by Amy Sumida
When the Zone Lord was dressed in his dangerous black suit, blood-red shirt beneath and open at the collar, we prowled downstairs arm-in-arm, and he helped me into his sleek sports car. Yes; I could have got in on my own, but that isn't the point. Things like that are a way for a man to show respect and affection, and I'm all for it. Call me old-school but I think chivalry should be encouraged, not squashed.
Then Slate was behind the wheel, steering us through the gates of his compound and into the center of the Zone. Streetlamps shed halos of light over an assortment of Beneathers as we rolled by. It had amazed me the first time I'd seen the Zone; all of the different races peacefully socializing. Zones are the only places on Earth where you could see this; anywhere else and there would be tension, possibly chaos, and definitely bloodshed. But Gargoyles patrol the entire zone, and they don't put up with any shenanigans. The only place to legally fight in a zone is within the Arena, and I don't recommend that option.
You'd think there would be an oppressive feeling from the Gargoyle law that hung over the zone more solidly than the expanse of rock above. But the Gargoyles had established their control long ago, and everyone who stepped foot into a zone knew what they were getting into. This made for a calm environment where everyone felt safe. The incidents involving Gargo—the God of the Gargoyles who had nearly risen from his prison beneath Slate's zone—had been the first non-arena violence within the Oregon Zone in centuries.
Slate coasted up to the curb in front of the Quarry and then got out to step around the car, settling his suit with sharp motions as he went, and open the door for me. He reached a hand in to help me out, taking the opportunity to appreciate the view of my legs angling out, and then shut the door behind me. We left the car there and headed inside; the gargoyle bouncer opening the door for us with a nod and a smile.
Music wrapped around us instantly; a soft, thudding blanket laying over a hum of conversation. Shadowy areas to either side of the foyer brightened in sections from the application of accent lights; several of those beaming down behind the bar on our right. Slate and I ignored the side sections and moved straight into the heart of the club, weaving our way through club patrons who fawned over Slate and me as if we were royalty. Slate had once told me that he was God in his zone and, stepping through that murky interior, the press of his acolytes warming my skin while the scent of lust and liquor rode the air, I could see why he thought so. But I knew all about godhood and this wasn't it; far from it.
Still, it was fun for a night.
My stare strayed to the stage as we veered right. Nestled between triple-tiered platforms that curved out and down like a fan of gigantic plates, the stone stage jutted above a round dance floor that completed the circle. Currently, it was shielded by gray curtains and the spotlights were dark eyes dangling above. But soon, those eyes would open and focus on me as I sang to my lover. A zing of excitement flashed through my belly. I didn't get to sing for the pure enjoyment of it very often and it was even rarer that I got to do it for an audience.
“Diva!” Jago slid into our path. “You singing tonight? I showed up because I thought you might.”
“You know what, Jago? I am and I could use some backup. How deep can you sing?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I can go deep,” Jago teased as he lowered his tone into the gutter, along with his mind.
“Seriously?” Slate lifted a dark brow at me. “You're asking Jago to attend you instead of me?”
“I don't think it would suit your image to have you perform as my backup singer, do you?” I countered. “The Oregon Zone Lord up on a stage behind his girlfriend, singing and dancing?”
Slate grimaced. “I prefer to watch.”
“That's what I thought.” I pushed Slate away from me, toward the door that led up to his viewing box; he really liked viewing boxes, they went well with his voyeuristic tendencies. “Go on up, honey. It'll just be one song and then I'll join you.”
“Make it a good one, Spellsinger. Something to stir the blood,” Slate growled before he left me.
“Damn, Diva; you got that guy good.” Jago whistled. “I'm so fucking jealous. You sure you don't need another rooster in your hen house?” He waggled his brows at me.
“Shut up; you're so full of shit.” I pushed at his shoulder and headed backstage, through the door to the left of the one Slate had just used.
It let me out into a long, brightly-lit corridor that Jago followed me into. Another door waited at the end of the hallway, a short flight of stairs to the left of it. My heels echoed hollowly as I headed to the door then I added the bass of a knock.
“Eli? It's Elaria,” I called through the wood.
The door popped open instantly, revealing Eli Cole; a slim redhead with a smattering of freckles across his nose and the open expression of a man who was confused by people who behave badly. I don't know what type of Beneather Eli is, I never asked him, but he's damn good with sound and lights, and that's what mattered here. He also handled the music when no one was performing and had a good ear. The glimpse I got into his control room was full of panels with sliding levers and buttons; stuff I had no idea how to work. This was the side of music that I didn't touch.
“Elaria!” Eli hugged me. “It's good to see you. You singing tonight?”
“Just one song, and Jago's gonna help me.”
“Backup singer, eh?” Eli waggled his brows at Jago. “You're really gonna have the ladies panting tonight. Lucky gargoyle.”
“Yeah, Elaria does wonders for my sex life. It's the least she can do after refusing to be a part of it.” Jago winked at me. “What are we singing anyway? I hope I know the lyrics.”
“Your lyrics are 'hey' and 'goddamn problem,' that's it. Think you can handle that?” I taunted.
“Uh. What was the first word again?”
I smacked him.
