“Mrrrrr,” Artie said with another twitch of his whiskers.
“I don’t understand!” I wailed, spinning around and grabbing my salt cellar. I dug out a handful and flung it into the concoction just as one large black bubble threatened to explode. The salt sank into the bile, causing it to deflate lamely. The bubbles subsided. I grabbed my wand from the mess on the counter and jabbed at the flames to put them out.
Setting the salt container down, I stepped closer to the cauldron and stared down at the rock sitting inside. “I don’t understand what went wrong,” I said, my voice not much more than a whisper. Artie made another noise, tilting his head to the side. “Unless…” I started as I turned around and ran for my bookshelf by the front door.
My fingers ran over the spines as I searched between my collection, my mother’s, and my grandmother’s. On the top shelf, I found the volume I was looking for. I thumbed through the pages so fast I nearly tore them, but I finally found the spell I had been brewing. Reading through the instructions, written in that strange way people used to speak in the eighteen hundreds, I found the warning I was looking for.
“Sunnovatroll,” I cursed. The spell was specifically for locating a witch’s signature; if the caster was anything other than a witch, the spell would go horribly wrong. “Not a witch? Are you kidding me?” I demanded of the empty apartment.
Artemis was next to me again, sitting and staring up at me. If he hadn’t tested the concoction, it would have exploded in the kitchen. Artemis, my furry little hero.
“Thanks.”
Walking back into the kitchen, I was struck with the putrid stench of rotten eggs. I covered my mouth with the crook of my left arm as I struggled to get the window over the sink open with my right. Cold, wet night air rushed in, ushering out the smoke that was crawling around the ceiling. Pulling my arm away from my face, I hesitated, testing the air. When I didn’t dry heave at the smell, I let my arm drop.
“Frogs, toads, and tadpoles,” I muttered, shaking my head. My beautiful copper pot was tarnished and warped, bulging at the bottom, the rim curving up and down like a relief map of mountains. A pang went through my chest; that was my grandmother’s favorite spelling pot, and I’d just ruined in.
It was still hot to the touch, so I had to grab a dishrag to handle it as I stormed out of the apartment and into the hall. Wrenching the trash shoot open, I shoved the still smoking pot in, listening as it clattered its way to the basement, landing with an anticlimactic thump in the trash bin.
The sight of my kitchen nearly brought me to tears. It was practically shambolic and with nothing to show for the mess. All those herbs wasted, all that time and power just gone. Two steps forward and one step back or whatever the hell that dumbass saying was.
During all the slamming of drawers and cabinets, running water and my cursing, I almost didn’t hear the phone ring as I was cleaning. I dug my cell out of my pocket, smudging the screen with soapsuds as I answered it.
“Matt, you okay?” Ronnie asked on the other end.
“Fucking peachy,” I said, my voice slightly muffled as I held the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I could wipe the chopped rosemary off the counter with both hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“I found where they stole Roane’s token and I grabbed some of the soil to figure out the witch’s signature.”
“Oh that’s fantastic!” Ronnie said, not picking up on my tone.
“No, it’s not fan-fucking-tastic,” I cut in.
“What went wrong?”
“I didn’t test to see if really was a witch before I started and I nearly blew up my kitchen.” I was yelling, releasing some of the pent up energy. Luckily, Ronnie didn’t take it personally.
“Oh no,” she said, and I could see her placing her free hand over her mouth, her pretty eyes going wide in fear.
“It’s fine,” I said, finally coming down from the anger. “Artie saved my butt and I salted the whole thing before it blew.”
“Oh, thank gods.”
“Yeah, just uh…” I glanced at the front door. “Don’t complain about the smell in the trash shoot, okay? I got enough problems without pissing off Frankie.”
“Sure, yeah, no worries. So,” Ronnie paused, “what are you gonna do now?”
“Damned if I know,” I said, finally leaning against the counter and holding the phone with one hand before I gave myself a crick in the neck. “Only witches have signatures, so how the hell I’m supposed to find whoever this was without something of theirs?”
