“Unless some random person found it and carried it off,” Amalia countered. “But chances are an object like that would end up back in mythic hands pretty fast. Maybe someone has been asking around about a weird infernus-type thing.”

Perching on a stool, I pushed my glasses up my nose. “Our priority is the grimoire—translating it to see if there’s a way to get Zylas home. Plus, Claude stole pages we need to get back. That said, I don’t think we should ignore this amulet either. If it really is the ‘key to everything’ …”

I looked from Amalia’s sharp gray eyes to Zylas’s crimson stare. “If it’s important, we need to find the amulet before it’s lost for good.”

I tugged my jacket tighter against the icy breeze. Mid-January was never a pleasant time of year, and not the season to be standing in an open field in the dark.

Zylas rose out of a crouch, his silhouette bulkier than usual. A baggy black sweater hung off him, the hood hiding his horns and the hem falling low enough to conceal his tail if he looped it around his waist. With the simple disguise, we’d only had to wait for darkness to search the park and not the dead of night when no one would be around.

Still, I fidgeted nervously as he cast back and forth across the winter grass, searching for a sign of the amulet. Our last visit to this park felt like a bizarre dream—Zylas carrying me on his back as he’d raced down empty streets; Tahēsh in battle with a strange collection of people; the short but violent fight that had followed.

Strips of churned dirt and dead grass marked the spot where a black van had peeled out of the park. The vehicle had belonged to two demon contractors and their champion. At the time, I’d had no idea who they were, but I’d since learned they were demon hunters who’d joined the hunt for Tahēsh.

“Nothing.” Zylas glided across the grass toward me, his eyes glowing from beneath his hood. “It is not here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Var. Not here.”

I sighed, unsurprised. It’d been a long shot. “We—”

My cell buzzed with an incoming call. I pulled it out and lifted it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Did you find it?” Amalia asked without preamble.

“No.”

“Damn. I haven’t learned anything either. No one is trying to sell it that I can tell. But I remembered something.”

“What?”

“There’s this guy my dad worked with—a summoner. Dad always described him as ‘cutting edge,’ but I think that really meant this dude liked to experiment. MagiPol was breathing down his neck, so he retired to get them off his back. Dad always used the guy as an example of how MPD attention could ruin a summoner’s career.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“But this guy, he also makes infernus artifacts. He’s sort of an infernus expert, I think? If someone found an ancient infernus, they’d probably ask this guy for information.”

Hope sparked. “Where is he now?”

“In Vancouver somewhere. I’ll call Dad and find out.”

“Good idea.”

“Finding the amulet is only half the problem, though.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think you should just hand over the ‘key to everything’ to a demon until we know what it does.”

I glanced at Zylas. “He can hear you.”

She muttered a curse. “You should come home and start translating. The grimoire is our best source of information.”

“I’ll be home soon. We’re making one stop first.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, bring me some Thai, would you?”

“Sure.”

As I slid my phone back into my pocket, Zylas drifted closer. “The imailatē belongs to my House.”

“I know. If we find it, it’s yours.” I rubbed my chilled hands together. “I don’t want to get distracted from returning you to your world, but I have a feeling this amulet will be part of that. What if Myrrine meant it’s the key to Demonica?”

Zylas’s hands caught mine, enclosing my icy fingers in warmth. “You are too cold, drādah.”

“I’m fine,” I squeaked, yanking on my hands. “I’m not hypothermic this time.”

He pressed my fingers between his palms. “You will give the imailatē to me?”

Distracted, I frowned at him. “I don’t need to give it to you. It belongs to you.”

“Maybe it is powerful.”

“It’s still yours. I wouldn’t keep it from you.”

“Amalia would.”

My frown deepened. Why did he use Amalia’s name, but never mine? All I got were insulting nicknames. “Amalia doesn’t trust you, but that’s your own fault.”

“Na, my fault?”

“If you were even a little bit nice to her, she would think better of you.”

“Nice?” he scoffed. “Nice does not make trust.”

I tugged on my hands again as I muttered, “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Do you trust me, drādah?”

My gaze shot up to his. I opened my mouth but no words made it past my tight throat. Did I trust him? Of course I did, except …

I cleared my throat. “Do you trust me?”

He watched me silently—then suddenly pulled me closer. His hand cupped the back of my head, and he pushed his warm face into the side of my neck. His breath slid under my jacket collar, tickling my shoulder.

“Your heart is fast.” He lifted his face. “You are not too cold.”

I gaped as my very non-hypothermic heart galloped across my ribs. “I know. I told you that.”

“You should go to a warm place.”

“It’s not that cold, Zylas, and I’m not soaking wet.”

“Go to a warm place, drādah.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’m going.”

A wolfish grin flashed across his lips, then his body turned to red light. His demonic spirit streaked toward my chest, and the infernus hidden under my jacket vibrated. His abandoned black sweater dropped to the ground.

Bundling the sweater under my arm, I stuffed my hands in my pocket and hurried out of the park. An irregular stream of cars zipped past as I headed west on Powell Street. After a few blocks, I turned. Waiting on the next corner, its windows glowing, was my guild.