“Hey!” Jago cried.
“Exactly, but do it with a shorter delivery,” I corrected and then sang a line of staccato; hey, hey, heys for him.
“Are you talking about 'Problem' by Natalia Kills?” Eli asked eagerly.
“That's the one. You got it or should I use Kyanite?”
“Oh, I got it.” Eli grinned as he jumped up the stairs and yanked a heavy rope hanging there like a sailor manning a ship. The curtains swung back and the murmur of voices in the club lifted. “I just need a minute to scrub the vocals.”
Eli scrambled back down and slid into his room. Jago and I crowded around the doorway, watching Eli bring up the track and push at buttons until the song became an instrumental. He made it look effortless.
Eli winked at us as he faded the last song away. “All good. Head out there, and I'll announce you.”
“My debut performance.” Jago gave me a cocky look. “This is a momentous occasion.”
“We should commemorate it with a statue,” I said dryly.
“You think?”
“Sure. We can go pick out rock when we're done here. It shouldn't be too hard to find one that resembles you.”
“I'm not even offended by that,” he said in the sing-song tone of a child as he stepped onto the stage.
The crowd, who was already waiting expectantly, started to cheer as soon as they saw Jago then I came out and the applause rocketed. Jago swaggered up to a microphone and gave the screaming women a cocky grin as I rolled my eyes and removed my mic from its stand.
Eli's voice came over the speakers, “For one song only, we have our beloved spellsinger back and joining her will be our favorite arena warden; Jago! Let's give them a rockin' Quarry welcome!”
While the crowd screamed and hooted, sirens blared as if in warning; leading us directly into the primal music. Jago immediately launched into his grunting, barbaric, backup heys, matching the chest-pounding beat, and then I swung up into the sexy lyrics. My stare shifted to Slate, who stood at the window with his arms crossed over his chest, regarding me with a smug smile, just the way he used to. A conqueror admiring his captive. Instead of being annoyin
g, it was damn hot. And instead of tossing defiance at him, my lyrics lashed the air with lust. I sang of sweat and tattoos and chains and screaming in the best ways. I let my magic spiral upward into a wild storm with me and sent it straight to my lover. Yeah, I could be a problem for a lot of people—I'd been a huge one for Slate—but my bad boy liked it rough. He embraced the sweetness and the sour; the pleasure and the pain. Slate took all of me and demanded more.
Slate had been the first one to realize that Faenestra and Elaria were not separate entities but alternate expressions of my soul. He knew that in order to love the woman, he had to accept the goddess. Slate didn't approve of the havoc Faenestra had wrecked, and neither did I, but he knew that I had fought to overcome that part of me, and he admired the fact that I continued to fight. We both knew that I had the potential to become Faenestra again. He had helped me to accept that so I could prevent it. Slate taught me that neither my past nor my potential future could affect the present me if I didn't allow it to. That just because I could do terrible things, it didn't make me terrible. Potential is just an opportunity; I decide whether or not to take it.
I swung my hips and ran my hand over my body seductively as I sang to my gargoyle about a love that no one else could comprehend and the sublime magnificence of sharing it with him. Not only did Slate understand me, but he had also helped me to understand myself. When Slate had finally freed me, he released me from far more than his collar.
Behind me and to the left, Jago growled out his lyrics and did that tough-guy dance of shifting shoulders combined with a steady stance and a knowing smile. The women squealed for him, and he pointed at them; challenging them to become his problem for the evening. Yep, that guy knew how to work a crowd. I grinned up at Slate, and he shook his head at me. We both knew that I'd been right; Jago did much better on stage than Slate would have.
Then the Devil walked in.
Okay, that's not exactly true. The Devil had been banished; it was only Lucifer who strode into the Quarry like a celebrity, wings extended and a posse of angels sweeping in behind him. It was perfect timing; my song was just winding down—the last lyrics ground out, and the crowd thrashing to the dying beat—when the steel doors opened for the God of the Angels.
I gaped at Lucifer as he strode forward, Beneathers parting like the tide before him, and came to stand at the lip of the sunken dance floor. An angel hovering on the edge, one step away from falling. His feathered wings and that gleaming hair looked at odds with his modern dress shirt and slacks, and he himself looked completely out of place in the Quarry. A beacon of starlight in the darkness, he stuck out as if a spotlight was on him. Hell, he was a spotlight. But Lucifer didn't seem bothered by his anachronism or his imitation of a lighthouse. In fact, his expression was one of ease and pleasure.
The god glided up onto the highest tier on my left and took a seat at an empty table; a table quickly vacated by a couple of loups who saw him coming and bolted. Smart men. Lucifer settled down to watch me; wings rustling into rest behind him like a bird in his nest. His holy guard, a trio of hardcore angels, moved into place along the wall; eyes scanning the room like professionals.
I looked up at Slate and found him fuming; teeth bared and hands tightened into fists. He had the look of a bull ready to charge. I shook my head at him before he could set that fury into motion. Molten silver eyes narrowed at me as he cracked his neck. If I didn't do something fast, the Quarry would soon look as if it had been the site of a brutal pillow fight; bloody feathers everywhere.
