Crimson Daggers- The Complete Trilogy

by Emma Savant

  “Are you following me, my dear?” he said.

  I opened my mouth to deny it, then remembered I was fully glamoured. Quickly, I switched tactics.

  “I am,” I said and laughed. “Sorry, I’m just such a huge fan of your work.”

  He glanced down at me, taking in my glamoured jacket and scuffed boots, then offered a polite smile. “Always a pleasure to meet someone who appreciates the House of Brick,” he said. His eyes darted back to the bartender, who was busy making Brick’s drinks.

  “I’m a friend of someone who works in the industry,” I said quickly. “Scarlett Hunter?”

  The name didn’t seem to ring any bells, and I frowned a little. He’d been charming and attentive every time I’d met him. He’d even offered me a job a year ago, saying he was impressed by my fledgling career and that I had a place at Brick if I ever got tired of working for my grandmother.

  “At Carnelian,” I said. “She’s Ms. Hunter’s assistant. Training as a designer?”

  Still nothing.

  After a moment, he shook his head slightly, polite smile still affixed. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall. But your friend is a good connection to have if you’re interested in the industry. Carnelian is a rising star.”

  The bartender handed him two drinks and turned to me. Mr. Brick nodded and went back to his table, the crowd still parting around him.

  “Miss?” the bartender said.

  “Sorry.” I blinked a few times. “Just a club soda, please.”

  How had Mr. Brick not remembered me? I wasn’t on the same level in the industry as Grandma or Josette, obviously, but I was still Grandma’s personal assistant. That should have counted for something. Weren’t people like Brick supposed to keep an eye on talent that showed promise? It wasn’t like I’d never met him before.

  I could practically hear Mom’s voice in my head, chiding me about how Daggers should blend into the environment and him not remembering my name was a good thing.

  It was impossible to believe her.

  The bartender handed me my glass, and I caught his attention before he moved to the next person.

  “That man who was just here,” I said. “Joseph Brick. What can you tell me about him?”

  The bartender made a face I couldn’t quite identify, like he had something to say but wasn’t about to give into the urge.

  “Not much,” he said. “He’s a fashion designer. Pretty wealthy guy.”

  “Is that why people kept giving up their seats for him?” I said.

  “I think that’s because most people here know they’d better,” he said.

  “He’s a magician, right?”

  He paused, then nodded abruptly and moved to help the next person.

  22

  “Who won?” Brendan asked from across the room, where he was pouring glasses of milk.

  I looked up from the piles of tabloids on the table in front of me, eyebrows furrowed.

  “The mesmer tournament.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, I have no idea. I didn’t stay long after that.”

  Brendan gave me an incredulous frown, and Alec set a mug of tea down on the table in front of me. The wolves’ den had come together incredibly quickly over the past few days, which maybe wasn’t surprising when I remembered how many of them were working on it. Warm light pooled from the hanging lamps over the table, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies rose from the oven.

  “What kind of generator do you guys even have to keep that going plus the machines in the laundry room?” I asked, gesturing at the oven.

  Alec smirked and slid into a seat at the end of the table. “A magical one,” he said dramatically, waving his fingers around.

  I tossed him a stack of tabloids. “Here, you look through these.”

  “Why are we not just searching on the JinxNet, again?” he asked.

  “Because I want real information on Brick, and I also want the kinds of nutty theories that only crop up in Glamour Enquiries,” I said.

  He flipped open the first thin page. “Like ‘Pop star Dior Miller gives birth to secret alien baby’?” he said. “Or ‘Merlin of Camelot found living in doomsday bunker beneath Stonehenge’?”

  “Like ‘House of Brick designer actually the same wolf who licked me like a creeper in an alley and then totally just pretended to not know who I was because who’d admit to that level of grossness?’” I said. “I already ran a bunch of JinxNet searches, and apparently he disappeared for a few years when I was a kid. Is it impossible he became a werewolf?”

  “Most people don’t disappear for years,” Brendan said.

  “Sometimes they do,” Alec said. “If they join a reclusive pack. It’s happened before.”

  I flipped through a few pages, none of which had anything to say about Brick or his company.

  Brendan put the milk back in the fridge and fixed me with a skeptical look. “Is it possible you’re just clutching at straws because he didn’t recognize you?”

  I shot him a glare, and he held up his hands.

  “I’m just presenting all possibilities.”

  “Then sit down and help me with some of these possibilities.” I tossed a stack of tabloids toward him.

  The timer went off, and Alec got up to pull the cookies out of the oven. I moved on to a stack of fashion magazines.

  Brendan dropped into one of the chairs opposite me with a sigh. “What am I searching for, exactly?”

  “Anything that connects Brick to the mesmer games, and anything that connects either Brick or the mesmer games to werewolves.”

  “I’m feeling attacked.”

  “Werewolves that aren’t part of the Wildwood pack.”

  “That’s better.”

