Clio nodded and pulled a small bag from a hidden pocket in her sleeve. The bag’s heavy green silk was embroidered with the Nereid family crest of a blossom circled by a leafy vine and a gemstone in the center. She set it on the desk as casually as possible. The receptionist lifted the bag, pulled the drawstring, and upended it, emptying the contents into her palm. The other two women gasped softly.
Ten uncut diamonds, each twenty carats and the size of a small grape, sparkled in a luminescent rainbow.
Clio glanced at the precious stones and pretended it didn’t matter that Bastian was sacrificing them for this mission. If she failed, it would be for nothing. The receptionist feigned disinterest as she slid the diamonds back in the pouch, showing more care than she had when she’d dumped them out.
She set the bag aside and returned her attention to the folder. “Your consultant has already reviewed your proposal. I’ll call him up and he will take you to—” She broke off, her gaze fixed on the paper. “What? This can’t be right.”
An explosion of panic threatened to rupture Clio’s belly. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no. Just one moment please.” The receptionist forced a smile, then turned to her coworker and grabbed the girl’s arm, pulling her a few paces away.
Clio held perfectly still, projecting composure.
“What is this?” the receptionist hissed at Nylah, loud enough that Clio could make out the words, as she brandished the folder. “This is wrong. Who is their consultant?”
“No, it’s right,” Nylah whispered, tugging ineffectively at her arm, still in the other woman’s grip. “I delivered his copy of the file myself.”
“But why is he doing a consultation?”
“I don’t know. Did you expect me to question them?”
The receptionist exhaled harshly. “Call him, then.”
As Nylah hurried over to an intercom panel behind the desk, the receptionist turned back around, unaware that Clio had heard everything.
“Is there a problem?” she asked again.
“Not at all. In fact, you should be quite pleased. It seems one of our esteemed master weavers will assist you today. I can assure you that is an honor normally reserved for our most prominent clients.”
Clio’s brow scrunched, her expression hidden by her mask. A master weaver? Her nerves prickled, and despite the receptionist’s assurances that they should be “honored,” Clio didn’t feel particularly pleased.
“You may take a seat. He’ll be here momentarily.”
Turning, Clio glided to a cluster of chairs surrounding a round coffee table but didn’t sit. A potted tree with silvery leaves partially blocked the view of the reception desk, offering a bit of privacy. She tugged her sleeves straight as her nervousness sharpened into real anxiety.
“A master weaver,” Eryx whispered. “I guess they really want our business.”
“What exactly did Bastian’s proposal say?” Clio whispered back.
“We’re looking for spellcrafted weaponry suited for war, and we’re open to trading a large surplus of high-quality lodestones as payment.”
A lodestone was any crystal or ore used to store magic reserves or weavings. Diamonds were the best lodestones, which was why Bastian had chosen them as the down payment for Clio’s entrance into Chrysalis. Irida was a wealthy territory because of the rich deposits of precious stones they mined. Because of the amount of magic they produced, Chrysalis needed large quantities, so they had more than enough motivation to engage in trade with Irida.
The diamonds Clio had handed over were a fraction of the payment Chrysalis would demand for their warfare magic. Her job was to start negotiations, see as much of their magic as she could in the process, then agree to a deal and return home. Once she was safely back in Irida, Bastian would ensure the final negotiations fell through, and no further payments would be made. But Irida would have everything they needed—for the cost of ten expensive lodestones instead of hundreds.
She adjusted her mask, its gems sparkling as a clear demonstration of Irida’s wealth. Bastian knew exactly how to play his cards with these people, and he’d done everything he could to set her up for success, but she didn’t feel remotely prepared. The consultant would see right through her. He’d know in an instant she was an imposter. The irrational fear that someone would tear her mask off and shout the truth for the whole building to hear was growing stronger by the minute.
As her anxiety climbed, she looked around for a distraction. The decorative tree caught her attention. Stepping closer, she pinched a broad, silvery leaf between her fingers, examining its dark veins and waxy texture, then pushed leaves aside to peer at the thin branches.
“Clio, what are you doing?”
She didn’t glance back at Kassia’s exasperated whisper as she traced the smooth bark. “Looking at this tree. It’s fascinating.”
“Don’t you think you should—”
She bent down to check the soil. Wet loam met her touch. Interesting. Was the earth outside similar, or was the tree from a different part of the Underworld?
“Clio,” Kassia hissed. “Get up.”
“One more second. I just want to see …” She dug into the dirt, searching for the roots. The shape, color, and texture of the leaves suggested a damp, low-light environment, but the roots would confirm—
“Clio.”
This time, Kassia’s tone wasn’t sharp with exasperation. Instead, it was somehow alarmed, amazed, and breathless all at once.
Clio shot up. Her head hit the low branches of the tree and the impact sent the narrow pot rocking. She grabbed wildly for the thin trunk as the whole thing toppled over. The tree hit the floor and the ceramic pot shattered, spilling dirt across the pristine white tiles.
She froze, hands extended toward the tree she’d failed to catch. Utter silence had fallen over the entire space—again.
Then, finally, someone spoke.
“So … is this part of your negotiation strategy? Because I’m really not sure what you’re going for here.”
