Etched in Silver: An Otherworld Novella

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Nerissa, who was munching on a bread stick she’d found in the cupboard, wore a flirty, tiered, powder-pink skirt that barely covered her butt, and a glitzy tank top. Strong, lean, and muscled, she was an Amazon of a woman, a werepuma who wasn’t afraid to tackle life with my sister the vampire—and she was always ready to party.

  Camille lit up as we entered the room. “You both look great. Sharah’s meeting us at the club. Come on, let’s get this show on the road and leave the house to the guys. Trillian told me they’ve got a fully stocked bar, but he didn’t say anything about a stripper . . . I’d be surprised if they don’t just end up playing games on that damned Xbox all evening.”

  Supes or not, some of our lovers and cohorts had developed an addiction to video games. It seemed odd to watch two grown demons battling it out over Super Mario or whatever was the latest Xbox rage, but they took it seriously.

  “What about Maggie? Who’s looking after her?”

  “Don’t you worry about our baby gargoyle. Hanna’s watching her. Maggie has really taken to her.” Iris picked up her purse. “I’m ready.”

  “Then we’re ready.” Camille arranged her shawl. “Bruce gave us the use of his limo and driver. Ladies, our chariot awaits.”

  “At least we aren’t headed out to get our butts kicked.”

  I peeked back in the living room at the guys. They looked innocent enough, but the amount of trouble an incubus, a demon, a leprechaun, a dragon, an FBH (full-blooded human), one of the dark Fae, and a half dragon, half shadow walker could get into boggled my mind. Without us to keep an eye on things, they’d probably wreck the house.

  Iris must have been reading my mind because as we clattered down the porch steps, she muttered, “Here’s praying Hanna can keep those men in line.”

  “Hanna’s a tough woman, but I don’t know if she’s that tough.” Camille nodded to the limo. “Bruce’s driver is named Tony; tip him big tonight. Okay, let’s go, ladies. Iris, this is your last night as a free woman; we’re going to live it up.”

  “Just so long as my supper stays where it’s supposed to,” Iris countered.

  As we maneuvered through the melting snow—spring was finally on the way and, though it was still cold, most of the harsh winter snows were standing puddles of slush and mud now—Tony got out of the car to open the doors for us.

  The limo was lush; roomy enough for six in the backseat. I decided to push my worries away for the evening. Nothing would go wrong. It was the night before Valentine’s Day—and the night before Iris’s wedding. The gods had to be kind to us at least once, didn’t they?

  The Demented Zombie lived up to all the hype except for its name. Though not a high-class club, the disco seriously rocked. It was run by a Fae couple from Otherworld; they had named it after a cocktail they served. I was determined to find out if the drink lived up to the hype.

  We slid through the crowd.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to find a table?” I looked at the crowd on the dance floor. Most of them were women, and I had a sudden suspicion Menolly and Nerissa had brought us to a lesbian bar. “Hey, this a gay bar? Not that it matters, but . . .”

  “Not so much. And we’ve got reservations for the big table in back they keep for parties, so chill.” Menolly shouldered her way ahead, and after a moment, we caught sight of the bar. She winked at the bartender—who looked like your average hunky guy, except I could tell he was Were—and motioned us over to the big table that had balloons surrounding it. Dangling ribbons. I stared at them for a moment. My tabby self stirred, wanting to come out and play, but I forced the instincts down long enough to turn to Camille.

  “Balloons—ribbons? You think such a good idea around me?”

  She snorted. “Can’t you control yourself for one night? Sometimes I think you use the fact that you’re a werecat as an excuse for bad behavior. Now, be a good kitten, Delilah, and don’t tear up the joint.”

  As we slid into the booth around the table, a familiar voice echoed through the crowd, and Sharah hustled up, carrying a large pale silver box wrapped in a pink ribbon. Her blond hair caught back in a sleek ponytail, the elf looked very sixties. Waiflike in her go-go dress and white knee-high boots, she made retro work.

  Sharah was Chase’s girlfriend. Chase used to be my boyfriend, but we broke up and now were good buddies. Sharah had slipped in to fill the void, and they seemed to be grooving together. Whatever the case, I knew enough to keep my nose out of it.

