Kester slipped an arm around her waist, holding her up, and studied her. “I didn’t know that would happen,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen her act that way before. And her flames shouldn’t burn one with the mark. I don’t feel her heat when she appears. You were in agony.”

“I thought I was dying.”

“You’ve certainly earned that Mystery Girl nickname.”

She straightened, pulling away from him as the nausea subsided. “I don’t suppose I can convince Emerazel to tell me what she knows about me.”

“She clearly hates you for some reason, so no.”

Trapped in the constant desperation of trying to pay her rent and buy food, she’d ignored the most fundamental question for so long: Who am I? And now it blazed in her mind like Emerazel’s terrifying eyes. “Why would she hate me? What did I do?”

Kester’s gaze bored into her. “I can tell you that your Angelic incantation was very clear. In fact, your accent is perfect. You were a scholar, once. How can you remember Angelic if you can’t remember anything about yourself?”

“Same reason I can speak English and know how to use a knife and fork. It’s a different type of memory.” She frowned. Scholar was not a word she’d ever associated with herself. “But an Angelic scholar? Where would I have learned it?”

“No idea. I guess that’s what makes you the Mystery Girl.”

She swallowed hard. “What did she mean by a ledger?”

“Every hellhound has a book—a ledger to track your progress. One page per task. When it is full, your soul is free. I’ll have one ready for you when you return from your assignment. I haven’t even begun training you, and I honestly have no idea why Emerazel has given you an assignment already. You’re not ready for it. But she has it in for you, so you’d better get it right, because it seemed like she wanted to kill you.”

Cold dread bloomed in her mind. My assignment. Right. “I was in too much pain to focus when she was talking. I almost thought she was talking about Hugo Modes—the lead singer of Four Points. But that can’t be right.”

Kester quirked an eyebrow. “She was. You’d best pick out one of those dresses I bought you. Charm is one of the best weapons we have, though I don’t get the impression it comes naturally to you.”

Chapter 14

Ursula sat in the back seat of a Bentley, staring out the window at a line of shivering club-goers. She wore a silky cocktail dress that felt gorgeous against her skin. Black—of course, since Kester had picked it out. With her nerves frayed beyond recognition, she’d arrived at her first assignment twenty minutes early.