by Nazri Noor
“Gathering information,” Prudence yelled back. “We need to find the entity’s gateway.” Mercifully, she stopped moving towards the bar, saving me the indignity of screaming myself hoarse.
But I had to cup my hands over my mouth to get my point across anyway. “Don’t we just check a map for that?”
Bastion’s guffawing carried over the relentless boom-boom of the club’s speakers. It was like a dog whistle, and I was pretty certain that even after we had left Temple, hours after my eardrums had been blown out, I’d still be able to hear nothing except the exact infuriating frequency of his laughter.
He made gestures with his hands, subtle ones that could have looked like someone motioning as he spoke, his lips moving the whole time. Not that a casual observer would have been able to tell by Temple’s flashing interiors, but his fingers left strands of white light as he worked. He ended the sequence by running his hand through his hair – because even when casting a spell, Sebastion Brandt could still be kind of a douche.
A faint tingling sheared through the air. The noise around us seemed duller, the pulsing beat of the club muted, and when he spoke, I could almost hear him in my ear.
“Honestly, Graves,” he said, grinning that self-satisfied grin. “It’s like you never pay attention, even when your mom’s talking.”
I knew he was talking about Thea, but somehow Bastion’s schoolyard bully jab of bringing up my mother – even though he had no way of knowing she was dead – stung more than it should have. I said nothing.
“She wasn’t just saying things out loud when she said the entity was fickle,” he continued. “That applies for its personality, sure, and how we’re supposed to deal with it, but the entity’s gateway is fickle as well.”
I looked around us, wondering why he was being so blase about relaying this information when I realized that whatever spell he cast had made it so that only we could hear each other. Outside our little circle everyone was still yelling to make themselves heard, especially the ever-replenishing rush of people putting in their orders at the bar.
“So who are we supposed to talk to?” I waved at the bartenders, two men and one woman, all busy pouring drinks and fielding orders. “Doubt we can even get their attention long enough to grab a beer.”
Bastion rolled his eyes. “No, dum-dum. Look closer.”
“Honestly, Bastion.” Prudence clapped me on the back and nudged her head towards the bar. “Part of your training is to learn to perceive things that are out of the ordinary. That’ll help you on the field as much as it will help in everyday life now that you’ve seen bits of the underground. You have to learn to notice what’s different, to pick things out.”
“Okay,” I said, looking along the bar. “I’m not sure I see any – wait.”
And there she was, camouflaged among the revelers before Prudence told me to look, but suddenly sticking out to me plain as day. There were stools along the bar, perfect for anyone who didn’t feel up to dancing or wrestling with the throng to get one of the very few booths or tables strewn about the club.
All the stools were taken, but one occupant stood out more than the rest. Her hair was dark, but it shone with the color of a sun dying on the horizon, brassy, like black silk flecked with gold. Her lips were a deep red, her eyes like obsidian, her skin dusky and deep.
Yet as striking as the woman was, what I found more remarkable was the collection of glasses around her, drinks drained of just enough liquid to leave clues to their former existence, all these puddles of color thinning with melting ice. As I watched, more cocktails appeared, delivered by men with hollow eyes who only passed long enough to place a glass by her side, then left again.
The bartenders, I noticed, were giving her a wide berth, hence the growing stacks of glasses. Something was amiss here, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out what it was. Then the woman turned and fixed me with her gaze.
My breath caught in my throat. With her smoldering eyes, her hair like dark fire, her perfect skin, she was unmistakeably beautiful, but in a way that was so unearthly, supernatural. It reminded me of the pale man. I shuddered, and I hoped she didn’t see.
I drew up to Prudence as subtly as I could. “Is – is that another vampire?”
“Close,” Prudence said, looking off and away, as if to hide her face from the woman. Her lip was upturned in distaste. “Succubus.”
I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped open. “What? As in a soul-sucking demon? That kind of succubus?” Honestly, I thought to myself, wincing. What other kind was there?
