by Kristy Tate
“Are you sure?”
“I can prove it,” the squirrel told her. He waved a tiny paw at her before scampering through the forest.
Lizbet had to jog to keep up.
The squirrel scurried down the tree and darted beneath fern fronds. “See? She sheds her fur when the moon is full.”
Lizbet knelt, pushed the ferns aside and saw a pile of shredded pink material. A few feet farther lay what remained of a pair of jeans. She nodded, satisfied. “This is a big bag of nuts for one squirrel.”
“Oh, I’ll share,” the squirrel lied.
Lizbet nodded again, as if she believed him. Which she didn’t.
“THERE’S THIS PLACE where all the paranormals hang,” Malcolm told Declan as they walked along a busy Seattle sidewalk. “It’s like a bar, but instead of carding you, they’ve got these giant trolls guarding the door.”
“Trolls?”
“You would think they were bodybuilders.” Malcolm slid him a glance. “You didn’t think normal people were really built like that, did you?”
“Wait, you’re telling me all muscular people are trolls?” He shook his head. “Sorry, don’t believe it. Baxter...”
“Dresden definitely has troll blood in his ancestry.”
Declan scratched his head. “Would they let him in, even if he’s just a fraction of a troll?”
Malcolm nodded. “It’s pretty inclusive. There’s only one rule, but people seem to have a hard time following it. The trolls will take you out if you break it.”
“What’s that?”
“No fighting. But like I said, the paranormals struggle with it.”
“By ‘take you out,’ what do you mean? They kick you out?”
“If you’re lucky, that’s all. The trolls have a really low tolerance level. Make them mad, and you’re dead.”
Declan swallowed and watched the people moving past him. Suddenly, no one seemed normal. Anyone could be a vampire, a witch, a valkyrie... and he wasn’t even sure what that was. A man in a kilt. A woman with an afro. A guy with an unlit reefer between his teeth. “Take me there?”
“I’m not sure they’ll let you in.”
“Why not? I wasn’t lying about being a wolf.”
“I know. I can smell you.”
“That’s gross.”
“But true.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He realized he should have known Malcolm was a werewolf just by his scent. “So why wouldn’t they let me in?”
“If the alpha hates you, you’d be shunned, if not killed. Pack members are not allowed to kill each other unless the alpha decides you’re a threat to the pack.” He paused. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“Does the alpha go there?”
“He has a private entrance. He usually doesn’t mingle with the riffraff.”
“Sounds like a peach.”
“The most dangerous piece of fruit I know.”
“So you know him.”
“We’ve met, yes.” Malcolm stopped in front of a glistening glass-and-chrome building on the water’s edge. Limousines were parked in a circular drive. Hulking doormen guarded the wide entrance. A marble statue of a winged angel carrying a spear floated above a burbling fountain as if suspended midair. Silver swirls painted the words Wonderlust, members only on the glass wall.
“I owe him...and the pack. They’re the ones who sprang me from that jail cell. Just talking to you is probably a serious mistake. As a member of the pack, it’s a given that I hate anyone the alpha hates.” He turned away, his shoulders sagging. “But I don’t want to be a part of the pack.” His words sounded like a whispered prayer. “I just want my life back.”
“What can I do to help?” Declan asked.
“I’m not sure you can.” Malcolm swallowed. “But I know someone who might be able to.”
“I’M NOT SURE HOW YOU think your girlfriend is going to help,” Malcolm said later that night as they sat at a café near the waterfront. The late summer sun hung at the edge of the horizon, moments away from setting. It wouldn’t be dark until almost ten and according to Malcolm, the Wonderlust wouldn’t pick up steam until close to midnight. “If she’s not a paranormal, she’ll just get in the way.”
Declan didn’t feel comfortable sharing Lizbet’s secrets, but he did know that he felt safer around Lizbet than anyone else. “Consider it like a double date.”
