by Jane Kindred
“Okay, now you have me curious.”
Lucy pushed him onto his back and climbed over him. “There’s nothing to be curious about. I just...get a little ugly when I’m fighting mad.”
So that was what she’d been talking about earlier. Something must happen to her appearance whenever she tapped into the infernal blood. But he’d been so out of it from the blow to his head that he hadn’t noticed. And she thought he’d find her less attractive because of it.
He opened his mouth to tell her that nothing could make her unattractive to him, but a sudden pressure squeezed his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Before he could make a sound or signal in some way to let her know, Lucy’s phone rang.
She glanced at it on the bedside table and bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s Lucien. He’s topside.”
He managed to sit up as she climbed off him, still trying to figure out what was going on. The pressure was getting worse. God, was he having a heart attack?
Lucy frowned at her phone as she listened. “What do you mean you have to go to Polly’s? Where are you?”
Oliver clutched his chest. He was having trouble breathing.
“You see? This is why I don’t like owing people anything. All right, all right. I’m on my way.” Lucy clicked off the call. “I have to help Lucien with something. I’m really sorry.” She paused as she slid off the bed and stared at him. “Oliver? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I feel very strange.”
Lucy considered for a moment. “You gave her a kiss.”
“You’re bothered about that right now?”
“Polly’s Grotto is under attack. Certain trinkets she’s received—like the kiss you gave her—are designed to keep her protected. Those who’ve gifted her with them feel compelled to come to her aid. She calls them her gammon—part of her siren ‘gam,’ like a dolphin pod. Lucien and his wife belong to that group. And from the look of you right now, I’m guessing you do, too. That’s what she’s doing with that little piece of your soul.” She grabbed his hand to pull him from the bed. “Come on. You’ll feel better when you answer the call.”
“Answer the call? I can’t leave Colt here alone. He’ll be scared when he wakes up in a strange place.”
“With the dose of ketamine he got, he won’t wake up for hours. But if you resist Polly’s call, I think you’re going to get very sick.”
Oliver sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Just the mention of Polly’s name was starting to feel like an imperative. God, how stupid had he been? Lucy was right. He had to go. The thought of doing so made him feel instantly better.
He went to the dresser to grab some clothes while Lucy put on the suit she’d been wearing earlier. “Did Lucien say anything else about what’s happening? Who would attack Polly?”
“He called it a ‘raid,’ but he doesn’t know anything else. He’s still on his way there.”
“A raid?” Oliver frowned as he buttoned his pants. “Darkrock.” They’d followed him the other night, and he’d led them right to a treasure trove of inhuman creatures.
Chapter 18
Lucy had been thinking the same, and their suspicions turned out to be right on the money. A small fleet of black vans and Humvees was parked in front of Polly’s when they arrived. The Grotto was normally protected by its own dimensional displacement, which meant Darkrock must have possessed some kind of magic to counter it. Only people with enhanced blood were able to find the place easily. It currently sat in a little corner of Sedona on the banks of Oak Creek—access to a living body of water was essential for the siren’s well-being.
Lucy wondered why Darkrock hadn’t already rounded up Polly’s clientele and carted them off in the vans to Darkrock’s headquarters. After all, it had taken Lucy and Oliver more than thirty minutes to get there. But it became obvious as soon as they entered the club. The doors to the outside disappeared.
Polly, in layers of red velvet and sporting a mane of flaming ruby hair to match, was surrounded by a group of her loyal gammon—Lucien and Theia among them. Even Rhea, apparently, had given Polly a drop of blood at some point in the past. She was there beside her sister, while the Viking, Leo, stood off to the side looking ready to start ripping souls out of the assembled operatives. Like Lucy, he was only there to help someone he cared about. And Darkrock had brought a small army. Which of course was their specialty. But their weapons would do them no good within the dimensional displacement field of the Grotto.
Oliver’s entrance caused a small stir among both groups.
“Hey, there he is. Chief Benally.” One of the operatives, a short, stocky ginger built like a fireplug and sporting a flattop with shaved sides, came forward and slapped Oliver on the back.
Oliver nodded tersely. “Artie.”
Polly’s eyes glittered with menace in the candlelight being thrown by a sort of rippling disco ball at the center of the club. “Son of Gwyn. You know these assholes?”
Who was Son of Gwyn? Lucy glanced around, surprised when Oliver moved away from her toward Polly. The gammon parted for him, as if they shared one mind.
“I know them,” said Oliver. “They’re my former comrades. I didn’t send them. But I believe I must have led them here the other morning.” He turned to stand as a sentry in front of her, arms crossed to display his pecs and biceps to excellent effect in the white T-shirt he’d thrown on. “They won’t come any closer.”
“You keep interesting company these days, Chief,” said the one Oliver had called Artie. “Quite a change from our Red Squad days.”
Oliver ignored the implied insult. “What have these people done to warrant the deployment of a full platoon of Darkrock troops?”
“That’s not a question you used to ask.”
“It’s a question I should have asked.” He addressed the other operatives. “One you should all be asking yourselves.”
