by Лори Девоти
Finally, he shook his head. “You don’t know anything.” He went back to gathering dirty ashtrays, his tapered back straight.
Kara exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction. He had to tell her something. He had to. She stared at the balled-up twenty, willing her brain to come up with a plan.
The bartender glanced back at her and sighed. After grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey, he strode toward her.
“It’s for your own good,” he muttered, sloshing the liquid into the glass three fingers high. “Not all that go in come back out, and none of the witches.”
Her face still lowered, she peered up at him.
He sighed again. “I tried to warn the other one, but she…” he let out an exasperated grunt “…was worse than you. Stomping around, making sure every magic-hungry thug within three worlds knew what she was. Know what it got her?” He leaned forward, his ice-blue eyes spearing Kara. “Nothing.” He shook his head, his hand caressing the neck of the whiskey bottle.
“At least she hasn’t come back out yet. May mean she’s still alive, but for what? Nothing good going on down there. That’s as sure as a wolf’s howl.” He picked the bottle up and slammed it under the counter.
“Anyway, once the toll’s been set and met, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
A new patron slid in between two stools and signaled for a drink. With a scowl, the bartender grabbed the bottle of whiskey and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Kara called. He was talking about Kelly, she knew it. Finally, someone had started talking to her. Kara couldn’t let him get away now.
He paused.
“A toll? You said there’s a toll, how much is it?” Kara didn’t have a lot of spare cash, but she and Kelly owned their small house outright. It had to be worth a decent sum.
He laughed, a you-have-to-be-kidding sound.
“For you? Not much. Witches don’t pay the toll.”
The patron waiting for his drink picked up an empty bottle and banged it on the counter.
The bartender shot him a killing look. The man dropped it and scurried away from the bar.
Muttering under his breath, the bartender turned to walk away.
Kara threw herself across the bar and wrapped her hands around his forearm. “Wait. You said witches don’t pay the toll. I’m a witch — I can prove it.” She released his arm to free her hands.
“You have no more sense than the other one. Do you know what kind of beings are in here?” He grabbed both her hands in one of his, then just as quickly let go.
Kara placed her palms flat on the bar and glanced around. The bar was lined with men and women interchangeable with the one who’d attacked her earlier — dull, lifeless, even their clothing lacking in color as if they were trapped in some old sepia-tinted photo.
The bartender recaptured her hand and squeezed until she thought a bone might pop. “Desperate. That’s what kind. Doesn’t matter if they’re forandre, giant or dwarf. Or even demon or god. If they’re here, they’re desperate, and that makes them the most dangerous of their kind.”
Kara stared down at his hand. His darker, larger hand made hers look delicate, defenseless. But she wasn’t. She looked back up at him. “Well, I’m desperate, too. And from what I hear, I was already one of the most powerful of my kind.”
The woman sitting closest to them edged sideways — away from them and the tension thickening the air.
Kara waited, her heart beating in her ears. Would he call her bluff? Was it a bluff? She had no idea exactly what she would or could do to get what she wanted anymore.
Brows lowered, he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not my job to save you. You want to know why witches don’t pay the toll, can’t pay the toll? ’Cause witches are the toll.
“You want to go where the stubborn little bit like you went? Do what she did. Announce to any of these fine customers what you are, and they’ll happily stick a knife to your neck and escort you through the doorway.”
Kara’s eyes darted down the bar.
The bartender picked up her drink and set it back down with a bang. “But don’t do it here. I don’t need a fight breaking out tonight.” He pushed the glass toward her with one finger. “Oh, and don’t plan on coming back. As I said earlier, a jaunt through that doorway, is a one-way journey — at least for witches.”
He strode away.
Kara edged her eyes from left to right. Giants, dwarves, demons, gods? Could anyone in this dreary place be a god? She picked up her glass, the amber liquid sloshing out onto her hand. She didn’t believe in a god or gods, remember? At least she thought she remembered thinking that sometime in the past.
