Page 53 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

“WE COULD ENTER THROUGH A servant door,” Kalix offers, suggesting yet another way into the manipulator's estate without getting us caught.

“Kalix, you’re well over six feet tall. The entrance won’t matter once you step inside,” Iris counters, pointing out the oversight.

“They’ll try to compel us the moment we’re in, right?” Felix asks, sounding far too intrigued by the idea of a dominant woman. His enthusiasm makes me want to slap him.

“Manipulators crave total domination and it’s an easy task for them to achieve without draining themselves,” Millicent says coolly. “They’ll target anyone whose eyes don’t show signs of submission,” Millicent says.

I’m not used to having Millicent in our planning sessions.

Her presence is rare, but Felix insisted it was time to fully integrate her.

It has only been a few days since she woke, but Iris has sworn along with her that she is fine to proceed.

Now she stands beside Iris, leaning over the documents spread across the table.

“So, it’s the eyes?” Kalix muses, rubbing his chin as he processes the information.

“It’s always the eyes—and their obedience,” Millicent confirms. “They can tell who’s under by the way they look at you. They prefer men, but Iris and I will still be targets. Would be lovely to have my collar off.”

She tosses Felix a sweet, pleading smile.

The bastard in me bristles. I’m the one who positioned the damn collar. She should be begging me.

“What a—" Felix draws out the words dramatically, “horrible idea! Millie, my sweet gumdrop princess, a manipulator is going to try to compel you and you’re going to obliterate them—losing a lead we spent weeks tracking down! And, restraint isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

Millicent rolls her eyes so hard that I’m half convinced they’ll stay that way. “Fine. I’ll carve the bitches instead and make coats out of their skin. My magic would make the kills cleaner, but if you want me to go full barbarian, I can accommodate.”

“That…that is not—" Felix groans, pressing two fingers to his temple like the headache is already blooming.

Kalix chuckles while Iris covers her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. Millicent, of course, is dead serious.

“Down, girl. The goal is not to cause friction,” I remind her and everyone in the room.

“Do we know what the coven members look like? We could transfigure into them,” Kalix suggests.

Gods. I already had to be Felix once. His body felt too loose, like wearing an ill-fitted coat. I would prefer never to turn into someone else again. However, the biggest problem is imagining who you wish to turn into, and we have never seen one of these Manipulators.

“No,” I say. “We only know of their suspected involvement by reputation. The witches haven’t been identified or confirmed.”

“You all get to go to a sin house and I have to stay back?” Felix whines from across the room. “What kind of kingly treatment is this?”

Of course he wants in. The establishment we’re targeting is practically his personal heaven—alcohol, women, and gambling all in one depraved bundle.

“Felix, you’d be the first one either compelled or drunk. So, no—you stay here.” Iris shoots him a pointed look.

“Does the coven own The Viscountess?” Millicent asks.

“Papers and pockets lead to one of the lords running it. He’s not under compulsion, interestingly enough.” Kalix slides the deed across the table toward her.

We need to speak with a manipulator witch.

Covens’ general locations in the kingdom are vaguely known.

The closest manipulator coven is quite far, and going to a coven is dangerous.

There will be a very high concentration of manipulator witches and their minions there.

They are not as mild tempered as curse users are.

Our best bet is to try to find a smaller group of them.

Our informants discovered some working at The Viscountess. I believe the witch and lord have a deal and they help one another out. She can make anyone do anything for the lord and he can line her pockets with coins and help feed her cozy lifestyle.

There will still be a head witch, one who is like an elder. Witches always hold their hierarchies. This is the one we will try to target for questioning as calmly as possible. Causing a fight at one of the most profitable sin houses is going to cause Tyran grief with the higher society folks.

“Kalix, you poisoned me. What else can you do?” Millicent mutters, dry as bone.

Between the six of us, a plan forms. One that helps us remain under the radar and sets us up to gather intel in the most passive way. Thankfully, it is also a plan that does not involve me turning into Felix Tyran.

The plan is wobbly at best—but right now, it’s all we’ve got.

KALIX IS ABNORMALLY TENSE AS we escort the girls toward The Viscountess.

Iris’s gown barely counts as clothing, the deep plunge revealing most of her breasts, and the high slits bare her the length of legs as she walks.

Hers are crimson. Millicent’s, in contrast, are a midnight blue—similar in form and equally dangerous.

