Verona

"You have the hands of an angel," I moaned, not caring who heard my declaration. "Can I marry you and sweep you away to California?"

"Unfortunately, my husband may protest." Amusement lined my masseuse's words, not much louder than the relaxing music that played over the speakers. She was working her way up my calves now, well into my deep-tissue massage at the hotel spa. My head wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought it would be, considering the nightmare ride it sent me on. With Oscar satisfied and my suitcases safely tucked into a five-star suite, I wanted to treat myself and unwind while I thought about my next steps. The air was perfumed with some kind of floral and eucalyptus, and the oils that had been rubbed into my skin.

"All the good ones are taken," I sighed. "If you ever want to move your practice down south, let me know."

She chuckled, and I let her continue with no more declarations of love as her hands finished the rough work and the last of her touches turned light on my skin. The room was dimmed, she gave me a timer to relax to before I had to get off this table where she decimated my expectations and yanked them to new heights, and I'd have to get dressed and re-enter the real world.

"Pleeease keep my contact info if you change your mind, Hannah." Damn did I sound needy and sated as she left, closing the door with a smile.

A soul-permeating sigh left my body, and I closed my eyes. Sydney. She hadn't been the same since mom died. Neither of us were, I suppose. But Sydney was Mom's copy and paste. As much as I tried to be there for her, it didn't stop Syd from pulling away. Dad attended the funeral out of respect but there was no love lost between him and mom after the divorce, and that was twenty something years ago when we were barely preschoolers. His solution was to send us on trips, keeping so busy with adventuring the alps or shopping through Paris that we forgot some of the pain. A free trip on my sperm donor's dime? Sure, I took him up on some of the offers. Maybe that's where I went wrong, because Sydney didn't. Calling her every day had only done so much. She didn't want to meet up, she didn't want to go to therapy, she didn't even talk the day of the funeral, leaving me to acknowledge every vague acquaintance Mom had ever worked with, and the press that came along with them. And the moment I get home from Belize, she's moved up to Washington, of all places.

"Screw you, Sydney," I murmured into the massage table. She had shattered to pieces last year. I knew it, Dad knew it, our friends and family knew it, but none of us knew how to put her back together again. It was still so fresh, I was probably still finding pieces of my own to glue. But disappearing for months on end, barely hearing out my heated concern at New Year's, and then stopping all communication cold-turkey was too obvious of a cry for help. Knowing Syd, she'd thrown herself head-first into something strange as a distraction and was being swallowed whole.

The alarm went off, a gentle chiming in a low volume that I wondered how many people fell asleep after their massages and dozed through it. But despite my body begging me to stay on the table and take a nap, I muddled through getting my clothes on and left the spa.

The polished floor of the lobby practically reflected like a mirror, the click of my heels satisfying as I strode toward the concierge. A woman with a cute brown bob smiled as I approached, the light in her eyes telling me she actually liked what she did and where she worked, earning the hotel just a bit more of my favor.

"Ms. Cavendish, I have that list ready for you, I was just about to bring it to the spa."

"Thank you, Lauren, this is perfect," I said, glancing down the list of occult shops, themed bars, and similar locations where Sydney might have taken an interest. It was long, two pages of locations but at least it was focused around the area the creepy old house was in.

"I hope it helps you find whoever you're looking for," Lauren offered. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Folding the paper and tucking it into my purse, my eyes slid back in the direction I'd just come from. "So, the scent they had in the spa just now, could I find out what it's called and the manufacturer?"

Laura leaned forward just a bit, a conspiratorial purse to her lips and a whisper through her teeth. "I can do you one better, I'll have a bottle sent up to your room so you can take it home with you."

My palms clapped together under my chin. "You are a blessing! I think I'll head out now, thank you for your help."

"Please let me know if there's anything else I can do for you." She slid her business card my way. "Don't hesitate to text or call our concierge line."

Walking away with the card and a mental note to leave Laura a nicely stuffed envelope before I left Seattle, I headed to the valet.

The outdoors welcomed me with a few fat drops of rain on my windshield, promising more to come in a few minutes. Dipping into traffic with a sigh, I made my way to the first shop on Laura's list.

#

"Three shops, a theatre that only shows old horror flicks, and I even stopped at a boutique that looked like it had designs Sydney would wear." A heaved an aggravated groan through the phone, pulling my jacket tighter against the chill in the air. "I'm not losing hope on day one, but this is going to get old very fast."

Oscar hummed. "Not to suggest turning your computer off and back on again, but did you call her today?"