“You still have Roane’s ring,” Ronnie pointed out.
“Sure, I’ll just start in the city center and start circling out, and drive for what?” I paused for dramatic effect. “Three weeks? While I go up and down every single road, by every single house until I find him? We only found Joey as fast as we did because we had a blood tie with Charlie to use. I don’t think the Dunhallows will give me their blood, do you?”
“Maybe?” Ronnie said, trying to lighten the mood, even going so far as to laugh, but I just couldn’t laugh. I’d been looking for Roane for over a week now and had nothing to show for it. I had no idea how much longer the Lord and Lady of Dunhallow were going to let this go on.
“Well, there is another option,” Ronnie said, and by the tone in her voice, I could tell I wouldn’t like it, but I was running out of ideas.
“Hit me. I’m open to any suggestion now.”
“A psychic. You could take what you have left of the soil and see if they can see something.” Ronnie sucked in a breath and waited for me to speak. I didn’t much like psychics; they were a weird bunch. Though, really, anyone would get a little weird if you couldn’t touch another person without having a vision, or visions. With how often those visions weren’t pretty things, it starts to wear on you. Eventually they all ended up in the opium dens. Opium was the one thing that dulled their senses so they could just tune out and be, but like all things, they became immune to the effects and had to use more and more for the same results. After a year or two in the dens, you weren’t exactly a pretty sight anymore.
“I suppose,” I finally said.
“I could go with you,” Ronnie offered, sounding as excited about the idea as I was. She was a good friend.
“You don’t have to,” I said, “but I’d appreciate it. The only one I know of is in the back of Noir, and I’m not sure I’m gonna be welcome in there right now.”
“That’s the only one I know of too,” Ronnie said.
“Any chance you’re up to going tonight?”
“Yeah, things are slow. I could probably leave.”
“Only if you’re sure,” I said, not wanting to be the cause of her losing any money.
“It’s fine. I’ll meet you in an hour; gives me time to get cleaned up and changed.”
“Okay, see you.”
We hung up and I glanced up at Artie, who was back on his perch on top of the fridge. His tail flicked back and forth, agitated.
“I know, I know,” I said, waving a hand above my head. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I am officially out of options.” Artemis twitched his whiskers at me but remained silent. I turned back to the mess and finished cleaning, leaving myself barely any time to get cleaned up and changed before Ronnie would be knocking on my door.
My hair was frizzy from the steam of the failed potion and my mascara had smudged under my lower lash line, giving me a slovenly Goth look, which actually might’ve worked in a place like an opium den, but I just couldn’t go out looking like that.
I was just swiping on one last coat of fresh mascara when I heard Ronnie’s polite knock at the front door. I hit my hair with a quick spritz of hairspray to tame the flyaways and rushed out to answer the door.
“You ready for this?” Ronnie asked by way of greeting.
“As ready as I’m gonna be,” I answered, picking up my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. I’d decided against the messenger bag because we’d be searched at the
door, so I knew they’d take anything of value. Instead, I had a necklace on with a tiny, decorative vial full of my knockout powder. It was only enough for one person, but I hoped I wouldn’t need anything more than that. If I did, then this was a worse idea than I already thought.
Chapter 14
The Noir Bar was run and owned by vampires. It was one of the few places they actually hung out at when outside of the lair. Vampires were a strange creature; they didn’t like crowds, but they didn’t like to be totally alone either. And really, I always got the feeling that they hated humans, but as their main source of food, they put up with the human population. I’d heard they preferred the blood of supernaturals, elves especially; something about the magical quality of our blood made it taste better and gave them a sort of high. Unfortunately for them, most supernaturals chose to steer clear of vamps. But lately I seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in their company.
“Jiminy, would you look at that line,” Ronnie said, pointing out the window as I turned into the parking lot.
“Jiminy?” I snorted, earning a punch to the shoulder.
