Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

S kirting the room, I head to the bar on the right-hand side at the front. I could use something to steady my nerves and moving through the room allows me to surveil it.

I take my time, assessing everyone I pass. Mother Kadris’s power will be immense. Her presence should hit me like a sledgehammer, but so far… nothing.

Two bars line the front of the room, each with cement tops patterned with glowing crystals that pulse in time to the music.

Behind the bars, glowing shelves makes bottles of liquid glitter—more liquids than I can identify, the most obvious ones being blood, soda, alcohol, and—to my surprise—simple water.

Squinting to identify the magical nature of each of the four bartenders, I quickly assess my options.

One of the bartenders at the bar on the right is a witch. I can just make out her aura around her head of long, pink hair. It’s unlikely that Mother Kadris would work here, but I need to get closer to the pink-haired witch to be sure.

I take a seat in front of the other bartender at the same bar. He has piercing blue eyes, long dreads, and the aura of a shifter, but I’m not sure which kind. Freckles across the bridge of his nose dust his golden skin. He gives me a warm glance, leaning forward to speak above the thumping music.

“Alone tonight?” a deep African voice asks.

I don’t detect an insult in his words, but I bristle anyway. “I’m always alone.”

“Aren’t we all?” he muses, a philosophical light entering his eyes.

I only sat in front of him so I could check out the witch, but up close, I’m suddenly fascinated by the freckles on the shifter’s nose.

I squint. “Are you a… lion?”

I’ve never met a lion shifter before. Wolves, jaguars, and bears even, but lions are rare in my experience.

He gives me a nod and a smile that makes my heart skip a beat. A very good-looking lion .

“What can I get you to drink?” he asks.

I falter. My reclusive life on Saber Lane involved hot chocolates from Dean’s Diner more frequently than alcohol. I may be twenty-three years old, but my knowledge of alcohol is sorely lacking. I certainly don’t know the names of any of the drinks.

I press my lips together before I make a fool of myself and ask for water.

Taking a deep breath, I lean forward as if I know every drink there is. “What do you recommend?”

“Well, that would be my specialty: a drink I like to call ‘Shifts and Giggles.’”

The witch bartender suddenly angles toward us, taking a moment between serving drinks. Her pink hair swishes around her shoulders, her brown eyes sparkling. “Oh, honey, don’t ask Barasa what you should drink. He’ll give you something boring.”

I flick a glance at the drink that continues to prepare itself at the bar where she was previously standing.

I try to hide my smile when I realize that she’s using her magic to mix drinks while she talks to me.

She’s powerful, but her power doesn’t bite me like Mother Kadris’s will. She’s not my target.

One witch down and however many more to go.

Barasa growls at her, but it’s a playful sound. There doesn’t seem to be a bad bone in his body, but I have no doubt that if push came to shove, this lion would be a formidable opponent. “Back off, Onyx. The lady can choose for herself. Don’t think I didn’t see you steal my luster dust just now.”

She huffs at him, rolls her eyes, and returns to her work.

Their playful encounter lightens my mood.

“Shifts and Giggles sounds good to me,” I declare, settling into the industrial metal stool.

I consider Barasa’s movements carefully as he mixes the drink from apple cider, spiced rum, and cranberry juice, pouring in a splash of grenadine and adding a pinch of what looks like fairy dust—which must be the luster dust he was talking about—before he shakes it over ice.

Just like his freckles, I’m fascinated by the rhythm in his drink-making, my gaze shifting from his hands to his piercing eyes.

He’s gorgeous, and his growing smile makes my heart hammer, but my response is purely physical. My heart… has other ideas.

Barasa passes me the drink, and I gulp a mouthful before I lose my nerve and ask for water after all. The liquid is deliciously sweet, and I’m immediately filled with an odd sense of happiness and belonging.

Turning the drink around in my hands, I consider my next move.

Rainbow staircases are situated on each side of the room, leading to the overhanging loft, but I need to finish checking the dance floor first.

A flash of purple catches my eye. In the colorful lighting, it takes me a moment to identify a woman with lavender hair dancing nearby. Her black halter-neck dress sparkles as though stars are inlaid in the material and a silver nose ring catches the light as she grooves in time with the music.

The powerful aura around her is controlled in a way that makes me curious. She’s a witch, but there’s something missing, something I can’t put my finger on. Her power is repressed somehow. She’s alone but obviously not afraid to dance by herself.

I have to get up close to figure out if she’s the one I seek.

What can a bit of dancing hurt me?

Swiveling back to Barasa, I take a final gulp of the drink he prepared for me and leave the empty glass on the counter. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I give him a quizzical glance. “Who says I’m looking for something?”

He winks. “Aren’t we all?”

I smile and slip off the stool, careful not to bump the blue-eyed genie in the suit and tie who just sat down next to me. The bar has become really crowded in the last few minutes, and I’m glad to move away from it.

As soon as I step onto the dance floor, the rhythm takes control as if the music reached out and grabbed hold of me, demanding that I enjoy myself.

I groove my way up to the lavender-haired witch, my heels tapping the floor, maneuvering around the couples grinding and bumping against each other to reach her.

“Safety in numbers, right?” I say, raising my voice to be heard above the music.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, a man edges up to us, the scent of blood wafting around him as he attempts to wrap his arms around the purple-haired witch.

The dark smears on his hands tell me they’re coated in blood.

It’s the vampire I zapped when I first arrived, the one in the golden jacket. I’m not a big fan of vampires at the best of times, but the least he could do is wash his hands after feeding.

His speech slurs, no doubt an aftereffect of his blood high, while he paws at her. “Hello, ladies. You look like you need company.”

Blood. I don’t do well with blood. The memory of my mother’s final scream crashes across me.

I try to push it away, but it’s too late.

My instinctive magic roars to the surface, triggered by the vampire’s stale, copper scent.