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E ly heard the good news about Madeline. She was cured and would be on her way to Earth soon. No danger to herself or other humans. But other aspects of his hunt were frustrating. Harmony was busy. Very busy. Unable to schedule a meet now.

While he waited for her “to find the time,” he again took up the search for Praevus in Stupool’s hot spots. The rowdiest bar in the large city was crowded. To get through the door, he gripped two inmates by the necks, tossing them aside.

After plowing inside, Ely halted, his gaze circling the dark environment. Mayhem . Males were beating the shit out of one another. The reason? Who knew? Maybe the three female Scourges perched on a table, skimpy tops, pushed-up tits, short skirts, legs crossed. Creats, the money in OneWorld, changed hands among them. Likely, they were betting on which fighters got to fuck them first.

Ely spied the bartender, who leaned against the rack of bottles, his arms flung wide to protect the merch. The guy didn’t hear or see the assassin move up beside him. Ely snapped fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

The barkeep jumped. He eyed the ice-winged warrior from boot to white hair, his fangs giving him away as a Leech. “Yeah? Whatcha want, Feard?”

“Intel.” Ely stifled a yawn as he strong-armed an intrusive Scourge, shoving him across the bar top and into the fray.

“This is a bad time,” said the bartender. “And I’m not predicting much improvement in the near future.”

Same ol’ same ol’ , Ely thought. I ask for intel from a Scourge. Scourge withholds. I explain why that won’t work. Scourge still acts as if he has the upper hand. I ratchet up the query with a little violence. Scourge gives in. Ho-hum.

“I can be bought. How many creats is it worth?” asked the barkeep as expected.

“Zero is fair.” Ely relaxed his hands on the hilts of the two short-bladed knives in hip holsters.

The guy shrugged. “Then I won’t know anything.”

Ely moved, touching his boots to the barkeep’s ratty shoes, jabbing a fist to the guy’s solar plexus and then to his throat.

The Blood Leech fell against the racked bottles he’d been protecting. When some broke, the Scourge cried like a baby. He barely squeezed out, “I’m gonna be punished for that.”

“I’m sad. Now about our convo. Are you feeling chattier?”

He sniffed. “Whatever.”

Ely took that as a yes . “Have you seen Praevus?”

With a palm on his throat, the barkeep scrunched his brows. “The Mind Rat?”

“The very same.”

“His kind don’t hang out here much. We get mostly Soul Suckers.” He waved his hand around the bar. “As you can see, emotions run high.”

Ely nodded. Yeah . The fighters were Suckers. They were pounding each other with fists and throwing out a shit ton of touchy-feelies. Lust. Anger. Fear. A damn stew, allowing them to feed on the emotions.

“For a few creats, I’ll share a rumor.” The barkeeper sniffed back tears.

Ely laughed. Then he glanced at the guy. “You’re serious. Fuck off and spit up the intel.”

“I hear he’s excused from the Ordeals.”

“I already know that.”

Without a new lead, Ely left the joint, an arm thrust out straight like a bulldozer to shove fighters out of his path. Outside again, he thought maybe he should have stuck around. He wondered whether he could pay the Soul Suckers to make him feel something other than the ennui of eternity.

Fuck the world-weariness routine. Ely was beginning to bore himself.

At the next rundown Scourge tavern a few blocks down the street, he pushed through the door.

Leaning onto his elbows, propped behind him on the bar, Ely faced the crowd. The place was one step up from a sewer, but the drinks were okay. Not watered down. Recognizable brands. Large portions.

Someone pulled up alongside. Malacour, the bar manager. “How about a free ale, assassin?” He held up two fingers. Nodding, the bartender filled mugs and set one in front of his boss and the other in front of Ely.

You’d think Malacour would want him gone as soon as possible. Having the Feard in your bar was bad for business. But the guy seemed almost cordial. For a Scourge. Course, he was one level up—a trustee, about to return to Vast cured of what ailed him.

Oozing a friendly vibe, Malacour asked, “What brings you around?” When he smiled, the tips of his fangs showed.

“Praevus. Seen him?” Ely swiped a hand across his mouth, wiping off foam.

“The Rat? Let me think.” He swallowed a large gulp of brew, set the mug on the bar, and shook his head. “Not for a long time. Maybe a month. Whaddya want with him?”

“Ask a few questions. You happen to know where he is?”

Malacour chuckled. “Being a trustee takes me out of the gossip circles. Since I’m almost on my way back to Vast, my clientele see me as untrustworthy.”

Harmony had set the guy up in this bar biz since he was on the road to rehab. Great deal. Before succumbing to a malady, Malacour had flown in one of the elite winged squadrons, and the OC could use him again on side good. He’d been a real hero until he wasn’t.

After a little more convivial chit-chat, Malacour said, “Got unfinished paperwork. A boss’s job is never done. See you next time, and I hope you catch up with this Praevus.”

As the guy strolled toward the back room, Ely noticed the patrons had moved their seats far away. It should please him to have such an effect on Scourges. He was, however, neither pleased nor displeased. It was what it was. They were wise to give him a wide berth.

