Witch’s corpse. Witch’s ticket. Witch’s party. As a counter-boy at a high-end men’s boutique, Charlie Jessup’s life consists of little more than work and sleep. That, and enough flirting to help guarantee his commission on sales will pay his rent. So when a twist of fate, and some behavior unbecoming that of a Ganymede employee, leaves him in possession of a dead man’s pass to a mysterious Club 669, Charlie has no desire to waste it. Every seventeen years, the House of Witches throws a party like no other. It’s invitation-only, and for centuries it has helped ensure peace between the covens. It’s the last place Caspian wants to be, but with the death of Queen Avel, and his own imminent rise to the throne, it’s more important than ever that he attends. The stability of the House depends on it. In four days a new king will be crowned, but when Charlie unintentionally crashes a gathering of the most secretive of all the Great Houses, he sets in motion a series of events that could disrupt the transition of power, and threaten the future of the House of Witches forever.

Club 669

A cat, small and black, slept at my feet, not stirring even when I sat up. The movement brought back none of the dizziness from before, but made me aware of the slightest of headaches and a terrible thirst.


I dragged the bed curtains aside. The lights in the room were on, but there were no windows, and it was weirdly disorienting to have no idea of the time of day. Or the day itself. Sunday? Monday? Sunday. It had to be, right? I needed to be at work on Monday.


I hopped off the bed, the bare floor cold even through my socks, and spied my boots on a table across from me. With them I found a basket with two towels and in-the-package toiletries. There was also a handwritten note telling me to use whatever I needed.


I glanced around the room, noting the three doors. A quick survey revealed one opened into a long hallway, another into a closet full of someone’s clothing, and the third led into a small, well-kept bathroom.


Chapter 12