Dead Zone

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  Pain bloomed in my chest, strangling my heart.

  I rubbed the skin below my collar, hoping to lessen the tightness beneath, to no avail. TS leaving would be an unbearable consequence, one I needed to avoid. The reason why it would be so unbearable weighed on me, begging me to explore it further.

  Thankfully, that exploration was cut short.

  Near the gate of the property stood a female, her dead eyes familiar yet not. She looked like all the others I’d seen before, another casualty of the supernatural world looking for my help. Looking for vengeance.

  I took a deep breath and tried to focus on all the things Damascus had just taught me. I focused on her energy—her emotions—to draw her nearer. When she took a step forward, I was so excited I almost lost all concentration. She faltered for a step until I pulled my shit together, then continued toward me. She stopped only a few paces away.

  Another deep breath.

  “Why are you here?”

  Silence.

  “What is your name?”

  Crickets.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Her hands drifted toward me, palms up. There was extensive bruising along the insides of her wrists, as if she’d been bound or pinned down when she died. Anger flashed through my body.

  Then she disappeared.

  “Shit! NO!” I yelled, turning in circles to see where she’d gone. But it was too late. My anger had scared her off. “Shit shit shit!”

  I looked back at the house to find Damascus standing inside the doorway staring at me, undoubtedly disappointed at my epic fail. I didn’t bother to reach out with my energy and confirm what I believed to be true. I was already mad enough.

  Instead, I turned away and stormed through the gate, slamming it closed behind me.

  Chapter Seven

  When I returned home, everyone but TS was there. The nasty text I’d received from Nico while on the bus had told me I was late for a debriefing I hadn’t been aware we were going to have—a point I’d made abundantly clear in my reply. I’d garnished it with expletives just to be sure he got it.

  Not wanting to make a big show of my entrance, I threw my leather jacket onto a kitchen chair and joined Alek on the couch. Nico and Muses were arguing over the best plan of action, given that their collective research on Ward and Sully had revealed nothing overly damning.

  “We need to send a message,” Nico argued, his voice getting louder. “You said yourself that one of the rules mandated by the PC was no dead bodies at fight club. Ward was pretty fucking dead, so I think our course of action is obvious.”

  “Nothing is black and white, Nico. Your father knows a thing or two about that,” Muses replied.

  “My father isn’t here.”

  “No, which is why he has left me in charge in Chicago in his stead. Though he isn’t my favorite, he does know how to do his job. He’s successfully maintained the balance this long because he knows when to push and when to step back.”

  “No way would my father let this shit slide.”

  “Perhaps he would if he saw the bigger picture,” Alek interjected. Nico turned murderous eyes on him before staring Muses down again.

  “Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile,” Nico said, anger clear in his voice. I didn’t have to see them to know his eyes had gone jet black, just like our father’s did when he was furious.

  “Take away that inch and you leave them with nothing. Desperate men are hard to control,” Alek replied.

  “So…” I said, somewhat afraid to draw attention to myself, “there has to be a happy medium here, right? Like making a show of how you’re willing to allow the club to continue because the death was deemed an accident? Maybe they’d see the PC as tough but fair? That can’t be a bad thing.”

  “Or it could start a rebellion,” Nico argued, looking at me like I’d lost my damn mind. Maybe I had.

  “So could shutting them down over an accident,” Muses countered.

  While Nico and Muses stood toe-to-toe, staring one another down, I decided a distraction was necessary. One that might prove advantageous.

  “I have an idea,” I said, pushing off the couch. “Jenkins offered me a job at this bar, The Joint, which, as it turns out, is actually his bar, and I tentatively agreed. TS doesn’t seem to trust him, and he asked me to feel him out. I thought I’d take the job so I could keep an eye on Jenkins for TS, but there’s an unexpected upside to this. The bar is the watering hole for a huge part of the supernatural community. I could be a fly on the wall in there—get info from the unknowing bastards. Apparently a lot of the fighters go there too…”

  “How interesting,” Muses said, turning to look at me. “Your identity is still protected. This idea has merit for myriad reasons, Sapphira.”

  “Exactly!”

  “But what the fuck has this got to do with shutting down the fight club?” Nico asked. His furrowed brow told me exactly how much he enjoyed me siding with Muses over him. I was certain I’d hear about that later.

  “Because I can find out how the PC’s actions are interpreted by those affected. If they’re grateful, then we’ve won. If they think we’re pussies, then we’ll need a plan B, and fast.”

  “The damage would already be done,” Nico said, flipping a dismissive hand at me.

  “Not necessarily,” Ferris said from where he stood in the kitchen, leaning his elbows on the island. “We have shown mercy before only to take it back later. Those that witnessed it were brought to yield.” Muses looked over at Ferris and gave a nod, as if in acknowledgment of a battle long past that they’d handled together. “I think the potential information Sapphira might learn could be invaluable, providing the lone wolf can be trusted to keep her anonymity.”

  “TS can handle that,” Muses said.