She nudged me in the ribs. “Cool it. No one can really hear us from outside the bubble Bastion cast, but she can still read your lips. But yes. As to whether that’s worse than a vampire, you decide.”
Bastion draped his arm heavily across my shoulder and pulled me in. I cringed at the proximity, and at the choking scent of his body spray.
“Aww. Is Dusty afraid of the pretty lady?”
“Shut up. I’m not afraid. Just – I have reason to be wary given recent events, okay?”
“It’s not like anyone hurt you,” Bastion said. “Just be polite, play nice, and Layla will tell us what we need. She’s harmless.” There was a pause. “Well, mostly.”
“Question,” I said, carefully eyeing the woman, and wearing the politest smile I could muster. Her expression remained unchanged, and her gaze was still trained on me. “Don’t they have their own domiciles? Succubi, vampires. Aren’t they entities, too?”
“Well,” Prudence said, rubbing her chin. “In a way. It’s the smart, resourceful ones who make their own domiciles. That’s like spiritual real estate, their place of power. Think of it like building a business. You’d be surprised how powerful these things can grow. Look at Arachne. She’s not even a god. Any entity can work hard enough and create their own base of operations. It’s a matter of time and effort.”
“God bless America,” Bastion said.
“Hush. Anyway. You try going into an entity’s domicile to stir up trouble, you’ll end up dead real quick. And I’m pretty sure they’re unkillable in their own home realms. They’ll just regenerate after a time. The rest of them are tied to our plane. Since they’re tethered here, death is death. The free-running ones are more vulnerable. But long story short: yes, she’s still totally dangerous.”
The woman with the flaming hair finally shifted, her smile friendlier. She blinked, just the once, and it sent something fluttering down my spine. Was it demon magic, or her eldritch beauty? Did it really matter?
“So you’re saying there’s more of these beings running around. More vampires and succubuses. Succubi?”
Prudence nodded. “They behave, mostly, because you’ve got forces like the Lorica to keep things in order. But’s it’s not just them, of course. You’ve got demons, angels, ifrits, fae.” Her nose wrinkled up. “Gotta watch out for those fae.”
“Great,” I groaned, breaking eye contact with the succubus. “More things that can kill us dead.”
Bastion shrugged, making me newly aware of how he was still in my space, like a leech. “Pretty much.”
I wriggled out of his grasp. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Agreed,” Prudence said, nodding.
She led us to the bar, striding confidently and, I thought, maybe a little threateningly. The succubus – Layla, that was her name – watched us from behind a wisp of her hair, her hand in her chin, her lips curved in a languorous smile. Something rippled in the air around us as we approached, the effect of her being allowed into the bubble of silence that Bastion had crafted. Layla’s smile grew at that, as if she sensed the veil of magic around her. Her gaze flitted from me, to Prudence, then came to rest on Bastion’s face.
“You never called me,” she cooed.
Her voice was like a breeze blowing across a still desert: tranquil, soothing, yet deep, and somehow vast. I couldn’t place her accent, and I couldn’t tell if that was because it shifted in places, or because it seemed to be a blend of
sounds and slurs from across continents. Where was she from?
But truthfully what really poked at me was how old she was. Were succubi like vampires? She might have been in the hundreds, as if I had any way of telling. On some level I suspected that seniority worked the same way for entities as they did with mages and their ages: the older they were, the more powerful. But I didn’t dare ask. I had a feeling she wouldn’t at all appreciate me prying.
Bastion leaned on the bar with one elbow, his smile brighter than all the lights in the vicinity. I could tell that he was arranging his posture, his face, even the timbre of his voice to be as appealing as humanly possible, clearly intent on charming the succubus. I’m not gonna lie, I was secretly taking notes in my head. I never pass up an opportunity to learn something new.
“Layla, you’re a beautiful, soul-sucking nether demon. I’m a beautiful, soul-sucking loser. We’re too similar. It’d never work out.”
Prudence’s spine seemed to stiffen at that. Mine too, frankly. It was some pretty daring shit to say to what could very well have been a centuries-old demon. But Layla only threw her head back and laughed, the sound of it like little brass bells.