“They follow my orders here,” Artie reminded him.
“And you follow Darkrock’s. Blindly.”
Artie rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God. When did you become such a cuck?”
Lucy couldn’t contain the sharp outburst of laughter the word always evoked.
Artie turned in her direction and looked her up and down contemptuously. “Oh, right. That’s when.” He turned back to Oliver. “Vanessa would be ashamed to be seen with you right now, man.”
Oliver’s arms unfolded slowly, as if he was about to take a fighting stance, his eyes smoldering. “Don’t talk about Vanessa.”
“What really happened the night you got her and the rest of the team killed? Were you standing there with your thumbs up your ass trying to decide whether a bunch of murdering bloodsuckers deserved a little consideration while they drained her dry?”
The siren put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Never mind your concerns. You can settle whatever score you like with them on your own time.”
Oliver nodded reluctantly and stepped back into formation. “Looks like we’re at an impasse here, boys. Maybe you should move along. Hunt your prey elsewhere.”
One of the other operatives made a sweeping gesture with his gun toward the group. “Looks to me like the predators are all in this room. What the hell is that freak?” He gestured toward the were-tiger beside Polly, the same one that had welcomed Lucy the last time she was here. The tiger growled low in his throat.
Polly stroked his fur. “Now, now, Giorgio.”
“I’m in command here, Finch,” Artie barked. “I’ll handle it.”
Polly sighed audibly and sat on the bench seat of the booth next to her, the velvet layers of her gown spreading out around her like a sea of flame. “I find this all very boring. And male.” She said the word as if it represented the height of banality. “What would be a really lovely twist to this little drama would be to watch all of you boys do each other. All that
sweating and grunting and groaning and clutching each other as you gave in to your primal desires.” She emphasized the active words with approximations of their sounds, and pumped her fists with a lewd insinuation to punctuate the sentence. “Just really giving it to each other. A strutting, hypermasculine man orgy for our entertainment.”
“Pols.” Lucien shook his head at her. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Lucy folded her arms and tilted her head with interest. If that was really something Polly could compel them to do, Lucy was here for it.
Artie spat on the floor, his fragile masculinity obviously threatened. “We’re immune to your mind games, bitch. Darkrock wouldn’t send us in here without adequate protection.”
Polly laughed. “Well, feel free to use all the protection you want. Safer sex is always advisable.”
“Very fucking funny.”
“So is your Freudian little tongue, you adorably angry little bundle of roid rage.”
Close enough for Lucy to hear, Finch leaned toward his team leader. “Stop provoking her, man. She’s just trying to get a rise out of us.”
Polly evidently heard it as well, judging by the ripple of delighted laughter that flowed out of her.
“Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead,” said Oliver, watching his former comrades with amusement.
“We’ll quit when we have what we came for,” Artie snapped.
“And what would that be?”
“These freaks.” He indicated the obviously inhuman creatures with a wave of his AK-47. “I’d particularly like to see Darkrock cut open the brain of that one.” For some reason, these guys were fixated on Giorgio, the tiger. Probably because he wore only fur and they were forced to acknowledge his furry, uncut junk.
Giorgio, however, had apparently had enough. He sprang forward with a snarl, and Artie opened fire—and discovered his weapon didn’t work. Oh, the humanity. Giorgio knocked him to the floor.
Polly examined her nails, demonstrating her eternal ennui. “Your little toys don’t work in here, boys. Did I forget to mention?”
Artie scrambled to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster, giving Giorgio a wide berth.
“You see, you may be immune to my influence—to a degree—but my Grotto is utterly immune to yours. You can certainly challenge my gammon to hand-to-hand combat if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” She looked up and nodded at Lucien. “Lucien, sweetheart, would you take off that skin, please?”
Theia and Rhea stood back automatically.
Lucien, whose human appearance in the physical world was only an illusion facilitated by Theia’s presence, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. With the sound of the joints cracking, his skin literally fell away, and he emerged from the shell he’d occupied as a full-size brilliant blue wyvern—reptilian eyes, horns, wings, tail and all—as far from human as one could get. With a roaring hiss, he took two steps forward on his lizard-like back legs, the shortened forearms ending in vicious claws, and his webbed wings raised above his head in a threatening posture, while his barbed tail switched in warning.
Lucy stole a glance at Oliver to see if he was making the connection between Lucien’s appearance and her infernal blood. He seemed unconcerned, perhaps under Polly’s thrall in some way that connected all of the gammon to each other with a collective consciousness.
The Darkrock troops wisely took a step back toward the front wall of the club, their AK-47s trained on Lucien despite the demonstration they’d just seen of the futility of the gesture.
Polly smiled at their alarmed expressions. “Who wants to challenge the Prince of Hell? Anyone? Or perhaps you’d feel more comfortable going up against the lovely twins? I believe the last time someone challenged them, he ended up being dragged straight to the bottomless pit, where he’s spending eternity sulking. You boys look like sulkers. Maybe we should just skip the formalities.”
“What the hell do you want?” Artie shot back, his voice shrill with frustration.
