by Jory Strong
Aisling used the fear she read in Elena’s eyes to make a point. “It’s dangerous to go into the spiritlands without proper protections.”
Elena’s gaze skittered up to meet hers, then immediately returned to the deadly snake. She licked her lips nervously but ignored the warning. “I was Ghosting. That’s why I don’t remember leaving the club or being at the black mass. I had to be sure you’d understand. I had to know if what I heard about you was true.”
Aisling’s heart jolted. It was her turn to feel a tremor of fear.
Like all the supernaturally touched children left abandoned on Geneva McConaughey’s doorstep, Aisling never talked about her skill as a shamaness. She rarely used her talents openly. Until the guardsmen and Father Ursu arrived, she’d never gone into the spiritlands on behalf of someone she didn’t trust or who hadn’t been vouched for by someone she trusted.
“What have you heard?” Aisling asked, leaning forward, anxious, though some of her worry disappeared when Aziel emerged from the shaman’s workroom and scampered over to settle on her lap.
“I overheard Father Ursu talking with Luther about you being able to guide a Ghost trip,” Elena said.
Relief poured into Aisling. They may have mentioned her by name but they could have been talking about any shaman or shamaness. She had no formal training, no reason to think another gifted with shamanic ability couldn’t do what she’d done.
A sudden chill swept in to chase the relief away. John’s words tormented her from the spiritlands.
I see they’ve sent a sacrificial lamb. Or maybe that’s Elena’s role. Then again, maybe third time’s the charm.
Aisling’s stomach knotted as she looked around the worn, stark living room and thought of the abandoned fetishes and tools in the next room, of the man’s clothing left hanging in the closet.
John’s voice whispered through her mind. They don’t intend for you to leave. This is only the beginning act—if you survive it, of course.
She shivered as she remembered the bishop saying she would have a choice between staying in Oakland or going home—only there never had been a choice. Powerful forces in the ghostlands had seen to that and bound her to look for whoever was creating Ghost. She wondered if those same forces had led Father Ursu to her and if the Church was also looking for the Ghost source.
Her attention returned to the serpent curled up on the coffee table. The presence of a demon prince suddenly seemed like a clear message, a warning against trusting Father Ursu or the bishop.
Aisling shifted her focus to Elena. She didn’t know what Elena’s role in this was. Maybe John was right and his sister was a sacrificial lamb—maybe they all were. At the moment it didn’t matter. Elena was the starting point for finding the ones responsible for Ghost.
“I’ll help you discover how you ended up at the black mass, but I won’t hunt for Anthony Tiernan and his followers in the ghostlands, not unless there’s no other choice.”
“That’s fine. You can search for answers at the club.” Elena leaned forward eagerly but jerked back when she remembered the snake. “The man I bought Ghost from was new. He told me I’d have the best results if I found a private place where people couldn’t interfere with my trip. He said it was a special batch, one guaranteed to take me where I wanted to go.”
“Did it?”
“No, but it got me closer than I’ve ever been until today, with you.”
Elena’s eyes glittered with fevered intensity. “Find the man who sold me Ghost. Find out who he works for, but let me handle telling the authorities. You’re new here. You don’t know who can be trusted and who can’t.”
She leaned forward again, this time ignoring the serpent in order to whisper, “Don’t tell anyone you can control the Ghost ride. It’s not common knowledge, otherwise Father Ursu wouldn’t have made Luther promise to keep their conversation confidential.”
Horror shuddered through Aisling at the thought of being forced into the spiritlands again. Her hand twitched with the desire to hold the black onyx pentacle. “Tell me what I need to know about the club, and what you remember.”
“The club is called Sinners. It’s in the red zone. I’ve already told you about that. Do you have a map?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll show you where the red zone is and tell you how to get there by bus.” Elena looked down at her watch. “You don’t have much time. The buses will stop picking up passengers soon.” She frowned as she took in Aisling’s worn clothing. “You can get in wearing that, but if you look poor, you’re asking for trouble. Do you have anything newer?”
There were only a few garments in the satchel Father Ursu had handed her in the car, but each item was nicer than anything she’d ever owned. It was silly to resist wearing the clothes she’d been given, but she clung to the familiarity of her own possessions because they connected her to a life that seemed to be slipping further and further away.
Aisling buried her fingers into Aziel’s fur. She knew all too well what it meant to be poor and fair game. “I’ll wear something else.”
“Good.” Elena’s gaze lingered on the ferret then darted to the serpent. “Don’t take your pets. The bouncer won’t let you in with them, and if they’re discovered inside, they’ll be killed.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Aisling said and felt a small shimmer of gratitude toward Elena despite everything that had happened.
Elena placed her hand on the pouch of silver coins still lying on the coffee table. “This is between you and me. Luther believes I’m here to thank you for saving my life. I don’t want anyone to know I’ve hired you. I don’t want you contacting me. I’ll return to check your progress when I can. Will you agree to those terms?”
“Yes.”
