Maeve’s Book of Beasts

by Deborah Cooke

  “She’s summoning you,” Raymond whispered.

  “I’ll go alone,” she whispered back. “It’ll be fine.”

  Raymond moaned. He hated the Fae realm and he hated being separated from Mel. His fear of Maeve trumped all, though, and he cowered in a corner, trying to make himself invisible as the red and black light began to pulse.

  Mel knew she would be interrogated, perhaps by the dark queen herself. She’d want that book back. And even though Sebastian was a reluctant ally, Mel wouldn’t betray him or Micah. She pushed their images and names from her thoughts, as well as her recollection of everything that had happened since she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She gave the memory to Raymond for safekeeping, then voided it from her own mind.

  She could only hope it would be enough.

  One

  Bones.

  Not a really promising name for a restaurant, in Sylvia’s opinion. The area was skeevy, too, and she’d been looking over her shoulder for the last four blocks.

  Emily, characteristically, was undeterred. She marched right in the door of the restaurant—which was blacked out and had a security grill that could be locked over it when closed—and took a deep breath.

  “Oh yeah.” Emily smiled, apparently unaware of how odd the place was. The restaurant was in a converted warehouse in a zone near the docks that hadn’t yet been gentrified. It had a bit of edge as a result. They’d stepped around street pizza on their way in, and passed a lot of gang tags on the walls. Sylvia had made a mental note to head home early.

  “When I wished for my life to get more interesting, I wasn’t hoping to be mugged and left for dead in an alley,” Sylvia complained.

  “Which shows a real lack of adventure on your part,” Emily said with a grin. She shook a finger at Sylvia and opened the door. “Root of the issue, I think.”

  “There are lots of restaurants serving pulled pork closer to my place. Much nicer restaurants in much safer neighborhoods.”

  “But you only live once, Syl, and this place is supposed to be the best.”

  The interior space was huge, and so dark that Sylvia knew she couldn’t see it all. How high did the ceiling go? It was lost in shadows. There was an exposed brick wall on the other side of the bar, and the windows were all glass blocks. That gave the place an industrial air, but probably was more secure. The bar was in the middle of the space, a big open rectangle that was a natural focus. The counters on each side were long and black, polished to a shine, with stools on the outside perimeter. There was an island in the middle, stacked with all kinds of liquor, and glasses hung from racks over the bartenders’ head. Sylvia guessed that they could have four or five bartenders easily working in that space, although there was only one at the moment. She was tiny, with dark hair, thick eyeliner and a lot of silver jewelry.

  Every table was empty. Empty restaurants at meal time were never a good thing. It was Thursday night at seven. They shouldn’t have been the only customers.

  Emily waved to the cluster of staff at the bar, who seemed unaware of their arrival. “Hey there!”

  The three waitresses and bartender turned to look at them, as if they were surprised by the presence of the two women.

  It wasn’t that early.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Sylvia asked in an undertone. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Emily had led them astray with her online research. “We could go somewhere else.”

  “Why? It’s got great ambiance, and the food smells really good.” Emily tapped on her phone, pulling up the listing. “Bones offers a unique ambiance in an unexpected neighborhood and the best pulled-pork barbeque in Manhattan. A hidden gem. Three forks. No reservations required. Sounds good to me. Do you know how long it’s been since I had some really rocking barbeque?”

  “The people look a little weird.”

  Emily gave Sylvia a despairing look. “Please. This is Manhattan. Weird comes with the territory.”

  “Not usually this weird. I know from weird. I live here.”

  “You don’t live around here. It said ‘unique ambiance’. Yoo hoo!” Emily waved again, as no one had moved closer. “If you’re over the big city, Syl, you can always come back to Podunk Junction with me in the morning.”

  “Don’t make fun of your small town. That’s not even what it’s called. And you love it there.”

  “I do, but only because I’m there with Mike, my hot gingerbear heart-throb. If I was looking for a man there, I’d come screaming back downtown in a heartbeat.” Emily smiled at the approaching hostess. “For two, please.”