“Courtney doesn’t think of me that way,” Malcolm said, but his tone of voice said that he wished she would. “Listen, I know you’re new to all this, but you should know that in the paranormal world, there’s a hierarchy and some pretty established rivalries.”
“Yeah?”
Malcolm nodded and picked up his hamburger. “So, for example, werewolves and vampires hate each other. Shape shifters who can transform into anything they want pretty much despise mere werewolves. Welcome to the bottom rung of the supernatural world.”
“Thanks,” Declan said.
“And, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but as a turned creature, you are the lowliest of the low.”
Declan stirred a French fry in a squirt of ketchup. “What do you mean, turned creature?”
“There are two ways to become a werewolf. You can be born one, or you can be turned. You were turned. Those who are born and raised are considered a step above those who are turned.” Declan’s thoughts returned to the night Lizbet and the animals confronted the wolves. He’d been bit on the hand by the wolf Leo Cabriolet, his mom’s attorney by day and werewolf by night. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. His mind had been twisted by so many things: Lizbet conversing with animals, wolves shifting into humans, bears lumbering away with naked attorneys...all of it so overwhelming and totally unbelievable. And now this...
“Interesting.” Declan munched on a French fry. “And how do the paranormals feel about creatures like you and me who don’t want to be werewolves?”
“They don’t understand it. After all, there are a lot of benefits. You don’t age. You heal incredibly fast. You have amazing strength. Heightened senses. And sexually—”
Declan stopped him. “And you want to be turned back why?”
Malcolm put down his hamburger. “This is not the life I had in mind, you know? I wanted...no, I want to be a scientist. Being a werewolf messes with my head.”
“I get that.” Declan stared at the ketchup on his plate. It looked like blood and made him sick. He didn’t want to inhale his hamburger, but even when he wasn’t a wolf he still had a raging appetite.
Malcolm toyed with his French fries. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”
“So, if you could snap your fingers, you’d go back before you were turned?”
Malcolm started to nod, but then stopped. “At first, I thought so, but now I’m not exactly sure.”
Declan followed his gaze. Courtney Derringer, dressed in a stunning blue dress that showed off her long, strong legs, climbed out of a Maserati idling at the Wonderlust’s curb. She flipped her reddish hair over her shoulder, greeted the troll guards and sashayed through the doors. Declan had never considered Courtney as hot, but tonight she smoldered. He wondered how much she factored into Malcolm’s indecision.
“How have they not found her?”
“Witches can be hard to pin down.”
“The Puritans did it.”
“Those witches were posers.”
“Are you sure about that?” Declan asked.
“A witch isn’t caught unless she wants to be.” Malcolm stood. “I’m going to get another burger. Want one?”
LIZBET FOLLOWED DECLAN’S directions to the water’s edge. The moon sat on the horizon, casting a long shimmery beam of light that led to a glistening chrome and glass building. He waved at her from a café across the street. Putting the motorbike in gear, she wedged it into a parking space.
He greeted her with a kiss and introduced her to Malcolm. “Here, I got you something.”
She peeked into the shopping bag from an elite store
. “What’s this?”
“A dress, shoes, and jewelry.”
The silky green fabric would match her eyes. The silver curled around emerald stones on the pendant looked real. Confused, she didn’t know what to say, other than, “Declan?”
He nodded at the club across the street where limousines clustered around the entrance like ducks waiting for crumbs at a pond. “We’re going in there and we want to fit in.”
She glanced at his jeans and T-shirt and he read her doubts. “I bought new duds for me, too.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “We’re underage,” she reminded him.
“It won’t matter in there.”
“To who?”
“They won’t turn us away,” Declan said.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “She’s mortal.”
“She’s more powerful than both of us,” Declan told him.
Malcolm looked skeptical.
“Trust me,” Declan said.
“I get you’re into her, and maybe she can bend you, but—”
“She’s more than she looks,” he said, then added, because he knew it would carry more weight with the werewolf, “or smells.”