Was it the ice in his veins? The vacant, uncaring look in eyes? Nah . It was probably the fact he could smite their asses if they pissed him off. Still, runaways couldn’t answer questions. He picked up his frosty ale and prepped to socialize.

The first table he approached vacated before he arrived. This wasn’t gonna work. Despite the loud rap playing through the speakers, he shouted. “Keep your asses in your seats. I’ve got questions.”

The audience froze.

Ely dragged a chair over to a round, wobbly-legged table which was about to fall to the floor. “Gents.” Four Scourges nodded, their eyes wide with terror. “May I join you?”

They nodded again, dropping their gazes to their glass mugs. A brave soul spoke aloud. “Could we stop you?”

“Good point. No.” Ely slammed his drink onto the table, hauling out a chair. He chatted them up with questions about Praevus, but they were low-level Flesh Eaters who knew nothing. He needed to quiz Mind Rats.

Ely glanced around the dirty bar with its gummy floor, stained walls, rickety furniture, dim lighting, and desperate patrons. If he could feel sorry for Scourges, he would. Had he ever? He couldn’t recall. As the oldest of the assassins, Ely found himself having trouble recalling bits of his past. He supposed the faulty recall was normal after eons of time. His brain had to search through mountains of material to grasp a small detail. He had even slept for a century, hoping to awaken from stasis recharged. Then some bad shit had happened—he didn’t remember what it was—and the OneCreator called him back to work.

He didn’t say, “Hey, OC, buddy, fuck off. I need more time to get my shit together.” No. What he said was “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Though Ely had awakened refreshed, his good vibrations didn’t last more than a few centuries. Now, here he was again with a major case of the blahs. Immortality was a bitch. Each of his fellow assassins handled it differently. Ohngel chose to scheme and plan for millennia. All to keep Aeternals and humans from wiping each other out. Remi dived into sadistic shit. Chains. Whips. Sex. Who knew what else. Gareth eventually lost the battle. He turned Scourge and had to be put down. Dom ... Dom just plowed forward. If eternity got too heavy for him, the black-winged assassin crashed into it head-on, slamming it out of the way. He overpowered it as he did everything in life.

Ely spotted a bunch of Rats at three o’clock. Dragging his chair along with him, the feet leaving marks in the floor grit, he joined the group. “Assholes.” It was a good greeting as greetings go. “What do you hear about Praevus?” He might as well throw it out there.

Glances pinged from one depraved Scourge to another.

Ely extracted a short-bladed knife from his holster. He jammed it point first into the table. The males fell all over each other to see who could talk first. Bunch of white-eyed Nancies. He pointed. “You first.”

The selected Mind Rat glanced at his companions. “We’re not in Praevus’s circle. He’s ... beyond our skills. But I know where he lives. Saw him coming out one night.”

“Already found his elegant digs. I need new news.” Ely pointed again. “Next.”

“I hear he’s exempt from the Ordeals. Has a backer.”

“Yeah? Who is it?”

“Some valued Scourge.”

“Yeah? Who?”

They shrugged in unison. The first talker said, “A trustee, I hear.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ely saw Malacour come out of the back room and signal two stagehands.

Suddenly, the bar quieted. All gazes flipped to the front. A cage, the bars wrapped in black velvet, was wheeled onto the stage. Inside was a female, sitting on a swing. Her back, where long red hair flowed in curls, was to the audience.

One of the Scourges at the table shushed Ely, who jerked up his brows. Now the guy gets a spine?

The two Leech stagehands, their fangs pressing into their bottom lips, twirled the cage around. The female faced her admirers. Ely took notice, an oddity for him. In his current state, he eschewed most pleasures, including sex, but she stirred his groin, until he spied her eyes. They were white. Fucking Mind Rat. He hated Mind Rats.

Strange, though? When he looked more closely, he saw her eyes were translucent, more pale green than white, almost pretty.

When she drew a deep breath, her chest expanded. She opened her mouth. A plaintive song poured out, its melody and lyrics sad. Sadder even than the run-down, dirty bar. Ely glanced around. All the patrons perched at the edge of their seats, enthralled by the sound, by the words, by the female who was messing with their minds.

Ely rose from his chair, her voice getting to him a bit, though the Feard and Michael were mostly immune to Scourge tricks. He wasn’t gonna get anything else from this audience. They were about to be knocked out by the song. Literally. Then the fun and games would commence. He left the club before the floor was littered with writhing Scourges, holding their heads, screaming from pain.

Her voice was a weapon to paralyze the patrons. Once they collapsed, frozen in their own bodies and unable to fight back, the play would begin. Maybe a certain note she’d hit would fry their brains. Fun times for all.

The hypnotic voice followed him out the door. “I wanna be loved by you, just you.” It was sultry, soul-deep. He shivered.

Ely pathed Dom. News. Praevus has a high-placed Scourge friend. Possibly a trustee. Don’t know who.

Doesn’t tell us the Immortal who kidnapped and handed Maddy off to him.

No. But it’s a baby step closer.