I debated over my answer. “Information. I’m searching for something and I am hoping he might know where I can find it. He’s talkative, and if he hangs out in the right places, he might have overheard…what I need to know. Does he come in here often?”
“Yeah, but it was sporadic till this week. He’s been here everyday, I think.” Tulf gave me a nod, but asked no further questions. I picked up the drinks and headed over to the booth, where Nat was waiting. A niggling suspicion made me wonder if he was as drunk as he was acting.
As I slid his drink in front of him, he reached for it quickly, his fingers brushing mine.
“Whatsyername?” It came out in one slurry word.
I stared at him for a moment, gauging how to play the game. Mr. Whinypants or not, Nat Crayburg had access to information that I needed.
“Fotia. I’m in from Athens. And what’s your name?” I held onto my drink, playing with the glass. I wasn’t giving him another chance to drug me. It probably wouldn’t affect me, but on the off chance the drug was magical I had no intention of taking any risks.
“Nat. I’m Nat.” He hiccupped, but it sounded forced and I knew without a doubt that he was feigning his drunken stupor. “So, pretty lady, what are you doing in town? Tell me about yourself. Where are you staying?”
“Just passing through. As to where I’m staying—I haven’t decided yet.” I sipped my brandy, then volleyed my own questions. “So, Nat…I’m looking for information. And there’s a lot that I’d do to find out what I need to know.”
The promise of sex might be the oldest ploy in the book, but it had survived due to its effectiveness. Nat’s eyes lit up. Yep, horny as hell—his stare instantly fastened on my boobs before his eyes slowly rose to meet my gaze.
“What do you need to know?” His breath came harshly, and his drunken slur vanished.
I tried to gauge his abilities. He did have power, but he also felt chaotic and untrained. Or, if he had trained, his studies hadn’t been structured. I wasn’t sure what he could do.
I decided to stall. “Let’s get to know each other a little better first, okay? Tell me, what element do you work with? What’s your specialty?” I needed to know what kind of magic I was facing before I could figure out how to reel him in.
Nat rubbed his lower lip, then took a slow sip of his drink. “All right. If you insist. I have no specialty.” He sounded bitter. “You going to walk, now?”
That explained a lot. Witches didn’t care what kind of magic people used, that much I knew. And magicians like Jason didn’t really either, as long as everything was above board. But among the magicians, specialties mattered. Generalized magic was seen as weak, and a magician without a specialty was considered second-rate, unable to master advanced spells. If Nat couldn’t focus his magic into an elemental direction, chances were he had been on the receiving end of a lot of snide comments.
I softened my voice. “You get a lot of flack, don’t you?”
Nat searched my face. “You’re not being sarcastic, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Thanks,” he muttered, staring at his drink. “I come in here time and again but nobody here will talk to me. They treat me like I’m invisible. And my old man thinks I’m a failure.” He sounded so forlorn it was hard not to feel sympathy for him.
My entire plan began to shift gears. “That must be rough. I imagine it’s been hard, constantly being rejected.”
He swallowed the rest of his drink and I motioned to Tulf for another round. He carried the glasses to the table himself, and cocked his eyebrows as he set them in front of us. I gave him the barest shake of a head and smiled.
Apparently I’d hit a nerve, because Nat immediately downed the drink and whistled to Tulf. “You. Barkeeper.”
Tulf brought over the bottles. “Here, you might want these.”
I groaned inwardly, thinking of the dent this was going to make on my cash card, but Nat paid Tulf without missing a beat.
“My treat.” He filled his glass again. I slid the brandy bottle over in front of me and—in a show of empathy—slugged back my drink and poured another. The fire raced down my throat, but the alcohol had little effect.
“My old man told me if I’m going to practice magic, I’d better do it right. He wants me to use my talent for the family business. I don’t want to, but hey, that’s what I’m doing.”
My ears perked up. Most corporations kept hired magicians on the payroll, but just what part had Nat played in the Thunderstrike’s disappearance?
“Bah. Government job…politicians… I just want to work magic.” Nat was starting to feel the booze—this time, the slightly slurred speech was for real. I could hear it in his throat.
