On the front gate’s video monitor, an image of Catalina appeared. She was seated in a black convertible. “Mr. Monahan? I’m here to see Isabelle.”

Thomas looked over at Isabelle who had gone from looking stubborn badass to vulnerable in about two seconds flat.

She hugged herself. “If it’s about jewelry, don’t let her in.”

“It’s not about jewelry,” answered Catalina right away. “It’s about me and Isabelle.” She pursed her lips. “It’s private.”

Thomas looked at Isabelle again. She only nodded once, slowly.

“Are you sure?” Thomas asked.

She nodded again. “Goddamn it, yes.”

Thomas pressed the button to open the Coven gates and watched Catalina drive through. Then he took a couple steps toward Isabelle, holding her now uncertain gaze, as Adam walked through one of the doors leading off the entranceway. Thomas halted.

“I have a feeling about tonight,” Adam announced, walking toward them as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt. “I think tonight—” He stopped short. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Isabelle answered, breaking Thomas’s gaze to look at Adam. “Everything is fine. Thomas didn’t want me to come and, now, conveniently, I can’t go.”

She turned and walked upstairs. “Can you please tell Catalina to meet me upstairs?” She stopped and looked at Thomas, her face grim. “And please be careful. I have a feeling about tonight, too.”

THE RED ROCK WAS A BAR ON THE FRINGES OF Chicago owned by a witch and patronized by the same. It was also one of three witch-frequented watering holes where Boyle was known to hang out. Thomas had a hard time picturing the demon slamming back a cold brew, but apparently he enjoyed one now and again.

Or maybe it was the witches he enjoyed.

Adam entered the bar after Thomas and headed straight over to order a tall glass of Absolut. He couldn’t blame him. This was the last stop after a long evening of dead ends.

Thomas was sick of dead ends, sick of flying blind. If there was one thing in this life that made him insane, it was his inability to control situations. Especially situations that put people he cared about at risk.

The tattoo on his back twitched with the extra large store of magick he’d infused it with. Thomas wanted a fight, wanted something, anything, with Boyle. The entirety of his magickical body trembled with the urge to engage.

He scanned the room, resting his gaze on each of the patrons in the smoky, dimly lit space in turn. There were a few witches in the place, but it was mostly filled with nonmagickicals tonight. Again, he didn’t see Boyle.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Every night they didn’t find the demon was another night a witch could be killed.

Micah laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get a drink.”