Of course, what had she believed in the past? She couldn’t remember.
From behind her, breath as cold as an icicle scraped over her skin; a tinny voice whispered in her ear, “I’ll help you out.”
“No, let me.” A second voice oozed over her like fog.
Kara whirled, looking for the source of either voice. No one was near her. In fact even the woman who had edged away from Kara earlier during her argument with the bartender had left.
The entire bar was empty except for Kara and the bartender. From the other end of the bar, he gave her a sad smile. “I warned you.”
“Where did everyone go?” Kara asked.
He jerked his thumb toward the front door. “Waiting. They know I won’t put up with trouble in here. They’re out there.”
Kara pulled a black vinyl-covered chair under one of the windows and stepped onto it. Using her balled fist to clean a place through the grime, she stared out into the growing dark. There were a few loiterers, a man with a ball cap flipped backward, a woman dressed in velvet and high-top tennis shoes, but in general the street was empty. Just an occasional whirlwind of snow dancing across the parking lot.
“You won’t be able to see most of them. Not if they don’t want you to. They’re all different, except that desperation thing I mentioned, but they can all hide well enough you won’t know what’s got a hold of you until two, or more, of them are fighting over you.”
He picked up a dirty ashtray and dumped the butts in the trash. “Good news, though. This toll has conditions — you don’t arrive alive, you aren’t worth nothing.”
Kara hopped down from the chair before her shaking legs forced her down.
“Course, a lot of them aren’t that smart. Wouldn’t be the first time one of them missed a detail like that.”
Kara bent at the waist; her hands gripped around the top of the chair and she filled her lungs with air. He was just trying to scare her.
She glanced around the empty bar.
Besides, there was no turning back now.
Risk pulled his Jeep into the lean-to behind his cabin and shimmered inside to grab a shirt and boots. He was already regretting the time he had wasted driving up the road, but his power to shimmer another mass didn’t extend to something as big and inanimate as the Jeep. And when he’d first driven off, he hadn’t been thinking of his hunt — just of Kara and the image of horror in her eyes.
This human weakness had to stop. The best way to save Kara was to stop thinking of her as a woman and start thinking of her as just another witch he had to retrieve.
Dressed, he pressed his palms against the rough stones of his fireplace and concentrated. He would go to the garm, force the wolf forandre to let him pass, and retrieve Kara’s sister. After that he would…His mind grasped for a solution.
He smacked the rock with his closed fist; a chunk of stone smashed against the floor. He picked it up, let the sharp edges dig into his palm.
There had to be a solution, and he would find it, but for now he would just concentrate on the first step in his plan. Time to intimidate the garm.
Focusing on the area outside the bar, he prepared to shimmer. The first tingles had started crawling up his arms when he heard it — the eerie peel of Lusse’s horn.
Damn the witch. She was calling him back again.
&nb
sp; 13
Risk arrived in Lusse’s parlor again. She was sitting in her velvet chair flanked by Bader, who held the horn, and Sigurd. The other hound shot Risk a challenging stare.
Risk ignored him.
“Lusse,” Risk said, a tinge of his impatience leaking into his voice.
“Risk?” She arched one brow.
He breathed in. This was not the time to antagonize her, not when he was so close to finding Kara’s sister. He curved his lips into a smile. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”
She tapped white-tinted nails on the arm of her chair. “Is my call a problem?”
He stepped forward. “Of course not. I was just on my way to confront the garm.”
“So, you found him.” She tilted her head toward Sigurd. “Sigurd suggested perhaps you were getting sidetracked. He heard…rumors.”
Where had Sigurd been that he would be hearing anything involving Risk’s activity in the human world? “I didn’t realize Sigurd was so trusted.”
She tipped just the ends of her lips upward. “Yes, well, it’s always good to have a backup plan, don’t you think? With Venge…detained. I needed another option. Sigurd stepped forward.”
The other male crossed his arms over his chest.
