Obviously, this was a tender subject. She glanced at his shoulder, which seemed to be clotting. “I got out the bolt that they shot you with, but I couldn’t do anything for the wound.”

“You mean the quarrel?” Bael’s fists unclenched a little. “It was carved from a hawthorn tree. Hawthorn wood is an anathema to creatures of the night, especially if it’s forged with iron.”

Ursula winced inwardly, thinking of how the wound had smoked when she’d pulled the bolt from his chest. “You’re better now?”

“Good as new.”

She crossed her arms in front of the sheet. “There’s one little problem. We can’t get into Oberon’s without the invitation of a fae.”

“Ursula. I am the Sword of Nyxobas. I go where I choose.”

“You take that name quite seriously, don’t you?”

His eyes lingered over her bare legs for a moment before his jaw tightened. He turned, walking out of the room. “Seven hells, woman. Put on some clothes.”

Chapter 40

They stood in front of the unassuming grey door—the portal to the fae realm. Bael had ransacked the apartment for a shirt large enough to fit him, though the fabric still strained over his chest, threatening to tear.

“Are you sure this is the place?” he asked, nodding at the rusted door. “It doesn’t look fae.”

“I guess the fae are less concerned with aesthetics than Nyxobas.”

“Nyxobas eschews frivolity. It is a sign of weakness. The fae are the opposite.” Bael’s eyes narrowed, inspecting the stone. “I imagine they simply have this place glamoured.”

Ursula reached to press the buzzer, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t alert your enemy of your presence before you attack.” He stepped back from the door and studied it for a moment. Then, in a blur of black wind, he slammed his foot into the door. It splintered with a crack of shearing steel.

She gaped. “That won’t alert them?”

“Not as much as a bell,” he grumbled. While Ursula pondered this logic, the demon unsheathed his sword and stepped inside. “Come.”

“Right.”

Ursula followed, gripping Honjo. Bael muttered his orb spell, illuminating the interior with amber light. This time, no doorman waited to collect their jackets.

The enormous wooden doors blocked their path, and their golden Angelic inscriptions glittered ominously in the half light. Ursula’s hands sweated on Honjo’s hilt, as an uneasy feeling settled over her.

“Last time, we walked through those doors and they took us to Oberon’s hall,” said Ursula. “I think they’re some sort of portal. But we can’t get through those doors just by kicking through them. There’s some sort of impenetrable fae magic—”