  “Or I could.” The irritation in my tone was plain. “Jenkins has met Nyx. He doesn’t have a death wish. If my identity is compromised, he knows his head would be first up on the chopping block. He also knows that mercy wouldn’t be shown in that case, even if we couldn’t prove he was the one to out me. No, in that regard, Jenkins is the least of our worries.”

  “Then it is settled. The fight club remains open, and Sapphira will be our informant. In the meantime, Nico and Alek can dig a little deeper on Sully and Ward to be certain that nothing was missed. I can tolerate looking merciful, but I won’t tolerate looking like a fool,” Muses said. He turned back to Nico. “Make sure that doesn’t happen. If it turns out that Ward’s death was intentional, I will tear that place apart myself.”

  With a swagger that made me nuts, Muses walked to the front door and disappeared through it, slamming it behind him.

  “Well that was fun,” I said, exhaling hard.

  “You took his side?” Nico growled at me. “How the fuck could you do that? And Muses of all people…”

  I shrugged. “Because I thought he was right.”

  “This is going to end in disaster, Phira. Trust me on that.”

  Nico stormed away in the opposite direction from Muses, toward the stairs that led up to the living quarters. Alek stood as if to follow, but came to me first.

  “He’s a bit on edge today. I think he, like you, is having a harder time dealing with reliving the deaths.”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring at the door Nico had disappeared behind. “I get that.”

  “What of the lone wolf? Can he be trusted?”

  I let out a sigh. “From what I can tell, yes. I don’t get anything malicious from him—at least not toward me. But I’ll push a bit and see what else I can learn. TS said he can’t get a read off him and therefore doesn’t trust him, which gives me pause.”

  Alek, usually not prone to showing much emotion, smiled at me, if only slightly.

  “Glad to see that something—or someone—has that ability.”

  He walked off before I could reply, following Nico’s path.

  “So Phira,” Cy called out from where he sat at the table, “should we know more about this
job of yours?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m literally bartending, which basically means I can liquor up anyone of interest until they tell me what I want to know.”

  “That’s your big plan?” he asked, mischief in his voice. “Booze is your secret weapon?”

  “No.” I smiled back at him before I yanked the hem of my shirt down, exposing the swells of my breasts. “These are.” His eyes went wide before he slammed them shut, turning away from me. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Joking and breasts aside,” Ferris said, his voice as serious as my father’s, “you need to be smart about this. Don’t overplay your hand.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied over my shoulder. “I’m going to message TS now and let him know the plan. I know it bothers him that he’s gone. I don’t want him to be out of the loop.”

  The Fates all nodded at me in approval, Zale still not having said a word since I arrived. That made me nervous, like he might have one of his bizarre outbursts any second, so I hurried out of the room and up to the roof to contact TS. I sat down on the roof’s edge and pulled out my phone. I started to write a text, then decided to call and leave a message instead. It would just be easier.

  I waited for his phone to go straight to voicemail, but instead, he answered.

  “Phira, is something wrong?”

  “No! No, everything is fine. I just wanted to get back to you about Jenkins. You asked me to look into him and I did. I was going to leave you a message.”

  “Now you can just tell me in person, so to speak.”

  “Is that okay? Aren’t you working?”

  “It can wait a moment.”

  “Oh. All right then.” I paused long enough to get my thoughts together. What had seemed like a long report suddenly came up short, which made me feel silly for having called him at all. A text would have sufficed. “So…I think Jenkins is fine, but I’m going to work at the bar he owns so I can probe a bit deeper into what his deal is.” Silence. “It’s called The Joint…I’ve been there before. Huge supernatural hangout.”

  “You’ve told the others about this plan?” he asked.

  “Yeah. They’re all fine with it. It’ll be good for the PC in general. I can gather all kinds of dirt on the supernatural goings-on in town. It’s a win-win.”

  More silence.

  “Sounds like an excellent plan.” Something in his tone told me he was less than enthused. Had he been standing in front of me, I was sure he’d be wearing his impassive expression that hid everything he felt—possibly even the truth.

  “It’ll be fine, TS. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Mhmm…”

  He choked out a laugh. “Perhaps we can talk more about it when I return.”

  “Which will be when, exactly?”

  “Yet to be determined, it seems. But I will let you know when I know.”

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  I could hear male voices in the distance on his end. They sounded stressed and angry. Not a good sign.

  “I should get back to work.”

  “Yeah, you should. Slacker.”

  The sound of his laughter in response to my jab made me smile. “I will see you soon, Phira.”

  Then he hung up.

  I shook my head and tucked my phone back into my pocket. Then I stared out over Chicago and contemplated how I could make the most of my job with Jenkins. And how best not to screw it up.

  Chapter Eight

  I walked into the bar I’d last been in with Gabe, and my heart sank. Remembering him—how he’d once been—always hurt. In that moment, it hurt a little more.

  “So this is really going to happen, huh?” Jenkins asked, standing up from behind the bar.

