Velvet Haven

by Sophie Renwick

  “It’s all right,” she rasped, sliding the cuff of her jacket down over her wrist. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

  Louise arched her brow, but let the comment slide. “I’ll have someone come in to prep the body for the coroner.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  With her hands on her hips, Louise arched her brows. “Five minutes ago you were bellyaching that you were on break.”

  “I know. Get Vicky to cover for me, and I’ll do this.”

  “You want some help? It’s creepy as hell doing death care by yourself.”

  “I’m good,” Mairi whispered. “I . . . kind of knew her.”

  Louise glanced at the body. “Poor child. What the hell is this world coming to? You know, the cops that came in here told me she’s the ninth one this month, but she’s the only one that was carved up like a turkey.”

  “Yeah,” Mairi murmured as she rubbed the elastic cuff against her wrist to relieve the stinging. “The whole world is fucked up, isn’t it? Maybe it’s a sign, Lou.”

  “A sign of what?”

  “The beginning of the end.”

  The shop bells tinkled as Mairi pushed open the door, and Rowan looked up from the magazine she was thumbing through. “Hey, I was just thinking of you, and here you are!”

  “Disturbing. I hate it when you do that.”

  Rowan laughed and closed the magazine, then tossed it onto the end of the counter by the cash register. “So, you just missed two of the hottest guys on the planet.”

  “Yeah?” Mairi drawled, looking around her friend’s New Age store. “Was one of them your weekly Tarot Guy?”

  Rowan flushed. Mairi swore that even the tips of Rowan’s short blond hair glowed pink. “Uh-huh. He brought a friend this morning. Double the visual pleasure.”

  “Thought you swore off men for a while after the disaster that was Aaron.”

  “Yeah.” Rowan sighed. “Still, it can’t hurt to look and . . . dream. It’s good for your mental health.”

  Mairi knew all about dreaming. Her subconscious had been conjuring up a hunk for the past couple of weeks. Man, the things the guy could do with his hands and tongue.

  “So, what’d Tarot Guy buy this week?” she asked, making a beeline for the bookcase. Rowan watched her with interest as she scanned the Occult section of the case.

  “His usual. A tarot deck. I swear, the guy must have hundreds. He says he gets different vibes from different decks so he has to have a lot to choose from to get the right reading. Today he picked out this really creepy black magick deck. The pictures were gruesome.”

  Mairi whirled around. “What do you mean, gruesome?”

  “Well, really dark. Morbid, with a sexual edge. Normally, I don’t carry that kind of stuff. Brings bad karma and energy, but it came by mistake. I had it on the counter, ready to pack up and send back to the supplier, but he saw it and went through the deck. I guess he liked what he saw because he bought it.”

  “I wonder what he wanted it for.”

  “Tarot readings.”

  “Well, duh, I know that,” she snapped, turning back to the bookcase. “Ro, you got anything on satanic symbols?”

  “Why, did you have that dream again?”

  This was when Mairi really hated the fact she had confided in Rowan about her strange dreams. Rowan was just way too in tune with people and the shit they tried to hide. Maybe her friend really was psychic.

  “Okay, I’ll take the silence as a yes. And, no, I don’t do satanic stuff. Enchantment is a New Age store with positive energy.”

  “Okay, then, help me out, Glinda the Good Witch. Tell me what these mean.”

  Pulling a piece of paper from her purse, Mairi set it in front of Rowan. It was a poorly drawn sketch of Lauren, complete with the symbols and their locations on her body. Rowan looked up, the sparkle in her jade-colored eyes gone.

  “Is this what you dreamed about?”

  Mairi swallowed hard. “If I tell you, you have to swear you won’t breathe a word. It’s confidential.”

  “Well, it’s wearing on you, Mairi. You look exhausted. You can’t keep it in. And of course, I won’t tell a soul. We’re best friends.”

  Mairi nodded. “Last night, one of the girls from Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow arrived in the ER. She was found lying half dead on a chalk drawing of an inverted pentagram. Those marks”—Mairi pointed to the drawing—“were carved on her body.”

  “Oh, God!”