“No need. I will question the garm as soon as we are done here.”
“And the witch?” Lusse asked.
“Safe. I’m sure it won’t take me long to retrieve the sister,” Risk replied.
“But what will you do once you’ve retrieved her?” Sigurd asked, dropping his arms to his side, his chest expanding.
“Did you need anything else from me before I go capture your witch?” Risk asked, his gaze on Lusse.
Lusse twisted in her chair, her eyes drifting over the two men. With a smile, she turned back to Risk. “Don’t you have an answer for Sigurd?”
“Oh.” Risk angled his head. “Did he ask something?”
Bader clasped the horn, his hands turning white from the effort.
Risk’s gaze jumped from the old servant to Sigurd. “I apologize. Did you say something?”
Sigurd clenched his jaw, his eyebrows lowering. “You heard me. Talk is that the witch you were sent to find has a new pet. A hellhound.”
Risk kept his face still. “Of course, I’ve been with her. How else could I use her to find the sister?”
“Or maybe she’s using you. I can smell the humanity on you.” Sigurd curled his lip.
“I’m surprised you can smell anything over the stench of your jealousy.” Risk turned his gaze to Lusse. “I’m close. If you have no objection, I’ll—” With a roar, Sigurd changed from man to beast.
Kara straightened. “Why can’t I just pay the toll myself? With myself?”
The bartender picked up a towel and rubbed a glass dry. “’Cause I’m the guardian. I get the basics from the things on the other side of that doorway, what they want. I decide the details and what I want. And detail number one is no witch is giving herself up.
“You want to get through that door? Show enough balls to deal with one of them—” he pointed to the wall behind her “—out there. I guarantee you, desperate as they are — they’ve got nothing on what’s beyond that door.” He twisted his finger to point behind him.
Kara stared over his shoulder toward the dark doorway to which he’d gestured. Where did that thing lead? “Is it h-hell?” she asked.
He snorted. “No such place, at least not like you’re thinking of. Besides, in this case it isn’t the place you need to fear, but what’s living there, and how bad he wants out.”
“Is it—” He held up one hand, interrupting her. “We’re hitting those details again. I’m done. Time for you to pick your fate.”
Kara walked to the front door and placed her hands against the chipped paint. She could do this. She had to.
“You want, I can call that hellhound of yours. He can get you out of here.”
Call Risk? Kara didn’t even bother asking the bartender how he would do it — it didn’t matter. Shaking her head, she placed her hand on the doorknob.
The door burst open before she could even turn the metal ball. Her hooded attacker from earlier fell inside, his knife clattering onto the floor beside him.
The bartender walked to the end of the bar to scowl at the new arrival. “We’re closed.”
Her attacker looked up at the bartender then pushed himself to a sit. “I lost something here earlier. Had to leave in a bit of a hurry. Just stopping back to see if I could—” Kara stepped out of the shadows and the man froze. Using the heels of his feet, he scooted backward. Eyes wide, he held up one arm as if to ward her off. “I didn’t hurt you none. Don’t be turning your hellhound on me.”
Kara glanced from the man to the bartender, whose frown darkened.
She squatted onto the floor next to the man, and grabbed his foot as he made a move to put more distance between them. “I want you to take me through the doorway.”
His mouth fell open, revealing twisted, yellowed teeth. “No.”
With a light smile, the bartender shrugged and reached for another glass.
“It will be worth your while. I promise,” Kara urged.
“Even a giant’s cauldron of gold won’t help me if your hound gets me first.” The man successfully jerked his foot from her grasp, curled his legs into his chest and glowered at her.
“What about two cauldrons? I’m really valuable,” she replied.
“Two?” The man’s gaze darted to the bartender.
The bartender shook his head. “I just know the toll, not the reward or price once you fill it.”
The man edged forward, his eyes darting from side to side before settling on Kara’s face. “What makes you think you’re so valuable? That Jormun will pay more for you?”
The bartender made a hissing noise between his teeth. “No names, Narr.”
