I learned that my aversion to touch was a dangerous weakness when it came to hand-to-hand combat. I may know the moves, but when it came to executing those thrusts, flips, and punches, I held back. In close quarters fighting, a second’s hesitation can get you dead. Kicks and foot sweeps were less difficult, but I was a total mess when it came to using my hands. Forget grappling or throws. If a move involved getting up close and personal, and risking a vision, I froze. No matter how hard I drilled technique, I didn’t have the chops.
Jinx, on the other hand, was willing to follow through with her moves, but she lacked strength and experience. She was also the clumsiest person on the planet. Not that that stopped her. Jinx doesn’t give up easily. She still puts up with me, after all.
Thankfully, Jenna could spy our strengths as easily as weaknesses. That’s when she finally wore me down on my argument against the use of weapons. She put my physical strength and agility and Jinx’s enthusiasm to good use.
Jinx, surprisingly, had a skill for projectile weapons. With her steady hand and tenacity, I wouldn’t put it past my partner to master them all by next Christmas, but her current favorite was the crossbow.
Too bad she wasn’t carrying one right now. I’d be less worried knowing my roommate was armed. Instead, I pushed my legs to climb the hill faster. Night was closing in.
I reached the clurichaun’s shop and balked at the closed sign hanging in the window. Behind the sign, the shop lay dark and unwelcoming. Had the faerie locked up shop before taking Jinx into his bolt-hole? If so, I’d have a hard time getting my partner back. When someone has a secret hiding place they tend to keep it, well, secret. My only chance of finding Jinx was to enter the shop where I’d last seen the clurichaun.
In my haste to keep my friend safe, I’d put her life in the hands of a notorious drunkard. That was beginning to seem like a bad decision. I paced in front of the shop, trying to think. I needed to get inside.
I stepped forward and focused on the door, the letters on the sign swimming in my vision to reveal it hadn’t been flipped after all. The sign read “open” and the shop lights became visible, banishing the darkness. I let out a whoop of breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The closed sign and lack of interior lights were an elaborate glamour. The spell was probably cast by preset wards that were tripped when the clurichaun opened his bolt- hole. If the shop wasn’t actually closed, then perhaps the door wasn’t locked either. A girl could hope.
I reached out trembling fingers. Was the glamour the only defense activated when the clurichaun left the shop? I was about to find out. I took a deep breath, the knob turning easily beneath my gloved hand. So far so good. I pushed the door inward and flinched as a small bell rang overhead.
“Hello?” I asked.
The shop was empty. I breathed in the pungent smell of leather and tried to remain calm. Jinx was fine. I just had to contact the clurichaun, right? I spun in a slow circle looking around the store’s well-lit interior. More than once I hesitated, mistaking a display of leather jackets for someone standing in my peripheral vision. And don’t get me started on the mannequins. I could swear that their dead eyes followed me as I walked around the room. The damn things were creepy.
I stifled a shudder and searched for anything out of place. For a barfly, the clurichaun kept a tidy shop. Leather goods were displayed artfully around the room. As far as I could tell, everything was in its place. Even the boxes and shopping bags I’d dropped to the floor were stacked in an orderly row.
I rifled through the bags, lifting shoe boxes and folded clothing looking for a note or some indication as to where Jinx had gone, but they contained only the remnants of today’s shopping trip. I thrust the items back into the bags and growled like a barguest. There were no clues to indicate where the clurichaun had taken Jinx.
I left the main showroom and examined the counter at the rear of the shop. Something seemed to be missing. The memory of my previous visit niggled at me. I tried to conjure up an image of the counter from earlier today, but the memory slipped away like smoke. I’d been too focused on Melusine and the threat she posed.
I scanned the countertop and stopped to examine the register. Kaye had a secret button on her till that opened the back door of her shop. Maybe the clurichaun had a similar setup. I pressed each button with a gloved finger, but nothing happened.
I risked a glance outside. The sun was setting and it was getting dark. The shadows and fog seemed to swallow the city lights, leaving only darkness and the denizens who lurk within.
I spun back to the register and pounded my fist on the counter. I had to be missing something. There had to be a way to contact the clurichaun. I slouched and let my head roll forward, hiding behind the curtain of hair. If I couldn’t find a way into the faerie’s bolt-hole, I’d have to start seeking visions. I stared at my gloved fist and did a double take.
I slid my hand back across the counter to reveal a circle scratched into the wood. The marks were faint, as if from something sitting there for years. Suddenly, I remembered what was missing from the counter. When I was here earlier, there had been a shiny silver bell—the type you ring for service.
A slow smile spread across my face. I knew what to look for. Where had the clurichaun hidden his bell? I dug around behind the counter, turning waste baskets and drawers upside down.
“Come on bell, where are you hiding?” I muttered.
I walked back out to the showroom and something shimmered in my second sight. I focused and the bell appeared, sitting on top of a creepy mannequin head. I lunged forward and grabbed the bell. It was solid beneath my gloved fingers.
I hurried to the counter and placed the bell on the circle of scratches. Raising my hand and holding it out flat, palm side down, I hit the bell. A loud clang rang throughout the shop. Should I ring it again, perhaps three times? Kaye was always explaining how three was a powerful number when it came to magic…
“Hell-o,” a voice hiccup burped behind me.
I spun to see the clurichaun wave his hand and totter toward me. Jinx was sprawled on the floor behind him.
I rushed to my friend’s side and knelt on the polished wood floor. I steeled myself to remove my glove and check for a pulse—I’d never touched Jinx before, her secrets were her own business and not something I wanted to plunge into—when a lazy grin spread across her face. Jinx cracked opened her eyes and smiled even wider.
“Hey, girl,” she said. “Let’s go,
“Dancing,” I said. “Seriously? I doubt you can even walk.”
I imagined myself stumbling down Joysen Hill carrying my tall friend all the way home. The Old Port was a long walk from here and if I had to carry Jinx, my arms and legs would be useless in a fight. Running would also be impossible. I’d have to stumble down The Hill slow and defenseless. I grunted and sat back on my heels.
I raked a hand through my hair and pushed it out of my face while examining my friend. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Jinx drink too much, but she didn’t usually get this trashed. Oh shit.
“I asked you to protect her,” I said. I looked over my shoulder and narrowed my eyes at the clurichaun, and pointed at Jinx. “What did you give her?”
Turning back to Jinx, I nudged her with my knee.
“Hey, wake up,” I said. “Did you drink faerie wine?”
I’d drilled three things into Jinx’s head since I learned about faeries, demons, and the undead. Never give your blood to a vampire. Never sell your soul to a demon. If you find yourself in the Otherworld, do not eat or drink anything. And don’t ever, EVER drink faerie wine.
Okay, that was four things. So sue me.
The point was that breaking these basic rules was worse than death. Letting a vamp drink from you, no matter how beautiful you think they are—and trust me beneath their glamour vamps are not sexy—results in addiction. The experience is so pleasurable, due to a combination of vamp pheromones and chemicals in their saliva, that many humans become addicts after only a few bites. The result is to become a hapless blood slave, passed around the vampire community like a bottle of cheap beer.
Selling your soul to a demon is even worse. No matter how good the bargain, you’ll be headed to Hell sooner or later. Capital H, e, double hockey sticks. It’s not a nice place to visit and you’ll be a full-time resident for eternity—a slave to demons. And demons? They’re not called horny because of those protrusions on their