"About a dozen times. She doesn't answer." A bead of water that had collected enough weight at the top of my windshield finally began to roll down, picking up momentum and other raindrops as I watched it travel down the glass and out of sight. "And ask all the obvious questions, please. I'm so frustrated at this point I know how likely it is to miss something right in front of my face."

"Have you asked the closest neighbors from the house? Maybe they know something," Oscar suggested.

"That's . . . why didn't I think of that?" I perked up, grabbing the list and a pen from my purse. "I'm adding it to the places to check, just so I don't forget it."

"Are you going somewhere else right now?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, it's late enough to start checking the bars and clubs. I think they're more likely to be helpful anyway."

"Have you eaten today?" his dad voice slipping through the phone.

"I'm going to hang up on you," I threatened. "This is why I didn't want you to come."

"I thought you wanted me to stay behind so I could keep the business running," he teased.

The people walking down the sidewalk in front of where I'd parked were starting to trickle into the first bar on my list. Faces, outfits, cars, all of them flowed in and out of my perception while Oscar had half of my attention. None of them were Syd. "How are things going?"

"Fine," Oscar said. "We have that anniversary party coming in this weekend but everything is good to go. The daughter dropped off the cake topper and pictures, and I'll decorate the tasting room after the last tour on Friday."

"Did the vendor get back to you about sending the wrong labels?"

"Now who's being the mother hen?" Oscar laughed. "Vee, go find your sister. I have it under control here. Both of us could run this place in our sleep."

"As long as Raquel never leaves us," I added.

It was Oscar's turn to groan. "Don't even speak that into existence, we'd never find another chef that could match her."

"I know, she—" With a gasp, I dropped the phone and leaned as far forward as I could. A tall woman with a dark braid was walking down the sidewalk toward an alley. Her vintage leather jacket and biker boots could have been pulled straight out of Sydney's closet.

"Now, that's a good start. Isn't it, princess?"

It was such an odd thought to have crossed my mind, but I didn't question it as I unbuckled.

"Verona?"

"Yeah." I brought the phone back up. "I gotta go."

"Vee, what—"

Ending the call, I barely got the phone in my purse before rushing out of my car. There was no way, there was no way it was this easy. I hadn't really thought I'd make much progress looking for Syd in places she'd hang out anyway. Seattle was too big, and I was already choosing the most delusional path to find her. But this?

The wet and crowded sidewalk didn't deter me from slipping through as fast as I could, making my way to the alley where the leather jacket had disappeared. Rounding the corner of a red brick record shop, I spotted a door far ahead, followed by a dead end.

What was that thought about? It reminded me of my head injury. Oscar was right, I needed to get it double-checked. Princess indeed.

My steps slowed as I neared the door. What was this place? The further I walked, the more distance I realized I was putting between the street and this door. Deep into the block, I became aware of the low thrum of music.

The door was in front of me. Gray, unassuming, with not so much as an address on it let alone any signage. And it felt wrong, like I shouldn't be here. The pit of my stomach sank, twisting in uncertainty. Maybe I should turn around? Yes, that was the right move. Why was I here anyway? Just a door in an alleyway, nothing more. This couldn't be where Sydney was.

Walking away again, I'd made it almost all the way back out to the sidewalk when I stopped.

"Go, take a look."

Goosebumps crawled down my arms. This was getting weird. Was I going to hallucinate again? I was losing focus on what I'd come here for. Tall, dark braid, vintage leather jacket, biker boots. Focus, Vee, this could be Syd. And if it wasn't, that person looked to hang out in the same places.

A focus settled over me like a blanket. Warm, and assuring, and clearing out the cloud of doubt I'd just had that turned me around down the alley. Squaring my shoulders, I paced forward again, determined to get into that door. The low thrum told me there was probably an underground show going on in there, or maybe it was a bar separate from the one at the front of the block that was on my list. Either way, I wanted to go inside.

Or, did I? Approaching again, I wasn't so sure. What was this door going to lead to, anyway? Why was I here?

I was about to turn around when the door opened.

"You coming in?" A huge guy, dripping with piercings and looking annoyed, was seizing me up.

"Yes," I committed before I could change my mind. "Yes, I am."

He leaned in, seemingly smelling me which put me off enough to glare and step aside. "Excuse me?"

"Sulfur. You one of them spellcasters?" he asked.

"What?" My fingers drifted downward, finding comfort in my keychain if things went weird. Sulfur? As if I hadn't bathed since the creepy house.

"Warlock, witches, whatever. I don't keep up with the hobbies of the humanborn," he grumbled. "Whatever, either go in or leave. Makes no difference to me. Just keep to Georgina's rules."

Staring, I had no idea what my move should be here. What was this place? More raindrops, as if we hadn't just finished the last shower, made my decision for me and I stepped inside past the big guy and into a beating heart of music.

