"Come on, Val, please answer the f.u.c.king ph-"

"Hey," she said, sounding tired.

Max cleared his throat, stifling a relieved sigh. She hadn't shut him out completely after all. "Have you found Margaret yet?"

"No."

"Are you still convinced Lucien's got her?"

"Yes."

"Well, Abby and I just got an invitation to a Blue Serpent top-tier party. It's something fancier than the party I went to. The invitation says, 'Bring your sorrows and be cleansed.'"

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"I don't know. I'm not versed in cult-speak."

"If you tell me where it is, I can stake it out, maybe sneak in and look for Margaret or clues to where Lucien's keeping her."

"Why would you sneak in when we can just walk in with my invitation?"

"Max..."

"There's no way I can bring Abby. I'm not dragging her into this mess."

"Who am I supposed to be then?"

"Be Abby. Everyone will be wearing masks. Just wear a wig, too, don't say anything, and you'll pa.s.s for her. From the head down, you look close enough. You're more athletic, and your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are fuller, and-"

Jesus, Max, shut up! Thank G.o.d Abby wasn't around to hear him drooling over his ex-girlfriend's body.

After a pause, Val said, "I don't know if we should-"

"Do you want to find Margaret or not?" he snapped. "Because I'm not giving you the address so you can run in there and get killed, or kill somebody yourself. We do this my way or not at all."

She let out a defeated sigh. "When?"

"Sat.u.r.day, ten o'clock. Wear a formal dress. I'll pick you up at your house. And don't bring a gun this time, for Christ's sake."

He hung up before she could argue, then let his head drop into his hands. Another potentially disastrous plan kicked into motion. Why couldn't he just let it go? He groaned as he admitted the truth to himself-he couldn't pa.s.s up the opportunity to see her again. And it would probably get him killed.

Chapter Seventeen.

Val fluffed her blond wig as she sat in the pa.s.senger seat of Max's car, adjusting one of the fake blond curls so it covered the circular scar behind her ear. She swiped on some lipstick and took a moment to check her makeup in the vanity mirror. Why she even bothered with makeup was a legitimate question, given she'd be wearing a fox mask all night. But it seemed odd to don a gorgeous black satin gown with no effort to make the rest of her body look just as nice. Thank G.o.d for the mask, though. Her facial features didn't resemble Abby's at all. There'd be no way she could pa.s.s for Max's fiancee without the fox muzzle covering most of her face.

He'd only told her their destination after he picked her up. Per the GPS in Max's car, they were about ten minutes out from the Northwest Mountain Lodge, where something strange was certain to happen-hopefully not another s.e.x party. Pretending to be her ex-boyfriend's fiancee at an orgy would be beyond awkward. It was bad enough as it was. He looked impossibly handsome in his tuxedo and slicked-back hair, the textbook picture of a dark, smoking-hot millionaire. Though he finally got to see her looking good-by far the most put-together she'd ever been for him-he'd said nothing when he first saw her.

Instead, he stared at her for a long time, taking in every inch of her, the amber in his eyes popping like embers as the fire in him burned hotter and hotter, until she swore he was about to kiss her. She found herself leaning forward against her will, beckoning his lips to hers. But his gaze cut away, and he didn't look at her again or speak on their drive to the lodge. Maybe she'd read him wrong, projected her own wants and desires onto him. His whole body seemed tense, as if being in her presence caused him physical pain. Forcing herself to mentally and physically back off, she distracted herself with her phone as he drove. She wished she could keep him out of all this chaos, but there was no putting that horse back in the barn.

Max surprised Val by pulling into a gas station and parking his car away from the pumps. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a joint and a lighter. He lit the marijuana cigarette and took a long drag.

Val raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"I'm nervous. If I don't chill out before I get there, it'll look suspicious."

He held the joint out, offering her a hit; she shook her head.

