Page 102 of Hexbound
Then Hex Perkins scowled at Guthrie. "You brought ademonicrelic into the Dials?"
"She did," Guthrie snarled, stabbing a finger in Verity's direction.
"I was going to take it straight out of the Dials," Verity shot back. "You didn't give me a chance."
"You also threatened to keep my mentor here," Bishop added, "when she was gravely wounded. Lady Eberhardt is one of the councilors who sits on the Triad." He nodded respectfully at the gang heads. "Much in the same position as any of you."
Verity had explained how the Hex worked. If Guthrie had pulled this off, then not a single one them would bat an eyelid. Some of them would even congratulate him for pulling the wool over the Order’s eyes. But now he was caught with his hand in the till, it was Guthrie who would bear the punishment, and with his reign so newly welded, he’d be furious.
"It seems the One-Eyed Crows have overstepped themselves," Queen Mab called with a vicious smile. "Significantly."
"And I say they haven’t,” said Jordy Lewis, striking a pose. “Who does the Order think it is? Their rules ain’t ours.”
“Shall we take a vote?” Hex Perkins demanded, and all of the assembled Hex leaders shifted to look at each other. “For those who think we should return the relic to the Order, raise your hand.”
Relief slid through Bishop as four hands shot into the sky. Jordy Lewis, Madame Rose, and Guthrie were the only ones who abstained. Lewis shrugged at Guthrie, as though to tell him he’d tried.
Perkins lifted a judge’s gavel and brought it down with a thundering crash. “Hex has voted. Guthrie broke the Code. Go,” he told Guthrie, as though he were an errand boy. “Fetch them this relic, and we’ll have no more talk of it.”
Bishop shared a smile with Verity. They’d finally gotten their hands on the Chalice, and all without a scrap of bloodshed.
"Get your house in order," Sabatini snarled as Guthrie passed his chair. "And get this mess off our doorstep."
There was nothing Bishop enjoyed more than seeing the stony look on Guthrie’s face when he returned with the Chalice in hand.
“This isn’t over,” Guthrie snarled.
“You should learn when to accept defeat,” Bishop murmured so only Guthrie could hear him.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Perkins,” Ianthe said, bowing her head politely.
Perkins spat in his hand and offered it to her, and to Ianthe’s virtue, she accepted it. “Seems to me the Order and the Hex could do some business in future.”
“Maybe,” Ianthe replied. “Perhaps I’ll be in touch.”
Morgana sippeda fine brandy as the dinner party bustled around her with enthusiasm. A success. She couldn’t quite join in, as her back was aching so badly she wanted to sit. But she’d been stuck in that damned chair most of the day and the last thing she wanted was to see others aware of her downfall. Rubbing at her lower back, she eyed the Earl of Tremayne across the table and they shared a brief glance, a conspiratorial smile. The gathering of powerful sorcerers they'd reached out to was lapping up every word Tremayne could offer. It almost made the pain worth it.
So much for Drake's hold over them.
Reaching for her cheroot case, she slid from the table and turned toward the balcony of the house Tremayne was renting. Drake's insistence upon stepping back from the position of Prime both exhilarated and alarmed her. She knew she'd struck her ex-husband a blow last month, but she wasn't quite certain how. And she needed to know exactly how far he'd sunk before she could truly enjoy the moment.
Movement shifted at the corner of her eye, all of the hairs on her arms standing on edge as the demon who wore Noah Guthrie's body appeared out of nowhere and caught her wrist.
He leaned in close, far too close. "A word, if I might?"
"What are you doing?" Morgana whispered hoarsely. If any of the sorcerers inside saw him, they might realize exactly what was lurking beneath that human skin.
The demon merely looked at her, shockingly devoid of any of those human tics that made a person what they were.
He didn't have to say a thing. He owned her. Every damned inch. Morgana wiped all of the expressions off her face—especially her distaste—then dragged him out onto the balcony, where she lit her cheroot from the Döbereiner's lamp.
"What is so important you had to drag me out of there? Tremayne's about to put forth our candidacy for the seat of Prime." She cast a glance over the dozen Order sorcerers inside the dining room. Drake might think he ruled the Order, but there were always those dissatisfied with the restraining yoke of power and how tightly it rubbed. Those who didn't like all of the rules or restrictions, or those who simply hungered for more power. "And some of them might realize what you are."
Not every sorcerer worth his salt knew what a demon felt like, but just enough to make her wary.
"If they do, then I'll take care of it," he replied simply. Human speech patterns were starting to come more easily to it. Three weeks ago a mere sibilant hiss from its throat had been enough to make ice trickle down her spine; a constant reminder of the debt she owed. Without it, she would no longer have her legs, but with it...
Damned to hell.
