Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  Standing up on the rail under the bar that you rested your feet on as you sat, I sprawled the upper half of my body across the gleaming mahogany showing cleavage to the front and sticking my rear out in the back. The bartender practically knocked down a waitress in his rush to ask my boobs what they would like to drink.

  The only redeeming quality of this place was that it offered a wide choice of quality vodkas, and did some cool infusions. Vodka was amazing. It was one of the best human inventions, ever. Back home, everyone drank dull old wine, sometimes warmed up, sometimes cold. It was Okay. Nah, who am I kidding, the stuff sucked big time, but — whoo–boy! — vodka was the shit.

  “Two shots of Van Gogh Double Espresso Vodka. The stuff in the freezer,” I told him.

  The bartender poured the shots into equally chilled shot glasses, all the while managing to keep an eye on my breasts. No doubt in case one escaped and burst into full view. I tipped him well and made my way back to Candy and the other girls.

  “Here’s to our future partnership,” I said, handing her one of the shots. She looked at it nervously, grimaced, and tossed it down. Her eyes watered and she choked a little, sipping the Cosmo in her other hand in desperation. It was a shame because up until that moment I had thought she was kind of cool. Chasing the very elixir of life with that swill, how could she? Disappointing.

  I looked around the bar at the ocean of black and navy and thought about going home and watching X–Files reruns. Normally, I’d be inspired to start some trouble, but I just didn’t seem to have it in me tonight. I was still worried that my energy usage earlier today may have exposed me. I was missing Wyatt and wondering if he’d found a curvy blond. Besides, this place really sucked . They got all stuffy and bent out of shape if you broke a bottle on some guy’s head or threw your steak knives at the wall.

  Just as I lifted my glass to drink my vodka, I heard Michelle say in a soft worshipful voice “Ohhhh, look there. Just look at him.”

  I glanced toward the door, because that tone was the most un–Michelle–like I’d ever heard. And I saw the angel.

  Chapter Three

  I’m not sure how I knew right away that he was an angel, but I knew. I drew a ragged breath, choking on the vodka and dove behind one of Michelle’s friends. The pudgy one who was luckily wearing a floaty muumuu thing. It should have been embarrassing, cowering behind a fat girl like that, but I was more concerned about my probable death.

  Panic was throwing my heart around my chest and beading sweat on my forehead. Shit. Shit, shit shit. No, fuck, fuck, fuck, actually. Was he here for me? Stupid, of course he was! He must have been close enough to sense the small amount of energy I’d used to break off that table leg and brain Brad. Why else would he be here? I’d been so careful for all these years. I snuck through the gate with great skill, and had performed no conversion in decades; nothing but the tiniest of energy which I’d carefully covered up. The biggest display I’d made was when I’d taken and Owned Samantha Martin, but that had been so long ago. If that had alerted him, he’d have been on me twenty years ago at the latest. It had to have been today, and he must have been close to sense it. Damn my lousy luck.

  I crawled across the surprisingly clean floor as far as I could from the angel, making sure I avoided my discarded gum. You’d think he wouldn’t take me out in a crowded place like this since angels were supposed to be all goodness and light, but truth was I’d heard they didn’t much care about collateral damage. The stupid humans didn’t even notice me crawling and scooting between their legs, they were so enraptured.

  I’d only had a quick glance at him before my dive to the ground, but he definitely stood out in a crowd. Tall. Like way taller than anyone in the room tall. Big chestnut curls on his forehead and touching the top of his ears. His skin was a strange white tone and texture. He was like a walking marble statue; a Greek god come to life. I hadn’t seen his eyes and didn’t want to. From the noises in the bar and the migration toward the door, I could only assume the humans were mobbing him. Probably pawing him all over like he was a unicorn or something. I wondered how he’d react to that.

  Thankful for the crowd and the distraction, I reached the fire door. Very carefully, I put my hand against the bar to open it, and my other hand near the door catch. Gently, I sent a small trickle of energy into the door, completing the alarm circuit around the latch. Pushing the door, I quietly tiptoed out of the bar. I hoped that hadn’t been enough for him to sense. Luckily, the humans had tons of energy flying around with their microwaves and cell phones, and that masked quite a bit.