  She handed me her present for Iris, and I put it with the others on a side table as the waitress came up to take our orders. We quickly went around the table. Iris couldn’t drink, of course, so she ordered a glass of orange juice. Camille ordered a rum and Coke, Nerissa asked for a mai tai, Sharah and I ordered Demented Zombies, and Menolly ordered a bloody vamp—which was actually just blood, but it sounded better with a cool name.

  “Here—you have to wear this tonight.” Camille pulled out a rhinestone tiara with a miniature veil attached and plunked it on top of Iris’s head.

  “Only if you guys are wearing party hats, too.” Iris shook her finger at us, at which Nerissa pulled out a pack of sparkling princess crowns. We all slid the cardboard hats on as Iris grinned and adjusted her tiara.

  The music started—Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way”—and Menolly and Nerissa excused themselves to the dance floor. They were a stunning pair; as their dancing got dirtier, they began to pull in looks from both sides of the fence. I stifled a snort—some of the women looked jealous, and others looked at them like they were the best thing since sliced bread. The few men around didn’t seem interested in anybody but each other. Not a gay bar, my ass.

  A rather tall biker chick tapped Camille on the arm. “Dance?”

  Camille blinked but then grinned and excused herself to work the floor as the music turned to “Weapon of Choice.” After a few seconds, Biker Chick was looking mighty impressed; Camille had lost herself to the music and they went spinning around the floor, Biker Chick’s arm hooked around Camille’s waist.

  “I’m glad to see her smile,” Iris whispered to me.

  “Yeah, after Hyto’s attack, I wasn’t sure how she’d come through.” I leaned down so Iris could hear me. The noise in the place was deafening.

  “It will take some time for her to fully move on, but I think she’ll be okay, eventually. Her men help a lot, especially Smoky, though it can’t be easy for them since he looks so much like his father.”

  Sharah leaned across the table. “Nerissa’s counseling will help, and at least Hyto didn’t infect her with any disease.”

  “My sister’s doing a remarkable job. She always pulls through.”

  I couldn’t forgive our father, though, for not standing up for her after he knew what had happened. That he’d sat in our living room, listening as she told him what horrors the crazed dragon had put her through, and then had chosen to leave, had hardened my heart to him. His own daughter, kidnapped and raped, and he walked away. Our cousin Shamas had threatened to go home and confront him about it. We persuaded him to hold off, but I had the feeling he was so pissed that he might do so without our consent.

  Iris tapped her fingers on the table in time to the music as the others returned from the dance floor.

  “Did you want to dance?” Menolly asked.

  She shook her head. “Not the best idea. Stomach’s queasy.”

  Sharah handed her a packet of saltines. “Here, these will help.”

  Iris munched on them. “I see presents—and they’re unopened.” She grinned, motioning to the stack of boxes on the side table. We’d brought gifts from the guys, too.

  “Not just yet,” I said, glancing at Camille and Menolly. I’d been in charge of the party, much to their dismay, and one of the first things I’d decided was that we were going to entertain Iris to the max. “Up, you two.”

  Camille grimaced. “Oh please, do we have to?”

  “Yes, as excruciating as Delilah’s yowls can be. We have to.” Menolly’
s eyes were pale as frost, but she smiled a toothy grin. “Come on.”

  A path opened in front of our table to reveal the stage and a karaoke machine. I snickered.

  “You just wait. I’ll get you for this.” Camille shook her head, leaping lightly up on the stage.

  “Hey, Menolly’s not complaining.”

  “She can sing! You and I are pathetic . . . well . . . mostly.”

  We clambered up on the stage and Menolly swung around in front of us, striking a pose with legs spread and both hands around the microphone. Camille and I took up our stations as her backup singers. The music swept in, and, with a deep breath, we dove into our rendition of “We Are Family.”

  We turned on the glamour, dropping our masks so our charm shone through, and the crowd went wild, laughing with us and clapping along. We spun and twisted to the music, throwing our hearts into it. Even though Camille and I weren’t that great in the vocal department, we warbled away while Menolly carried the song. We’d been practicing in secret for over a week now, and though we weren’t polished, we were doing a pretty good job keeping a beat to the music.

