Fiendish Magic Page 3

  Because that decision had already been made for me. Even if we found out that there wasn’t a new big bad in town and my secrets were as safe as they’d ever been, I still had to go. Moving quickly, staying anonymous and never putting down roots was what kept me safe.

  West jumped off of the bike as soon as it rolled to a stop.

  He paced as I slowly got off the back and removed my helmet. His head moved on a constant swivel, looking this way and that, as if he expected something to jump out of the bushes and land on him at any moment.

  Why was he so jumpy tonight?

  "You okay?"

  His shoulders were tense, but I watched him visibly pull himself together. Maybe he was as worried about what we’d find out as I was. “I’m fine. Let's go."

  A long line had formed outside the door, all humans who didn't know any better. The travel guides billed Rage as the most exclusive club in the city because of its inexplicable admission policy. It didn’t matter how hot you were, how well you dressed or how much money you tried to slide the bouncer. Either you were getting in or you were not.

  And for most of the humans in the line, the answer was not.

  The occasional human slipped in as a guest of someone powerful, but they were carefully watched and there were still parts of the club they’d never be able to enter.

  "Do I need ID?" I skidded to a stop a few feet from the door, realizing that I wasn’t carrying any.

  "You either belong at Rage or you don't," West said, propelling me forward. "Age has nothing to do with it."

  The bouncer, built like a bull with a face like molded clay, sat on a stool next to the door. Tattoos twined up the rigid muscles of his arms, many-headed snakes and dancing demons with their drawn faces contorted in angry agony. If I didn't look too closely, the drawings seemed to move on his skin under the glare of the lights. The tattoos twisted in the corner of my vision, ink and skin creatures come to life. But when I looked directly at it, they were just ordinary tattoos again.

  It was probably just my imagination playing tricks on me. My gaze rose to the bouncer's face, and he gave me a leering grin, revealing sharp and pointed teeth. Or not.

  I looked away as West propelled me towards the door. He nodded once at the bouncer who returned the gesture with a sardonic smile.

  "You're letting them in?" A girl in stiletto heels and a shimmery tank top shouted from the long line. The rest of the crowd echoed her grumbling sentiment.

  "Shut up." The bouncer leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed.

  That was the last I heard of the discontented crowd before the heavy door closed behind us.

  Walking into Rage felt like squeezing into a bubble of pure sound. The pulsing music crashed against my skin, beating on my heart and forcing the air from my lungs. This music was soul-crushing in its intensity.

  We'd entered Rage and stepped practically onto the dance floor, stuck in the middle of a crush of gyrating bodies slick with sweat and lost to the music. I moved through the club by instinct, narrowly avoiding any flailing limbs belonging to the dancers around me.

  It was quieter in the back where a long bar stretched from one side of the room to the other. Sound still beat through every cell of my body but it stayed just on the right side of painful.

  West signaled the bartender and held up two fingers. "You've got to try the house drink," he said to me over his shoulder. "My treat."

  Getting intoxicated wasn't high on my list of priorities. Finding out what I'd felt during the race and making sure I stayed the hell out of its way was of slightly more importance.

  Anxiety rolled through me but I let West order the drinks, even climbing onto a stool to watch the bartender prepare them. A thrill moved under my skin, tingling down my fingers like an electric shock. I'd forgotten what it felt to be in a place like this — a place that existed outside of the very human world I lived in every day — to be around people like me.

  Fire burned under my skin, starting at my extremities and moving toward the center until an aching need pooled in my belly. I could feel how wet I was just from these few moments in the club, another hour and I’d be ready to fuck anything that moved.

  Even dirty, mangy West who always smelled like wet dog and engine oil, drew me toward him and I surreptitiously studied his face while he waited for our drinks. I had to get out of here soon before the need overwhelmed my fragile hold on control.

  The bartender slid a drink in front of me. Dark gold liquid swirled in a tall shot-glass, gleaming slightly in the dim light of the bar.