Elena took her hand off the pouch. “Ghost sellers don’t come to Sinners every night. When they do, they arrive a few minutes before the club locks its doors. Until this time it’s always been the same two people, a man with a cross branded on his cheek and a woman with a similar one branded on her shoulder. I think they’ll talk to you when they find out what you are. It’s possible the man who sold me the Ghost is competing against them. He didn’t have a cross tattoo, but he was branded on the backs of his hands.”
“What did the brands look like?”
Elena closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she tilted her nearly empty mug and dipped a finger into the tea before tracing several wet symbols onto the coffee table.
“I think that’s what they looked like but I’m not positive. Do they mean anything to you?”
“No.”
Elena shrugged. “They’re probably criminal brands then. I’ve heard there are places that don’t bother with tattoos anymore because it’s cheaper to use a brand and harder for a criminal to hide by paying someone to alter the design.”
“I’ve heard the same thing. Besides the marks on his hands, what did he look like?”
“Short brown hair. A thin face. Pale. I wouldn’t have noticed him at all if he hadn’t been the last person to walk into the club before the doors were locked.”
“Did he seek you out?”
“No, I was waiting with the others.”
“People who wanted to buy Ghost?”
“Yes.”
“How many others?”
“Six, I think. He took me aside after he’d sold to them. That’s when he told me I’d have the best results if I found a private place where people couldn’t interfere with my trip. I don’t think he told the others that.”
“Where did you go to use Ghost?”
“To one of the upstairs master bedrooms. The closet is long enough to lie down in and it has a door.”
“Did he follow you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone see you go into the closet?”
“There was a threesome on the bed. There were people hanging around watching them. I didn’t really notice who was there. What happens at the club stays at the club—that’s
one of the very few rules. The clubbers won’t tell you anything, but the Ghost dealers, I think they’ll be very interested in you.”
Elena retrieved a thin billfold from another pocket and placed some money on the table. “This is enough to get you into Sinners a few times. It may take more than one visit before the Ghost sellers show up. There’s food and drink for sale inside, but you’re allowed to bring your own in.” She cocked her head and studied Aisling in an assessing manner. “With your looks, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting the men to buy you dinner and drinks. Rape’s not allowed. Even drunk, the men who’ll be in the club aren’t stupid enough to try that, but just about anything else goes.” She checked her watch. “You’ll go to the club tonight?”
Nervousness tightened Aisling’s chest. “Yes.”
“Let me show you where it is on the map, then I need to leave. I’ve already been here a long time. I don’t want to make Luther suspicious.”
The map was still on the table pushed against the counter. It took Elena only a few minutes to show Aisling the bus route and the street Sinners was on.
As soon as she was gone, Zurael reclaimed his human shape. “I’ll go with you.”
“They won’t let you in,” she said and his husky laugh sent heated need spiraling through her.
Despite his intentions to keep his distance from her, Zurael couldn’t stop himself from cupping her neck. The rapid beat of her pulse against his palm was echoed in the throbbing of his cock.
“Do you truly believe they can keep me out?”
The need to touch her was getting worse. The fascination she held for him was growing deeper.
A single hand’s width wasn’t enough contact. He leaned in and touched his cheek to hers as his arm went around her waist.
A groan escaped when he pulled her flush against him, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Sensation bombarded him. Lust burned through his veins like the molten rock the Djinn had risen from.
“Do you think I can’t pass for human?” he whispered, kissing her ear, letting her feel the strength of his desire in the form of his erection.
Aisling wrapped her arms around his waist. She shouldn’t feel such relief and comfort in being with him. It had to be wrong to lust for a demon. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wanting him, from yielding a little bit more of herself each time he touched her. “We need to leave,” she whispered, almost grateful to be going somewhere she wouldn’t be alone with Zurael.
His hand left her neck and swept down her spine. She moaned softly as he cupped her hips and ground himself against her clit. He made her ache in a way she’d never ached before. He made her fantasize about things that shouldn’t be allowed to happen.
She turned her head and kissed his neck. His hips jerked in response.
“Aisling,” he said, and the sound of him saying her name made her labia swell and part in readiness for him.
Her hands moved up his sides and around to find his nipples. They were hard points against her palms. She rubbed over them and thrilled at the way he panted lightly and cupped her buttocks so he could pull her more tightly against his hardened penis.
“Tell me, Aisling. Can I can pass for human?” There was a dark amusement in his voice that made her shiver.
“Yes.”
He laughed softly then set her aside. For an instant she felt bereft, rejected. But when her eyes met his, she encountered molten gold and a hunger to match her own. He lifted his hand but let it drop to his side before he touched her. This time it was Zurael who said, “We need to leave if we intend to take the bus.”
Five
IT was a short ride. If they’d had more time before sunset, they could have walked it.
Aisling tugged at the unfamiliar clothing. She felt self-conscious in the expensive blouse and pants, like a field hand dressed up to impersonate a wealthy landowner.
Zurael took her hand in his. All along the street, chauffeured cars stopped to discharge their passengers before driving away.