“Ah, now it’s what I want. A moment ago, you were making demands. You see, the thing about my little Grotto is that I decide who enters and who leaves. And if I choose, I can open a back door straight into hell, where lovely Lucien here will be happy to escort you to your eternal rest.”
Theia took an apologetic step forward. “It doesn’t really work like that,” she murmured.
“Nevertheless...” Polly glared at her. “I call the shots here. The Grotto is neutral territory, and any aggression toward my patrons will be met with the severest reprisals. So now that we understand each other, just let me know when you’re ready for me to show you the door. Literally. It’s still there, but I’ve kept you from seeing it.” She rolled her eyes. “Immune to my influence, my ass.” With a wave of her hand, the doors reappeared.
Without waiting for orders from their team leader, the rest of the Darkrock troops beat a hasty retreat.
Artie tried to save face. “This isn’t over, Benally.”
“Of course it’s over,” said Polly. “You won’t remember where the Grotto is by morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if you drive around all night trying to find your way back to the highway.”
The atmosphere in the club shifted from tense to relaxed, with people going back to their drinks and conversations, and the electronic dance music that had been just barely at the level of hearing now pumping and thumping as if nothing had happened. Lucien appeared human once more, and Leo had joined him and the twins, the four of them joking about something like they were old friends. Maybe they were. Lucy had never been one for friendships, and she hadn’t really kept track of what was happening with Lucien’s social life during his brief stays in the mortal plane.
She supposed she should tell Lucien the latest about the hell beast—and find out if he had any corroborating information. Oliver was occupied with Polly for the moment.
Lucy approached the group. “Hey, baby brother. Nice display earlier.”
Lucien grinned. “Yeah, sometimes being a monster comes in handy.”
“Speaking of monsters, I had another run-in with the creature I’ve been tracking. I think you’re right about it not being one of your fugitives.”
“Well, of course I’m right. I think I know what kind of creatures I have in my domain.”
“This time I was with Oliver, and we both saw something different, like it was manipulating our perception. I think it must be a coincidence after all that it showed up at the same time as the breach. Or maybe the breach drew it out of wherever it had been dormant.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it wants those hellhounds in a bad way. And I think it may have already gotten some of them.”
“Damn. I was afraid something might have happened to them.”
She was about to tell him about Colt, but the idea of sending the boy—creature—back was too fraught with personal conflict, and she wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.
“So, this Oliver you mentioned.” Lucien glanced toward Polly’s infamous booth, where Oliver still stood as if he were on guard. “That’s him with Polly? The ex-Marine?”
“Yeah, he’s my client.”
“Looks like he’s a little more than a client.”
Lucy realized how it must have appeared that they’d shown up together and had obviously been together when he called her and got her out of bed. For once, she didn’t have a smart comeback. Which was even more damning.
“Lucien, leave her alone.” Theia took Lucy’s arm. “I wanted to tell her about a dream I had.” She drew Lucy aside.
“A dream?” Lucy was skeptical of dream premonitions, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss them after having Theia dream-walk into hers.
“You were in the middle of a burning building, but the flames didn’t touch you. And there was a man made of flame holding your heart in his mouth.”
“A man made of flame?”
“Interpretation is always tricky. I wasn’t sure if it was a herald of something or a warning, you know? Good news or bad—it’s hard to tell. And sometimes it’s nothing. Anyway, I thought I’d pass it along. Often the meaning of the symbol is clearer to the subject of the dream. So...make of it what you will.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“I know what I’d make of it.” Rhea bounced over to them, draping an arm on her sister’s shoulder. “A man made of flame? As in a hot guy?” She gestured with an exaggerated roll of her eyes toward Oliver. “And I bet it’s not your literal heart in his mouth. Heart can be a euphemism for lots of things, like heart as in your core, your center. As in your—”
“Okay, MoonPie,” Theia interrupted and turned Rhea around, shoving her back toward Leo. “Go find a Valkyrie to play with or something.”
“Hey.” Rhea put her hands on her hips as Leo hooked his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on her head. “I told you that in confidence.”
“That was your first mistake.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow, not sure what that was about, but she was beginning to feel like the odd man out. After a nod to Lucien in a nonverbal goodbye, she made her way to Polly’s booth, where the siren was monopolizing Oliver’s attention with a stern lecture.
“I’m not at all impressed with your friends, Son of Gwyn.”
“I assure you, they’re not my friends.”
“The short one who kept barking orders and insulting people—he came here by himself earlier today, pretending to be a patron. I see now that he was taking inventory. I’ll have to beef up my wards that keep out nosy parkers like him. Thankfully, I can always count on my gammon to deal with any riffraff.”
“About that,” Lucy interrupted.
Polly glanced up at her with a sly smile. “Lucy, dear. Did you find what you were looking for Sunday afternoon?” She gave Oliver an appreciative look. “Oh... I guess you did. Well done.”
Oliver’s brow wrinkled. “You were here Sunday afternoon?”
Lucy ignored the question, addressing Polly. “You had no business tricking Oliver into joining your little gam. He’d never been here before. He hadn’t been warned about you.”
