“This is beyond even me,” Caine said. “We’ll need to find the sybil.”

Rosalind stood. “Great. Where do we find this sybil?”

“I don’t know,” Caine said. “But Jorge will. He’s a vampire who runs Salem’s blood bar.”

“The blood bar is the only part of the plan that I can get behind,” Aurora said. “Because I’m a little cranky before I have my evening drink.”

Caine eyed Rosalind’s outfit. “But you can’t go in there wearing that virginal white dress. They’ll eat you alive.”

“Literally,” Aurora said.

“What am I supposed to wear?”

Aurora looked her over. “I’ll take care of the outfit.”

Great. Not only were they muddling her mind, but she was going to start dressing like them, too. “Is that really necessary?”

Caine narrowed his eyes. “Unless you have a death wish, which I’m starting to think you do.”

Chapter 13

Rosalind, sitting on the back of Caine’s bike, wrapped her arms tight around him. They roared down a narrow Salem street, past crooked colonial houses, on their way to meet Aurora at the bar. Lilu trailed behind them.

A marine wind rushed over Rosalind’s bare arms, and moonlight dazzled off puddles as they rushed past.

It was beautiful by the water, but she didn’t belong in Salem with her arms wrapped around a mage’s body. Her plan had been simple: become a Guardian and fight evil. Until now, her worst-case scenario involved leaving the Brotherhood to become some kind of software engineer. Maybe a computational biologist, to keep things a little interesting.

No part of her plans had involved donning a black leather dress, covering herself in fake alchemical tattoos, and straddling a sorcerer’s motorcycle. But things didn’t always go to plan.

Caine had cast a spell to cover her in magical markings that snaked around her arms and back, disguising her as a mage. It so happened there was a lot of exposed skin to cover, thanks to Aurora’s outfit choices. Apparently, demons didn’t like leaving anything to the imagination. As she sat on the back of Caine’s bike, the short dress was hitched all the way up her thighs. At her insistence, she’d kept her own boots on.

As they pulled up to a rickety old pier, Rosalind spotted Aurora standing in the amber light of a streetlamp not far from the harbor. The low-cut back of her dress exposed a brutal network of scars.

Gods, what happened to her? It looked as though she’d accidentally exposed her skin to the sunlight and never healed.

As Rosalind stepped off the bike, she shuddered. Whatever had caused those scars must have been agonizing.

Aurora turned, eyeing Rosalind’s outfit. “I told you that dress would suit you.”

Maybe it did suit her. Rosalind hadn’t failed to notice Caine’s jaw drop when she’d stepped out of the room in the tiny black dress. Still, she felt exposed, and tugged the neckline up.

“But you’ve got to stop fidgeting,” Aurora added. “You’re acting like a pedestrian.”

Rosalind frowned. “A pedestrian?”