  The hostess was in Goth gear, as if it was still the mid-eighties, and had a lot of tattoos. Her skirt was black leather and very short. Her stockings were torn fishnets, and her eyeliner was the thickest Sylvia had seen in a while. She was wearing a Ramones T-shirt, torn and embellished with safety pins. What was really strange was the cloud that followed her, the one that seemed to be filled with seething black snakes. That was definitely unusual.

  Sylvia blinked and it disappeared.

  She really needed something to eat. She was starting to see things.

  The hostess showed them to a booth and left them with menus, never saying a word. Sylvia watched her retreat, looking for the snakes, but to her relief they were gone.

  Emily picked up the menu. “I’m starving,” she whispered, running a finger down the list of offerings.

  Sylvia knew from experience that Emily would order enough for both of them.

  “Wine?” she asked, hoping.

  “Beer,” Emily said flatly. “You have to have beer with barbeque. Or tequila.”

  “I’d rather have wine.”

  “You’d rather have a grilled chicken breast with steamed veggies, too, but you lose. It’s your birthday and my treat.” She gave Sylvia an intent look. “This is part of the grand adventure, which you wished for. Life gets more interesting right now.”

  “I could wait until tomorrow.”

  “I’m only here now, and I have to work with opportunity. There will be no vegetables tonight, unless they’re battered and deep-fried.”

  “Why do I have the sense that you’ll fight me even on that?”

  “Because you know me so well.” Emily smiled. “And to know me is to love me.” She waved a hand. “And to eat barbeque and battered fries with me is the dream of every sentient being. Trust me on that.”

  Sylvia smiled. Emily was enjoying the menu so much that she looked around again, leaving the choices to her friend.

  They definitely had crossed to the wrong side of the tracks, and probably looked completely out of place. She was wearing black, but her jacket and skirt were sleek separates. Emily, of course, was wearing purple from head to toe, and had even put a bit of purple dye in her hair since the last time they’d seen each other. She might as well have been wearing a neon sign that said Visiting from the ’Burbs.

  Or Podunk Junction.

  But Sylvia’s sense of danger came from more than the neighborhood. There was a haze in the air and she felt a weird prickling at the back of her neck, as if lightning was going to strike. She wondered if the wiring was up to code.

  One thing was for sure—she’d avoid any armwrestling contests with either of the waitresses. They were tough-looking chicks, with copious tattoos. Maybe she and Emily didn’t look like they belonged because they had no ink.

  A burly guy had appeared and was talking to the bartender, apparently giving instructions. He could have been the leader of a biker gang. He was stocky and short, and spoke gruffly to the tiny dark-haired bartender. Sylvia squinted, seeing something green floating over her head. It looked almost like a miniature dragon, but that would have been nuts.

  Again, she blinked and it vanished.

  Come to think of it, one of the waitresses had one, too. Hers looked like a black bird. A crow or a raven. When Sylvia tried to get a better look, it vanished, too.

  “Does everyone look like they have auras to you?” she asked
Emily.

  Emily met her gaze over the top of the menu. “You’re forgetting yourself. I’m the flaky one. You’re the practical one. If anyone’s going to see auras, it’s going to be me.”

  “Do you?”

  Her friend turned and looked. “No. Do you?”

  “I think so.”

  Emily put down her menu, her eyes narrowed. “Did you start celebrating early?”

  “No!”

  “But you’re seeing auras. Uh huh. What’s mine like?”

  “You don’t have one.”

  Emily pouted. “Who does?”

  “That bartender has a green one that reminds me of a dragon, and the hostess has one that looks like snakes.”

  “Snakes?”

  Sylvia nodded. “Black ones. And the one waitress has a black bird.”

  “Yuck.” Emily shivered then looked again. This time, she straightened with interest. “How about him?”

