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Dallas must’ve seen the hurt on her face, because she sighed. “Alright. Let’s see this disguise you were talking about.”

—

It really was the perfect disguise.

Dressed in the white bodysuit the imperator had given her, the skin below her ear branded with one of Kyle’s temporary tattoos, she could almost pass for Lace as she stepped out of the taxi, Dallas doing the same on the opposite side of the vehicle.

The driver unrolled his window. “Tell dispatch you need a van next time, will ya?” he called. The guy was complaining because of how much space Dallas’s wings had taken up in the back seat, the feathers hitting him in the head a few times when she’d first got in.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dallas muttered. She slammed her door shut harder than she needed to. “Asshole.”

The driver pulled away, leaving them standing beside the river, not far from the buildings and hazy lights of the Umbra Forum. A low veil of fog clung like damp wool to everything in sight.

“We should hurry,” Dallas said. “That spell won’t last long, and if you start smelling like delicious human meat, we are both done for.”

“Witch meat smells just as good,” Loren joked as they began picking their way through the shadows, the river rushing at their backs. Serpents rumbled in its depths, water splashing the sidewalk.

They took the same path Darien had led them down last year, avoiding the alleys and the weeping creatures tucked behind dumpsters. Cheers, stomping feet, and thumping music dribbled out of the warehouse that belonged to Casen Martel, the fighting ring known as the Chopping Block. Loren recognized the werewolf bouncer standing out front, but he didn’t seem to recognize them, staring out at the maze of vendors with an expression that screamed he was bored to tears.

“We should split up,” Loren said. “We’ll both find what we need faster that way.”

“Split up?” Dallas hissed, her hand closing around Loren’s arm. “If I leave your side, I won’t be able to live with myself if you’re dragged into that blood farm—”

“No one’s ever proven that it exists,” Loren interrupted, clinging to her own statement like it was a life raft. “Besides, no one’s even interested in me. See?” She shot a cursory glance at the people milling about, who shied away from her attention the moment they saw the tattoo below her ear, the mark she had purposely left visible by braiding her hair over one shoulder.

They really believed she was Lace Rivera. It was a good thing Dallas had perfected the spell that concealed her human scent, or they likely would’ve been sniffed out by now and sold to the highest bidder.

Dallas pointed a stern finger in her face. “Meet me back here in no more than ten minutes, or I am throwing us both to the wolves and calling Darien.”

“Deal.”

They split up. Loren had no clue where she might find Venom dealers, but her online research had taught her all about the symbol they marked their storefronts with.

As she walked, weaving her way around stalls and people whose faces were shadowed with heavy hoods, she scanned the metal doors of the shops in the warehouses, searching for the symbol—a skull with bleeding black eyes. She was painfully aware of how truly alone she was. The lack of a dangerous Darkslayer guarding her back made her feel stripped down to her skin, but she was careful not to let it show on her face.

Eventually, she spotted the symbol on the sidewalk out front of a narrow door covered with rusting bars. The skull had been drawn on the pavement with sparkly white-and-black spray paint. It was so tiny, she almost walked right by.

She stepped up to the door and rapped her fist against the bars three times, the thick glove of her bodysuit stopping her from registering the pain. The rattle of metal rang through the night, drawing the attention of a couple creepy-looking warlocks loitering by an alley up ahead.

Loren jerked her chin at them. “What the hell are you looking at?”

They dropped their eyes to the filthy pavement.

Loren couldn’t stop the smile that teased her lips.

A moment later, the door cracked open. “What do you want?” came a reedy voice.

“Thirty milliliters,” she said firmly. “And make it quick.”

The door opened wider, the scarred face of a woman—half-human, half-witch—peeking through.

Loren tilted her head, allowing the green bulb mounted by the door to fall upon her tattoo.

The woman shut the door. Chains rattled as locks slid off their latches, and a moment later she opened the door wide, tucking herself partway behind it. She didn’t say anything, but she tipped her head, the invitation sending Loren stepping over the threshold.

Loren worked to keep her breathing calm as the door shut behind her, the assortment of locks clicking and rattling.

“Wait here,” the woman rasped. She disappeared into a room down the hallway, spongy carpet sinking under her grubby bare feet.