"Magic," said Hunter, as if Morgan was something nasty he'd found in a bowl of strawberries.
"It makes sense," said Harley. "Caleb's cool because he's invited. They'd recognise Darius straight away because he got hurt."
"And because I'm hung like a donkey," said Darius.
Was he? Morgan couldn't remember. That whole night seemed more and more like a particularly unsettling dream.
"But Morgan can charm the pants off them," Harley said.
"I'm doing it," Morgan said. "I won't let him go in there without back up."
"Cool with me," said Caleb.
The others nodded, all except Hunter, who was thinking, hard. Morgan could tell by the little crease between his eyebrows.
"Can this," Hunter swallowed. "This magic, can it get more than one of us in?"
"Who were you thinking?" said Morgan. He supposed he could convince the door staff that Darius wasn't Darius, especially if he dressed differently, maybe wore glasses? And kept his dick in his pants.
"Me," said Hunter.
"You?"
"I'm a professional, Morgan. In case it's slipped your mind, this is my case. I have a responsibility."
Morgan sighed. "So long as you keep quiet and don't contradict me."
"Do you have to do anything to me?"
"No. The encanté will be aimed at the doorman, and any other security. Maybe at anyone who looks too interested in us, to make them go away." Morgan gave Hunter another of those nasty smirks. "I promise I won't get any of my filthy majos-juice all over you, babe."
Hunter looked down at his drink. A muscle in his cheek twitched.
Harley said, "So. We have Caleb going in to find out who Mr Appleford is. Morgan is going in to watch out for Caleb, and Hunter's going in to watch out for Morgan."
"To make sure I don't do anything overly magical," said Morgan.
"You can drop the attitude," said Hunter.
Morgan glared at him. "Gonna make me?"
It was meant to sound angry. But somehow the tension that fizzed between them was something quite different. Morgan got the sense that Hunter was within three breaths of slamming Morgan down on the table and fucking him within an inch of his life.
And to add insult to injury, the thought made Morgan hard.
"Fuck my life," he muttered, tearing his gaze away from Hunter. He fixed it determinedly on the ice cubes bobbing about in his glass of water instead. If they melted in double quick time, so be it.
Harley cleared her throat. "Well. I suppose we have a plan, of sorts. When's all this happening?"
"Tomorrow night," said Caleb. "Can you be our driver again?"
"Yes."
"I'll wait with you in the car, honey," said Darius.
"Great," said Caleb. "Let's drink to it."
"Wait," Hunter said, turning his sharp, blue gaze on Morgan. "Are you sure you can handle yourself? The last two times you went to that place you ended up–" He waved his hands about in an extravagant gesture that Morgan presumed was supposed to imitate some kind of spell-casting.
"Of course he can," said Caleb. "So long as you don't piss him off or slip him Essence."
Hunter still looked worried.
Morgan scraped up the remnants of his dignity, smiled sweetly at Hunter and raised his glass. "Well. Third time lucky, eh?"
They all clinked glasses.
Hunter came into the kitchen while Morgan was clearing up. Darius and Harley had gone home and Caleb was double checking porn sites to make sure the Bubble's orgies weren't out there for public consumption. At least, that's what he claimed to be doing.
"I think I owe you an apology," Hunter said.
"You think?" Morgan shook a glass to get a particularly stubborn bit of lemon rind out of it. It clung right 'til the last minute before plopping sadly into the sink. Morgan put the glass into the dishwasher.
"I was disappointed and angry," Hunter said. "But that's no excuse for calling anybody names."
"Right."
"So I'm sorry."
Morgan stacked the rest of the glasses and reached for the jar of dishwasher tablets.
"You lied to me," Hunter said. "Why?"
Morgan peeled the completely unnecessary plastic wrapper off the detergent, his mouth tightly shut. He hated the word 'disappointed'. He hated that Hunter thought an apology could put things right between them. And he hated that he'd lied.
"I should have reacted more… professionally," Hunter said. "But you see why I don't trust people who have magic."
