The receptionist snorted delicately. “Do you think he sees just anyone?” A delicate sneer seemed to be a natural part of her voice. She gave Theo a sloe-eyed once-over, a woman’s assessment of a man. From the speculative look on her face, she found him to her liking. A flare of totally misplaced possessiveness rose up in Sarafina.

Sarafina smiled saccharine sweet and leaned in a little. “He’ll see me. Tell him Sarafina is here.”

Belinda gave her a dirty look. “Do you have a last name?”

Sarafina tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes a couple times. “Do you really think with a name like Sarafina I need to give it? Stefan will know who I am.”

The receptionist’s lip curled, but she reached for the phone. “There’s some Southern woman here named Sarafina who says Mr. Faucheux will see her without delay.” The last words dripped with sarcasm. “She’s got a Mr.—” She covered the phone with her hand and looked at Theo. Suddenly, she wore a dazzling smile. “What’s your name?”

“James Anwar.” He waited a beat. “We’re from the Chicago Coven.”

The woman jerked a little and paled, her smile gone. “You’re Coven witches?”

“At the moment. That’s what we’ve come to discuss with Mr. Faucheux,” Theo answered.

The person on the other end said something and Belinda glanced at Sarafina, then turned away and spoke low into the mouthpiece. She set the receiver back into its cradle and looked up at them. “Tell the elevator operator you want the thirteenth floor.”

They thanked her and walked across the busy foyer to the bank of elevators on the other side.

The thirteenth floor wasn’t even on the menu of options, Sarafina noted when they entered one of the elevator cars. Theo undoubtedly knew that already since he’d fought in the big battle waged in this building several years ago, the one in which Mira Hoskins had sent William Crane careening out one of the top-story windows with a blast of air.

She glanced at Theo, standing beside her in the elevator with his hands clasped in front of him. His malevolent gaze was fastened completely on the back of the head of the elevator operator—a warlock. Theo had been here before . . . and killed here before. At the moment, despite his disguise, he looked like he wanted to kill again.

As if it were some bizarre inside joke, Marilyn Manson’s “I Put a Spell on You” played in the background—the elevator music version. Cute, really cute.

They rode up a few floors past thirteen, let out the two non-magickals in the elevator, then rode back to their requested floor.