  “And worse, I counseled her last week. She had my card. And I . . . I remember her.” And worst of all, Mairi had dreamed of those symbols weeks ago, the night she started having the strange dreams of him. The guy with the magic hands and mouth.

  “You’re creeped out,” Rowan murmured. “Look at you, you’re shaking.” Reaching for her hand, Rowan pulled Mairi around the counter and offered her a stool.

  “A bit unnerved, yeah,” she replied with a shaky laugh.

  “I have a pot of herbal tea all ready to go. Let me get you a cup.”

  “You don’t need to wait on me.”

  Her friend just glared. “I’m not an invalid—yet. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to wait on me hand and foot next week after they operate on my brain. God only knows what will be left of me then. And you can be damn sure I’ll milk it for all it’s worth.”

  “That’s not funny,” Mairi snapped. “That tumor is going to be benign and you’re going to be perfect.”

  “Well, I’ll have a bad haircut, that’s for sure.” With a laugh, her friend disappeared behind the purple satin curtains.

  She shouldn’t be burdening Rowan with her problems, not when her friend was so sick. But Mairi had nowhere to turn. No one who would understand like Rowan understood. There was something almost ethereal about her friend. She virtually radiated goodness and light.

  As Mairi sat quietly waiting for Rowan to return, she pulled up the sleeve of her denim jacket. Her wrist was still tingling, the kind that happened after a sunburn, when the skin started to heal. She scratched, watching the old, faded white streaks turn pink. Ever since last night, when she’d touched Lauren, that patch of scarred skin had felt strange. Kind of . . . Mairi swallowed as she looked down at the marks, which were now a brighter pink, despite the fact that she’d stopped scratching them. That patch of skin almost felt . . . alive.

  “Sweet, just how you like it.”

  Mairi shoved her sleeve back down and straightened in her stool. No way was she going to come clean about her wrist.

  Rowan passed her a delicate pink china teacup and saucer. Under her arm, she carried a black leather book, its pages edged in gilt. “Okay, let’s see what we can find here,” Rowan muttered. “Symbols . . .” Licking her fingers, she flipped through the pages. “The placement on the body has to be as important as the symbols themselves,” she mumbled as she thumbed through the book. “That’s part of any ritual, getting the placement right.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Just sip your tea.” Rowan winked at her. “Okay, here,” she said, drawing her finger down the page as she glanced at the drawing. “So, these symbols. They aren’t necessarily satanic. They’re occult.”

  “And the difference would be?”

  “Well, it’s not a devil worshipper, so you can get that thought out of your head, but there is magick involved. Both dark and light, I sense.”

  Swallowing her tea, Mairi prayed the symbols she dreamed about were of the light variety.

  “The pentagram on her . . .”

  “Pubis,” Mairi supplied.

  “Well, the pentagram can be innocuous. It really just represents the five elements—water, air, fire, you know, that sort of thing. Sometimes the circle surrounding it can represent the sixth element, which pagans call the element of self.”

  “What about when it’s inverted, like it is on her?”

  “Hmm, that’s probably dark magick. It’s pointing to the Underworld. But you know, in the pagan religion th
ere is no hell or devil. It’s just another world below ours.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mairi wasn’t buying it.

  “And the infinity knot—”

  “Which one is that?” Mairi asked, rubbing her inner wrist along her thigh. Thankfully Rowan was way too interested in deciphering symbols to notice she was scratching her scarred wrist.

  “The one that looks like the number eight turned on its side. It’s the most powerful Druid symbol. It represents the flow of all things—life, death, and rebirth.”

  That had been the symbol her wrist touched. Even as Rowan tapped the page with her fingertip, Mairi felt the coinciding thump against her skin. “Why is it between her breasts?” she asked, completely unnerved.

  “Hey, I never said I had the answers to everything. But I do know that the infinity knot is really powerful, and positive.”

  Mairi found herself swallowing hard and asking in a hoarse voice, “Could it be used for evil?”

  Rowan’s expression clouded. “I suppose so. Perhaps in necromancy. You know, death and sex magick.”