“You are too right, Sebastion. So I hope you have brought me something entertaining in your stead.” She took the barest fraction of a second to cast her eyes up and down Prudence’s body, just long enough to show her disinterest. “This one, I already know. She is no fun.”
Prudence grunted. “It’s nice to see you too, Layla.”
The demon shifted in her seat, leaning her chin into her hand again, this coquettish pose that made me believe she was just some young girl looking to have fun in a club, and not an ancient fiend from somewhere sandy and blasted with heat.
I wondered how many men and women she had seduced from her throne at Temple’s bar, and as she smiled to show two rows of perfect teeth it dawned on me that she wasn’t hanging out for free drinks. Layla was here for a different kind of sustenance. I swallowed, hard, and took the greatest care not to show that anything was amiss.
“Now this one,” she said. “This one intrigues me.” Maybe one of the strobes hit her just then, or maybe it was the ambient glow of the bar’s many neon lights, but her eyes brightened as they locked with mine, and my heart stuttered for just the briefest moment. Get it together, I told myself. This is what she’s made for, to break you apart, then crack you open so she can feed. As if sensing my thoughts, her lips parted wider and she laughed.
“Why are you so nervous? I’m not going to eat you.” Which would have been a far more innocuous statement if her tongue hadn’t picked that exact moment to run across the edge of her teeth. It only made me jumpier. “Come closer,” she said.
Bastion slid away from her slowly, making space for me at the counter. The hardness in his eyes and the tightness in his lips said it all: this is the job, and you’re here to do it. You’d have to rip off my fingernails to get me to admit it, but in that moment Bastion gave me just the encouragement I needed to get things done. I straightened my back, and maybe broadened my shoulders a bit. I knew I could do it.
“I’m not nervous,” I said, easing my forearm onto the counter, wearing an easy smile. “Just entranced, maybe. You’re the prettiest thing around here, after all.”
From behind me, I heard Bastion’s intake of breath. Maybe he was laughing, or maybe it was actually a snort of approval. Didn’t matter. From a little further off I heard Prudence snort, too. That I interpreted with zero trouble.
“Goodness,” Layla said, her hand hovering over her mouth. “If this one isn’t forward! I quite like you, new boy.”
“First month on the job, ma’am,” I said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Dustin Graves, at your service.”
Layla placed a hand on the counter, fingers drumming lazily at the plexiglass. Her nails were painted a deep red to match her lips, like drops of blood at the end of each finger.
“Dustin,” she said, leaning forward, the unsubtle cut of her dress threatening to give me a closer view of her admittedly generous bosoms. Focus, I told myself. “You’re charming, I confess, but I bet you say that to all the demons.”
“That’s quite impossible, Layla.” I grinned again. “You’re my first, after all.”
The demon flushed, then squealed in delight, hiding her lips behind one delicate hand. This was starting to remind me of my time with Arachne. Gotta stay vigilant, I told myself. I looked over my shoulder to see if Bastion had anything to say about how I was doing, but he was gazing out into the crowd of dancers, his attention already wandering.
Prudence was doing the same – rather, alternating between examining her nails and swiping at her phone – but I got the sense that both were putting on airs and were still listening intently to everything that was going on with Layla.
“Buy you a drink?” I said. That much I remembered from Thea, that these encounters with the entities were all transactions, and something needed to be traded, especially for something as valuable as information. I could only hope that a cocktail would be all I needed.
“Brandy Alexander,” Layla said, never taking her eyes off me. I peeled a couple of bills out of my wallet, catching the attention of one of the bartenders.
“Keep the change,” I said, winking at Layla and thickening my voice with braggadocio. She squirmed in her seat. The bartender glanced between us. He shook his head, then took off to fill the order.
“Now Layla.” I clasped my hands in front of me, lacing my fingers and resting them on the counter. “As pleasant as this is, I do have to admit that we need something from you.”
She sighed, twirling a lock of her hair around one finger. “That’s all you Lorica boys ever want. And what does poor Layla ever get?”