For a few seconds that lasted an eternity, all she registered was the tantalizing familiarity of that impossibly sexy voice. And then it hit her where she’d heard it before.
No. No way. It was not possible.
She’d heard it only once, but the memory had repeated itself in her dreams every night for two weeks. There was no way she could mistake those deep, purring, melting tones for anyone else.
But there was no way he would be here.
She spun around, and there he was, standing just beyond the circle of chairs, one hand tucked in the pocket of his lab coat, the other holding a thin blue binder. Golden-brown skin, pale blond hair in a sexy tousle, and the impossibly perfect face of a god. And those eyes. Bright amber rimmed with a dark patina like ancient gold.
His irresistible lips were curved in a smirk, and she stared, her mouth hanging open. Why was he here? Who was he?
He spoke again, which was good, because she was on the verge of shrieking hysterical questions for the whole room to hear.
“Welcome to Chrysalis.” Sounding inexpressibly bored, he glanced over her outfit. “I’m your consultant, Lyre. If you—”
“You’re our consultant?” Eryx interrupted.
Clio jolted out of her daze. Kassia was gawking at the incubus like he was an apparition—or every fantasy she’d ever had brought to life. Clio felt the same way. Lyre. So that was his name.
“Yes,” he said to Eryx.
“But you’re an incubus.”
Clio stiffened a second time at the condescending sneer in Eryx’s tone.
Lyre’s smirk reappeared. “Jealous, are we?”
Eryx’s eyes bulged. “Like hell!”
“You’re in hell, Overworlder, so watch your step.” The dark menace in his tone vanished as he ran his fingers through his hair, casually canting his head to one side with the motion. “Though, feel free to continue. It will be more entertaining for me.”
Clio realized she m
ight have swooned when he’d done the hand-through-hair thing. Holy shit. Giving her head a shake, she stepped in front of Eryx before he could say anything else stupid.
“We’re looking forward to doing business here,” she blurted. She’d said that already, hadn’t she? Every time the incubus spoke, her thoughts scattered. His voice should be illegal. “Could, uh, I mean—we require a moment.”
He raised an eyebrow but before he could speak—and scramble her brain again—she walked away, desperately hoping Kassia and Eryx would follow. She could have cried in relief when they both stalked after her.
“What’s the matter with you, Eryx?” she hissed, stopping abruptly. “Why are you insulting him?”
“He can’t be a master weaver,” Eryx spat. “Incubi are only good for whoring women. They have no magical skill.”
Clio looked to Kassia for help, but the other woman was staring blankly in Lyre’s direction.
“So that’s an incubus?” She sounded a little dreamy. “I see why you were distracted by the one two weeks ago.”
“Kass, that’s the same incubus.”
She snapped to attention. “What?”
“It’s the same one. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t believe it. Did he recognize you?”
Clio lightly touched her mask, truly grateful she’d worn it. “I don’t think so.”
“If he recognizes you from the shop, he’ll realize you aren’t an envoy. He might suspect you’re a spy. We should abort.”
“Abort?” Eryx yelped. “Now?”
“We’ve come this far. Leaving now would be more suspicious. I’ll make sure to keep my mask on.” Clio jabbed Eryx in the arm. “You can keep your mouth shut. I’ll do the talking.”
Not giving him a chance to argue, she returned to the incubus, her garments flowing dramatically. He watched her approach, either amused or bored. Maybe both?
“My apologies,” she told him.
“Not a problem,” he said tonelessly. Yep, he was bored. “As I was saying, we have a meeting room already prepared, so—”
“Wait,” she said, almost panicking. She needed to see their spells, and that wouldn’t happen in a meeting room. “I need to—I want a tour first.”
He blinked. “A tour?”
“Yes. Being Overworlders, most of what we know about Chrysalis is secondhand information. I want to see the facility and the kinds of spellcrafting you produce before we discuss anything.”
“A tour,” he repeated. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll give you a tour.” His gaze fixed on Kassia and Eryx. “But not them.”
“W-what?”
“We don’t show off our work to just anyone. I’ll make an exception for you, but that’s it.”
“But these—they—they’re part of Irida’s envoy and—”
“They’re not even nymphs,” he said dismissively. “You are the envoy.”
“I—I insist they accompany me.”
“No tour then.”
She gritted her teeth. “If you won’t cooperate, then we’ll just—”
“You’ll what?” He leaned closer and she completely forgot what she’d been saying. “You’ll take your business to the competition? I’ll let you in on a little secret: we have no competition. So let’s be honest with each other, hmm? You aren’t going anywhere.”
She squeezed her hands together. The “intimidation” factor of her costume was clearly lost on him.
She needed to see more of the facility, and the incubus wasn’t budging on his terms. But without Kassia and Eryx, she would be helpless and far too vulnerable. Her doing anything alone in the Underworld hadn’t been part of the plan, let alone wandering through the bowels of Chrysalis where she could vanish forever.
But Chrysalis wanted Irida’s business. Wasn’t that why they’d assigned a master weaver—assuming Lyre was one—to negotiate with her?
She lifted her chin. “Very well. Let’s go.”