“Seriously, look!” She pointed again. She was right; the line actually curved around the corner of the building and disappeared into the alley beyond.
“Frogs on toast.” I shook my head, finding a parking space all the way in the back of the lot. This was going to be a cold walk back to the car. “What night is it, anyway? I’ve lost track.”
“Friday,” Ronnie said with a groan. “Well, that explains it.” I nodded my agreement before shoving the door open and climbing out. At least it had stopped raining. It felt like it had been raining for weeks lately as we shifted from summer to autumn. But I was still happy for my jeans and boots, shielding me from the cold.
Ronnie linked her arm through mine, and we headed toward the bar. I realized, the closer we got, that everyone in line was human – not one supernatural being stood in that mass of bodies.
“C’mon,” I whispered, steering us toward the door. I felt Ronnie hesitate, making me drag her a couple of steps before she consented. The bouncer at the door was half-troll, half-human, and I knew him from high school. Luckily, I had liked him a lot more than Jimmy.
“Bastian,” I said with a smile, causing the brown-skinned, six-foot-tall man to turn my way. Bastian was much luckier than Jimmy when it came to the gene pool lottery; where Jimmy was grey and sallow, Bastian was brown and robust. Where Jimmy had a frizzy red tuft of hair, Bastian had long, thick brown hair that was a little frizzy, but only because he didn’t bother with hair products. The only thing that was particularly off-putting about Bastian was the two tusks jutting out of his jaw that curved over his upper lip. But when Bastian smiled, you forgot about those tusks.
“Mattie,” Bastian said, holding out his hands for mine. I slipped away from Ronnie and took his hands, letting him pull me into a bone-crushing hug. He smelled of damp earth and smoke. It was a pleasant smell, again, unlike Jimmy.
“It’s been ages,” I said before turning and holding a hand out for Ronnie. “You remember Ronnie?”
“Hey, B,” Ronnie said, earning another smile from the half-troll. Bastian pulled her into a hug as well. I caught him smelling her hair before he let go of her. He gave me a pained look, but I winked at him, reassuring him that his secret was still safe with me. When we were much younger, Bastian had a huge crush on Ronnie and, more than once, I wondered if it was all because of that crazy, curly, copper mane of hers.
“Allow me,” Bastian said, recovering quickly as he reached for the black velvet rope, ushering us toward the door. I heard the rustle and grumbles of the waiting line as we cut ahead. I thanked Bastian, squeezing his arm as I passed him, pushing Ronnie ahead of me. When the door fell closed behind us, I heard Bastian roar, quieting the restless crowd. Ronnie chuckled nervously, but I just pushed her forward.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’ll probably be out of here before any of them make it in anyway.”
“You’re probably right,” Ronnie said, and I watched as the tension left her shoulders and she stood up straight. “Shall we?”
We took the twisting hallway, meant to keep the natural light out of the club, until we were a little dizzy and disoriented.
“Ugh, that’ll make you dizzy,” Ronnie said when we finally turned the last corner into the bar itself.
It looked like any other dive bar in any other neighborhood in the world. Dimly lit, so you didn’t see just how grimy the floors and tables were. Tiny candles flickered on the round tables around the room. A couple of worn pool tables stood in one corner and dartboards hung in another. Booths lined one wall while a long bar took up another. Two bartenders worked the bar and the crowded stools in front of them with waitresses coming and going with tiny round trays like mini shields full of glasses.
The only thing that set this bar apart from any other was the number of vampires lurking around every corner. They were in the booths along the wall, cloistered with their prey; they were leaning on the bar, flashing cheesy, fanged smiles at the humans milling around them. They were everywhere, and if you took a deep enough breath, you could taste the tang of iron in the air. I shivered, trying to shake off the creeping crawling sensation this place gave me.
“Kinda creepy, right?” Ronnie whispered to me, but despite her lowered voice, a few glinting pairs of eyes turned our way. I averted my eyes, not wanting to invite any of them over to us.
