Princess Imogen/Viktor leaned close, Viktor’s high, weaselly voice coming out of her mouth. “Remember Rhonda’s vision.”
I frowned. The insane vision where the seer had claimed we could trust Ludolf?
But as the mob boss approached, he blinked slowly, lazily. He didn’t radiate the same intense, terrifying energy he usually did. He still felt massively powerful—just not quite as menacing. I blinked, confused.
He jerked his chin behind me. “Let’s take this to my chambers—I’d rather discuss it there.”
One of the witches lifted a vial of bubbling, acid-green liquid. “But—the latest cure?”
He didn’t even turn around, just lifted a long, thin hand. “Leave it.”
Princess Imogen/Viktor beamed, then sucked on her lips, and we all left the potions lair and splashed back down the tunnel. Francis winged overhead. My heart and mind raced as I tried to make sense of it all. Was I or was I not about to die?
We made it past the first bend in the tunnel and then Ludolf held up a hand and we stopped. Francis perched on a bit of protruding stone and we held still, listening. When it became clear we hadn’t been followed, Ludolf’s face disappeared, and an entirely different one took its place. A familiar one, but one I couldn’t quite place right away, until the prince and princess similarly dropped their disguises.
“Horace!” The princess threw her arms around the man’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug.
Ah. Horace. The international criminal and leader of the Badlands Army. And also, oddly, an ally of the royals and someone instrumental in bringing King Roch’s war crimes to light.
I recognized him from the old wanted posters and news articles, though he’d disappeared from the limelight for the past year or so. Apparently, his good deeds had earned him a sort of immunity—that and the fact that he was rumored to be so powerful, the kingdoms’ governments couldn’t capture him even if they wanted to.
Horace, pale, tall, and thin, though not skeletal like Ludolf, awkwardly patted the princess’s back.
Prince Harry smirked, and the men exchanged nods. The prince’s thick brows pinched together. “How?”
Francis dropped down, changing to human form in a cloud of black smoke. Horace acknowledged him with a nod. “Vampire.”
Francis looked down his long, hooked nose at him and narrowed his eyes, ringed in liner. “Criminal.”
Horace’s full lips quirked at that.
The princess pulled back to look at him and squealed. “When did you get to the island? Where have you been? How’d you know where to find us?” She beamed at him, then spun to face me. “This is Horace—he’s also a swallow like me and Hank. Horace, Jolene—Jolene, Horace.”
“Hey.” I waved a hand in greeting, and he blinked slowly. I guessed that was a greeting. The swallow part explained the convincing disguise… partly. I frowned. “How did you know what Ludolf Caterwaul looks like?”
Horace let out a heavy sigh and looked down his upturned nose at me. The man was either very handsome or very strange-looking—I couldn’t decide. “The villainous world is small in the kingdoms. Ludolf and I have crossed paths a few times.”
I frowned—sounded like there were some stories there.
“Speaking of our old friend Ludolf, anyone know where he is right now?”
We all shook our heads.
Horace blinked. “Then I propose we leave.” He turned to the princess. “I just arrived on the island. Your baking friends told me what you’d done, and I correctly assumed you’d need rescuing from destruction.”
“Aw.” Princess Imogen blew her bangs out of her eyes. “What a guy.” She playfully slugged Horace’s arm.
Prince Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, as long as he’s on your side.”
I smirked.
A muscle in Horace’s sharp jaw twitched. “I suggest we leave before the reek of sewer permanently seeps into my clothes.” He tugged at the black blazer he wore—over a black tee, black jeans, and black boots. I could guess his favorite color.
The swallows donned their disguises again, Francis swirled into a bat, just in case, and we hightailed it out of the sewers to safety.
21
MISSING SNAKE
The next night, Peter, Daisy, and I headed up to the station at the top of Bijou Mer. Peter had gotten a call on his communication device that Russo had some evidence in Polly Pierre’s murder he wanted to show us.
The precinct sat on the palace grounds, divided from the castle by a thick patch of brambles and a moat. With paper coffee cups in hand, we hiked up through the cobblestone streets, over the bridges that spanned the canals, with the twinkling sea below reflecting the moon.
I caught Peter watching me out of the corner of my eye for the hundredth time and lowered my cup from my lips to shoot him a flat look. “Okay—spill it. What’s on your mind?”
He pressed his lips together and looked away. “Nothing.”
Daisy, who trotted ahead of us, glanced over her shoulder and let out a quiet growl. Lie.
I nudged him until he looked at me, a little sheepish, then raised my brows. “Peter?”
He huffed. “Fine. I’m worried about you, okay? You can’t just—” He spluttered, waving his coffee cup hand about. “—wander into the sewers with a bunch of strangers like that. What if Ludolf had actually caught you?” His brows pinched together, his eyes pleading. “I’d never see you again, just like that.”
I let out a heavy sigh, and my shoulders slumped. I edged closer and slid an arm around his trim waist, snuggling against his side. “Aw.” I grinned up at him, batting my lashes. “You just care about me.”
He raised his brows and shook his head, lips pursed. “I’m not being cute. I’m upset.”
I smirked and tipped my head from side to side. “Well, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He huffed again, and I sobered up. “Look, yes, they were strangers, but they were the snakin’