  Menolly leaped off the stage, carrying the microphone with her, and danced her way over to Iris. Gently lifting the sprite onto her shoulder, with another leap she made her way back onto the stage, where she set Iris down and we surrounded her, singing as she clapped and swayed to the music.

  People started throwing dollars on the stage “for the bride” and, by the time we finished, jazz hands and all, we’d collected seventy-five bucks and a couple rounds of free drinks, which put an end to Camille’s and my being able to sing anything.

  “You guys are great,” Iris said as we headed back to the table. “And thank you. Presents now?”

  I laughed, a little too loud, and burped. How many drinks had I managed to put away? I counted—there were only four glasses in front of me, but the Demented Zombie was one hell of a drink and packed more than a punch. I wasn’t sure what was in it, but it was better than catnip.

  I glanced around. I’d arranged for some special entertainment for the evening and—and . . . there he was. The guy was fine, gorgeous, with dark hair to his shoulders. Even beneath his policeman’s outfit, it was obvious that he was ripped. I motioned to him and he sidled over to the table. The music dimmed and everyone around us turned to watch.

  “Are you Iris Kuusi?” His voice was smooth—so smooth it made me want to slide up against him.

  She blushed bright red and her eyes glistened. “Yes . . . ?”

  “Iris Kuusi, you have the right to scream as loud as you want. You have the right to let me arouse you—” And with that, he motioned to someone at the counter, and Amanda Blank blared out from the speakers as his hips began to move.

  He was a great dancer, keeping up to the beat in perfect rhythm with the rapper even as he—woo-hoo ! There went the jacket, tossed on the ground near him. As he slid his hands to the cuffs of his shirt, he jerked and the shirt landed in Iris’s lap. Gleaming muscles flexed as he clasped his hands behind his head and swiveled his hips in a move that put Elvis the Pelvis to shame.

  “Wow,” Sharah said, breathing softly. “Just . . . Wow . . .”

  “Wow is right.” I felt a little glassy-eyed myself. He looked far better than I thought he would, and his dance was just . . . well . . . the way he moved his hips had me thinking about a different kind of bump and grind. Oh yeah.

  Camille was looking at him suspiciously, and Menolly looked bored, staring at the crowd, but Nerissa, Sharah, and Iris were all fixated on the dancer. He slid his hips from side to side and caught my attention once again, as he grabbed hold of the waistband and—just like that—the pants flew off and over to the side.

  Now in a tight G-string leaving nothing to the imagination, with fringe shimmering down the sides and in front, he began to gyrate toward Iris, whose eyes had gone immensely wide as she stared at what was coming toward her.

  I was staring, too, but suddenly realized that my attention was no longer on the stripper, but on his fringe. Boy, that fringe looked like it would be fun to play with—to bat around, to yank on, to chew on . . . to . . .

  Before I could stop myself, I was shifting right at the table. A few screams echoed around me, but mostly, I heard a lot of laughter. None of it mattered as I pounced on the object of my lust. Those strings—those glorious strings, all dangling and fluttering, calling my name—and all I wanted to do was reach out and grab one and have my way with it.

  “Delilah! No!” Camille’s voice echoed from across the table, but the fringe was too pretty and too dangly. The next thing I knew, I’d sideswiped Stripper Boy’s thigh and was hanging from his G-string, several of the pieces of fringe in my mouth, tugging on it.

  “What the fuck? Where’d the cat come from?” The guy suddenly didn’t seem quite as thrilled as I felt. As he tried to pull away, I yanked harder.

  Menolly put her arms around my tummy and tried to pry me away. Determined that the fringe was going to come with me—it was my toy, damn it—I held on for dear life.

  Riiiippppppp . . . and the G-string gave way. Triumphant, I gripped the fringed banana hammock in my mouth and shook it, purring. I glanced up at Menolly, waiting for my praise. The least she could do was tell me what a good girl I was.