“What does your father do?”
“Veep for World Regency. He works in research and development.” He hiccupped loudly, then downed yet another drink. “That’s where I work, too.”
I winced. Alcohol seemed to be the ocean in which Nat liked to drown his troubles. “So, what kind of things do you work on?”
“World Regency has a contract with the Conglomerate. We manufacture weapons and armor for the Devani.” Nat stared forlornly at the bottle. “We outfit those freaks.”
I leaned back in my seat, thinking for a moment. The Devani were perfect soldier material, given their ability to accept orders, and they had very few, if any, emotions. I had never seen one up close, but I knew that they were mortal enemies of the Abominations. They hunted them down when they had the chance, but since the World Tree was located in the Sandspit, we didn’t see the Devani often.
“You don’t like them?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for the Conglomerate to put so much trust in them. My father would skin me alive if he heard me admit it, but I’m a b…bi…bit of an ani-christ.” Another drink downed, and his words were slurring for real.
“Anarchist?”
“Yeah, that too.”
He was just drunk enough to be talkative. I decided to push a little more. “If you don’t want to work for your father’s company, why don’t you go to work in the Junk Yard? Find a…oh…a magicians’ group? Maybe they could help you.”
Nat shrugged, staring forlornly at the bottle. “Tol’ you…I tried, but they won’t have me. I want to work for the Order of the Black Mist, but they’ve rejected me ever…every time I asked.”
And there it was. I let the words hang for a moment before asking, “The Order of the Black Mist. I’ve heard of them. I’ve been interested in them, too. I like the way they think.” I was going to have to bluff my way through this, but given good old Nat was truly pie-eyed, it shouldn’t be too difficult. “So, they have a branch around here?”
He poured himself another drink. “Yeah. And Mr. High-and-Mighty Lyon won’t let me attend their meetings, even after I gave him the…” Nat paused. “I did a favor for them. Lyon told me I could join the organization if I played my cards right. But he won’t take my calls now and he hasn’t shown up here at the bar the past couple nights.”
Right then, I knew what had happened. They had used Nat to get the Thunderstrike. How they knew about it was anybody’s guess, though I’d wager Nat had opened his mouth about it at some point in an attempt to impress them. Now that they had what they wanted, he was probably on the expendable list, and if he got belligerent enough, my guess was that Nat would probably show up dead from some “unavoidable accident.”
I murmured a soft note of agreement. “People use and abuse, don’t they?”
“They sure do.” Nat hiccupped, then before I could say another word, he slumped over the table. I reached over and felt for a pulse. He was still alive, but when I counted up the drinks he had slugged back, I realized he had just passed out.
I returned to the bar. Tulf was polishing glasses with a snowy-clean white rag. At least Phoenix Rising wasn’t the dive I had feared.
“Tulf, listen. I have a question and if you don’t want to
answer, fine. But…who is Lyon?”
Tulf slowly set down the glass and rag. He glanced around the bar, scanning all corners. “I don’t know why you want to know, but you should steer clear of Lyon and his crowd. Dangerous folk, Fotia. They hang out here sometimes, but mostly, they keep to their turf.”
“Where’s their turf?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to go messing with them, I tell you. The kid over there made the mistake of trying to get in good with them. Now, there’s a bounty on his head. I haven’t told him because he rubs me the wrong way, and my bar is one of the sanctuaries in the UnderCult. Nobody draws blood in here. But at some point, he’s going to walk out of here and somebody will be waiting outside the safety-radius. And then, frat-brat or not, he’s going down. And no Devani in the world will set foot in the Junk Yard to find out who did it, regardless of who his daddy is.”
I slowly sat down on the bar stool. This wasn’t my fight, I told myself. Nat was a screwup and a liability, but I couldn’t bring him into the picture. I had learned far more than I had expected to, and it was time I left.
I pulled out my cash card and tossed it on the counter.
“Just tell me where Lyon’s territory begins, and keep the brat here until he wakes up, sober, and the hundred-odd cash on that card is yours.”