A club. A few booths along the walls offered some respite from the rest of the space, but it was mostly a beating, screaming, thrashing, mob of a club. I wasn't dressed for this at all, but at least I could shrug off my jacket at the door and make my way to an empty seat to observe. A pair of tailored black pants and a blue halter top wasn't exactly clubwear, but from the state of everyone here no one was paying me any attention anyway.

Sliding into a booth, I scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of vintage jacket. Did she check it at the door? No, I would have seen it when I hung mine.

The people here weren't helping me pinpoint what kind of club this even was. There was plenty of alt fashion in the mix, but there was also standard clubwear, more formal dress, and people who looked like they just wandered in off the street. I saw people using flashy special effects, and the air was suffocating with a heady perfume that fogged my senses.

Checking my phone at some point, I had to answer the missed calls and texts Oscar had sent me since dropping the call. Surely, I'd hear more about that later, but for now I didn't let responding to him draw my eyes off the room for more than a few seconds at a time.

Time ticked on. And on, and on. I had to give up on this place. What was I even doing here? There was a whole list of places in my purse that I should be checking, but instead I spent so much time siting in this club waiting and staring.

Standing, I collected my purse and gave the crowded floor one last glance, until I saw a gray figure in a suit. One I thought I had imagined.

No. It couldn't be.

My feet moved forward just before my mind caught up, and I found myself pushing into the dance floor and dodging odd body parts trying to press against me. A heady mix of sweat and alcohol perfumed the thickest parts of the crowd and I held my breath until spilling into an opening where I thought I had seen him. The one from last night. The one from what I was sure was a dream. I had so clearly seen him here, surrounded by dancing bodies and flashing lights yet somehow standing apart from it all.

The self-proclaimed demon, and he was gone.

The room spun. My head throbbed once, fiercely, and I swayed. Maybe I was in some kind of shock, maybe I had a head injury after all and was having hallucinations. Because there was no way that guy was real. He was gray for crying out loud.

"Woah there!" A pair of hands wrapped around my arm, steadying me. "Clear out, move!"

I only had so much awareness to give as I kept staring at the space where the demon had been. My eyes couldn't be playing tricks this time. The woman pulling me along demanded an opening in the crowd and, surprisingly, was given it. A woman sat me down in the booth I had just left a moment ago and leveled me with sharp brown eyes and an asymmetrical layered haircut that I'd just seen on social media last week.

"Are you okay?" she asked. A glass of water was pushed onto the table and a tall, dark-haired woman took up the space to the blonde's left.

If my head wasn't already swimming, it would definitely be doing so by now with the revelations I'd just been given. The blonde I knew, but she didn't know me. And the woman next to her that had brought over the water was wearing the vintage jacket I'd been hunting down.

"I'm . . . fine. Are you Candace Lewis?" I managed.

The tall woman rolled her eyes as Candace's face lit up.

"I absolutely am. Love your Valentinos by the way." She nodded downward, acknowledging my shoes.

"I read your blog all the time," I said. "You inspired me to make an emergency trunk kit. It saved me at a friend's engagement party."

"Really though, are you okay? What court are you with?" She scrunched up her nose, eyes sharpening as she scanned me head to toe.

"What is this question about courts I keep getting?" I asked.

"She's not with one," the other woman said just over the volume of the club. "Can't you tell?"

"Well, she's in here, isn't she?" Candace scoffed.

"Excuse me," I began, and both heads swiveled my way. "She's right here, can she be included in the conversation?"

Candace and the taller one looked at each other, then back to me.

"Let's go somewhere quieter," Candace suggested. "Let's go to Heather's."

"Why?" The tall one groaned. "Why does everything have to happen at the café?"

"Because it's closed, and she was about to faint. We need Winter Court territory for Thea to come fix her."

'Her' was still sitting in the booth and starting to get annoyed. But the pounding in my head wasn't going away, and I couldn't argue with the idea of getting checked out. Between the hallucinations, the concussion earlier, the fainting just now, I was clearly having a medical episode.

"My jacket," I remembered.

"I'll grab it," the tall one said. I had no idea how she was supposed to know which one was mine, but there were bigger worries with this plan.

"My car," I added.

"I'll drive, if you're good with that," Candace said. "Heather can meet us there on her bike and give me a ride back here later."

"Why yes, I will, thank you for asking permission," Heather droned.

And soon enough, I was packed up and riding in the passenger seat of my own car, headed to a café with a lady who looked vaguely like my sister from the back and a fashion influencer I followed online. Maybe I didn't make better decisions than Syd after all.