Perhaps something to tell Lucifer precisely where you stand? Kyanite suggested. He doesn't seem to have understood your earlier message.
And after I was starting to like him! RS chimed in. Tell that fucker you'll kick his ass if he doesn't back off! This is some angelic bullshit!
I have the perfect song, my love.
And damn, but he did. Absolutely, eerily perfect. Lucifer's name was written all over it; literally. I nearly laughed out loud when the dragging, static pulse of “Luci” by ZAND circled the room; Kyanite taking over for Eli.
“Tell Eli that I'm doing one more song,” I shot over at Jago as I sent Slate a confident grin; Relax, baby; I got this.
My gargoyle cocked his head at me suspiciously while Jago moved backstage to deliver my message. Then, as the beat dragged up into something powerful, I settled a hard stare on Lucifer. My voice rose with my magic, again streaking toward one man alone; this time in irritation instead of love. Lucifer's eyes widened as the warning shoved at his chest like a belligerent boyfriend. I let it simmer over him as the music turned taunting—an innocent tick-tock like a child's music box—until it ratcheted back into that grating, static pound. I delivered the main line deliberately; hip cocked and expression sassy as I gave him a lyrical ultimatum, one that contained the very nickname I'd recently adopted for him. Don't fuck with me, Luci. God or not, I will break you.
Kyanite rolled the music out like a mist off water, permeating every inch of the club as I continued to drive my magic into Lucifer alone. The lyrics clearly conveyed my message; Yeah, babe, you're pretty but if you think that makes a difference to me, you're dead wrong. If it turned out that I hadn't pulled all of the Devil out of Lucifer, I'd take another swipe at him; this time with the soul-severing dagger.
Instead of being cowed, Lucifer leaned forward; lips parted and eyes flashing in the dim lights. His wings rustled excitedly around him, and an eager expression spread over his face. Challenge accepted. I narrowed my glare at him and shoved the magic at him once again; hard enough that he wobbled in his seat. But I still considered him to be a friend; this wasn't a real attack, and he knew it. Lucifer laughed out loud and let his gaze wander down my body as if it were only a matter of time before he touched it again.
Fuck! This was not good. A definite backfire. A glance at Slate told me he was preparing to give Lucifer a more pointed and painful warning. I shook my head at him again. So far, Lucifer hadn't done anything but show up and smile. I let the magic shift down into a rumbling mass and then dispersed it into the pumping crowd of dancers filling the floor before me. They roared; Beneathers reveling in the blast of ferocity I showered over them like candy bursting from a pinata.
“Luci” was a hit; the whole Quarry knowing exactly who I was singing to, if not why. They sensed the animosity and lapped it up like a hellhound with a puddle of blood. But then, these were the very same people who had filled the stands and cheered while I slaughtered beneathers in Slate's arena. They're a bloodthirsty lot, especially when their blood isn't in jeopardy.
When the song finally powered down, Lucifer stood and applauded as the rest of my audience went wild; shouting and jumping up and down, begging for more. But I only lifted a hand in thanks as I replaced the mic. I didn't even have a closing line for the crowd; I was too distracted by my racing thoughts. The curtains whooshed shut as if I'd willed them to, and I looked over to see Jago glowering at me from the wings, his hands still gripping the ropes.
I moved back into the shadows and hurried past him, into the safety of the corridor as I hissed, “Fuck!”
“Who the hell is that feathered asshole?!” Jago demanded.
“Hell is pretty spot-on, actually,” I grumbled. “That's Lucifer.”
“Lucifer as in; the guy who abducted you? That Lucifer?” Jago growled and seemed to expand.
“Who did a lot of bad shit to me and then cut the Devil out of himself to save me,” I added quickly. “He's been teaching me how to control my Light.”
“Yeah? Well, what the fuck is he doing here? He come to give you another lesson? Or do I need to go teach him one?”
“I don't know, Jago!” I snapped as I hurried down the hall. “But I'm about to—” I opened the door and came face-to-chest with Slate.
“You're about to what?” Slate sneered as he pushed me back into the corridor and slammed the door behind him. “What are you about to do, Elaria?”
“Find out what the hell Lucifer's doing here.”
Slate nodded crisply then glanced at Jago and flicked his head in a motion to indicate that he should follow us. Jago cracked his knuckles like a goon and grinned like a maniac as Slate started to turn around.
“Do not start a fight,” I growled at them. “We don't know what he wants yet.”
“I know precisely what he wants, Elaria.” Slate narrowed his slicing stare. “Or who, rather.”
“Then you should know exactly how he feels,” I said softly. “In fact, you two have a lot in common.”
Jago inhaled sharply while Slate's eyes widened with shocked hurt. But they quickly narrowed again.
“Fuck you,” Slate snarled low.
“Okay, that wasn't fair, but you know what I mean. You were once in his position, except you actually had a chance.”
“Our positions were nothing alike,” he growled. “I was tricked into believing that you were a criminal, he tricked your ex-boyfriend into forcing you to free him and then used magic to fuck with your head. I held you prisoner and both seduced you and was seduced by you while he made you believe you were free while he sexually assaulted you. Now you fucking tell me where the similarities are, Elaria!”