  "What is it?" I asked West, voice heavy with suspicion.

  "The elixir of life. Honey from the gods. Mana from heaven," he drawled. "Doesn't matter. Drink it."

  “Seriously?” I turned to the bartender. "What is this?"

  He smirked, facial piercings flashing in the light. "Rage."

  I gingerly picked the glass up between my finger and thumb. Trapped liquid turned slowly round and round, hypnotizing me. The drink smelled like freshly turned earth and sunshine.

  "Drink it in one go." West held up his own glass. "Cheers."

  Taking a deep breath, I downed the shot.

  The drink froze my lips where they met the rim of the glass. Then the liquid burned down my throat to settle in my belly as a sparking lightning storm. It felt like I was being burned from the inside out with cold fire and the sensation settled low in my belly.

  "Good, isn't it?" West asked with a gasp.

  I could only nod half-heartedly, unable to speak.

  "Want another one?" The bartender asked.

  "No," I croaked.

  Laughing, the bartender took the empty shot-glasses and swiped the tiny rings they’d left on the surface of the bar with a damp rag.

  The wall behind the bar sparkled. My fingers stroked the wooden counter and even the tiniest grains were rough against my fingers. Whatever had been in that drink was potent as hell. "Are shots what we came here for?"

  "You stay here, I'll see what I can find out." Before I could make a move to follow, West was out of the seat and lost in the crowd.

  I wanted to chase after him, but the room began to spin around me. Being planted on the bar stool was all that kept me from sliding to the floor. Gripping the edges of the counter with my fingertips, I desperately urged myself not to puke.

  "First time?" The bartender edged closer, wiping out glasses with a towel.

  "Is it that obvious?" I winced as the sound of my own voice clanged painfully through my skull.

  "You want something a little softer?"

  "Like arsenic?” I asked with a groan.

  "Soda water." He slid a full glass across the bar towards me. "It'll be good for your head."

  I’ve been gone too long here, out among the humans. I’d forgotten about the games we liked to play. West had clearly ordered me the most potent drink in the house.

  I took a small sip, and the bartender smiled, revealing white teeth that glowed under the neon lights. I resisted the urge to ask what he was. It would have been rude. I’d been out around the humans for so long that my senses were dulled.

  When I turned in my chair to face the dance floor, I realized that the dizziness from before had already faded, replaced by a heady euphoria. I felt like I was flying and falling at the same time. Exhilaration tingled down my skin like jolts of electricity and I saw the world through a gold haze.

  The otherworldliness of Rage hadn’t been readily apparent at first. Realization came to me slowly as I watched the dancers move on the floor.

  I saw skin that shimmered under the lights in a way that a human's never would. Bodies coiled like snakes and twisted like predators stalking the night. But the eyes were what truly gave it all away. Unnaturally bright, they sparked with a secret hunger and knowledge that came at a heavy toll.

  Longing and dread mingled inside of me to form a hard knot at the pit of my stomach.

  The crowd parted for a brief moment and that's when I saw it. A mighty oak
tree, so large I couldn't understand how I missed it, rose from the center of the dance floor. The tree was split in half, its stricken sides falling to hang above the dancers, leaves brushing low enough to kiss the tops of their heads as they swayed in a breeze that came from nowhere.

  My gaze followed the rise of the tree's trunk that was thick enough it wouldn't be possible to wrap my arms all the way around it, to where the tallest branches traced the metal ceiling. A mural was painted there that stretched from one end of the club to the other. Jagged bolts of lightning rent a starry sky, so realistically detailed that I blinked several times to assure myself it wasn't real.

  "Immortal spawn of the world tree," the bartender murmured from behind me.

  I turned in surprise. He had followed my gaze to the tree, eyes bright in the dark. "What did you say?"

  He inclined his head towards me. “It grew from an offshoot of Yggdrasil, the tree that gave birth to the world."