  Mairi shivered, pressing her wrist into her thigh to relieve the burn she felt. “And what does a snake swallowing its tail mean?”

  Rowan glanced at the paper, then back at Mairi, who looked away. That symbol had not been marked on Lauren’s body, but it continually showed up in Mairi’s dreams. It always preceded the image of the man. That, and the circle divided into three sections. Those were the hunk’s calling card.

  “The snake is called the Ouroboros. Like the infinity knot, it represents the circular nature of life, but it has more to do with the Underworld, the ancient knowledge and power to be found in darkness.”

  Tea sloshed out of her cup onto her jeans. Oh, goody, she was doing the devil in her dreams.

  Rowan steadied her and took the trembling teacup from her hand. “You dream of this symbol, don’t you?”

  “Let it go, Rowan.”

  “Dreams are powerful, Mairi. They can be an omen. A warning.”

  “They’re just stupid dreams. And I think I’ve had enough of this conversation,” she muttered. God, she had goose bumps. To think that anything she dreamed might have a connection to Lauren’s gruesome murder was just too much.

  “Mairi,” Rowan whispered, reaching for her hand. “I just want to help you better understand your dreams.”

  “It’s stress, that’s all. I’ve been working too much and I’m worried . . .” She glanced up at Rowan. “I’m afraid for you and what will happen after your surgery next week. It’s all just manifested into these crazy dreams.”

  Rowan backed off, but Mairi saw the doubt in her intuitive eyes. “If you dream of this guy again, or any of these symbols, you let me know, okay?”

  Mairi nodded. Even though she had started it, she wanted nothing more than to end this conversation.

  “I’ve got something that’ll put a smile on your face,” Rowan said as she pulled away from the big hug she was giving her. “You’re gonna love it.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “VIP tickets to the hottest club in town. Velvet Haven, baby!” she cried, waving the tickets before her. “And it’s tonight. So get your sexy clothes on; we’re going partying.”

  A shiver swept through Mairi’s entire body as a vision of a man shimmered before her. Tall. Heavily muscled. Oozing sex and stamina, calling to the primitive female need inside her. Her body responded to the visual, wakening, craving his touch. Sex. Suddenly it was all she could think about, all she could see in her mind.

  She heard a woman’s voice whisper in her ear, “You will find the warrior tonight and you will take him inside you.”

  The image of this man on top of her, driving into her as he pinned her to the bed with his heavy body, swam before her. She saw herself arching, her head thrown back in ecstasy as he thrust unrelentingly deep inside her. She could feel his strong fingers biting against her wrists, his harsh breath against her cheek, the sound of his dark, velvety voice whispering sex words in her ears.

  Suddenly, there was nothing more she wanted—needed—than to have him between her thighs, giving her his body, his strength.

  “You will take him inside you.”

  “Mairi, you okay? You look like you’re zoning out.”

  “I think I just need a nap,” Mairi whispered, finding her way to the door. “See you tonight, Rowan. I’ll pick you up at your place.”

  Outside, she leaned against the brick wall, trying to catch her breath, trying and failing to stop the images of a man on top of her. Her body was trembling in eager anticipation. It had been a while since she’d last been with a guy, but it shouldn’t feel like this. Her urge for sex was as strong and primordial as her need for air.

  Against her denim- clad thigh, her wrist tingled, and she unconsciously rubbed it against her leg, searching for relief.

  Things were getting crazy. First her wrist, and now she was hearing voices and seeing her dream hunk when she was awake. Wishing he was real, despite the danger she felt.

  She didn’t do danger, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t lie; she wanted to do him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bran had no use for humans, but this one, she was exactly the sort of mortal he was looking for—single, lonesome, and begging for it.

  “This female will give you what you need.”

  Bran looked down at the man standing beside him. Though the music was loud and pounding, he could hear every word, as if they were the only ones in the room. Above the throbbing bass, he even heard the thump of his companion’s heart. Steady, rhythmic; nothing to signal any impending betrayal or tricks.

  His companion’s serpentlike eyes shifted. The slit where the pupil should have been was long, elliptical. More than mortals had been caught up in those mesmerizing eyes, but Bran knew better than to look into them for more than a second.

