Steal the Day (Thieves #2)(51)

An open book sat on the altar surrounded by black and red candles. I assumed it was Mary Jo’s grimoire, her personal book of spells. From the look of the leather, it was old and probably passed from crazy-bitch witch to crazy-bitch witch for generations. The pages were yellowed with age, frayed around the corners. The grimoire was opened to a page, a spell laid out in red ink. Ick. Blood. “Dico Angelus” was spelled out in ornate letters across the top of the page. I wasn’t great with Latin, though I’d been brushing up since I lost my witch. I was pretty sure it was a spell to call angels.

The rest of the altar was decorated with photographs. There were at least twenty taped to the side, the interior, and down the front. Some were old Polaroid pictures, but there were several new photos that could have been printed off any home printer. It was good to know that even a witch as obviously disturbed as Mary Jo kept up with technology. It was not good that there were several photos of one Felicity Day. She could have mentioned that she was being stalked by Mary Jo Renfro, but no, the ever-perky angel merely described her as difficult.

My heart half stopped when I saw the latest photos. They were of Dev. One was through a window as we had eaten dinner last night. That answered one question. She had help since she’d been with us during dinner. The second one was the most terrifying. It was of Dev asleep, alone in the big heart-shaped bed. I remembered Mary Jo talking about the glow Dev had. The witch thought Dev was an angel or something close to one. It was not a good sign because from the feel of this room, she wasn’t going to be asking him for advice or protection.

We needed to get out of here, and we needed to do it now.

I turned to a little bookcase. It was full of all the crap one would expect a black magic practitioner to keep hanging around the office. There were various jars filled with part of things that used to be alive. It was formaldehyde that I’d smelled when I first entered the room. Formaldehyde scared me worse than the smell of decomp because there was always the possibility that the decomp had happened naturally. No one naturally shoves fingers into a jar and covers them with formaldehyde.

I tried to ignore the ick factor as I looked for the Revelation. I found it in a small box on the third shelf. As I opened the box, the amulet was glowing and pulsing softly. I sighed with satisfaction because I had what we came for, and now I could get Dev out of here.

“I thought it was just the man,” a voice said from the doorway, which was swung open.

I turned and wished I had been smart enough to carry a freaking gun, but no, I hadn’t wanted to hurt the civvies. If Felicity had been more open with her info, I wouldn’t have come into this house without an arsenal. John Renfro moved quickly, and there was no room for me to run. His hands tightened around my neck before I could scream, and then there was a stinging sensation in my shoulder.

“Our master is going to love you,” Renfro said as the world went wobbly and dark.





I woke up with a dry mouth and a sense of déjà vu.

“Yeah, sweetheart, this is how all our big dates seem to end,” Dev said wryly.

I tried to hold my head because it was throbbing like it was going to attempt to separate itself from my body and run away, but my hands were tied firmly behind my back. Handcuffs, and not the sweet cushioned versions Dev used when he played cop and call girl. My legs had been bound as well, our captors proving themselves very thorough. “What the hell happened?”

Dev, who was tied up similarly beside me, sighed. “I got roofied. I don’t know what happened to you, but I bet it was the same thing they used on me, only the injectable version. Our hostess is completely insane.”

“Yeah, I got that.” I flipped from my side to my back. My bound hands helped me roll onto my butt where I could look around. My eyes adjusted to the low light, but I wasn’t surprised to find myself in a shed that could have been used as a Texas Chainsaw Massacre set. There were carcasses of woodland creatures hanging everywhere. “I take it this is the farm?”

“Yes, and maybe if your husband had been concerned about the job last night instead of getting into your pants, we would have been more cautious.” Bitterness dripped from every word. I’d been thrown on the floor, but Dev was tied to a post. His shirt was gone and someone had used his chest as a demonic art project. Arcane symbols covered his chest, painted in a dull, metallic red. More blood. I was sure if I could read whatever dead language it was written in, the symbols would form an invitation for demons to come and take a bite.

“We weren’t off somewhere doing the nasty, Dev,” I shot back at him. “He met a pack of werepigs. It was a meeting. I’m his queen, so it makes sense for me to help out. Daniel needs allies if he’s going to take down the Council.”

“Daniel needs his head examined if he’s going to take down the Council. You’re seriously telling me Daniel is trying to join the packs to form some sort of army so he can take power?”

“The Council is the one planning a war, Dev.” I knew where Dev stood, firmly in a neutral position. He was the supernatural equivalent of Switzerland. “They want to take over the supernaturals, and then I think they’re going after the humans.”

“Well, it won’t matter now, sweetheart, because we’re going to be sacrificed after dark. You can stop worrying about potential slavery and start worrying about just which demon is going to show up for dinner. Did I mention we’re on the menu?”