  As I turned to make sure the door closed without a sound, I saw a quick hand hold the door open. In my panicked state, I brought every speck of energy I had within reach to the surface, ready to deflect and defend. Luckily, I noticed the beautifully manicured nails and tennis bracelet before I started blowing things up. Candy slipped out behind me and pushed the door shut before turning to face me. We stared at each other. I know I didn’t look exactly human at that moment, with such a massive amount of energy humming out all my pores and my eyes glowing, ready to strike. Candy, though, was unfazed as she surveyed me thoughtfully. She met my eyes for a moment, nodded as if I had confirmed something, then turned on her heels to walk with purpose down the street.

  I didn’t waste any time. I raced down the block and ducked into an alley. I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me wanted to go back and watch the angel leave to see what he was doing and where he was going. Not knowing what he knew about me and my assumed life was the most fearful part of this whole situation. I was terrified to get that close to him, though, in case he could somehow sense me near.

  Should I head for the closest gate and get the hell out of Dodge? The most reliable gate was near Baltimore, but everyone used it. The angels kept a close eye on the area and a guardian routinely took out any who tried to use it. There was a small wild gate west near Sharpsburg, but wild gates were very dangerous and I didn’t have time to study and master it. I didn’t know where it went to, anyway.

  I had come in through a gate in Seattle, but I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way across the country. Plus, I really didn’t want to run and abandon all I had worked to build over the last forty years. I had emergency procedures in place to protect my assets in case I had to make a quick break for it, but I hated to leave the life I loved. It’s not like I could take my Corvette through the gate with me. Or Wyatt, unless I Owned him first.

  I was too afraid to even peek around the corner toward The Wine Room. Was he still there? He could be walking down the street toward me right now. My heart thudded away and I gasped in air.

  “Hey,” I hissed at a young guy walking past the alley. He looked startled, but not terribly alarmed. Happy hour downtown was fairly safe, even if someone was accosting you from the shadows.

  “Yeah, you,” I insisted. The guy took a step towards me, curious. “Look down the street and tell me if you see an angel.”

  He looked around the alley for hidden video cameras.

  “I’m serious. Down that way.” I pointed helpfully.

  He looked at me quizzically, but backed a few steps out of the alley and looked down the street. “Yeah, I see one.”

  I freaked. “Where? Is he coming this way? Is he glowing? Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”

  I was making my new friend nervous. “No, it’s that painting on the side of the building. You know, the one that looks like an old guy leaning out a window, but he has shadowed wings behind him. I thought that’s what you meant.”

  “This is not I Spy,” I shouted at him. “I need to know if a real angel is anywhere on the street, if you can see one. I really don’t want him to kill me.”

  “I’ll walk down here a bit and check,” the guy said in a placating voice as he backed slowly out of the alley. “Just stay right here. I’ll look for killer angels and be right back.”

  I knew better. The guy walked quickly toward a more populated area of downtown while I snuck around the block to my ca
r to make my escape. He’d either sic the cops on me or send the angel my way.

  I thought about my situation as I drove toward home. If I was going to die tonight, I was going to do it in my own house, surrounded by the things I loved. My mind whirled, and I had to finally set the cruise control as my speed was fluctuating wildly between the legal fifty five and well over a hundred miles per hour.

  The angel hadn’t locked right in on me at the bar, so my energy usage must not have been strong enough for him to have an absolute fix on me. He hadn’t come running when I’d opened the fire door or, more importantly, when I pulled a bunch of energy to the surface for defense. Maybe I would be Okay. If I could just keep things absolutely minimal, fly even more under the radar, maybe he would give up and go kill some other, more careless, demon.

  I was so distracted with my thoughts that I was three miles past my road before I even noticed. I pulled into a little local bar to turn around and stopped. I needed to calm down and focus. And I was suddenly afraid to go home and be there alone waiting for death to possibly find me. At least here I had a chance of blending into the crowd.