  Sylvia followed her friend’s gaze and then she stared. A guy had appeared from somewhere and he was standing by the bar. He had dark hair and he was looking straight at her. No, he was staring. He was tall and lithe, really good looking, and apparently fascinated by her. When their gazes met, he didn’t look away, and there was a hunger in his expression that made Sylvia shiver.

  She blushed and looked back at her menu.

  Was he an employee or a patron? Sylvia didn’t know. He seemed to be lit by red neon from behind, like she wasn’t supposed to miss him.

  “Suddenly, it’s a bit warm in here,” Emily teased, then leaned across the table to whisper. “What’s his aura like?”

  Sylvia didn’t have to look again. “Pulsing red.”

  “Like a volcano?”

  “Like sex on demand, on red satin sheets, all weekend long.” Sylvia could see the bedroom, the red and black wallpaper, the four-poster bed painted glossy black, the millions of candles—and the inescapable sense that the bed was an altar for worshipping pleasure. She swallowed, easily imagining his hand sliding over her skin in a smooth caress, that little smile—a lot like the one he was smiling now—then his possessive kiss...

  “Happy birthday to you,” Emily whispered gleefully. “You’re getting wild already and I take full responsibility.”

  “I’m not getting wild...”

  “Good evening, ladies,” that very man said from beside their table. Sylvia jumped and his eyes glinted. He was even more gorgeous up close. His voice was deep and rich, and he spoke in a leisurely way, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was savoring the feel of every syllable on his lips. His eyes were a strikingly vivid blue and his gaze was so piercing that she felt like hiding. He smiled a little more. “Anything to drink tonight?”

  Sylvia was about to decline, thinking of their walk back to civilization, but Emily spoke up.

  “Of course,” she said with her usual cheerfulness. “It’s my friend’s birthday and we’re out to celebrate.”

  “Happy birthday,” he murmured, like a lover whispering sweet nothings in the night.

  It was suddenly very hot in the restaurant.

  “Thanks,” Sylvia said, feeling a bit breathless. Either she’d been alone too long or this guy exuded sexual magnetism. She stole a peek and decided it was him.

  “I read online about your pulled pork specialty and decided it would be exactly right for the occasion,” Emily said.

  “It’s very popular,” he agreed and Sylvia stole another glance. He was watching her. There was something intimate about his expression, as if they’d met before—no, as if they’d been lovers—but she knew she didn’t know him.

  His pulsing red aura, which made her think of sex and passion, pleasure and desire, didn’t help.

  “What’s your meanest cocktail?” Emily asked.

  “I thought you wanted a beer,” Sylvia protested. If they started with mixed drinks, she really might do something she’d regret.

  “I turned the page and changed my mind. All these pretty pictures.” Emily smiled at the waiter. “Something really showy. Something we’ve never had before.”

  “Name Your Poison,” he said smoothly.

  “I just did,” Emily complained.

  “That’s the name of the drink,” Sylvia said, earning a quick glance from the waiter, and Emily laughed when she understood.

  “We want two of those, and make them doubles.”

  “Emily! I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Tell me that anyone in the basement archives of the library will notice if you’re hung over.”

  “You’re a librarian, then,” the waiter with the dark chocolate voice asked. He actually seemed to be interested.

  “Yes.”

  “She works at the—” Emily started to say, but Sylvia kicked her under the table. She was always providing too much information. “Too hard,” Emily continued, trying to recover. “Working all the time, that’s my studious friend. She misses out on real life.”

  Sylvia only shook her head, well accustomed to her friend’s teasing. “You make up for me.”

  “And how!” Emily pointed at the waiter. “Five kids, two husbands—”

  “At the same time?”

  “Sadly, no,” Emily replied quickly, then grinned. “Twice around the world, once on a boat, and now shacked up with my gingerbear in Podunk Junction.”

  “Content.”

  “Mostly.” Emily smiled at him. “And you?”

  “Old enough to be weary of the world and its tribulations,” he acknowledged, his glance slanting to Sylvia. “But not of its pleasures.”