  Dancers moved around its trunk, pagan offerings to the spirit that dwelled within. "Where did it come from?"

  "I think it's always been here." His voice was low and respectful.

  I snorted. "This used to be a meat packing plant. I'm sure they would have noticed a tree in the middle of the kill floor."

  But like all places where supernaturals spent time, the veil was thin here between this world and the next. Enough magic had dwelled here that after enough years something was called from the ether.

  It was probably the drink doing in my head, but I felt momentarily overwhelmed as I stared at the tree, with its fallen leaves dusting the dance floor and the dark gold glimmer of its trunk. But I refused to believe it was a piece of some gigantic, immortal tree that the world hung off of like a Christmas ornament.

  "Did you notice it when you came in?"

  "Well, no."

  "You wouldn't. Not unless you've had this." He held up an empty shot-glass stained bronze from the liquid that had been inside only moments before.

  "Rage," I said softly.

  "We make it from the tree's sap." He set the glass down and leaned over the counter to whisper in my ear. "It's like being drunk and high and having an orgasm all at the same time."

  His hand brushed mine so lightly that I could barely feel it, but that was enough. A moving picture flashed behind my eyes of my body writhing against his as he forced himself deep inside of me.

  I didn’t even know this guy’s name for fuck’s sake.

  "It's something," I said, leaning away from him, my own moans echoing in my ears as the vision faded. This guy was attractive enough, but I reminded myself that I wasn’t here for that, unfortunately.

  "I think we see the tree because it wants us too," he said meditatively. "Old magic is unpredictable."

  I brought the glass of soda water to my lips and sipped it slowly, feeling numb. The idea that magic had a will of its own didn’t exactly sit well with me. No magic meant no problems.

  My life was boring, but this was the safest I'd ever been. Coming to Rage, where someone might recognize me for what I was, tempted fate.

  And fate could be an evil bitch.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that West had suggested we come here because he wanted to get drunk on tree sap, not because he was actually interested in getting information.

  "Yggdrasil," I mused, uncomfortable with my own thoughts. "Is that Greek?"

  "Norse, actually."

  “So there's a Norse tree with sap that makes you think you can fly if you drink it growing out of the dance floor." Coming here had been a terrible mistake. I grabbed my bag off a hook on the bar. "Got to go. Thanks for the drink.”

  West was perfectly capable of gathering information on his own, if he was so inclined. When I slid off of the barstool, my feet landed unsteadily and I had to grab the bar to keep from falling over.

  "Easy there," the bartender drawled from behind me.

  I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder before turning back to the dance floor. The crowd had thickened, forming an impenetrable wall of swaying bodies.

  Before I could gather enough strength to push through it, already anticipating what the press of bared flesh and skin would do to my head, West grabbed my arm. I hadn’t seen him until he stood right next to me. Even through the thick fabric of my jacket, his touch made me jump.

  "You're leaving?"

  I wrenched my arm away, hoping no one else touched me. The golden drink had only weakened my already fragile control. "I need to go."

  "Wait," he said as I started to turn away. "I found someone we should talk to. He knows what we felt during the race."

  The temptation to go with him was too great.

  "Make it quick," I snapped. The euphoria was gone, to be replaced with that familiar fear and a touch of anger. Anger at myself for being stupid enough to come to Rage and fear at whatever was waiting out there in the dark.

  West led us to the back of the club, past the bar. I was as careful as I could be not to touch anyone as we slipped through the crowd. My nerves were frayed to the point of snapping.

  He pushed open a door marked 'Pool Room' that was partially obscured by a heavy curtain hanging on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it until we were already within a few feet of it.

  A pool table sat to one side with a circle of tables and chairs along the far wall. The music from the main room was barely audible in here, but the sounds of low laughter and clinking glasses stilled as we entered. All eyes were on us for a terrifying moment as we were both assessed, but then the unfriendly gazes moved on and noise slowly resumed. Curious, if not exactly friendly, eyes followed us to the pool table where only a single player with his back to us wracked balls on the green felt surface.