Malcolm shrugged. “It’s your funeral. Come on then. We can change at my place. It’s around the corner.”
Malcolm lived in a deserted warehouse two blocks from the marina. From the outside, the place looked like it housed nothing but rats, spiders, and dust mites, but inside was a different story. TVs hung from the ceiling. Computers with flashing lights lined a wall. All the high-tech equipment made it look like a sound booth furnished with leather sofas and sleek chrome and glass tables. “I know what you’re thinking...wondering really, but I have to tell you, money isn’t an issue for me anymore.”
“Why not?” Declan asked.
“Well, for one thing, I can’t sleep, so I’m awake like all the time. I’m never tired. I can smell when someone’s lying and when they’re trying to hide something. So...you might laugh, but when anyone has stolen something, I take it back. They can’t catch me.” He pointed at Lizbet. “I know what you’re thinking. You think I should return the stolen goods to the rightful owner. And that’s what I do, if I can. But I also take a cut. A finder’s fee, if you will–a small fraction for my trouble. And it is trouble. It’s a risk. Plus, I’m constantly having to change my appearance. It’s tiring.”
“You’re like Robin Hood,” Lizbet said.
“Yeah, but I won’t wear tights. Ever.”
She smirked. “Right now, you’re wearing a dress.”
He returned her smile. “But not for long. Excuse me and I’ll get dressed.”
Lizbet stepped closer to Declan as soon as Malcolm left the room. “Do you trust him?”
“Yeah, I do. Mostly because I don’t think he trusts himself.”
“Okay, then I guess I do too. It’s interesting that even with all this easy money and the heightened senses and strength, he’s not sure if this is what he wants.”
“I think I’m starting to get it. It’s like he didn’t really earn it, like he was denied the fight. Does that make sense? He didn’t really win, because there wasn’t an even playing field. He got the trophy without having to play the game.”
She followed his line of reasoning. “It’s more like the rules of the game changed and he found he had been handed an advantage.”
“Plus, it’s a horrible thing to do to his parents,” Declan said. “I wouldn’t ever want to give up my family.”
“But why do you have to?”
He shrugged. “From the way Malcom talks, the pack becomes your family.”
Malcolm emerged from a back room wearing a pair of dark pants and a white shirt that offset his blue eyes. A shock of white hair replaced his long dark locks. “A wig,” Malcolm told them. “I’m still hiding from the police, remember? But I’ll be safe in the Wonderlust.” He paused. “Well, as safe as I can be surrounded by wild dogs and bloodsuckers.”
Fairyland exists as a supernormal state of consciousness into which men and women may enter temporarily in dreams, trances, or in various ecstatic conditions; or for an indefinite period at death.
Walter Evans-Wentz
From Lizbet’s Studies
CHAPTER 9
Even with the new clothes, Lizbet felt underdressed because other than lip gloss and mascara, she wasn’t wearing makeup. Declan assured her she looked beautiful.
“What is this place?” she asked as they walked to the door. Everyone was stunning, as if they’d leapt from the pages of a fashion magazine fully airbrushed. She tottered on her high heels and clung to Declan’s arm. It struck her that he fit in perfectly, as did Malcolm.
On the other hand, she did not. She was like homespun cotton surrounded by silk.
“You didn’t tell her,” Malcolm whispered.
Declan shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Tell me what?”
“After we’re inside,” Declan said.
The doormen glared at them as they passed through the doors, but made no effort to stop them. Beside her, Declan gave a sigh of relief and his arm around her waist relaxed a fraction.
The club thrummed with heavy metal music. Couples moved in time on the dance floor. Crystal goblets and glass bottles in all shapes and sizes glistened on the shelves lining the walls. Declan led her to an empty table.
“Don’t freak out,” he whispered into her ear.
“You’re saying that has pretty much guaranteed that I will,” she said through clenched teeth. Her spine tingled with apprehension. There was something off about this place and these people. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but if she had to guess she’d say they were too perfect, too beautiful, too...everything.