  The stripper, trying to get away from my claws, fell toward Iris in the process but managed to catch himself on the edge of the table. Iris stared at the dangling penis that now hung, free as a bird, dangling inches away from her face. She looked fascinated at first—or so I thought from my cat’s fuzzy brain—but then as she opened her mouth to speak, she started to cough and, the next moment, vomited all over the stripper’s goodies.

  From there, it was all downhill. There was no way to salvage the evening after that. As the stripper disgustedly wiped down with a towel the barkeep gave him, I managed to gain enough control to shift back. Still tipsy, and with the taste of sweat-soaked G-string in my mouth, I cleared my throat, trying to stay steady on my feet.

  Iris was wiping her mouth, totally embarrassed. Sharah and Menolly were taking care of the stripper—I saw a few extra twenties pass hands. Camille had moved over to their side.

  “Dude, you’ve got some sort of glamour going on. Don’t deny it—I can sense it a mile away. You’re an FBH—full-blooded human. So what gives?” Her voice was low, but loud enough for me to catch.

  He jerked his head up and stared at her. “Babe, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t even try with me, dude. You have no clue who you’re dealing with. I just want to know where you got the potion. There’ll be an extra fifty in it if you tell me the truth. And I’ll know if you lie.” She pulled out her purse and waved a fifty-dollar bill under his nose.

  He paused, then cleared his throat. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was hard because the drinks and shifting and the promise of those dangling fringe pieces had all clouded my mind.

  After a moment, the stripper shrugged. “What the hell. Why not? I got it from a little shop in south Seattle. Name’s Alchemy for Lovers, and they said that if I put three drops on my dick before a performance, it would increase my profits. Boy, were they right.” He gave a sideways glance to Iris, then me. “Well, until tonight, that is. Damn stuff burns a bit, but hey, it makes sex better, too.”

  He sounded vaguely hopeful, but Camille motioned for him to leave.

  The bartender was giving us dirty looks, so Menolly gathered up the presents. With Nerissa carrying the cake and Camille helping guide me, we stumbled out to the limo. Tony was waiting for us right where he’d parked. He opened the doors and we crawled in.

  Nerissa sat up front with him, holding the cake; Camille and Iris sat on one side, while Menolly, Sharah, and I sat on the other side of the backseat, and we set off for home to finish partying where we wouldn’t chance ruining anybody else’s evening.

  We pulled in the driveway and slid out of the limo just in time to see Vanzir and Roz tossing each othe
r around the yard. They were both stripped to their waists, oiled down, and involved in what looked like some sort of Greco-Roman wrestling match.

  “What the hell . . . ?” Camille stared at them, then shook her head.

  “I’m not even going to ask.” My head was pounding. Apparently the Demented Zombies weren’t agreeing with me. As I squinted, I saw Bruce stumbling around, chasing a dog that looked suspiciously like Speedo, the neighbor’s basset hound. He was carrying a pair of bunny ears.

  “Holy crap, how much have they had to drink?”

  “I dunno, but we’ve got a pair of dragons on the roof.” She pointed to where Smoky and Shade were sitting on top of the roof, dangling their legs over the side. Neither looked too cozy, but they were talking and not arguing for once. A pile of rocks near the cars told us they’d been taking potshots. At least they hadn’t broken any windshields.

  As we stumbled our way into the house, we found cousin Shamas, Morio, and Chase in the living room, playing poker. The table was covered with change and dollar bills, and it looked like Chase was wiping the floor with both of them. Empty bottles of Nebelvuourian brandy and Elqaneve wine were strewn about, along with a couple empties of Irish whiskey. The smell of cigars made me want to hurl, and I glanced at Camille, who was also wrinkling her nose, and opened the window to air out the place.

  “Honey, you’re home!” Morio glanced up at Camille. As he stood up, he tripped and went sprawling at her feet, where he stayed down, reaching out to play with her strappy shoes.

  “You’re drunk.” She moved her feet just out of reach.

  “Ya think?” Morio burped and promptly dragged himself to his feet, where he threw one arm around her shoulders and one arm around Menolly’s. Camille glanced at Menolly, who quickly sidestepped out of Morio’s embrace. He still wasn’t over the bond that had developed when some of her blood was injected into his veins, but Menolly seemed to have shaken it off. . . or at least she acted like it.