Morgan swallowed. "Not entirely. What I see is why you don't trust liars." He risked a look at Hunter. His frown had softened somewhat: he looked more puzzled than anything. "I can understand that. But I had my reasons. Hasn't anyone ever hated you for something you couldn't change about yourself? Your sexuality, for example."
"It's not the same."
"It must have been an issue when you were a police officer. I know you see a bunch of smiley coppers at Pride these days, but I'm not convinced they're representative of a one hundred per cent out and proud force."
"No. No, not exactly."
"Must have been a shock, coming out of a happy-clappy liberal private school and running into homophobia."
"Not really. My father was pretty disgusting when I came out to him. But I never lied about it."
"So you tell everyone you meet?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Morgan. It's not the same."
"Why not? Come on, Hunter, tell me. Do you think we should wear some kind of bracelet with a danger symbol on it, like they do in Texas?"
Hunter flinched.
"Or maybe a tattoo, in case we leave the bracelet at home. Like they used to in Ireland."
"Stop it."
"I would have told you, when the time was right." Would he? He'd imagined it. That must count for something. "Besides, it's not like it changes anything. I knew you'd dump me when you found out. It's probably best it happened fast. Before anyone got too attached."
Hunter made a soft, low sort of noise and turned to the kitchen door. Morgan slammed the dishwasher shut and followed him; he was on a roll now and didn't want his quarry to escape so easily.
"I'm sorry I wasn't good enough," Morgan said. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Hunter span around and grabbed Morgan's arms; Morgan braced himself for violence, thinking he'd pushed too far. He didn't care. But Hunter didn't hit him. Didn't even shout at him. He just looked at him, and he wasn't angry so much as hurt, and sad. Morgan felt a pang of shame through the fury.
Hunter pulled Morgan in and kissed him, hard. Morgan surrendered to it like a switch had been flicked. His head was spinning. His body trembled.
"You might not have got attached," Hunter said. "But I fucking did."
Morgan stared at him, helpless.
"Goodnight, Morgan."
And Hunter walked away, leaving Morgan with a clump of damp, gritty soap dissolving in his hand.
Chapter Twenty-One
Morgan smiled at the man with the cash box and said, "Two, please."
It was the same smile he'd used on the bouncers outside, and it had worked on them. But the cashier - late twenties, pierced everything and a neck tattoo - frowned and said, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
Hunter tensed at Morgan's side. Morgan smiled again, putting a little extra twinkle in his eye, and tried to relax enough for both of them.
The cashier said, "Wait, I know! Leeds Station. Starbucks."
Morgan thought he'd seen those tattoos before. "You work there."
"And you buy tea there."
The guy smiled at him, and Morgan turned the twinkle in his eyes down a tad. "Moonlighting here, then?"
"Yeah, well, Starbucks pays the bills; a guy's got to think outside the box if he wants a social life. Speaking of, here you go." He produced two tickets from his cash box, glossy black with the tiniest gold lettering in the lower right hand corner, announcing the date and the name Bubble. "Fifty each."
Morgan
took care not to flinch as he handed over a hundred pounds in cash. Hunter had better buy the drinks. The guy quickly counted the notes and stashed them away in his cash box.
"Have a great night, now." He winked at them.
"I'll claim it on expenses," Hunter whispered, as they followed the screen lined corridor into the club.
They reached the curtains that led to the ground floor, and Morgan could hear music and chatter beyond. An old music hall song on the speakers, packed with innuendo about a chamber maid, an earl and a feather duster. He didn't sense anything out of the ordinary. Hunter held back the curtain for him and ushered him inside. The room was about two thirds full.
"That table," Hunter murmured, indicating a spot to their right. "Good view."
It was, of course, the perfect pick: it gave them a clear view of the dungeon door and the main entrance. Their view of the stage was marginally impaired by a pillar, but that was fine. Morgan wasn't here to watch the show.
They sat down and Hunter asked, "Do you do that often?"
"Do what?"
"That magic you worked on the doorman. Getting people to like you."