Relax. You look like you’re about to murder someone, I speak directly into Kalix's mind.

I just might, if anyone lays a single finger on Iris. I hate this plan. I hate how much skin she’s showing.

His emotions surge through the tether between us like a possessive and primal suffocating roar.

Please spare me your fantasy of claiming her. I don’t need a visual of your hard-on.

Then get out of my head, mage.

Someone is grumpy, I think privately, leaving him to simmer in that attitude of his. Gods, it’s going to be a long night if Kalix is this wound up. I’ll be babysitting his murderous instincts while keeping in check the loose screws in Millicent’s head.

Iris, I send, Kalix is one deep breath away from combusting. Stop swaying your hips so much. He’s about to cum in his trousers.

Her laughter flickers into my mind. Cage, I’m simply walking. A pause. But if you insist ….

The vixen doubles down. Her hips sway even more exaggeratedly, prompting a low, guttural growl from Kalix’s chest.

Millicent glances back, brows raised. “Did you just…growl? Like a dog? Is that your secret talent?”

“You’re the one wearing a collar,” he snaps, voice tight with sexual frustration.

Millicent’s eyes widen. Wisely, she turns around.

Iris ignores Kalix entirely, even as he shadows her steps so closely he’s practically walking on her heels. His eyes scan the crowd for threats or anyone daring to look too long.

“We should split here,” she says, reaching for Millicent’s hand. “The building is just ahead. It’s better if we’re not seen together.”

Kalix’s arm snakes around her waist, halting her escape with a firm tug back against his chest.

“Don’t forget who owns this perfect little body.” His voice roughens at the edges of restraint. He leans down and bites her shoulder, not gently.

Iris smacks him. Hard. “Kalix! Right now? Seriously?”

Her slap barely registers. Still he lets go, stepping back, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her skin. A mark of possession.

“Asshole.” She flips him off without looking and storms off with Millicent in tow.

I step closer, lowering my voice, “Have you taken your dose this week?”

Kalix nods. “Last night. I’m level. Even with the high doses not everything is blocked.”

“We’ve got back up, yeah?”

He taps his breast pocket. “Right here.”

Relief drapes over me like armor. The last thing I need tonight is Kalix spiraling.

THE VISCOUNTESS IS PACKED BUT surprisingly spacious. The two-story structure features an open upper floor; its balcony feeds into the grand chamber below.

Massive crystal chandeliers glitter above, casting a soft ambient glow that flatters the patrons. The dim light makes them appear far more attractive than they likely are.

Velvet floor cushions surrounding plush tables create cozy smoking stations, leaving a constant haze drifting overhead.

Around us, men and women drink heavily, their laughter and moans intermingling with the low thrum of a sultry tune. Some indulge openly in carnal acts while harlots drift between crowds giggling, flirting, and targeting men with the heaviest purses.

Cheers and jeers erupt from gambling tables spaced along the walls. Silk-clad dancers undulate across an open stage, their hips rolling in time with the musicians performing behind them. Multiple bars frame the room, imported liquor gleaming on the shelves.

“Shall we?” I mutter, pushing through the crowd toward the gambling tables.

Kalix’s eyes continue scanning the floor, clearly searching for a flash of red hair streaked with white.

The girls know what they are doing. We need your focus here.

The reminder is enough. He nods, his attention finally snapping back to me and our task.

Drunk men love to talk, especially while gambling. Our hope is to catch wind of something useful, some whispers about certain working girls or rumors of women who aren’t quite what they seem.

While we work this angle, the girls mingle as though harlots. Perhaps one of the women we’re after is embedded among them.

We sit at a card table and are dealt in. It doesn’t take long.

The working girls drift toward us, drawn like moths to gold.

“You’re a big boy,” a young girl with tight blonde curls giggles, leaning onto the table to give Kalix a better view of her cleavage.

“You have no idea,” he replies with a wink, taking a slow sip from the drink the waitress delivered before the round began.

She soon ends up in his lap, giggling while we play. Occasionally, she presses her hips back into him with every excuse to shift against him. Despite his charming smile and flirtatious remarks, I can feel that his thoughts are elsewhere. Iris. He’s trying to stay present; she consumes him.

A woman approaches me with deep black hair and blue eyes, she’s breathtaking, which gives me pause.