Page 42 of Hidden

She closed the comment box instead. Snarking wouldn’t help the situation, and the forty-eight previous respondents already had that covered, including a spirited diatribe about werelemmings.

Izetta hit the page’s home button shaped like a tiny cat. The werecougar’s website showed a decade’s worth of solid reporting for online news sources as well as a longer career as a radio personality at CSUP in Fairview. In other words, Errata Jones seemed legit. Enough for Izetta to believe the werecougar was, in fact, researching a news story.

Izetta flopped back onto the shabby hotel bedspread, staring up at the cracked ceiling and the psychedelic wallpaper half a century out of date. She thumbed the phone again, checking the SolAlert app that told her it was another half hour until full dark. She was old enough to function during the day, but no member of the supernatural set entertained visitors before sundown.

She tossed the phone aside. She’d bought it—along with fresh clothes—at an all-night store catering to nocturnal clients. Her last cell was still in the fae hellhole along with Rafe. And her favorite knives. Her list of grievances against the fae was getting longer by the minute.

Izetta scowled at the damp spot on the ceiling above. Speaking of hellholes, Errata’s mention of the Castle gave her pause. She’d heard about the place twice in twenty-four hours. Malatest had mentioned it, too. She’d never been there herself, but she’d heard stories. The Castle prison dimension was home to old and scary supernaturals with far too much time on their hands. Millenia, in fact. Was it possible they’d concocted the drug there from who-knew-what ingredients? Did anyone actually care, as long as distribution was stopped in a graphic and memorable manner?

She fumbled for the phone again. The kitsune clerk in the store had somehow managed to deactivate her lost phone and download the contents to her new one—including the surveillance video of the Magician. That had been the first thing she’d checked. The second had been her contacts list.

She found Errata’s number and hit the text icon.

Pick me up. I’m at the Ambassador.

A beat passed, then three dots danced on the screen before a text bubble appeared with the reply.

On my way. Meet me out front in ten.

Efficient and to the point. Izetta liked that. She rolled off the bed and ran a comb through the mop of messy black curls that fell to the small of her back, then gave up when the comb got stuck. Unlike fae hair, hers had attitude. Bad attitude. She tossed the comb back on the dresser, shrugged into her black leather jacket, and left the dingy room.

The elevator was deader than she was, so she took the stairs and emerged into the cool darkness just as Errata pulled up to the curb in an older model Jaguar coupe. The car purred in a way that said it had been lovingly maintained.

Izetta pulled open the passenger door. “Classic ride.”

“We’ve been together a while.” Errata patted the dashboard.

Izetta slid inside, appreciating the soft leather seats. “Nice.”

“Have you had breakfast?” The question was casual, but the reporter’s tone was firm.

Izetta flashed fang. “You don’t want to hang out with a hangry bloodsucker?”

Errata’s smile was cool. “No, and not when we’re about to stroll into a den of wolves. You’ll push each other’s buttons enough as it is.”

Izetta slumped in her seat. This clearly wasn’t Errata’s first rodeo—not with so many interviews and stories on her CV. She knew her subjects well.

“I stopped for takeout,” Izetta replied, looking out the window to hide her expression. “A youthful vintage, but full-bodied enough to satisfy.”

It had been hard to let him go. She’d found the man in the back of the all-night store—or he’d found her. Young, but not too young. Healthy, but probably not for long. Those addicted to vampire venom always knew where to find the Undead. Maybe it was a universal impulse to put the unspeakable in one’s mouth—or have the unspeakable put their mouth where it didn’t belong.

She’d been starving by then, almost clumsy in her need, but he’d survive once the haze of euphoria wore off. She’d left him sleeping in the housewares section, nestled among the scatter rugs. He’d provided excellent customer service all around.

“Good to be fed and ready, because I think we’ll need all our persuasive talents.” Errata pulled away from the curb, immediately accelerating to a heart-pounding speed. “The Devries Alpha is known for being a difficult customer.”

From what Rafe had said about his dad, that was putting things mildly.

“Did the Alpha say he would help us?”

“He only agreed to meet,” Errata replied. “Although once he knows the truth, surely he’ll help his own son. I’m good at getting Alphas to see reason. It’s all about making them think it’s their idea to do the right thing.”

“We’ll see.” Izetta’s breath caught as the car swung around a corner at top speed. “Whoa!”

“Sorry.” Errata grinned. “Sometimes I get the zoomies.”

“Uh-huh.” Izetta felt her still heart make one startled beat as they roared across the bridge spanning East Bay’s inlet. The lights from the bridge streaked the black water below, shimmering as wind ruffled the surface.

“What do you get out of this?” Izetta asked.

---