by Cory Barclay
Aiden scoffed. “Where, to Mythicus? And miss all this? Nonsense!”
Then the mystery man forcefully separated Dale and the brunette woman, tearing them apart from their lustful kiss.
“Hey, man!” Dale cried out.
“That’s my girlfriend, you bastard!” The man cocked his arm back.
As big as Dale was, he was really a big teddy bear. He put his hands up in surrender and said, “I didn’t do nothin’!”
Then the man punched Dale in the face, sending him reeling back.
Aiden jumped in from behind, grabbing the boyfriend by both arms. Though Aiden was small, he was squirrelly and fierce. He grunted as he crashed into a table and wrestled the man to the ground.
The blonde bartender was shouting now, pointing at the ruckus and calling over a bouncer. Dale was holding his face. Steve and Annabel both looked at each other with wide eyes and went to Dale’s side. The woman Dale had been kissing looked dumbstruck as Aiden and her boyfriend rolled around on the ground in front of her. It was as if she had just been snapped back into reality from a wonderful dream state. Now she just looked confused and terrified to see her boyfriend on the ground.
The bouncer arrived before the fight got more out of hand.
“We avoid PB to avoid this kind of shit, man!” Steve yelled at Aiden as the bouncer lifted the leprechaun to his feet. He had Aiden’s hands behind his back, but there was a furious, happy snarl on the leprechaun’s face. He didn’t look so nice now. His battle-ready Bonaparte side seemed to be winning out.
The man who threw the first punch was trying to move forward to strike Aiden, but now his own girlfriend stopped him. He seemed to calm down all at once, but then slapped the brunette’s hands away. “Get away from me, whore!” he yelled.
Steve had so many questions for Aiden: about Shannon Barton, and the Mythics, and what being “Seared” meant—did he mean like tuna at a sushi restaurant?
But Aiden was being led toward the front stairs by the bouncer and was two steps away from being unceremoniously dropped on his ass and kicked out of the bar.
“Wait, I have questions for you!” Steve called out, dropping all pretenses. He rushed forward, and now Michelangelo was standing before him—the pretty angel boy with his bright eyes. “Questions about Shannon Barton, leprechaun man!” Steve finished.
At hearing that, Aiden writhed in the bouncer’s arms, trying to break free. He screamed: “Show him where we’ll be, Angelo!”
Michelangelo, cool as a cucumber, pulled out a business card from his pocket and handed it to Steve. “See you there,” he said.
Steve stared at the card. It read:
Pacific Beach Tarot
1549 Garnet Avenue, 92109
“Other side,” Michelangelo said, walking away toward the stairs.
Steve turned the card around and read the back, which was scribbled with barely legible handwriting. It gave him a street address, one of those fancy, cute Mexican names that were common in La Jolla.
Aiden cried out, “Go there tonight! After-party!” but Steve was confused.
“Don’t worry!” Aiden added, just as the bouncer readied to push him down the stairs. “She will be there!”
Then he was gone. The bouncer had had enough, and he shoved Aiden down the stairs. The leprechaun went tumbling head over heels, his green jacket and pants making him look like a ripe green tumbleweed leaving the bar.
And his words stuck in Steve’s mind.
She? . . . Does he mean . . . the Druid?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Steve talked Annabel and Dale into going to the address in La Jolla. It was a tough sell: Dale was too drunk to stand, and Annabel had seen enough excitement for the night.
Steve explained, “Your parents told me to seek the Druid, and Aiden said she will be there!”
But Annabel said, “There are literally three-and-a-half billion possibilities who she could be.”
Frustrated, Steve said, “I think the odds that she’s someone important to our quest are a little greater than that.”
To which Annabel replied, “Fiiine. But we aren’t staying long, just long enough to find out if this information is legitimate.” She was a bit tipsy, too.
Steve closed Dale’s bar tab for him and they hurried down the stairs together. As they crossed the street toward Steve’s car, he pulled out his keys.
Then Dale saw there was a 24/7 Mexican restaurant—if a hole in the wall with a grill and two tables could be called a restaurant—in the same parking lot they were parked in. He started zombie-walking toward the place.
Steve realized what was going on and rushed over to grab Dale. “No, you don’t, big guy. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
Dale pointed at the sign that said Rigoberto’s Mexican Food. “B-But . . . burrito.”
Steve gently pushed Dale’s hand down. “No burrito, Fats. We can eat later.”
