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When Finn ended his call, he checked the screen.

He turned, the silver rings around his pupils reflecting the glow of passing headlights as his eyes found the car. Then he glanced around, checking to make sure no one was watching as he typed a reply?—

Darien’s phone buzzed in his hand.

Finn

This isn’t a good time.

Darien

When is?

Finn

An hour from now.

Darien

Meet me at the Doghouse. And don’t show up looking like that, or you’ll get eaten alive.

“What’s he saying?” Kylar asked.

“I told him to meet us at the Doghouse.”

89

The Doghouse

ANGELTHENE, STATE OF WITHEREDGE

Darien’s head waspounding.Harder than the music shaking the floor beneath his combat boots. Harder than the fists of the two men beating the shit out of each other across the room, bouncers in the midst of breaking up the fight.

The subterranean strip club was packed. When they’d first arrived, the bouncers had recognized him and Ivy and hooked them up with a table at the back—farther from the stage, where dolled-up dancers twirled on silver poles beneath strobe lights, and closer to the bar, where a couple of topless witches poured drinks, their silhouettes obscured by a thick screen of Boneweed and cigarette smoke.

Finn was supposed to have been here ten minutes ago.

Usually, he would’ve had zero problem with all of this—the crowds, the pounding music, the cloying reek of perfume, alcohol, vomit, and body odor. But after fighting at the Chopping Block and sweating out the last of the Venom in his system, his withdrawals were already back.

With a fucking vengeance.

The mishmash of scents nauseated him. The cacophony of music, shouting, laughter, and clinking glasses raked across hisskull like nails on a chalkboard. He felt like he was crawling out of his damn skin. He could hardly sit still.

Another five minutes that felt more like twenty dragged by before a man approached their table, his features concealed by a heavy hood and the low brim of a ball cap.

“I was under the impression that we’d be meeting alone,” Finn said quietly.

“I gave you no such impression,” Darien replied, his own face partially obscured by the shadows beneath the hood of his black sweatshirt. He sipped his beer—lukewarm and watered down—and added, “Anything you have to say, you can say it in front of my sister and my friend, too.”

Finn glanced over his shoulder, at the crowds of customers talking and laughing and drinking at the tables surrounding the stage. He relented with a sigh and sat down. “You couldn’t have picked somewhere a bit easier to find?” He dragged his chair in.

“You’ve never been here before?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Finn said. “But I’ve neverbeenhere, no. And I expected it to, you know, have a normal door.” Right—not the flat cellar-style doors. “I walked by this place three times before I figured it out. I thought it was a door to the Below.” He folded his arms on the table. “I’m guessing you asked to meet up because you’re curious about the crime scenes.”

“Crime scenes?” Ivy repeated, idly swirling the wine in her glass. “Was there more than just the incident at the river?” She sipped.

“There’ve been over a dozen attacks tonight,” Finn said. Ivy raised her brows. “And the only reason I’m telling you this is because I know you’re connected in some way to everything that’s happening in Yveswich.”