"It doesn't work quite like that. But, no, I don't. And for the record, I never used my magic on you in any shape or form."
"That wasn't what–"
"Yes it was."
Hunter grunted and stared down at the table.
"I wouldn't. On anyone. Not without their permission. Not unless it was really important."
"So long as you're in control."
"I usually am."
"Usually. That's why magic is so dangerous, isn't it? You can't be a hundred per cent in control all the time. Nobody can."
"You could say the same about cars. Or guns. The only difference is I can't put it down. It's part of me. I work damn hard to stay safe. And it's not like I chose to take Essence. Someone else did that to me against my will."
Hunter bit his lip against whatever counter argument he might have come up with (and Morgan had heard a lot in his time, most of them infuriating) and called a waiter over. He ordered two posh lemonades, the sort that came in screw-top bottles with wax seals on top. Tamper proof.
"If there's trouble tonight, will you lose control?" Hunter asked.
"No." Morgan hoped that was true. His track record hadn't been exactly stellar lately, but he knew how to handle himself. He'd put in a whole morning of meditation and training. He just had to keep a hold on his emotions.
"And if you do?"
Morgan smirked at him. He couldn't help himself. "Run."
Hunter rolled his eyes and opened his lemonade. "Sahil said he did something to you to stop you going ballistic. In the park. Like Harlequin did here."
"They grounded me. That's when someone who doesn't have magic acts as a conduit to help a majos regain their control."
"Just by touching you?"
"There's a bit more to it than that. Didn't they train you in the police force?"
Hunter looked a bit uncomfortable.
"Or did you skip the majos part of the curriculum?" said Morgan. "Bloody hell, you did, didn't you?"
"It was optional."
"Like hell it was. Is that why you got turned down for promotion?"
"Wait." Hunter put a hand on Morgan's arm. "There's Caleb."
Caleb strode across the room with Jennifer - who looked stunning in a clingy red dress and matching stilettos - and a slender, dark-haired guy who must be Dave. He looked older than Morgan had imagined, but undeniably handsome. Caleb was wearing a sparkly silver top. He spoke animatedly to the bouncer by the dungeon door. Morgan kept his eyes down, showing no apparent interest, but watching out of the corner of his eye.
The bouncer spoke into his walky-talky. For a moment Morgan thought he was getting Caleb chucked out. But instead a waiter arrived with a tray, bearing the now familiar masks and key. Caleb and his dates were shown into the playroom. Just as the door opened, the house lights dimmed, obscuring Morgan's view, and the music changed. The dancers were on their way to the stage. Morgan pulled out his phone and set a timer for twenty minutes. He felt it was way too long, but Caleb had wanted an hour, so they'd compromised.
"You okay?" Hunter asked.
"Fine."
"You seem a bit…"
"I'm fine."
Morgan took a gulp of sharp, bitter lemonade. The door to the playroom opened a few times, letting masked people through. Morgan tried to focus on the stage, like Hunter was, but his eyes were continually drawn to that big fake-wood door and he itched to rush in and find out what was happening behind it.
The minutes ticked down: Fifteen to go, ten to go. One of the fan dancers threw her bra and it landed on Hunter's head. Morgan forced himself to laugh, just like he would have if he hadn't been increasingly terrified for Caleb and residually mad at Hunter.
The door to the basement opened again, this time from the inside. Morgan hadn't seen that before; it seemed that once they'd got in, people stayed down there 'til the place shut. The guy who guarded it from all except the lucky key holders gave the opening door a startled look, then held it open as the person came through from the other side.
It was Jennifer. She was crying.
Morgan nudged Hunter's elbow, but he was busy disentangling himself from the bra. Jennifer returned her mask to the doorman. He tried to console her, even offered her his handkerchief, but she shoved him away and went straight to the bar.
Hunter and Morgan exchanged a glance. Hunter flicked his eyes at the bar. Morgan nodded and headed in that direction, trying not to look conspicuous.
Jennifer had a queue of different-coloured jelly shots lined up by the time he got there, and she was making short work of them. Morgan asked for another lemonade and said to Jennifer, "You okay?"
