“Hey, all I did was save your ass.”
“Uh-huh. Help me get him into the SUV.”
It took Hank and me a good fifteen minutes to drag the two-hundred-fifty-pound jinn to the back of the SUV, pick him up, and deposit him into the back. I’d have to drive with the windows down all the way to Underground.
CHAPTER 10
We drove into one of the delivery lanes near Underground, parked, and then Hank heaved Len over his shoulder. Making a scene hadn’t been something we’d planned for. In fact, we really didn’t have a plan at all. Unless walking into the Lion’s Den and asking the biggest tribe boss this side of the Mason-Dixon to forgive an unforgiveable debt was a plan—well then, we had a doozy.
I followed Hank’s large form through Underground, acutely aware of the stares and openmouthed gawks we received. It wasn’t every day you saw a siren carrying an unconscious jinn through the streets.
Despite the old-fashioned-style streetlamps that burned twenty-four hours a day, the light on Solomon Street was murky at best, the perfect environment for crooks and convicts. Old Savannah bricks paved the street. Peddlers occupied alleyways. Butcher shops, inns, bars, herberies, magic shops, and strip clubs practically spilled onto the sidewalk. Doors stayed open. Inventory was piled against walls and storefronts. Small carts had permanent spaces on curbs. Open fires burned in barrels, making the air steamier than normal. This was the Charbydon quarter, and while they could tolerate the sunlight, they liked things crowded, hot, and dark.
Despite the atmosphere, there was a modicum of safety here during the day. The true danger lurked in the back rooms, alleys, and late nights. But for me, daytime or not, the danger was very real with a debt hanging over my head.
The farther we went down Solomon Street, the more attention we attracted. Business owners and patrons came out of storefronts to watch our procession. There was no way to hide the artificial pheromones Len cast off. Every jinn female stopped and sniffed the air as we passed by. In the darkness, their rapt violet eyes glowed eerily, lit from within.
No one stopped us. There was no need. From the moment we stepped onto Solomon Street, Grigori Tennin had known. I cast a glance over my shoulder, and wasn’t surprised to see the hulking silhouettes of four jinn warriors following behind us, spanning the breadth of the street, their dark forms passing in and out of shadow and the orange glare of open fires. There was no turning back now.
Tennin’s home and business encompassed the long stretch of buildings at the dead end of the street. A sleazy strip club, bar, and gambling establishment called the Lion’s Den was the tribe’s base of operations. The bar and strip club covered the first floor. The upper level housed the gambling parlor. The tribe, however, lived in the earth.
Underneath Solomon Street, the jinn had excavated a vast network of tunnels and chambers.
Bulky ironwork framed the rough-planked front door, the coarse handle warm to my touch as I opened the heavy door. The heat had become oppressive. Sweat beaded my brow and lower back. I stood back, allowing Hank to cross the threshold. He wasn’t immune to the heat either, or the strain of carrying two hundred plus pounds of jinn warrior. Sweat dampened his shirt and face and darkened his blond hair.
Once inside, the first thing to hit me was the smell; of earth, wood-smoke, and tar. It was like we had just descended into a deep cave near an active volcano.
The bar was doing steady business. A darkling fae—a sidhé fae would never be caught dead in a place like this—danced onstage to an old seductive jazz tune I couldn’t name. She was topless and wore only knee-high red boots and a sequined red thong. While her reed-like luminescent body writhed to the music, her face was passionless and void. She danced on autopilot, her slanted eyes open but glazed over and never really focusing on anyone or anything.
A jinn worked behind the bar. The tables were waited on by two jinn females. They were muscular and just as menacing as the males. Except for their gray skin, they reminded me of Amazon warriors with their long black braids and sinewy forms. The rest of the patrons were jinn, ghouls, imps, goblins, and one or two humans thrown in.
As soon as Hank deposited the spell-drunk Len on the wooden floor, the two jinn females swung their heads in our direction and stilled completely, trays in hand, and eyed us with a hunger that bordered on violence.
A bouncer came forward just as our escorts entered behind us. We were surrounded.
Like a domino effect, each being realized who I was. The fae backed off the stage as tension and the unmistakable scent of bloodlust added its mix to the thick earthy air.
“Tell Grigori Tennin we’re here,” I said, surprised that my voice came out steady.
The bouncer curled his lip and prepared to either spit at me or curse me, but before he could do either, I grabbed his wrist, whirled behind him, and brought his arm to his back, wrenching it as high and hard as I could and bending three of his fingers back at an unnatural angle. I might have been smaller and lighter, but I could bring any male to his knees. And this one hit the floor hard. I shoved my knee against the back of his neck, holding him down. He growled. Chairs scraped across the floor. Weapons were drawn and my heart pounded with adrenaline.
No one moved.
Hank had moved beside me, Nitro-gun drawn.
A door along the back wall creaked and my eye moved off the bartender with his shotgun propped on the bar, aimed at my chest.
A female walked through, tall and unusual looking with large, slanted eyes, a wide mouth, and high cheekbones. Her skin was the color of muted silver, without the shine, and without a single blemish. A hybrid. A rare and prized commodity in the jinn world—the only place one like her was accepted in society. Aboveground she would have experienced discrimination from almost every off-world quarter imaginable. A sad, but true, fact of life. It wasn’t fair, by any means.
She walked with slow, fluid steps, her lithe body accentuated by a dark gray jersey dress that ended at the knee and black knee-high boots that added four inches to an already tall frame. While the dress covered her from neck to wrists to knee, it molded to her body and was more provocative than the naked stripper on stage.
As she drew closer, I saw she had the most incredible eyes: violet and indigo blue, a mix I’d never seen on human or off-worlder. They were framed by thick lashes and long, heavy snow-white hair parted in the middle and swept back into a spiky pile at the base of her neck. She was striking, and I found myself staring despite the things I’d seen in my lifetime. I snuck a quick glance at Hank, hoping it wasn’t just me. He had the same fascinated reaction.
In fact, everyone had the same reaction, and I got the feeling they knew her but didn’t get to see her nearly as much as they would’ve liked.
She didn’t seem to care about the weapons or the state of near-war in the bar. Her gaze was fixed on me, and she seemed to find the whole thing rather dull. She halted in front of us, taller than me, but only because of the high-heeled boots. Her eyes flicked to Hank and then back to me as her nostrils flared slightly, sampling the air around me. Her eyelids drifted closed for a second. “Hmm,” she barely breathed. A cold hand closed lightly over mine, and I released my hold on the bouncer as though in a trance.
She leaned in closer as though breathing me in. The invasion of my personal space should’ve alarmed me, but I didn’t care. My pulse leapt, and I had to force my eyelids to remain open as she leaned toward the left side of my face and neck. A shiver pricked my skin. The scent of pine and earth and something more feminine surrounded her, a faint aroma of fresh mint mixed with something else. Lavender, perhaps. Her soft chuckle stirred my hair.
“Grigori will see you,” she said in a deep, smoky tone, straightening back up and then walking back to the side door.
Hank shot me a quick questioning look as we moved forward. I shrugged, not understanding what had just happened any more than he did. The hybrid didn’t bother waiting for us to catch up.
I resisted the urge to fix my hair and smooth the skirt and torn sweater set. Instead of looking like a tough- as-nails officer, I was going into Grigori Tennin’s lair looking like some deranged secretary. Figured. I was going to make an impression, all right, just not the one I would have liked.