Aisling’s emotions ran the gamut from anger to sadness as she looked at the beautifully restored Victorians, housing clubs with names like Lust, Greed and Envy. She found it ironic that the powerful and privileged, the people who lived comfortably and without concern for what life was like for anyone outside their class, would gather here for their entertainment.
The Last War had been started by religious zealots, by people determined to cleanse mankind of sin. There were those who believed the plague finally ending the war was god-created and not war-born—apocalypse averted because mankind was forced to concentrate on survival instead of the afterlife.
Aisling knew only that the ghostlands were full of cast-aside gods, and human souls lingered or passed through at the will of something unknowable, that the spiritlands could be a place of heaven or hell.
She shivered and spared a glance at the demon by her side, became acutely conscious of the fiery heat of his palm against hers as they approached the club named for those who might one day find themselves in his domain.
Sinners was in the middle of the block. Despite its name, it was painted in cheerful yellow tones. Its windows were unmarred by bars, though Aisling didn’t doubt some type of elaborate security was in place. Colorful curtains were pulled back. Well-dressed patrons lingered behind the glass and viewed the activity on the street.
Aisling rubbed her palm against her pants as they approached the bouncers on either side of the doorway. They were heavyset men with bulging muscles and hard, emotionless eyes.
“Hand,” the one on the right said.
She offered her hand and felt nothing but callused skin against callused skin.
The bouncer’s eyes narrowed slightly. He dropped her hand and turned his head toward his partner. “Gifted.”
The second bouncer took her hand. “What are you?”
“A shamaness,” Aisling said, feeling afraid and exhilarated at the same time at being able to acknowledge a gift she’d rarely admitted openly before.
“You can go in.” The bouncer’s attention returned to Zurael. Zurael’s hand was already lifting. The contact was brief. “You’re clear.”
Aisling pulled out the bills Elena had given her and paid. The bouncer to the right opened the door.
A party was already in progress inside the house. People gathered in small groups. Most held crystal glasses full of colorful liquid. More than one of the women paused in their conversation to give Zurael a hungry, inviting look while men stripped Aisling with their eyes.
Zurael took her hand again and led her to a bay window. Outside, the night was arriving rapidly.
Nervousness and curiosity warred inside Aisling. Everything around her was so different from anything she’d ever known.
Zurael pulled her back against his front, then settled his muscular arms around her waist. The image of the two of them captured in the window glass filled Aisling with a longing that went beyond the physical.
A man and woman joined them at the window, their predatory expression captured in the glass before they turned and in a perfectly choreographed move lifted their hands, hers toward Zurael’s bare arm, his reaching for Aisling’s.
“No,” Zurael said with such deadly menace both hands dropped immediately.
“Not many people turn us down,” the man said, leaning against the edge of the bay window, the woman next to him in matching red.
“You’re new here,” the woman said. “We can help you get into the swing of things. In fact, there’s nobody better. Everybody follows our lead, especially when it comes to the voting.”
The man met Aisling’s eyes. “Come play with us. Alone, if your companion can’t be persuaded. You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”
“No.”
“Suit yourselves, though I think you’ll find you’ve made a mistake in turning us down.” He pushed off from the window bay, but not before Aisling saw the flash of anger at being rejected. The woman slipped her arm through his and they walked away.
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Aisling’s attention lingered on them. She wondered what the woman meant about the others following their lead when it came to the voting, but then her focus shifted to a man scurrying into the red zone from the direction of the bus stop just outside of it.
The people in the room migrated to the front windows. The conversation grew hushed, the atmosphere heavy with anticipatory excitement, like a collective beast getting ready to pounce.
Aisling’s arms settled over Zurael’s. Her fingers slipped through his.
The windows of the Victorians across the street were free of bars, too, and crowded with watchers. One by one the bouncers guarding the entrance to those clubs went inside before the hurrying man reached the sidewalks leading to their doors.
“He’s not going to make it,” someone whispered in the hushed silence of the room.
“He will,” someone else said, a hint of regret in his voice. “Sinners is always the last to close.”
As the man reached the bay window, excitement slid through Aisling. It wasn’t the man who’d sold Ghost to Elena, but the cross on his cheek marked him as one of the regular dealers.
A deflated sigh went through the gathered crowd as the door to Sinners opened and the man darted inside. The bouncers followed.
There was the definitive sound of a lock clicking into place. A low-level hum signaled that some type of electrical current also served to keep the unwanted out.
Slowly the crowd dispersed. Elegantly dressed patrons re-formed into smaller groups. Some wandered up a beautiful wooden staircase. Others slipped into open rooms.
Aisling noticed that none of the interior rooms had doors, and understood the significance of Elena’s comment. Why privacy was hard to find.
The man and woman in red lingered nearby. The Ghost dealer went through a doorway with a small flock of people behind him. Aisling forced herself to leave the comfort of Zurael’s arms and walk across the room.
The dealer stood in an old-fashioned parlor. Furniture from the era, or copies of it, graced the room. There was a fireplace. The blackened and ash-coated tool set on the hearth indicated it wasn’t just for show.