  He flipped through pages and immediately got distracted by an article claiming that the Faerie Queen was secretly just a bunch of hex moths in an overcoat. He read the article aloud to us, putting on a dramatic new voice for every quote, while Alec rolled the second batch of cookies and I kept paging through fashion magazines. One of Grandma’s skirts was featured in an editorial. I remembered coordinating with the magazine to get the items to and from their studio. I tore out the page to keep.

  After I’d plowed through two magazines and twice as many warm cookies, I found a letter to the editor that complained about “illicit gambling dens” ruining Portland’s nightlife scene. Half an hour later, I stumbled on a months’-old profile of Joseph Brick. I skimmed through it and paused on a quote from a former House of Brick designer.

  “Mr. Brick is tough on subordinates,” says Portia Carpenter, a former employee at the fashion house. “He’s a brilliant man and a top-caliber designer, but he can be sharp with people who disagree with his vision.”

  The article went on to talk about how he was usually flanked by multiple assistants, and—

  I slammed the magazine down between Brendan and Alec. They both jumped.

  “Pack-like.” I pointed at the paragraph. “Look, right there. ‘The upper echelon of House of Brick’s designers and visionaries have a pack-like quality, with Mr. Brick serving in the capacity of leader—’”

  “—and others vying for a position in the hierarchy,’” Brendan finished. He looked up at me, suddenly alert. “Okay, that’s something.”

  His gaze raced down the page as I dropped back into my seat.

  “It’s something, but it’s not proof,” Alec said. He broke a cookie in half. A chocolate chip dropped to the table, and he picked it up and popped it in his mouth. “You’re going to need more than that.”

  “I need to catch him in the act,” I said.

  “The act of running mesmer games or the act of being a werewolf?” Brendan said.

  “Both. Either.”

  I jiggled my foot up and down. My mind raced.

  To find out who was running the clubs and the mesmer games, chances were good that I needed to spend more time there and maybe get on friendly terms with some of the bartenders or mesmer dealers.

  To encourage wer
ewolves to come out of the corners and show themselves, I needed prey.

  And what made better prey than a group of young, attractive women in short skirts?

  The thought of putting my coven sisters in that position made my soul cringe, but I had no illusions about the world I lived in—and no illusions about the kind of person who would pin me to a wall in an alleyway and drag his disgusting tongue across my cheek.

  The werewolf who had attacked me was a monster of the most predictable kind, and I was going to use that to make the monster show himself.

  23

  Rowan stood on the dark sidewalk and adjusted the hem of her minidress. It was the kind of twenty-dollar polyester thing that could only be found on the last-chance clearance rack, which made it perfect for our purposes, but she was visibly uncomfortable in it.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said, tucking in her tag.

  “I asked to be here.” She tugged at the hem again. “And I’m totally on board. This thing is just itchy and doesn’t want to seem to stay down.” She gave it another pull, this time strong enough to almost pop seams.

  I brushed her hand aside and crouched. “Hold still, and I’ll fix it.”

  I imagined filling my hands with heavy, damp soil and ran them around her hem, infusing the fabric with weight and gravity. The fabric settled against her thighs, and when I told Rowan to wiggle around, the hem stayed mostly put.

  “I can’t do anything about the itching,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll only be here for a few hours,” she said. “I’ll live.”

  I stood and adjusted my own too-short skirt and too-low neckline. I never wore things like this; I felt vulnerable.

  It wasn’t that I minded the thought of people staring at me. I just hated the thought of trying to land a roundhouse kick in a skirt this tight.

  “How’s my glamour?” I turned so Rowan could get a good look.

  “You look like a cute blonde who’s lying about being twenty-one,” she said.

  “Perfect.”

  Cerise and Ginger had just arrived and were entering the bar by the time we reached the door, so we lingered outside for a few moments to stagger our entrances. When we got inside, the bartender ignored Rowan and me as we walked through the mostly empty space, and Rowan reflexively fiddled with her skirt and waited for me to unlock the Out of Order sign. This was one of her first big missions, and definitely the most dangerous. The door swung open and I put a hand on her arm.

  “You’re going to do great,” I said. “Dagger’s accessible?”

  “I practiced before we left,” she said. “I can have it from thigh strap to my hand in less than a second.”

  We entered the club, where the pulsing music instantly made it impossible to talk. We killed the first twenty minutes by dancing in the crush of people, gathering intelligence all the while. I paid attention to who could see into the games room beyond and who seemed blinded by the glamour, and kept an eye on how many people seemed clustered around the mesmer tables beyond.

  One of the Burnside werewolves I’d met before with Brendan was dancing with a pretty young woman. I made a mental note to check on her later, then nodded at Rowan. Slowly, dancing the whole way so as not to draw attention, we moved in the direction of the other room.

  “You’re doing great,” I said at the top of the shallow steps. “Remember to smile.”

  She laughed like I’d said something hilarious. She was a natural.

  She was also exactly the right person to have with me on this mission. She was young, beautiful, approachable, and didn’t have the kind of job that put her in the public eye. Everyone would be drawn to her, but no one would recognize her.

  “Over there,” I said quietly and glanced toward one of the tables.