"You look nice," she said, resisting the urge to lick her lips at the same time. He looked better than nice, but admitting she wanted to rip his clothes off with her teeth might be a bit awkward.

He shrugged. Max went to sw.a.n.ky charity events all the time. A tuxedo was probably like a second skin to him, nothing special. They sat in silence as Max stared out the window, lost in thought. It reminded her of when they'd been on the lam, trapped in a fleabag motel room for days while Max healed from the severe beating Sten had delivered. He'd stared out the window thinking G.o.d knows what for hours. Always his mind churned, a puzzle forever trying to solve itself. It drove him nuts sometimes, he'd told her.

After a couple of minutes where she snuck glances at his gorgeous face without being too obvious about it, he said, "Carressa Industries wants to hire me back to the board."

"No kidding. What made them acknowledge your existence again after all this time?"

"They want me to lead the company back to better-than-average returns-using my knowledge of the future. They don't know that's how it works, but that's what would happen."

"You don't have to use your ability. You're still a whiz with numbers."

He shook his head. "There's too much randomness in the market. I'd need to perform." He spat the last word. All he'd done his whole life was perform for other people.

"If you don't want to perform, why are you considering it?"

He sighed as if he wasn't sure of the answer himself. "It's something to do. And charity work is worthwhile, but..."

"Boring?"

"Yeah."

"What does Abby think?"

His gaze flicked back out the window. "I haven't told her."

Val wasn't sure what to make of that. It couldn't be good that he'd failed to mention a critical life decision to his fiancee. Maybe it had nothing to do with Val. She wasn't a major part of his life anymore.

"If you're asking my opinion, I think you should take the job, but do it without using your ability. Give yourself a real challenge."

"Hmm," was all he said. He took a final drag of his joint, then carefully extinguished it with his fingers and put it back in his pocket. He looked at her. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

He started his car and drove the final few miles to the Northwest Mountain Lodge. They pulled up to the posh country club twenty minutes late, a ploy to avoid any forced socializing that might expose Val's true ident.i.ty. She took a deep breath, slipped on her mask, and prayed these rich a.s.sholes weren't chatty. Then she nodded to Max, who looked s.e.xy and ridiculous in his wolf mask, and they opened their doors together.

A man in a servant's tuxedo and a blank white-faced mask took Val's hand and helped her out of the car. Suppressing the urge to recoil from his touch, she smiled politely, her mouth and eyes the only visible parts of her face. A moment later Max was at her side. He took her arm as another creepy-faced valet drove away with his car.

"You look nice, too," he said to her, just above a whisper. Such simple words, yet they thrilled her to her core. Maybe he'd wanted to kiss her after all. She was glad he couldn't see her blushing.

Together they walked toward huge ornate oak doors. An army of servants in white masks wordlessly ushered them into the building and through a series of rooms that became darker as they went in, like descending into the bowels of a dungeon. Val walked with her head high and shoulders back, striking a pose of confidence for any potential observers. Secretly she clung to Max's arm for support, warm and strong beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. Finally, they came to their destination-a dimly lit function hall, opulent in burgundy and dark woods, a small and high stage in the center like something used for intimate concerts. About a hundred people surrounded the stage, all in tuxedoes and ball gowns, all sporting unique animal masks. They whispered with their partners but didn't mingle with anyone else. They were waiting, Val realized.

A waiter approached Max and Val and offered them a tray of crystal goblets filled with a clear liquid. They each took one out of politeness, then sniffed the contents after the waiter disappeared. Val dipped her finger in and touched it to the tip of her tongue before Max could stop her. He scolded her with his gaze, p.i.s.sed she'd take the risk of sampling an unknown substance after what he went through at the last Blue Serpent party.

"Water," she told him.

He frowned and eyed his gla.s.s with suspicion anyway. Val looked around again; everyone who held a drink had water. No one had food. She would've made a joke to Max about this being the lamest party she'd ever been to, but a bong like an ancient grandfather clock interrupted her. She knew that sound.