Declan held out a chair for her and she sank into it.
“There she is,” Malcolm said, nodding at a stunning redhead dressed in cobalt blue on the other side of the club.
“Who’s that?” Lizbet asked, not bothering to lower her voice since she doubted anyone could hear above the blasting music.
“Courtney Derringer,” Declan told her.
A waitress glided up to them and without taking their orders placed goblets and a carafe of wine on the table. Lizbet thought about telling her they were underage, but bit her lip while Malcolm poured himself some wine.
“Missing Courtney? Why is she here when everyone is still looking for her?” Lizbet asked.
“She’s a witch,” Malcolm told her after sipping his drink.
“Well, yeah,” Lizbet said. “This is a horrible thing to do to her parents, not to mention everyone else who cares about her.”
“No, really, she’s a witch,” Malcolm said more slowly, as if she couldn’t understand English and needed things spelled out more clearly.
“A witch. Like with a broomstick?”
“Why is that so hard to believe,” Malcolm nodded at Declan, “when your boyfriend is a werewolf?”
Lizbet’s world tilted. She had her own abilities, so why should she doubt others had gifts of their own? “Have you talked to her?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Declan said. “Malcolm thinks she might be able to remove the curse.”
“So being a wolf is a curse?” Lizbet asked.
“Hush!” Malcolm made a zipping motion across his lips. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” he hissed. “No one wants to believe they’re a freak.”
Lizbet bit her lip, because she understood him perfectly. Malcolm pushed away from the table, stood, and took another sip of wine before returning his goblet to the table. “I’m going to talk to her.” He ran his hands over his hair, smoothing it down.
Lizbet leaned against Declan’s shoulder. “Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Declan poured himself a drink.
Lizbet put her hand on his, stopping him. “Please don’t. Somehow, I think we’re both going to need to be thinking clearly tonight.”
He nodded and set his goblet down. “You’re right. You wante
d to know what this place is? It’s a bar for paranormals.”
“A what?”
He repeated himself.
“That’s what I thought you said, it’s just...that doesn’t make sense. I don’t think paranormals is even a word.”
“The Wonderlust is a place where vampires, werewolves, witches, and sirens can meet and mingle.”
“You’re trying to make light of this, but I can tell you’re only slightly less freaked out than me.”
“I’ve had a little longer to process it.”
Suddenly, a giant snarling tiger jumped onto the bar while a man transformed into a bat.
“Shape shifters,” a gorgeous woman with silky blond hair at the next table sneered.
“And the vampire,” her companion said. “I’m sure he’s not blameless.”
The doormen moved into the room, tossing over tables and chairs to reach the battling tiger and flying bat. A woman in a strapless black dress disappeared into a puff of smoke while her neighbor pointed at the bottles on the wall and sent them shattering into millions of shimmering shards. Lizbet felt her own composure cracking.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Declan reached for her hand.
Malcolm motioned to the back wall. Declan led her through the milling crowd to a side door. Outside, the clean, cool air filled her lungs and she inhaled the scent of the nearby Sound.
“This place is crazy,” Lizbet said. The hushed music still seeped through the walls, as did the noise of the battling paranormals.
“That? Oh, that’s nothing,” a female voice said. “I’ve seen it much, much worse.”
Lizbet wheeled around, surprised. She hadn’t seen Courtney and Malcolm in the shadowy alley. A lone lightbulb screwed into the far-end wall illuminated a row of nondescript doors.
Courtney elbowed Lizbet. “Malcolm explained the situation to me, and I’m happy to help.”
“Do you think you can?” Declan asked.
“Well, I’m not sure it can hurt. Either it works or it doesn’t. Of course, removing magic is much more difficult than inserting it, but I’m always eager to try something new.” She sighed. “You’d be surprised how very few are willing to let me practice my magic on them. Everyone’s so afraid of something going wrong. It’s not as if spells can’t be reversed.”
