Page 50 of Wicked Believer
When I don’t take the card, he straightens, tucking it back into his pocket with a shrug like it’s my loss. “Suit yourself.”
He moves to step away.
But a sudden idea sparks in me.
What if thereisa way for me to do more to stop the apocalypse?
I may not stand a chance on my own, but what if ... what if a huge chunk of economic and celestial power, more than enough to help humanity, has been sitting right in front of me this whole time?
In the form of six other Originals.
You know he doesn’t want outside investors.Imani’s warning echoes back to me.
But what about insider trading?
“And what if I did?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Azmodeus pauses, propping himself between the roof and the car door.
I let out an audible breath. “What if Ididwant ... want to know more about ...?”
“Being divine? Immortal?” he asks, his smirk widening.
I give a reluctant nod.
He pulls out his card once more, this time pressing the glittering cardstock into my open palm. “Meet me at The Velvet Fold next Friday, Charlotte.” Az grins wickedly. “And I’ll show you what being divine really means.”
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte
I arrive at Xzander’s studio nearly twenty minutes after we’re scheduled, but fortunately, Xzander has his own excuses for running late this morning.
“Your doppelganger forgot to drop the key back off to Tameka last night, so I had to double back to find the spare.” He pulls the key in question from his pocket, though he doesn’t seem very annoyed that Olivia ducked out of her shift early. This close to the CFDAs, with Xzander serving onImpact’s board to uplift Black and brown talent in fashion, plus designing my outfits for the awards show, he likely doesn’t expect a moment’s peace.
I make an apologetic face. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”
Like most of the Garment District, Xzander’s studio is near Midtown South, on Seventh Avenue somewhere southeast of Bryant Park and north of Penn Station. Despite all the tourists that frequent this part of the city, with Broadway and Times Square so close by, I’ve always enjoyed this neighborhood, especially this early—when the streets are clear and the new morning light makes it feel like the day is full of endless possibilities.
There’s something a little sexy about the city that never sleeps, and I think sometimes the people who’ve lived here all their lives take that for granted.
Kansas could never compare.
“Coffee?” Xzander asks, nodding to where his assistant Isabela’s waiting.
Clearly, she’s going to be the one to fetch it for us, though if she’s anything like Siobhan, Xzander’s other assistant, she likely knows our orders by heart now. Xzander’s been designing for me almost exclusively ever since I debuted to the press beside Lucifer.
I’m one of his top clients these days.
I recite my order anyway—a Venti latte with white mocha, sweet cream, and caramel drizzle with an extra shot of espresso, hot, exactly the kind of warm, sugary pick-me-up I need—before Xzander pushes the key into the studio lock and we step inside.
The inside is dark before he flicks on the lights—none of his other staff have arrived. The first floor functions as a showroom while the second floor is where the true magic happens, the home to all his textiles and sewing machinery.
I glance around, my eyes adjusting to the lighting, and my brow furrows at the sight of my purse from yesterday on the floor. Or a replica of it anyway. “Olivia must have left her bag here.” I move to pick it up.
Xzander drops a limp wrist at me, shaking his head. “You need to get better help if your doppel-girl is this sloppy.”
But Oliviaisn’tthis sloppy. Not usually, anyway.