I cocked one shoulder. “Lots of compliments, and cocktails? Not a bad deal, I should say.”
Layla lowered her gaze. “Naughty. But correct.” She spread her fingers across the counter, then lifted her nose, her demeanor somber, serious. I was more aware than ever of the silence around us. “Tell me what you need.”
“Gateway,” I said, forcing myself not to react to her sudden chill. “We need to find Hecate.”
Her eyes widened, and she burst into a huff. “Hah! Hecate? In these conditions? You’re better off talking to a fortune teller.” She slipped one hand into her clutch, sifting through its contents. “I’ve got my psychic’s number right here. The woman’s certifiably insane and gets nothing right, I just like listening.”
I cleared my throat and tightened the clasping of my fingers. “We’d prefer if you could tell us where her portal is tethered. We really need to speak with her.”
Layla stopped shuffling through her purse, setting it back down on the counter. Her eyes squinted in suspicion. “So what you’re telling me is that you need information – so you can seek her out for more information.”
“I. Uh. Yes.”
Layla threw one hand up and waved it dismissively. “I’ll never understand you humans. Sometimes you just have to take action, you know? Back in the day, if we had a problem, we did something.” She groped for thin air, then clenched her hand into a fist, fingernails gleaming like sharpened rubies. “Reach into someone’s chest, rip their heart out. Done.” She dusted her hands off. “No drama. Efficient.”
I wondered how much of that was true and did my best not to stammer. “We can’t take action without knowing who’s at fault, though. It’s about the murder of the god Resheph, if you’ve heard of it.”
She nodded, her eyes looking distant. “I have, actually. I knew some of the gods from his pantheon, nice people. Didn’t know him personally, but it’s a damn shame.” Her eyes refocused on mine, but the warmth was still missing, all business now. “Right. So you already know that Hecate’s gateway shifts, correct? It’s only sensible. She’s trying to keep herself safe. Who knows where the murderer will pounce next?”
I nodded along. The shifting tether was a practical safeguard, well and good, but it did make tracking down
our contact a bigger pain in the ass.
“So what you’re really asking for is the exact location of Hecate’s tether. Where it is at this very moment.” Layla’s eyes narrowed, and the shadow of a smile crept back to her lips. “That’s going to cost you more than a Brandy Alexander.”
“Oh, come on now, Layla,” Bastion’s voice cooed from just past my ear. Had his head been poked into the conversation the whole time?
She held up a hand. “Bastion. Shush. This is between me and the new boy.” She tilted her head, her smile now fully returned. “What do you say, Mr. Graves? All it takes is one kiss.”
Chapter 11
Bastion’s fingers dug into my shoulder, stabbing right through my jacket. His whispers were urgent. “Bro, don’t do it, bro.”
I grimaced. We needed Layla, I was sure of it. Why would we have come all this way if that wasn’t the case? I turned my head slightly, careful not to let Layla see or hear me speak. “It’s not like we have a choice, Bastion.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught Prudence frowning in our general direction. Her face said it all. She obviously didn’t approve of what was about to happen, but it needed to be done. I sighed. All in a day’s work.
I mustered my courage, and whatever was left of my good graces, and turned to Layla with a neutral expression. “Okay,” I said. “One kiss.”
She didn’t reply, but her smile said it all.
“Is it – ” I began. “Will it hurt?”
Layla pushed a lock of hair out of her face, the apples of her cheeks going rosier with every passing moment. “Only a little.” She raised her chin, exposing part of her throat, as if she was trying to get me to mirror her and offer my own vulnerability. “Whatever I take from you will return over time. Like blood. Your body will always make more.”
Maybe it was the dazzle of colored lights that did it, but I didn’t catch Layla closing the distance between us. The counter, the bar, the club disappeared when she pressed her lips against mine. They were warm, and only a little wet, lined with something sweet that had just come out of a glass. I steadied myself as she leaned in, her mouth hungry, and maybe it stung a little when I remembered that she wasn’t into me as much as she wanted to devour a part of my soul.