  Sayer was half-Selkie and used enchantment magic to interrogate and ferret out information, from immortals and mortals alike. Tonight Bran had need of that skill.

  Rolling his shoulders, Bran shrugged off the tension that had been steadily growing inside him since last night, when he’d seen the body of the butchered youngling.

  Tension coiled as he rolled his shoulders once more, his long black hair sliding down his back as his knuckles rapped against the stone balustrade that overlooked the dance floor. Beneath the neon lights, the sigils on his left hand glowed, the pewter and gold reflections entwining like vines, casting shimmering images on the copper-tiled ceiling. Not wanting to draw any attention, Bran dropped his hand from the balustrade, hiding it beneath the sleeve of his coat.

  Ignoring Sayer’s inquisitive glance, Bran turned to look again through the stained-glass window, down to the street below, where hundreds of humans were lined up, vying for the coveted tickets into Velvet Haven.

  If they only knew what lurked in the shadows of this place. What did they know, these mortals, other than that Velvet Haven had been created inside an old mansion built in the ornate Victorian Gothic style? What lured them, besides the mystery and seduction to be found behind the arched iron doors?

  Did they know the truth? Did any of them suspect that a diaphanous veil separated the mortal world from the Celtic Otherworld? Did the humans know that beneath the floor they danced and writhed upon was the Cave of Cruachan—the magical entrance to Annwyn?

  Would they believe that here in Velvet Haven, mortals and immortal shape- shifters mingled? Danced. Fucked. Would it scare them to know the type of magick being practiced right beneath their noses?

  Was it possible one of these mortals was practicing the dark arts? He frowned at the thought.

  “Does she displease you?” Sayer asked as he caught Bran’s black expression.

  “No.”

  Sayer grinned and gazed once more at the dance floor. “You’re a real buzz kill tonight.”

  “There is no ‘buzz’ in this for me, Sayer.”

  “There could be, if you allowed yourself the ple
asure.” Bran grunted as he crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no pleasure in this curse. You know how I feel about mortal females. They’re nothing but a necessary evil.”

  Sayer glanced out the window and stared down at the blond woman he had picked to service his king. “Mortals have their uses.”

  “You’re sure she’s clean?” Bran asked, getting back to the night’s mission and his purpose for being in Velvet Haven.

  “You needn’t worry. She’ll do you right.”

  Sayer suddenly stopped, his gaze sharpened like a predator’s when it spied prey. His skin flickered; a brief sparkling of iridescent orange and pink ran up his neck; then it was gone, but the Selkie’s watchfulness was still present, alerting Bran to a danger his friend had suddenly sensed.

  At the same moment, Bran felt the pupil of his right eye dilate, swallowing up the gold iris. There was something going on in Annwyn. Movement. Gathering. Darkness.

  “What do you see?” Sayer asked as he watched Bran’s eyes glow in the dark.

  “Annwyn. An unseen threat lurking in the forest. Magick. Dark magick.” The portal that allowed him to see his home closed, leaving Bran with his mismatched eyes.

  “Necromancy.” Sayer spat the word as he scanned the humans and immortals below them. His skin absorbed every hum, every vibration. “I sense it here, in the club.”

  Bran searched the darkened corners, peering through the shadows for this necromancer he sought. Scattered among the humans were the rebels of the Otherworld. Shifters with no allegiances; magicians with great powers.

  They were here, lurking in darkness, cloaked by shadows and magic. The Phoenix, the Griffin, the Shadow Wraith. Even the Fallen Angel had come out of his hiding place amongst the mortals to partake of the night. The only one missing was the gargoyle.

  The gargoyle—Carden—his half brother needed to be found. And soon. But to continue the search he needed energy. He needed the sexual pleasure of a human female to recharge his power, and with it, the ability to perform the strongest of magic in Annwyn—destruction magic. With this magic he could destroy the dark magician who was preying on his people. He could destroy Morgan. And find Carden. Someday. But first he needed to find the book Cailleach spoke of, as well as the other immortal warriors he was supposedly going to lead.