Narr tossed another cautious gaze around the empty room. Then reached out to grab Kara around the wrist. “What’s your talent?”
Narr’s rough hand bit into Kara’s skin, and he smelled of old beer and sweat. But he was a helluva better bargain than whatever waited for her outside the Guardian’s Keep.
“I’m a twin. A twin witch. And this…” she glanced at the bartender and lowered her voice “…Jormun you mentioned. He already has my sister.” At least she thought he did, and was willing to gamble her own life on that belief.
A small intake of breath signaled Narr’s excitement. He rubbed his hands together, glee shining from his eyes. “So, he needs you more than the others.”
He pulled his ratty hoodie close around his face and mumbled to himself. “Should be worth an extra cauldron, but—” He tightened his grip on Kara’s wrist. “What about the hound? I don’t want to be messing with no hound.”
“He’s not here is he?” she asked.
“Don’t mean he won’t show up. Forandre.” He narrowed his eyes to stare at the bartender. “They’re a territorial bunch.”
Kara licked her lips and tried to ignore the pain shooting through her arm from his viselike grip. “He shows up later, you tell him I asked you to do it. Tell him it was you, or them.” She shifted her gaze to the front door and whatever lay waiting for her outside.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s true enough. Barely made it through the desperates myself. Be like I’m doing a good deed. He’d see that, right?”
The bartender grunted.
Kara nodded. “Exactly.”
Dear God, let the man take her through that doorway before Risk showed up.
Sigurd stood in front of Risk, four broad feet planted firmly apart, his head lowered, and his lips pulled back in a snarl.
Risk watched him through narrowed eyes. Hound against human was an unfair fight, but Risk would be damned if he would acknowledge the other male’s challenge by changing, too.
“This is why you can never be alpha, Sigurd. It has nothing to do with me. I’m not your competition. You taunt me for having too much human
ity. You don’t have enough. You can’t think when the bloodlust is on you. In your hound form it’s even worse, isn’t it? Can you even follow what I’m saying to you?”
The black hound stepped to the side, circling Risk.
“Confused aren’t you? So what if you kill me like this? It won’t gain you anything. The others will know you were weak. That you had to change to gain the courage to face me.”
The black dog growled deep in his throat.
Risk stared him down. This wasn’t like Sigurd. Yes, he was jealous of Risk, hated him, but he wasn’t this stupid, and he would never attack Risk in front of Lusse unless he’d been encouraged.
Sigurd wasn’t his problem here. It was Lusse, as always.
This time he needed to address her, head-on. He spun on his heel until he faced her, Sigurd still in his line of vision, but barely.
“What are you trying to do, Lusse?” he asked.
She flicked her gaze from her nails to Risk. “Me? You know what I want.”
“I’ll bring you your witches, but I can’t do it from here. Release me, so I can finish the hunt.”
She placed a fingertip against her bloodred lips. “The witches. Yes, I want the witches, but I also want to know my alpha is dedicated to me. After the stories…” She glanced at Sigurd, who shifted his weight slightly from side to side. “How can I trust you haven’t lost your strength? You tell Sigurd humanity gives logic during bloodlust, but we both know that’s a lie. Humanity offers nothing but doubt, hesitation, weakness.”
She tapped her finger against her lips. “I think I’ll prove it right now.” She flicked her hand toward Sigurd.
From the corner of his eye, Risk saw the hound lunge. He raised his arm, blocking the gaping jaws headed for his throat.
Sigurd’s teeth sank into his forearm through muscle all the way to bone. Gritting his own teeth against the pain, Risk shifted his gaze to Lusse.
“Oh,” she added. “Forandre rules. Each of you in your weakest form, and didn’t you just admit for Sigurd that was hound?”
Damn the witch.
Narr glanced around the bar again, his hand tugging Kara’s wrist close to his chest. He gave it another tug, pulling her in, close to his face. “This isn’t a trick? You won’t fight me?”