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“Sure.” He nods. “Where are you two visiting from?” His gorgeous British accent rolls off his tongue.

“Salem.” We answer together, and his light green eyes take us in. Sloane and I both wear a pentacle pendant. Mine hangs low on my chest, resting against my wool sweater that’s embroidered with little moons and stars. Sloane’s is on a black velvet choker.

“I’m not sure if we have anything as interesting as Salem’s history, but I’ll do my best to give you something good.” He smiles, his coffee-colored fingernails drumming against the desk in thought. He nods to himself before stepping out from behind his desk. “Follow me.”

His caramel tweed trousers are perfectly fitted and flared from the knee, and there’s a chain hooked around his belt loop to his pocket that jingles against his thigh with every step. “I’m Freddie.”

I push my magic forward to get a read on the guy. His energy is pleasant—calm, inviting, whimsical. I like him already.

“I’m Sloane. This is Sera.”

“How long are you two in town?” Freddie asks as he takes us to the back right-hand corner of the library. There are two long tables in the middle of the area with low shelves all around, filled with tall, thick books. A row of computers is lined up along one wall.

“Just for the weekend,” I answer, running my hand over the spines of books as we pass. At least I hope this will all be solved by then.

Freddie spins on his brown leather boots, resting an arm over one of the shelves. “Well, these are the town archives.” He taps the side of the wood case. “I think you’ll find 1903 particularly interesting, but if you do decide there’s something specific you want to know, I’ll be at the desk.”

After almost two hours of reading, my back is stiff, and my neck only turns in one direction without screaming in protest.

We haven’t found anything in the way of unsolved mysteries or unexplained cases, and it hasn’t provoked any new visions.

“I could use a coffee,” I say, closing my book and pushing it away.

“Have you been to The Daily Spin?” Freddie strolls past our table, pushing a cart full of books. “If not for the coffee, you have to at least go for the eye candy next door.”

At the lack of enthusiastic response, Freddie must take it to mean we haven’t been where he’s suggesting, and promptly drops into a seat across from us looking like he’s about to divulge the small town’s hottest gossip. “I’m certain they’re all ex-models, possibly European. The States just don’t make them that tall and elegantly rugged. But the blond one’s mine. I don’t think I’m the kind of bottom he goes for, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s someone who’d be open to trying it at least once.” Freddie holds up both hands, crossing his middle and index fingers. “Please God, I volunteer as tribute.”

We chuckle as I start stacking the books Sloane and I have gone through so far. “Where is this coffee shop?”

Freddie points to the window behind us. “Just through that alley over there, and turn right. It’s next door to the candy store—I mean, record store.”

Record? “Hemlock Vinyl?”

Freddie nods. “That’s the one.”

5

“What have you been able to find?” Lennox asks as Hynde walks into Hemlock Vinyl.

Small pots fill shelves and bookcases throughout the store. Clusters of light and dark green foliage are mounted on the walls, along with enlarged album covers and long vines that hang from the ceiling rafters. A neon pink sign of the store’s logo takes up almost the entire back wall.

Demons have always had their hands in human businesses. Catori’s had this place since it was built. It’s changed its purpose over the years, but since the seventies, it’s been a record store. Not a particularly good one since we didn’t actually want business, our warden just needed to keep an eye on Hemlock.

“Catori didn’t summon me while I was under, so it’s possible he doesn’t know,” Hynde offers as he leans back against the counter.

“I find it hard to believe he didn’t pick something up when that magic was flying around. No way he or Chimere didn’t sense something,” Len says, running a hand through his long, brown hair.

I guide my needle through the cotton fabric of my embroidery project while I listen to their conversation. My mother taught me needlework at an early age. We used to do it together on cold nights in front of the fire. It’s been a century, but I still find it just as relaxing.

“I asked around with the succubi,” Hynde says. “They’ve never heard of a demon mate bond.” I try to push away the feeling of guilt in my chest, as if this is my fault, that I’m the one who screwed up the mission because some witch put a spell on me. Admittedly, the witches acted just as surprised and concerned as we did about the strange magic. “They were certain it was some kind of curse,” Hynde finishes and his dark eyes cut to mine. His lip curls as he watches me complete the leaf pattern along the inside edge of the embroidery hoop.

“So, what, I’m a cursed demon? That’s great.” I snip the end of the deep brown thread and reach for a burnt orange instead, replacing that in my needle.

I didn’t do anything of note in my human life to deserve being shackled to Hell, and now I’m the chosen one for a witch curse that no one’s fucking heard of.

Jett claps my back, always a brother of solidarity.

Lennox frowns as he looks out the window. “Look.” He points with his chin.