  The room had been rearranged again, with a single mesmer table surrounded by roulette and poker and other games. A group of the same werewolves I’d met before lounged around the same poker table as before.

  Rowan nodded at me and turned toward the mesmer game, as I’d instructed her earlier.

  “Take your time,” I said quietly.

  She slowed her pace and looked around, then found a spot next to Cerise and Ginger, who ignored us like we were strangers.

  We watched a hand, and Rowan tensed as the snake confronted the player. When the snake went back to its place at the center of the table, everyone around us let out a deep breath, and I took the opportunity to smile over at Ginger.

  “That was a close one!” I said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know how the players do it.”

  I let another hand pass before I ventured to speak again. In a casual tone, I began explaining the rules and different plays to Rowan.

  “I think they’re only allowed three moves or so before they have to guess their card,” I said.

  “Actually, there’s not a limit,” Cerise said. She smiled. “Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing. The players can make as many moves as they want, provided they still have money for the pot. In theory, a player could keep requesting cards from the dealer until they ran out.”

  “So someone could just keep going until they figured out their card by process of elimination?” I said.

  She winked. “Only if they had very deep pockets and were really scared of the snake.”

  “I don’t know who wouldn’t be,” Rowan said. “They look so creepy.”

  She shuddered, and I bit back a laugh. Rowan adored all animals and had snuck more than one garter snake into the mansion when we were growing up.

  “Wait until you see one of them bite,” I said.

  “I hate that part,” Cerise said.

  “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of exciting,” Ginger said. She nudged Cerise. “But then, you were never really an adrenaline junkie.”

  Another lie. Every Dagger was an adrenaline junkie, and Cerise was an actual skydiver when she had the time.

  “I’m not sure I want to see it,” Rowan said with another shudder. “You want to go play some poker or something? I could stand to sit down.”

  “I told you not to wear those shoes.” I glanced at Cerise and Ginger and discreetly gestured with my eyes at the poker table still surrounded by werewolves. “Thanks for explaining the game.”

  “Sure thing,” Ginger said. Immediately, her focus went back to the mesmer table, and she craned her neck as if hoping for a better view.

  The comforting weight of my dagger pressed against my thigh as we approached the wolves’ poker game. I had tucked my blade into a clever little garter sheath and practiced for half an hour last night to make sure I could get the weapon from the sheath to my hand in an instant. I played with a strand of my hair to make sure it was still showing blonde.

  Rowan lingered at the edge of the table, where the werewolves were lounging and chatting without actually making much progress on their game. After a moment, one of the men glanced over at her. His eyes lingered for a long moment on her cleavage.

  “You ladies hoping for a game?” he said.

  The way he delivered the words, I was pretty sure he was making an innuendo of some kind, and equally sure I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

  “When you’re done.” Rowan batted her lashes at him, which was a move that would have looked stupid on me but worked for her. “No rush.”

  “There’s never a rush with these jerks,” the guy said, thumbing at the people down the table from him. “Here, why don’t you pull up a chair and keep me company while we finish our game?”

  It was easy—so easy I wanted to cringe and cover myself.

  But we were bait, and they were taking it.

  Another guy nudged an empty chair toward me, and I slid into it.

  “You hoping I’m going to give you pointers?” I said.

  He tossed me a cocky grin.

  “No need,” he said and laid down his hand. The others at the table groaned as he raked in a pile of chips.

  The alpha woman from e
arlier was at the table again, and she gave Rowan and me hard looks. The tip of her nose twitched.

  I’d sprayed on enough perfume before coming out that Alec had assured me no werewolf would be able to catch my true scent, but that was easier to hear than believe. Still, I didn’t give the alpha more than a glance before touching the shoulder of the guy who’d pulled me in and leaning to look at his new hand of cards.

  The game continued, and Rowan and I made it clear that we weren’t really there for poker so much as to meet new people. After about half an hour, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it and then looked back up.

  “Hey, guys, I’ll be right back. Some more of my girls are here!”

  It was beyond dangerous to bring them into this place, but being a Dagger meant embracing danger. Anyway, if they were here, it meant Ginger and Cerise had fully scoped out the area and determined our chances were good enough.

  I found Adamine and Kamala standing near the entrance of the club with a bouncer looming over them, holding their ID cards in his beefy hands. The bouncers hadn’t been checking anyone at the door, but I’d still noticed them circulating, and this one seemed to have correctly pegged my teenage sisters as being too young for this club.

  24

  “Hey, girls!” I said loudly as I approached.

  The bouncer glanced at me from under his heavy-set eyebrows. The guy had to be half-troll, or maybe quarter-giant, I thought, based on his shoulders and the thick slope of his forehead.

  “You know these girls?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said and drew my face together in faux concern. “Why, is something the matter?”

  “Not sure I believe these IDs,” he said gruffly.

  “What?” I laughed and touched him lightly on the arm. “Gosh, I wish we were all young and dumb enough to have to buy fake IDs.”

  He surveyed me, skepticism written clearly across his face.