"So," Zephyrine, one of Nephele's sisters, drawled from the back corner of the shop, "Nephele tells me you're cooking up some half-baked, idiotic idea to get yourself killed."

Mabel rolled her eyes at both Nephele's dramatics and Zephyrine's distinct lack of emotion. "It's not that idiotic!" she protested, her voice muffled as she dug around one of the back cabinets to find the basil.

There was a flip of paper—no doubt Zephyrine was perusing another Vogue magazine—and then: "Sure. I bet it's a brilliant idea. What was the idea, again?"

Mabel huffed indignantly, fingers finally closing around the basil as she extracted herself from the shelf. She placed the jar down before spinning to Zephyrine, hands on her hips. "It isn't idiotic," she repeated, "It's just . . . unorthodox."

"Uh-huh," Zephyrine snorted. "Right. Remind me how this will go well?" She tore her gaze away from the fall fashions to eye Mabel skeptically, one brow raised.

Mabel sighed, hands falling down to her sides as she felt a now-familiar flicker of defeat slither through her. "Aleron's been gone three weeks, Zephyrine, and it sounds like nothing good is happening. But, with you and your sisters, I could probably help look for this heir. Nephele said you guys could sense that kind of power, right? So, we go around, try and sense his power, find him, take him to Hell, and boom! Problem solved."

Zephyrine's eyes saddened, and Mabel flinched. If she was getting pity from Zephyrine, of all people, then maybe her idea really was idiotic. "Mabel, it wouldn't be terrible, if not for the context of it. The heirs of death are normally not kind people, and—were you to accidentally draw attention to yourself—you would be in serious danger."

Mabel's entire body sagged. "I know, Zephyrine, and I realize I haven't done an amazing job at keeping myself safe in the past, but I just . . ." she swallowed heavily, trying to push away the tears she felt stinging her eyes. "I want Aleron to come home."

"Ugh," Zephyrine groaned, throwing her magazine in the corner and standing up (she used two legs far more than Nephele did, claiming that stylish shoes needed to be worn, and "I've got the perfect feet for them."). "Alright. Tell you what, we'll go out today—you and me—but if we don't find anything, you need to let this go. Got it?"

Mabel nodded furiously. "Yes. Absolutely. Okay. We can leave as soon as Rebecca gets here." Rebecca, Mabel's only employee, was in college and took the afternoon shift, which allowed Mabel more free time. It was nice to have someone else helping; it was no wonder that Herman had hired her.

"Good. And, for now, we keep this between us. We'll only tell Nephele after we get back; she'd want to come with us, and I can only handle one person's chattiness."

Mabel chuckled at that, closing a box for shipment and setting it by the door. "Sure. And Zephyrine?" she waited until the ala was looking at her. "Thank you. Really."

Zephyrine just blew out an exasperated breath, letting Mabel know that she was trying to hide her feelings. "Whatever. Don't get mushy."

Rebecca showed up fifteen minutes later with her bright smile and cheerful attitude, ensuring Mabel that the younger girl didn't mind closing, she would be safe, and she'd call if she needed anything.

Mabel left with a wave and a quick shout of, "Thanks again!"

Zephyrine materialized in Mabel's passenger seat, still with human legs, and said, "Let's do it."

***

Mabel only began to second guess her plan when they stepped around another slumped-over person, the stench of alcohol and drugs almost overwhelming. "This may not have been my best idea." She admitted quietly, pulling her jacket tighter around her frame as her eyes wandered over the worn-down, graffitied buildings, understanding why she had never gone to this town alone.

Zephyrine scoffed, nudging a beer bottle out of the way with her designer heel, and looking extremely disgusted. "No. Really. Color me surprised. I wouldn't worry, though. I won't let you back out now, and it won't matter. I doubt we'll find anything."

No sooner had the words left her mouth did a clammy hand clasp onto Mabel's ankle, causing her to shriek and look down, eyes wide when they landed on a middle-aged man who looked so high he could have been his own aircraft. "Whatchya doin' round here, ladies?" he asked with a mirthless smile, his other hand clenched around a black object that made Mabel's blood run cold.

Of freaking course he has a gun, dummy!

Mabel tried to stay calm, but it didn't help that his grip around her ankle didn't give in the slightest when she tugged against it. "Let me go," she demanded, hoping he couldn't see her hands tremble.

The man licked his lips hungrily, opening his mouth to respond before groaning in pain. Mabel eyed the bright red stiletto pushing down against his wrist in appreciation, swinging her gaze up to Zephyrine.

"I think she said to let her go, and I would recommend you do that." Zephyrine still looked as bored as ever, but her eyes were spitting fire. For not the first time, Mabel was grateful to Aleron for giving her such good protectors—the whole lot of ala could be incredibly intimidating when they wanted to be.

With one final tug, Mabel pulled free of the man's hold, leaving him crumpled by the wall, muttering under his breath about dangerous hookers and high heels.

"Come on," Zephyrine dragged Mabel by her wrist, "Let's keep going. I recorded a documentary about fashion on your TV that I want to watch, and we're almost done here."

Mabel conceded with a weak nod. Zephyrine was right, after all. It was getting late, and they only had about three blocks left before they were done with this town, which would leave their search to end in vain, if they couldn't find anything.

Mabel was so caught up in her thoughts that she did the most cliché thing she could have possibly done. She ran right into someone. A squeak slipped out of her mouth as she fell sideways, the breath leaving her body in a rush when large hands sat her upright.

"Whoa there, Darling. Watch yourself." The man was probably several years older than her, at least a foot taller, and looked like he'd just walked out of Zephyrine's favorite Vogue magazine. His black hair was just shaggy enough to look rugged, and his eyes were so blue she wouldn't have been surprised to see lost sailors inside. If not for Aleron, Mabel had no doubt she would have appreciated his looks. Zephyrine, however, would no doubt be eyeing the man with well-hidden hunger and lust and . . .

Mabel's thoughts spun to a halt when she saw the flabbergasted expression on Zephyrine's face.

Zephyrine never looked shocked. Zephyrine hardly ever looked anything other than irritated or impassive, in fact.

"Zeph-!" Mabel started, only to be cut off by Zephyrine's accusing stare.

"I can't believe this," she said unhappily. "Aleron was right. You have the worst luck."