  "Rabbit," West called respectfully.

  Rabbit wore his hair shaved and an inverted pentagram was tattooed on the back of his head.

  "Nice tattoo," I said. Pentagrams only meant something to devil-worshipping humans and the conservative bible thumpers who disapproved of them. Rabbit obviously wanted humans to be scared of him.

  He turned slowly, veiny muscles bulging in his neck. "You talking to me?"

  His voice was higher-pitched than I expected, almost like Mickey Mouse.

  “Rabbit, this is the girl I told you about. My friend, Jay.” West cut in front of me before I could tell Rabbit that he sounded like a kid who’d sucked the helium from a balloon. "Can we play?"

  Rabbit grunted and turned back to the table.

  Taking the sound for an affirmative, West grabbed two pool cues.

  "Don't fuck this up," he said in a harsh whisper.

  "Wouldn't dream of it," I murmured. Rabbit seemed about as reliable as the drunk guy slumped over a table three feet away.

  Rabbit broke. Balls scattered across the table, at least three sinking into pockets. "Stripes," he said with a satisfied nod.

  "We heard you might know about something new coming to town," West said casually as Rabbit circled the table.

  Yeah." Rabbit shot the cue ball, and it winged the ten, which hit uselessly against the side of the table. "You're up."

  West leaned over the table. "Can you help us out?"

  "Depends." Rabbit pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and tapped it meditatively. "How much you got?"

  "You want us to pay you for information?" I asked incredulously.

  Rabbit grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "Depends on how much you got."

  West scratched: the cue ball fell into the pocket followed by the four and eight. "Damn."

  "Pitiful." Rabbit gave a wheezing laugh as he re-wracked the balls. "I'd offer to play you for it, but that’d just be cruel."

  "I'll play." Ignoring West's shocked expression, I pulled the cue from his limp hands. "If I win, you tell us what we want to know."

  Rabbit looked me slowly up and down, taking in my bright blue shorts and the leather jacket I wore that wasn’t zipped closed over my midriff top. I glared back.

  "And if I win?” He leered at
me. “What do I get?”

  “Not what you’re thinking,” I responded easily.

  He leaned back against the wall and crossed burly arms over his chest. “What does it matter? Everyone knows witches are whores.”

  My hands clenched around the pool cue as I tried to fight back the wave of anger and unwanted desire. The truth of it was that I probably could screw him and get some pleasure out of it, one of the truest benefits of being a witch. But I sure as hell wasn’t trading sexual favors for information. I’d sunk pretty low, but not that low.

  "West has forty bucks," I said, remembering his cut of the money I'd put up to race. "That's the best I can do."

  "No way—” West started.

  I cut him off with a glare before he could say anything more.

  "Don't fuck this up," I said, mocking his earlier words.

  He glared back at me but subsided into silence.

  "Ladies first." Rabbit backed away from the table with a taunting bow.

  I circled around him, pausing at the side of the table to chalk my cue. My mother would shit a swamp monster if she saw me doing something as classless as playing pool in a club.

  The balls broke with a loud clack. Twelve and thirteen disappeared into pockets. It was a decent start.

  "Stripes," I murmured.

  The game moved slowly. We were evenly matched. For every ball I sank, Rabbit made an equal move.

  West sat at the table closest to where we played. With every ball that slid into a leather-lined pocket, he pushed closer to the edge of his seat. By the time the cue and eight ball were left on the table, West was practically sitting on the felt.

  On Rabbit's next turn, he smiled triumphantly. "Eight ball, corner pocket."

  It should have been an easy shot, the ball lined up perfectly. But instead of sinking home and earning Rabbit an easy forty dollars, the black eight ball bounced out of the pocket as if pulled back by an unseen hand. It rolled down the middle of the table before coming to a stop against the far edge on the opposite side of the cue ball.