  Their gazes held for a simmering moment, one long enough for Sylvia’s mouth to go dry.

  “I’m starving,” Emily said. “We’ll have this combo platter with two kinds of fries and okra. We’re officially living dangerously tonight.”

  “A salad,” Sylvia said, but Emily waved off the suggestion.

  “There’s always tomorrow for salad. Bring on the carbs and the meat, and we’ll love it now, even if we regret it tomorrow morning.”

  “Savor the moment,” their waiter said.

  “Get it while you can,” Emily agreed.

  Sylvia shook her head, knowing that she’d never change Emily’s mind. Portion control was the only thing that would save her.

  “I’ll just get those drinks,” he said, managing to fill even those banal words with sensual promise. He sauntered back to the bar and Sylvia couldn’t help herself—she checked out his butt.

  “If you want to indulge in a private birthday celebration, I can go to a hotel,” Emily whispered, as ready to facilitate as ever.

  “You can’t! It’s too expensive.”

  “Then you can go to a hotel and I’ll feed your cat before I catch the train in the morning. Promise.”

  “I don’t have a cat.”

  “All the better. Less work for me.”

  “I’m not taking him home.”

  “Then go to his place.”

  “I’m not doing that either!”

  “You should.”

  “Because it worked out so well last time.”

  “Oh, the jerk is gone.” Emily never called Sylvia’s ex by name. She’d hated Nolan that much. “They’re not all losers like that big loser. And the only way you’ll find a keeper is by getting into the pool again.” She was already mixing metaphors and hadn’t even had a drink yet.

  “I need a little time.”

  “You need a couple of orgasms. Big screaming ones that make you bang your fists on the wall and wake up the neighbors. Have two and call me in the morning.”

  Of course, the waiter came back in time to hear Emily’s advice. Sylvia could see that he was biting back a smile but she didn’t meet his gaze. She did not want to have a conversation with this man about orgasms, hers or anyone else’s.

  Never mind two of them.

  She could see that bedroom even more clearly, though. It was almost like a spell. It seemed that when he was close to her, each breath she took made the vision s
tronger, until she felt she could reach out and feel the velvet flocking on the wallpaper—or run one hand over his shoulder.

  She closed her eyes and indulged in the vision. His lips were curved in that dangerous smile as he shut the door, sealing them into the chamber of pleasure. His eyes were filled with secrets, like deep wells she could jump into and never be found again. He crossed the room toward her, unfastening his shirt, gradually revealing his chest and her mouth went dry...

  Sylvia picked up the drink, as much for something to do with her hands as anything else. It was green with fruit hanging on the side of the glass and there was something darker swirling in the bottom of the glass. She supposed it was intended to look like a poisonous potion. The fruit was on a miniature plastic dagger. She took a sip and felt as if she’d tasted liquid fire. That one small mouthful blazed a path to her stomach then combusted, leaving her seeing stars and feeling like her skin was on fire. She was sure she broke a sweat and that her knees were wobbly.

  “This is good,” Emily said, nodding approval after sipping her drink. “It tastes like lemonade, but with a bit of a kick.”

  “It tastes like nitro-glycerine,” Sylvia said, pushing it aside.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Emily said with a grin. “I’ve never tried that.”

  “Could I have a glass of wine, please?” she asked the waiter.

  “Of course.” He didn’t ask her what kind, which was a bit odd, but before Sylvia could speak up, he slid something onto the table in front of her. “A little something from the management to commemorate your special day,” he said in that sultry voice, the one that made all her good bits shiver. His hand lingered on it for a moment.

  It was a book. A hardcover notebook.

  She glanced up and his smile broadened. “Perhaps the perfect gift for a librarian,” he added, inviting her to agree.

  “Absolutely,” Emily said. “Sylvia’s the last person on the planet who loves paper books. I like my ebooks. I can take a whole library anywhere with me...”