The incubus smiled, triggering a wave of butterflies in her belly that could have been exhilaration or terror. She had no idea which.
Chapter Eight
“So,” the incubus drawled, “what exactly would you like to see?”
Clio followed him down a long corridor lined with doors. A handful of daemons walked past, failing not to gawk at her. Again, they were all in glamour. Was that a rule here, perhaps?
“Everything?” she answered uncertainly.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, and those amber eyes sent all her thoughts spinning out of her head. Holy crap. Was he doing that on purpose?
“‘Everything’ is not happening so you can forget that,” he said implacably. “I don’t have all day.”
“All night,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Don’t you mean ‘all night’?” she repeated with more volume. “It’s not daytime. Or is it always dark here?”
He stopped and turned halfway to face her, pale locks of hair falling across his eyes. He brushed them aside and she was glad her mask concealed her staring. She couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t just that he was insanely handsome, but there was something more—an unnatural magnetism probably inherent to all incubi. That’s what she was hoping. Otherwise, she had no excuse for her wandering attention.
“You did your research before coming, I see,” he remarked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He continued before she could ask what he meant. “You’re here for military-grade spells, aren’t you? So the types of interest to you would be …” He tucked the binder under his arm and counted on his fingers. “Offensive, defensive, utility, enhancement, ailment—”
“Ailment?” she interrupted. “As in a disease?”
He sighed like she was a complete dunce. “An ailment weaving enacts a condition on a specific target, like a paralysis or sleep spell.”
“Oh.” She was familiar with those spells, just not his terminology. And she didn’t much appreciate his assumption that she didn’t know a damn thing about weavings.
“I guess we’ll start there.” He continued forward, not bothering to ensure she was following.
She trailed after him silently, biting her lower lip. As Kassia had told Eryx, Clio was well educated on weaving techniques, but she wasn’t sure whether she should reveal that knowledge. What would be more advantageous? She was in so far over her head she couldn’t even see the surface anymore.
At an intersection of corridors, he swung left. The halls quieted, fewer and fewer people crossing their path as they headed deeper into the building. She nervously wondered when she should use her asper. There was nothing to see yet—just long halls with closed doors, some labeled with numbers or incomprehensible codes.
“Can I assume you’re familiar with magic-dampening collars?” he eventually said, the bored drone back in his voice. “Used primarily to block the use of magic, they’re our foremost ailment-type export. We produce collars in several strength levels, as well as various forms of magic-dampening restraints.”
He stopped at a door marked AI – Dampening 1-3 Surplus and drummed his fingers across it. Magic shivered over her as a spell disengaged, then he popped the door open and hit a switch just inside.
A fluorescent light flickered on, illuminating a narrow room that stretched surprisingly far back. Metal shelves, filled with simple crates, lined the walls. Her eyes widened as she looked from crate to crate, each loaded with dozens of shiny silver collars or metal cuffs. Hundreds.
She knew about magic-dampening collars. They were the primary tool human law enforcement used against daemons on Earth; without the collars, humans would have no hope of ever imprisoning a daemon. She’d never considered where they came from, but knowing Chrysalis manufactured them sent a shiver through her. How many of these did Chrysalis’s weavers produce each year?
“Fascinating, right?” Lyre intoned.
She backed sharply away from the threshold. As he shut off the light and closed the door, she squinted down the long hall. A
I-something marked most of the doors. Ailment weavings.
“You mentioned utility and enhancement magic,” she prompted once he’d rekeyed the protective spell on the door.
“Chrysalis specializes in combat enhancement weaves that increase a user’s strength, speed, accuracy, and so on. We also offer a variety of illusion spells for covert operations and …” He trailed off with such a bored sigh that she almost felt bad for him. Apparently deciding she wasn’t worth the effort of even finishing the sentence, he went on in an even drier monotone. “Utility weavings encompass a broad range of spells, but you’d probably be most interested in ones like tracking, communication, and signal spells for coordinating troops.”
She almost asked, “What troops?” before remembering she was supposed to be preparing for a war. As much as she wanted to see everything, the longer she spent in the incubus’s company, the greater the risk he would recognize her. She needed to hurry.
“I’d like to see your offensive magic next.”
He eyed her, almost as though he disapproved. “To the department of blood and mayhem then.”
She blinked in confusion, but he was already walking. He led her to a steel door, and when she saw the stairwell behind it, her nerves started churning again. And when he headed down the stairs, she had to work to contain her fear. It was just the lower level. Not a big deal. It wasn’t like he was leading her into an underground dungeon.
In the basement level, the air was stuffier and the cement walls absorbed all sound, muffling their quiet footsteps. There was a hint of a scent in the air … something that smelled suspiciously like blood.
“So what did you want to see, specifically?” Lyre asked. “We have single-target, area attacks, covert offensive, weapon-based …” He waved in an all-encompassing gesture. “Do you want to just kill your enemies, or do you want them to die screaming and cursing your name to their gods?”
Her steps faltered. “What?”
“We supply weaponry for every sort of war. The ‘honorable’ kind, where you slaughter your way through witless soldiers until someone gives up, or the other kind.”
The Night Realm Page 8