash. Dark blood seeped from the wound. But as

the fog faded, I looked around to find that the three of us were alone.

“I think we’re clear,” Carrow said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Look.” Ms. Cross pointed farther down the dock.

A horde of Marsh Men raced toward us—twenty, at least.

My blood was up. Though I welcomed a second fight, I had to think of Carrow.

I couldn't risk it.

“Run,” I said.

“Not without you.” Carrow glared at me.

“Fine.” I sprinted away from the Marsh Men, toward the streetcar.

They roared and ran faster, and I placed myself between Carrow and our pursuers. The three of us raced toward the streetcar. Idling at the end of the row of warehouses, it beckoned.

The horde pounded after us, their footsteps loud against the wood. I looked back as several of them raised their hands. Two of them shot jets of water at us, liquid projectiles that could pierce us through.

“Dodge,” I shouted.

We dove out of the way as the wave crashed to the ground behind us, then lunged up and sprinted faster. Four more Marsh Men fired water at us, but we dodged their blasts every time.

As we neared the streetcar, I looked back again. A small jet of water was shooting toward Carrow. I lunged between her and the projectile.

It slammed into my shoulder. Agony flared, and I grunted and stumbled, blood welling from the wound. I snatched a dagger from the ether and hurled it at the Marsh Man who’d attacked me.

The blade spun through the air and pierced him in the throat. The others roared with rage, but I heard only Carrow’s voice:

“Grey! Come on!”

I spun and raced after them. They’d jumped onto the streetcar, and I followed, climbing on board. I turned, ready to resume the attack, but the Marsh Men had stopped and glared at us with green eyes.

“They can’t get us while we’re in here.” Ms. Cross turned to the driver, an older woman with a wild halo of white hair. “Will this take us to the Circuit?”

“That’s right, dearie. This is the express. Only four stops.”

Ms. Cross nodded and slumped onto the padded seat.

The streetcar rumbled to life. Panting, I looked back at our enemies. They watched with impotent rage as the cables carried us away.

“Grey, your shoulder.” Worry echoed in Carrow’s voice as she moved to stand before me.

“It’s fine.” But it wasn’t, not really. My shoulder hurt, and it should have been healing by then. Had the jet of water been laced with lethal magic? I wondered. It hadn’t glowed oddly.