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Damnit. I close my mouth.

“—I will personally gut him from navel to throat.”

Jesus.

“Well, I’ll collect my last favor from him, then I’ll gut him navel to throat,” Des amends.

“No one needs to gut anyone else. I just—”

The door opens, and the rest of my words die away as Collin returns.

“All right,” the seer says, “where were we?” His eyes fall to me, brightening with interest. “Oh, right, you want a reading.”

“Idon’t want a reading,” I say, just because I figure that point needs clarifying.

Collin turns to Des.

“Give her a reading.”

Ugh.

The seer clears his throat. “Okay. Please, take a seat ma’am.” He gestures to a nearby couch.

I’m sure I look like a petulant child as I take a seat. I mean, I get it, just because my stepfather was Satan (that’s not literal—I’ve heard Satan is actually a lot nicer than Hugh Anders), doesn’t mean all seers suck.

But it also doesn’t mean I have to be a good sport about this.

Collin sits down next to me, and Des moves to the wall across from the couch, leaning against it and folding his arms, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his AC/DC shirt.

Seriously unfair that the Bargainer can look that tasty even when I’m annoyed at him.

“I’m Collin,” the seer says, drawing my attention back to him. “Figure you ought to know my name before I go peering into your future.”

I’m about to clap back that I already know his name and this sucks and everything sucks, but I force out a smile. “Callie.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Yeah, whatever.

The seer takes my hands, his thumbs stroking my skin in a way that’s not entirely professional. But maybe that’s just me.

I stare down at our hands, and as I look at them, I begin to sense his heartbeat pounding beneath his skin, moving magic with blood. His human power fills my senses.

His ability is strong, staggeringly so.

My eyes flick up to Collin.

I think I’m waiting for incense, incantations—at the very least an open flame or a shallow bowl of water to divine my future from. My stepfather had a bowl he used to carry around that was meant for scrying. He never used it on me—he never dared to face his monstrous deeds head on—but he liked using it with clients.

This seer doesn’t do any of that. He breathes in deeply, his gaze fixed on mine, his eyes searching, searching …

They unfocus.

My own gaze goes to Des, who’s settled himself in a nearby chair. With one booted foot, he’s tilted the seat so it rests on its two back legs.

When he catches me staring, the edge of his mouth curls up. He begins to levitate himself and the chair, entertaining me like he used to when I was a teenager.

I begin to snicker.