Tulf stared at the card, then shrugged and pocketed it. “It’s your neck, but promise me you’ll be smart?”
I nodded.
“Lyon rules the Tunnels. You find the opening to the Tunnels, and you find the way into his self-appointed kingdom. But be careful—few who go looking for trouble that big ever return. Whinyboy over there only survived because apparently, he had access to something they wanted. He’s not long for the world, though. When they’re done with you, they’re done.”
I let out a long sigh. Tulf had been fair enough with me, and I liked him. I slid off the stool and smoothed my skirt. “Thanks for the conversation and the info. I won’t forget your help.”
As I headed for the door, I realized that—as dangerous as this bar felt—Tulf could be trusted. I hoped I would see him again.
The temperatures had dropped again, and the sudden emergence from the warm bar into the chill night sent a cold ripple snaking up my spine. Part of me wanted to wander around, see if I could find the entrance to the Tunnels. I knew exactly what Tulf was talking about—the rumors of the underground portion of the city—but I also realized it would be suicide to go looking without backup and some research.
In whisper-speak, I summoned Queet. “Queet, come walk with me. I feel vulnerable.”
The truth was, now that I had a little bit of knowledge, I felt terribly exposed. At least, if the Order of the Black Mist questioned Nat, he wouldn’t know my real name. He would only be able to tell them about Fotia from Athens…though if they were smart, they might manage to put two and two together. I wasn’t unknown, especially in the Darktown area.
“Here, Fury. What happened? Did you find out anything?” Queet sounded almost eager, which meant he really had been worried. When he wasn’t all that concerned, his conversation consisted mostly of bellyaching about his state of existence.
“Yeah, but I want out of here before I tell you. We’ve got research to do.”
I pulled up my hood and wrapped my cape around me. Unless they had really good night vision or the ability to sense gender, nobody passing by should be able to tell whether I was male or female, which was the way I wanted it.
“We’re almost to the gates,” Queet said. “Tam and Jason are waiting.”
“Good, because I want to get the fuck out of this neighborhood. I hate the Junk Yard.” I paused, then added, “Tulf was nice enough, though.”
“Who’s Tulf?”
“A bartender I met tonight. I think I can trust him, as much as I can trust anybody in this joint.” Another moment, and I added, “At least, I hope I can.”
A wave of doubt swept over me. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about Lyon. At least I hadn’t mentioned the Order of the Black Mist to him. For all Tulf knew, I might work for Nat’s father as an informant on his son’s activities.
“You okay?” Queet’s voice echoed in my thoughts.
I shrugged. “I’m just spiraling. We’re getting involved in something with very deep roots, and it’s…” I paused again, not wanting to mention the Order even in whisper-speak. “Wait till we get out of here.”
Finally, the gates to the Junk Yard came into view. I hastened my pace, pushing toward the entrance, suddenly fearful that something—the Carver, the Order of the Black Mist, or something even darker—might be waiting to jump in the way. Claustrophobic at the idea of the gates shutting before I could get out, even though I knew they didn’t close till dawn, I broke into a light jog. I wanted out of the gated enclosure, away from the intrigue.
“Fury, Fury—calm down. It’s all right. I’ve asked Jason and Tam to meet you at the entrance.” Queet sounded worried now.
“I’m just…” I tried to say something, anything, but the fear was so thick around me now that all I could do was run. I shot out between the gates, frantically searching for Jason’s car. It swung into view just as I heard a footfall behind me. Terrified, I swung around, only to find myself staring at a couple of leather-clad bikers passing by. They were hand in hand, and gave me an odd, disgusted look as they strolled on by, out of the Junk Yard.
“What a freak,” said one of them, loud enough for me to overhear. He turned to give me a snarky look. “Honey, don’t play in the streets if you’re afraid of the cars.” And then, he and his partner moved on.
Realizing I had worked myself up without any good reason, I gratefully yanked open the car door and dove into the backseat. “Get me out of here. Now.”
Without a word, Jason eased the car out and we were off, away from the Junk Yard and away from whatever nightmares were lurking in my subconscious.