“Yeah, kinda creepy,” I agreed, keeping my voice low as well. The vamps could glare all they wanted. We were whispering, so the humans couldn’t hear us – we weren’t fang blocking them or anything.
“So, do you want to get a drink or something?” Ronnie asked.
“Not even a little bit,” I said. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Right.” Ronnie nodded, but when I looked at her face, I realized she wasn’t looking at me. She was watching some of the more open couples in the booths. There were couples and groups huddled together, a mixture of vampires and humans. One such couple, a female vampire and a male human, were twisted around each other on a bench seat. The woman had the man’s wrist clamped to her mouth, not even the tiniest of trickles escaping her hungry lips. His head was thrown back, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parted in a moan.
“Ron, you okay?” I leaned into Ronnie, tugging on her arm.
“Yes,” she said slowly, pronouncing the word carefully. “Yes, we should move on.” She turned us away from the sights and sounds of the room around us. Ronnie had never been with a vampire, never felt the sweet sting of their bite. It was normal to be curious, and I was definitely not one to judge in this instance. But we didn’t have time for this so I just tugged her along with me.
There was a huge arch in the back wall leading to a sunken room that, at this distance, looked like it was completely pitch black. That was the room I was looking for: the opium den.
“Ready?” Ronnie asked.
“No,” I said, but I lead the way forward anyway. There were no guards at the entrance, no one checking anyone for weapons or ID, but I guess if you made it into the bar, you were allowed to come and go through the rooms as you pleased.
When we passed under the arch, I felt a ripple of power pass over us. It was cool and soothing, like walking through a gentle waterfall. Ronnie turned surprised eyes to me, but I only shrugged. I figured it was some sort of charm to keep the vapors and smoke inside this room and out of the rest of the bar because once inside, I realized how difficult it was to see.
“Claro,” I whispered, and suddenly it was easier to see. Ronnie repeated the charm under her breath so she could see just as well.
There were huge cushions strewn about the floor and fainting couches set all along the walls. There were bodies lying everywhere; it almost looked like a mass suicide. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to get that thought out of my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I could focus on the moving parts of the room. Peo
ple were lounging next to their pipes, smoking and passing them along to the next person.
Soft music filled the room and went a long way toward calming my nerves. Only Ronnie’s clutching fingers in my arm kept me on edge.
“Be careful not to touch anyone,” I reminded Ronnie in a whisper. Psychics could control their visions for the most part, but when surrounded by too many people or touched, the visions took over. After too many years of seeing too many people’s fates, murders, pain, and suffering, they either checked out of society and became hermits or their minds would snap. Many middle-aged psychics lived in assisted-living complexes.
“May I help you?” a woman asked, appearing in front of us through the vapors and smoke. She was dressed in traditional Kabuki robes and makeup. Her pitch black hair was rolled and pinned artfully on top of her head with a jeweled hair comb. Her face was paper white, making the red lipstick stand out on her face even in the poor lighting.
“I, uh,” I stumbled, not really sure how to answer her.
“Can I show you to a seat?” she half turned, holding out one hand to guide us. Ronnie started to take a step, but I stopped her. I wasn’t interested in smoking, and I had no idea how much something like that would cost anyway.
“No,” I said, “we were looking for someone.”
“Whom are you looking for?” the hostess asked, making me stumble again. Who were we looking for? Anyone who would help us, I guess. We’d come to a place where psychics went to get away from their visions and here we were hoping one of them would be willing to help us find Roane. Roane, who was being held captive, possibly tortured. Yeah, I’m sure any one of these people would jump at the chance to help us.
“We needed the help of a psychic,” Ronnie said, stepping forward to answer the question. I cringed at the look on the woman’s face. She looked ready to pull her hair comb out and stab us in the eye.
“My patrons do not come here to be bothered by tourists,” she snapped, stepping toward us again, pushing into our personal space to herd us back through the archway.
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