House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) by Sarah J. Maas

“Thanks for the advice,” Bryce gritted out.

The shifter merely snapped her gold-tipped fingers. The office door opened, those venom-addicted Fae males peering in. “They’re done,” the Viper Queen said, turning on her antique of a computer. “Make sure they get outside.” And don’t go poking about.

Bryce shouldered the block of salt as Hunt snatched up the flash drive, pocketing it.

The guard was smart enough to step away as Hunt nudged Bryce through the door. Bryce made it three steps before the Viper Queen said, “Don’t underestimate the obsidian salt, Quinlan. It can bring over the very worst of Hel.”

A chill snaked down her spine. But Bryce merely lifted a hand in an over-the-shoulder wave as she entered the hall. “Well, at least I’ll be entertained, won’t I?”

They left the Meat Market in one piece, thank the five fucking gods—especially Urd herself. Hunt wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed to walk away from the Viper Queen without their guts pumped full of poisoned bullets, but … He frowned at the red-haired woman now inspecting her white scooter for damage. Even the helmet had been left untouched.

Hunt said, “I believe her.” No way in Hel was he watching the video on that flash drive. He’d be sending it right over to Viktoria. “I don’t think she had anything to do with this.”

Quinlan and Roga, however … He hadn’t yet crossed them off his mental list.

Bryce tucked the helmet into the crook of her arm. “I agree.”

“So that brings us back to square one.” He suppressed the urge to pace, picturing his kill count still in the thousands.

“No,” Bryce countered. “It doesn’t.” She fastened the bag of salt into the small compartment on the back of her scooter. “She said to look where it hurts most for answers.”

“She was just spewing some bullshit to mess with us.”

“Probably,” Bryce said, fitting the helmet over her head before flicking up the visor to reveal those amber eyes. “But maybe she was unintentionally right. Tomorrow …” Her eyes shuttered. “I’ve got to do some thinking tomorrow. At the gallery, or else Jesiba will throw a fit.”

He was intrigued enough that he said, “You think you have a lead?”

“Not yet. A general direction, though. It’s better than nothing.”

He jerked his chin toward the compartment of her scooter. “What’s the obsidian salt for?” She had to have another purpose for it. Even if he prayed she wasn’t dumb enough to use it.

Bryce just said blandly, “Seasoning my burgers.”

Fine. He’d walked into that. “How’d you afford the salt, anyway?” He doubted she had ten grand just sitting around in her bank account.

Bryce zipped up her leather jacket. “I put it on Jesiba’s account. She spends more money on beauty products in a month, so I doubt she’ll notice.”

Hunt had no idea how to even respond to any of that, so he gritted his teeth and surveyed her atop her ride. “You know, even a scooter is a dumb fucking thing to drive before making the Drop.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You should take the bus.”

She just let out a barking laugh, and zoomed off into the night.





20

Look toward where it hurts the most.

Bryce had refrained from telling Athalar how accurate the Viper Queen’s tip had been. She’d already given him her list of suspects—but he hadn’t asked about the other demand he’d made.

So that’s what she’d decided to do: compile a list of every one of Danika’s movements from the week before her death. But the moment she’d finished opening up the gallery for the day, the moment she’d come down to the library to make the list … Nausea had hit her.

She turned on her laptop instead, and began combing through her emails with Maximus Tertian, dating back six weeks. Perhaps she’d find some sort of connection there—or at least a hint of his plans for that night.

Yet with each professional, bland email she reread, the memories from Danika’s last days clawed at the welded-shut door of her mind. Like looming specters, they hissed and whispered, and she tried to ignore them, tried to focus on Tertian’s emails, but—

Lehabah looked over from where she’d sprawled on the tiny fainting couch Bryce had given her years ago—courtesy of a dollhouse from her childhood—watching her favorite Vanir drama on her tablet. Her glass dome sat behind her atop a stack of books, the plumes of a purple orchid arching over it. “You could let the angel down here and work together on whatever is causing you such difficulty.”

Bryce rolled her eyes. “Your fascination with Athalar is taking on stalkerish levels.”

Lehabah sighed. “Do you know what Hunt Athalar looks like?”

“Considering that he’s living on the roof across from my apartment, I’d say yes.”

Lehabah hit pause on her show, leaning her head against the backrest of her little fainting couch. “He’s dreamy.”

“Yeah, just ask him.” Bryce clicked out of the email she’d been reading—one of about a hundred between her and Tertian, and the first where he’d been mildly flirty with her.

“Hunt’s handsome enough to be on this show.” Lehabah pointed with a dainty toe toward the tablet propped before her.