"No." Jennifer downed another shot and let out a long hiss of a sigh. "It's Morgan, right? Did Caleb tell you about this place?"
"Yes. Hi. Can I ask what's wrong?"
Her eyes flashed with fury. Morgan fought the urge to flinch. "Men. Bloody men. Specifically, my husband. It was his idea to invite another guy into our bed. It was supposed to be a threesome. To think, I was worried he'd get jealous. Ha! How wrong can you be?" She picked up her last shot and raised it in the air. "Thank you Caleb Davies, for ruining my marriage."
"Oh dear."
"Apparently my husband prefers the company of men. Well, one man. Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Prefer the company of men?"
"I, uh, well…"
"Of course you do. The ones with the prettiest eyelashes are always gay. Excuse me!" She waved at the bartender. "Another rainbow. And a vodka tonic."
"I'll be with you in a moment." The bar tender put down Morgan's lemonade. "Shall I put this on your boyfriend's tab?"
"Oh. He's not, I mean, yes."
"You're blushing," Jennifer observed.
"It's hot," murmured Morgan. "Are they still in there, then, your husband and Caleb?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Dave - that's my husband, the slimy piece of shit - took him off to a private room, no less. To meet the great Mr Appleford himself." She burped, none too delicately, then added, "Without me."
"Perhaps they're just going to talk," Morgan suggested.
Jennifer laughed, bitterly, and finished her last shot.
"So." Morgan kept his voice as casual as possible, although the state she was in he didn't suppose she'd notice. "Where are these private rooms? I haven't heard of them before."
"Me neither," said Jennifer, darkly. "It's all very hush hush."
A cold chill ran down Morgan's spine.
"Sorry, got to go." Morgan jerked his head towards Hunter. "Um. I'm sorry." He was about to flee, but turned back at the last moment and said, "You know, Caleb's a good guy. He would never knowingly hurt you. You should know that. Right. Bye."
Then he hurried back to Hunter, who got to his feet the minute he saw Morgan's expression.
"We have to get in the playroom. Caleb's in t
rouble."
"What? How do you–"
Morgan gave Hunter a stern 'trust me' look, and took his hand to drag him over to the door. The doorman blocked their way, ready to turn them back. But then Morgan's encanté hit him and he said, "You'll need these." He produced a couple of masks and a key, opened the door and ushered them inside.
"I'm not taking my clothes off," Hunter said, as they approached the changing area.
"Me neither. We're not here to socialise. We're looking for another exit from the playroom. Follow me."
"There is no other exit. We checked every square inch. Twice, now."
"There must be somewhere down there. What about the pipes?"
"What pipes?"
"There's a water pipe goes under the playroom. I could feel it."
"Must be the mains."
"No, that runs up the street and under the reception area. This was different. Part of the heating, or the cooling system, maybe?"
"There's nothing there, Morgan."
"Not that you can see."
"What do you mean?"
"There's ways to hide things, Hunter. Even from you."
A secret room, then. The perfect place to murder someone. Morgan felt sick. Not Caleb. Please, not Caleb. "There's a door in there and we need to find it. Where would you look first?"
Hunter frowned in concentration. "Probably not the walls. Two are exterior and the others are behind furniture. The floor, though. There could be a basement, I suppose. There's an alcove, in the southwest corner. Behind the curtain, where there's those shelves with the fancy flavoured lubricants on it. It's the only logical space. Everywhere else is in full view of people or buried under furniture."
Morgan could have kissed Hunter just for the power of his logic. "Right. That's where we're headed."
"I don't see how we'll get there fully dressed without being challenged."
"Well, there is a way."
"How? Can you do your little Jedi mind trick with the whole room?"
"I could. But it would take a while. So… okay, you're not going to like this."
"Like what?" said Hunter, suspiciously.
"I could use majos on us."
Hunter took a step back.
"It won't hurt. It really won't."
Hunter and Morgan: Gatecrasher Page 21