  The Eastside Tavern was a local’s hangout. The narrow front parking lot was packed with trucks and bikes. People milled about the fenced deck beside the front door, smoking cigarettes in the cooler evening air. I edged my way between the carelessly parked cars and around the back, searching without success for a parking spot. The place was packed. I finally found a parking spot way out at the rear lot, past the dumpster, by a little wooded area. The Corvette might not have fit in with the motorcycles and trucks, but I did with my jeans and boots. I got out and set the car security. There were a few people around back here too, smoking or talking.

  “Nice car,” a bearded man said waving his smoke at it. “I have a Corvette too, but it’s not as nice as yours.”

  I smiled at him in acknowledgement. There were wooden steps leading up to a back entrance that appeared to open to a dining area or perhaps some kind of banquet room. I walked around to the front of the building and headed up the wooden stairs past the smokers’ deck. The front door was a slab of heavy glass, reinforced with metal bars. I wrestled it open and paused to take the place in.

  Everything in the Eastside Tavern was cheap and fake. I don’t know if this was so it would be inexpensive to replace when patrons trashed it, or if the owners didn’t give a shit about even pretending to run a classy joint. Probably both. The floors were fiber board with a photo of wood grain laminated on top. The long u–shaped bar had the same wincingly artificial wood as the floor. The tables were cheap metal and Formica topped with metal rims. Torn vinyl–covered metal chairs were scattered around each table. The owners had dispensed with any kind of ceiling and instead had hung old license plates and plastic light fixtures resembling deer antlers from the exposed floor joists of the second story.

  The tables were full of people gleefully smashing crabs and picking out meat with knives and fingers. Dismembered carcasses piled high on the brown paper protecting the Formica, or spilled onto the floor in a mess of broken shells and Old Bay Seasoning. Observing all of this with placid faces were the only non–fake things in the bar: a plethora of mounted deer heads; pheasants, foxes and boars decorated the walls side by side with aluminum sports signs and neon beer advertisements. I loved humans’ affection for taxidermy. Killing something, and then displaying its dead body in a prominent place to show everyone what a successful and powerful killer you were was near and dear to my heart. I envisioned humans eyeballing each other’s kills and suffering from antler envy. We weren’t so different.

  I headed around next to the pool table so I could look out across the expanse of the bar and the people eating their crabs. I wouldn’t have a clear exit if an angel stormed the front door, but at least I’d see him first and have a brief moment to hide. The pool balls crashed behind me and I heard the cheers and smacking palms of a good break. The guy beside me flicked his eyes to me, and then turned his gaze back to the TV screen above the bar. He had dried mud on his work boots that extended almost a foot up his jeans. There wasn’t a navy suit in the place.

  Two women worked behind the bar, hustling primarily beer for the customers. I really wanted a drink, and thought about draping myself across the bar as I did at the Wine Room. I reconsidered when I realized I’d only piss off the women on the other side. Instead, I flagged a bartender down with some help from the guy next to me. I didn’t rate any attention, since I was clearly not a regular, but the guy next to me certainly did and she came promptly over when he bellowed for her.

  “Do you have any vodka in the freezer?” I asked.

  She looked at me, as if she were waiting for the punch line of the joke. I wasn’t about to drink warm generic vodka, so I ordered a bottle of Bud Light.

  Another guy had joined the muddy dude on my side of the bar, flanking me between them. Muddy guy had a plate of food covered in gravy plopped in front of him, and proceeded to ignore everything but his meal. Nobody was paying any attention to me at all. I looked around behind me at the men and women engrossed in their pool game and realized no one seemed uncomfortable with my presence. Relaxing, I took a swig from the cold beer bottle and looked around.

  There was a group of bearded guys by the smokers’ door trying to pick up a shapely girl with legs a mile long; an overweight couple stealing fries off each other’s plates and laughing; several rowdy groups gleefully smashing crabs and clinking beer mugs; a Latino guy in a construction logo hat who looked like he’d been up since before the sun; a really hot blond guy with some blond girl rubbing her boobs on his arm. Hey. Our eyes met across the room. Pleasant warmth spread down my body as I smiled into Wyatt’s beautiful baby blues.