Chapter 16
“Are you all right? You seem rattled.” Jason glanced at me through the rearview mirror. The car was auto-driving tonight, and he turned around to lean over the seat. “Where do you want to go?”
“First, check me for a Trace. Just in case I missed it.” I didn’t want to chance someone being able to backtrack me to my home—or to Jason’s store.
He nodded and reached for my hand. I gave it to him, and he closed his eyes. After a moment, he shook his head. “No Trace. You’re clear.”
“Good. Then get me someplace safe and warm and bright. I feel like I just climbed out of a cold, dark cave.” I huddled in the back, staving off the remnants of the claustrophobia that had swept over me when I was in the Junk Yard. I wasn’t sure exactly why it had happened, but I had the sneaking suspicion it was due to my baggage with the Carver.
Jason turned back and plugged directions into the autopilot. As we veered—I recognized the route we were taking, and it would lead back to Dream Wardens—Tam scrambled over the front seat to sit beside me. He held out his hands, silently, and just as silently I took them. A faint warmth radiated through me, as the cold fear slowly began to melt away. It was as if I had stepped out into a sunny day, with the warmth and light filling every corner of my body. The next thing I knew, Tam was embracing me, hugging away the lump in my chest, and then he kissed me, long and slow, and I melted into the lushness of his presence. A moment later, he gently released me and I drew a shaky breath. I was still wired, but the panic had dissolved.
“Thanks.” I gave him a sideways smile and he returned it, flicking my hair back out of my eyes.
“My pleasure.” He winked.
“What happened?” Jason hadn’t said a word during the time, but his voice was a little harder and it flashed through my mind that he wasn’t necessarily okay with Tam helping me out so willingly.
“I think I triggered memories of my mother.” I pressed my lips together, not wanting to admit it. But it was true. That night would live with me forever, and the flashback trigge
rs were numerous and hard to anticipate.
“Yah, I wondered if it was a good idea. Anyway, tell us what you found out, if anything. Queet said you came racing out of the bar like a bat out of hell.”
“That would be fitting, wouldn’t it?” I laughed, relieved to be able to find something funny. “I discovered a lot more than I thought I would. For one thing, the Thunderstrike? I know who stole it and why.”
“Hold that thought. We’re here.” Jason took control of the car, easing it over to the curb. Then he programmed directions for it to return to the parking garage. The moment we got out, it would automatically lock itself and head off to the rental space to wait until he needed it again.
As Jason tapped in the security code and opened the door, I eagerly pushed in behind him. The store was welcoming—it always felt safe to me. I unfastened my cape and swung it off, draping it over one of the counters, and then immediately made a nosedive for the sofa, curling up on one end as I pulled a throw over me.
“I want something to eat. Sweet if you’ve got it.” I headed toward the break room as Jason nodded, then vanished back out the door. I knew he had a key to Up-Cakes. While he was gone, I changed into a pair of shorts that I kept in the shop, draping the skirt over a chair. I changed out my shoes for a pair of boots, and returned to the front just in time to see Jason reappear with a box of cupcakes. Tam poured me a glass of water, and I was finally able to let out a long, deep breath as I leaned back against the cushions.
“All right. Here’s what I found out.” I ran down everything that had happened and everything Nat had said. “So as far as I can figure out, he gave the Order of the Black Mist the Thunderstrike, trying to buy his way in. They took it, said see-ya, and that was that. Lyon…have you ever heard of him, Jason? You run in magical circles more than Tam or I do.”
Jason paled and slowly lowered himself to the chair opposite. “We’re all in trouble.”
“Why?”
“His name is Lyon Burkenwald. He’s from Black Forest, originally, and works with a dark magic that has roots going back to…well…to the first witches and magicians from the original Black Forest area. Strong hereditary magic. I only met him once, and that was enough. It was at a meet-and-greet at the Seattle Magicians Guild. Burkenwald wasn’t invited, but he showed up anyway. He’s a good six-five, long blond hair, broad shoulders. Looks like he should be wielding a broadsword.”