Val grabbed Max's arm again. "That's it-the noise I heard in my vision, when Ginger talked to Lucien. He's coming-"

The lights dimmed even further until they stood in almost complete darkness. No one spoke as the bonging filled the room. Val found herself holding her breath, the tension as thick as the blackness that surrounded them. She flinched when an overhead light flooded the stage. A single man stood in the center, black robes flowing down his body, a long beak like a scythe and gla.s.s eyes covering his face-a plague mask.

"G.o.d is cruel," he said, his voice replacing the sound of the grandfather clock as the only thing Val could hear besides the pounding of her heart. His slight French accent confirmed what she already knew, based on her vision and his ancient medical costume-the man was Lucien. "You have worked for the finer things in life, you have worked for luxury. You have earned your status. But G.o.d has cursed you. G.o.d will rip from your grasp all the spoils you have worked for. You have everything, and yet you are helpless."

Val felt Max tense. This speech was meant for people like him-the rich, the ent.i.tled, the d.a.m.ned. His "curse" was what made him wealthy and ruined his life at the same time.

"But I am merciful. I will give back what G.o.d has taken from you." He held his hands out to the crowd. "Bring me your sorrows and be cleansed."

The crowd held up their hands to Lucien. Did they know it was Lucien? "Cleanse us, Blue Serpent," they said as one.

Like the picture of Death choosing a victim, Lucien pointed to a woman in the crowd. "Come to me and be cleansed."

Bodies parted and made a path for the woman up to the base of the stage. She struggled up the steps, tubes trailing from beneath her panther mask to an oxygen tank a man carried behind her. One of her arms was crooked at an odd angle, a symptom of some crippling ailment. She reached Lucien and stood before him, rasping to catch her breath. The man with the oxygen tank-probably her husband-clutched her good arm to keep her steady. Her frail body trembled like she might collapse at any moment. Lucien took the woman's arm and motioned for her husband to back away; he did so, tentatively.

In one smooth motion, Lucien ripped the tubes from the woman's nose. She cried out. The crowd gasped, including Val. He spun her around, manipulating her like a rag doll, his robes nearly engulfing her entire body.

Then he seized her face in his white-knuckled hand. "Do you believe in me?"

"Yes," the woman choked out.

"Will you accept from me that which G.o.d has cruelly withheld?"

"Yes!"

"Then be cleansed."

She drew in a ragged breath and her body went rigid. Then she began to shake and writhe in his grasp. Her crippled arm flailed at her side. She shrieked when her forearm snapped away from her body, then her wrist popped into line with her forearm. The woman's whole twisted arm unfolded one sharp crack at a time until it fell at her side, a mirror image of her good arm. Her strained rasps became strong breaths, and she relaxed as whatever agony she'd experienced ebbed. Lucien let her go and stepped back. She stood at the foot of the stage, no longer struggling to support herself or nursing a crippled limb. Val heard sobs beneath the panther mask. Her husband dropped the oxygen tank and rushed to embrace her, sobbing along with his newly healthy wife.

"Oh my G.o.d," Val whispered. Shocked murmurs that echoed her own ran through the crowd. "That can't be real." She looked at Max. He still gaped at the couple. "It must have been staged, right?"

He blinked as if snapping out of a trance. "I have no idea. I think the man she's with is Marty Paul, a hedge funds manager. I heard through the grapevine his wife was seriously ill, but...I don't know what just happened."

"Blue Serpent, heal me!" a man in the crowd yelled.

"Heal me!" someone else's desperate voice echoed. Soon a cacophony of pleading filled the room. Val could only guess at the net worth of all these people, but they literally begged at Lucien's feet for a sc.r.a.p of something money couldn't buy. He was right-they had everything, yet were helpless before him.

Lucien held up his arms and the lights dimmed again, though his grotesque outline remained visible, like a ma.s.sive vulture. Val guessed he was warming up for his second act. Morbid curiosity urged her to stay, but her obligation to Margaret won out.