  “Sure looks that way.”

  He leaned against the black counter, elbows propped with his chin settled on his fists. He was assessing me yet again. Then he extended his hand toward me.

  “Welcome aboard. There are few things you should know about me first. My friends call me Jenks, and I’ll be a complete pain in the ass if you fuck with me or my bar. Also, it’s probably worth noting that my favorite things in the world are whiskey and women. Preferably both at once.”

  He smiled at me, a genuine smile that made him look like an entirely different being than the one I’d known him to be. The one who liked to lord thinly veiled threats over me for sport.

  “Then I guess it’s only fair that you know a few things about me as well. My friends call me Phira, but since we aren’t friends, Sapphira will do just fine. I’m a total loose cannon and a raging bitch who will make your life miserable if you give me cause to. My favorite things are whiskey and kicking ass. Looks like we have at least one thing in common.”

  “You’re part wolf too, so there’s that.”

  “There is that,” I agreed, forcing a tight smile.

  “And you can run really fast.” He winked at me before withdrawing his hand. “Let me give you the rundown on this place. We do mix here—humans and supernaturals—which is why there’s a strict policy about keeping your powers in check. I wouldn’t want the PC showing up and shutting me down, now would I?” His smile widened. “You know how to bartend?”

  “Sort of, but I know how to drink, so…”

  A paperback book came flying over the counter at my head. The Bartender’s Bible. “Read it. Learn it.”

  “Cute.”

  “If you can’t make a drink, you can’t work here.” His serious expression let me know he wasn’t joking.

  “Fine. I’ll read it.”

  “Good. Now, you have prep work to do every night. Since I’m assuming you took this job because you want to spy for the PC, you need to look legit to everyone that comes here—works here too, for that matter—so you have to do it. It’s the only way to keep the others from getting suspicious.”

  “Prep work. Got it.”

  “And,” he said, sounding overly dramatic, “you have to be nice to the customers.” I feigned a pout. “I mean it. No nasty comebacks. No bitchy rants. Basically, no talking to anyone like they’re me, okay?”

  A heavy sigh escaped me. “I suppose I can do that. But what if somebody gets handsy?”

  His expression sobered. “Then you can knock him the fuck out with my blessing.”

  I couldn’t suppress my smile. “I think you’re growing on me, Jenkins.”

  He smiled back. “Ditto, half-breed. Ditto.”

  After the grand tour of the place, which was far larger than I’d remembered, I was left alone to clean and stock the front bar while Jenkins worked in the back office. It was too quiet, so I hunted down the sound system to put on some music. It made the one at Sinful look like a toy; I was pretty sure I could have landed a space shuttle with that much technology. Instead, I found a large plastic bowl out front and dumped out its assorted contents. I queued up my music on my phone and placed it in the bowl. Voila! Instant sound amplifier.

  Humming to myself, I started polishing the countertops and dusting off the bottles on the top shelf. They looked sad and neglected up there—like nobody ever bothered to spring for high-quality liquor—so I decided to make it a point to have some later that night. Especially some of the whiskey.

  It wasn’t long before my humming became singing, which morphed into belting out the chorus of one of my favorite songs. Bent over the counter to reach the far edge, I let the notes fly out and echo through the empty space. It sounded amazing, like it used to when I’d sing at the music conservatory back east: the place TS used to take me when he knew I was on edge.

  I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings, which was typical when I was lost in song, so I jumped when a low, sultry voice joined in when I started the second verse. I looked over my shoulder to find Jenkins lurking near the entrance to the back of the bar, smiling as he sang along. Behind him were a couple of other guys and a younger kid—maybe mid-teens at best. His tan skin and dark brown eyes caught me off guar
d. So did his mischievous smile.

  It was like looking at a younger Gabe.

  “You can sing,” Jenkins said with a sense of awe.

  “Um, yeah. Lots of people can,” I replied.

  “Not like that.” He shook his head back and forth, each pass more convincing than the one before. “I don’t need you behind the bar. I need you on stage.”

  “Oh no. Hard pass on that.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very.”

  He started to argue then stopped himself short, seeming to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  “You’re afraid to…”

  “No,” I argued, “I just don’t want to. Not the same thing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Not shit. The truth.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Who’s the chica?” mini-Gabe asked, staring at me like he was far more interested in the answer than he should have been.

  “That’s Sapphira. She’s going to be working here,” Jenkins explained.

  Mini-Gabe muttered in Spanish under his breath while his hungry eyes remained pinned on me.

  “Kid, you wouldn’t last thirty seconds,” I replied, much to his surprise.

  “He’s not trying to fight you—”

  “I’m well aware of what he’s trying to do, Jenkins,” I said, cutting him off. “I know fuck-me eyes when I see them.” And I’d seen them on a similar face more times than our short relationship should have afforded.

  “Give me a shot and you’ll find out,” the boy said, lifting his chin a notch. Under that wave of confidence, I realized something I should have right away. Mini-Gabe was human. Very, very human.