  He made a beeline for me, practically dragging the curvy blond hanging onto his arm.

  “Sammy,” he said, clearly delighted to see me. “I didn’t know you ever came here.”

  “I haven’t been here before. I was on my way home and thought I’d stop in.” I looked around. “I like it here,” I said honestly.

  There was a sense of calm I got from the place. Not that it appeared to be a mellow, chilled out kind of bar. It was just familiar. I felt I could relax and maybe be a little bit myself without getting thrown out every time I came in. Or at least I’d get thrown out with others hitting the dirt beside me.

  “You. . . you look really nice,” Wyatt said, his eyes traveling down me, as if he hadn’t seen me almost naked this afternoon.

  I caught my breath and stared at him in amazement. Could this day have any more wild swings between shit and great? Where had this come from? Had someone slipped something into his drink? Had I transformed from his older, scary, moderately attractive, neighbor buddy into a potential friends–with–benefits candidate?

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I need to do the make–up and hair thing more often. Maybe then I’d have sex more than once a decade.”

  “The gravity defying boobs are pretty eye–catching, too.” Wyatt grinned. “Honestly, Sam, if you’d at least pretend to be normal you might get laid more. You scare all the girls and boys away.”

  I knew he was teasing, but I think he meant it, too. Hopefully he meant the boob part.

  “If I get horny enough I’ll just whack someone over the head with a pool cue, duct tape them in place and have my way with them.” I was only partially kidding.

  Wyatt laughed. The woman on his arm tugged slightly, clearly wanting to move Wyatt away from me and my duct taping ways.

  “Are you scared of me?” I asked him suddenly. I hoped not. I’d hate to have to eventually resort to duct tape with Wyatt. He’d be a whole lot more fun with his hands free.

  “Absolutely terrified,” he said.

  I wondered if both Wyatt and I had been waiting for the other to make a move, like in those sappy movies on Lifetime. I appraised the woman hanging on his arm. Wyatt hadn’t introduced me. In fact, Wyatt was rudely ignoring her existence. Not that I had a problem with that. She was pretty.
Nice figure. She looked like a boring fuck to me. I was going for it, and blondie wasn’t going to get in my way.

  “The waitress just brought our beers out,” Wyatt said, disengaging with great difficulty from his blond albatross. “I’ll go get them and be right back.”

  The second he turned his back I snapped my eyes to the girl and glared at her. She shook a little, and then raised her chin in defiance. Ooo, putting up a fight, was she? Well, I didn’t have time for this nonsense since Wyatt would be back in a short moment.

  “Get out right now,” I snarled at her, throwing every bit of mean I had into it.

  Her eyes widened in terror and, without delay, she took off out the door.

  “Woman, you really are scary,” the muddy guy next to me said in admiration before turning back to his chicken fried steak. Yep, I liked this place.

  I chugged down my beer as I saw Wyatt approach, shoving the empty on the bar.

  “Your friend left.” I snagged the second beer out of his hand and took a swig. “She won’t be coming back.”

  Wyatt raised an eyebrow and I was relieved to see he looked amused.

  “I like this one better anyway, Wyatt,” said the guy next to me.

  Thumbs up from Mr. Chicken Fried Steak. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

  Wyatt’s smile reached his eyes and we talked in that comfortable, easy way we always did. He’d nixed his original dance club plans for the night pretty soon after he turned out my horses for the evening. Instead, he had popped in here for a few beers, intending to go straight back home to kill the zombies.

  I told him about my Wine Room experience, leaving out the angel, of course. Wyatt made sympathetic noises when I described my outrage at the vodka abuse Candy had perpetrated. I told him I’d left early and never really got to discuss those canal properties with her. We chatted comfortably as the evening drew late and I felt myself relax fully. After we finished several beers, I reluctantly told him I needed to head back home. I intended to hide all night under my bed from the angel. Maybe he’d keep me company.