"Let's go," she whispered to Max. With the lights dim and room filled with frenzied voices, she guessed they wouldn't get a better chance to sneak away and search the bowels of the building for Margaret or some clue to where she could be.

With a slight nod he took her arm again, and they slipped back to the room's entrance.

"Bathroom?" Max asked a white-masked servant opening the door for them.

Without speaking, the servant pointed down a hallway to his left. Val a.s.sumed there was a man with a life behind the mask, despite the blank, foreboding figure he cut. She wouldn't be surprised if their contracts required them to be as creepy as possible. Fear and desperation were the major themes of Blue Serpent events, she realized. s.e.x, drugs, and promises of miracle cures were the ploys that got people in the door.

They walked in the direction the servant sent them until they were out of his sight. Then Val cut left and pulled Max down a hallway perpendicular to the bathroom.

"There's a stairwell down here that will take us to the bas.e.m.e.nt," she whispered. "If Margaret's in the building, that's where she'll be."

"And you know this...how?"

"I looked up the floor plans on my phone while you drove."

"Oh."

"It's not like you were making great conversation."

"I had things on my mind."

"I know, Max. It's a permanent state you're in." She glanced at him and grinned.

He rolled his eyes. "One of us has to think before leaping into danger."

"I could've planned better if you'd told me where we were going beforehand."

"If I had, you'd have gone without me, guns blazing, and you know it."

"No. Okay yes, but-" A flash of movement caught her eye. A man emerged from around the corner about fifty feet away-a security guard with a gun on his hip. She threw herself into Max and shoved them together into the recessed nook of another room's entrance a mere second before the man turned to look at the spot they'd just been in. Val squished her chest flat against Max's in the small nook, held her breath, and prayed the guard hadn't been close enough to hear them talking. After what felt like an eternity, she heard receding footfalls, then silence. She risked a peek down the hallway; empty.

"s.h.i.t, that was close," she whispered, and breathed a sigh of relief. She shouldn't have. Max's scent flooded her lungs: his natural musk, his cologne, his bay rum aftershave. Paired with the warmth and strength of his body pressed against hers, and his arms wrapped around her body, she felt dizzy, nearly overpowered by his essence. She lifted her head and met his white-hot gaze. His eyes searched hers, traced the outline of her lips. He was going to kiss her this time, she knew it. She wanted him to. She needed him to. Her mouth parted and she lifted her chin- He pushed past her and stepped back into the hallway. "Can we hurry up and get the h.e.l.l out of here, please?" he said, his voice breathless and strained.

"Uh...yeah." Val cleared her throat and forced herself back to reality. "Follow me."

With an increased sense of caution and no more chatter, she led Max to the stairwell. She slipped off her high heels and raced down the stairs, Max close behind. At the bottom they peeked through the door into the bas.e.m.e.nt area, ensured the coast was clear, then skulked through a finished hallway with connecting rooms for storage and office s.p.a.ce.

Val stopped in front of a room with a cypher lock. "In my vision, I saw Lucien come out of this room and talk to Ginger, right before the show."

She guessed Ginger lurked nearby, probably in the crowd with the other sick rich people. She couldn't wait to get her hands on him, as soon as Max gave the okay. She tried the door; locked, as expected. Val jiggled the handle, testing the strength of the lock, then shoved her shoulder into it. When the door didn't budge, she reared her leg back to try kicking it in, alarm be d.a.m.ned.

Max put a hand on her arm. "Don't." He stepped forward, stared hard at the cypher lock as he chewed his thumb, then punched in an eight-digit number. The lock clicked open.

"Someone did prep work of his own," she said. "Hopefully not on the drive over."

He snickered. "You'll never know for sure." His rare smile fell into a frown. "You know it's unlikely Margaret's in here, right? He wouldn't keep her in a semi-public place."