Dale’s face contorted, drunk and confused. He couldn’t understand Steve, or he refused to try. He kept Frankensteining to the shop and Steve sighed. Dale was too much of an unstoppable force for him to do anything about it.
Ten minutes later they were in Steve’s Lexus driving down La Jolla Boulevard, Annabel in shotgun, Dale in the back happily eating a California burrito, spilling hot sauce on Steve’s seats.
They drove up into the hills and onto a street called Avenida Mañana. The houses were verifiable mansions, hidden from most passersby. Steve kept eyeing the business card on his lap, looking for the right address.
When they found it, Steve parked under a streetlight, which emanated blue, fluorescent light on his Lexus. “Here we are,” he said, turning off the car. He opened his door and looked up at the house. It was a modern luxury house with sleek windows and sharp corners, making it look more like a spaceship than a house. Lights were on inside and he could hear the unintelligible jabbering of people in multiple conversations. Music was playing at a proper level; from this distance he could only hear the bass.
The house was on a steep incline and he had to walk up innumerable steps, like he was traversing the Great Wall of China. He was panting when he reached the top. Looking back, he realized it would be another five minutes or so before Dale made it to the top, while Annabel was cresting the apex of the stairs.
Watching Dale stumble around in the dark, Steve dreaded the effort it would take to bring Dale down these steps when they were leaving. But he figured he’d cross that bridge when he got there. One quest at a time.
Once they were all together, Steve knocked on the door and only had to wait three-point-five seconds for it to open. To his surprise, a well-dressed butler opened the door. He was dressed in the full getup: black tux and matching pants, white tie, white gloves, well-manicured mustache. He looked like a character straight out of Clue. It was the butler in the living room with the candlestick!
“Good evening, sirs and lady,” the butler recited, his face slightly upturned.
“Hi,” Steve said, then scratched his scalp. “We’re here for . . . the party?”
“But of course, sir,” the butler said with a slight bow. “Madam Amos has been expecting you.” He gestured with his gloved hands for them to follow him, and they did.
Stepping into the house was like stepping into the Playboy Mansion. The door they’d entered through wasn’t actually the front door, it was the pre-front door that led them through a jungly courtyard with fountains and angelic sculptures pissing into the fountains.
Dale giggled at the pissing angels and tried to reach out to touch a stream of “urine,” but was dissuaded when Steve slapped his hand away and scolded him like a child.
“Don’t touch.”
After making their way through the courtyard, they were at the actual front door, which was an old oaken double door that looked like it was whittled from an entire tree back in the 1500s. Two demonic, horned faces made up the door handles.
Inside, the walls were white and decorated with priceless art pieces, while the temperat
ure was warm and inviting. The butler led them down a hallway. The voices were getting louder as they walked through the labyrinth. Then they turned a corner and were suddenly at the mouth of a huge, domed room. About ten people were conversing in groups of three, surrounding a long table filled with hors d’oeuvres.
Dale’s eyes lit up at seeing the table of foodstuffs, even though he’d just finished his burrito on the walk up the Stairway to Heaven.
The butler bowed to them and headed back from whence he came.
Steve, Annabel, and Dale just stood there at the mouth of the room, unsure of what to do. The music was loud enough so they couldn’t hear the multiple conversations going on, but it wasn’t exactly a dance party, either. It seemed like the stereotypical after-party that followed the board meeting at the office. Everyone was dressed to the nines.
Everyone except Steve, Annabel, and Dale.
But that didn’t stop Aiden O’Shaunessy from bounding over with a big grin on his befreckled face. “Ah, gents, lady, you made it!”
Steve nodded.
Aiden’s eyes found all theirs, save Dale’s, whose were stuck on the table of food. Aiden said, “Help yourself, mate,” and gestured toward the table.
Dale didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran toward the table.
Aiden took Steve’s shoulder and led him away from the archway. Annabel followed.
“I’d like to introduce you to someone—a dear friend of mine,” the leprechaun said.
There was a woman at the head of the table who stole Steve’s breath away. She had curly brunette hair that went past her shoulders, a crimson-red gown that barely crept past her thighs, four-inch stilettos, and the kind of cleavage that would make Page 3 girls weep. Her lips were deep red—like the rest of her attire—but her face was pale.
Steve was immediately in love and aroused, and it took all his willpower to control himself. He’d never felt this way before. He literally wanted to jump her bones. It was like his mind wouldn’t listen to his body, and all the synapses in his brain were going off at the same time.
Aiden made a supercilious bow and said, “This is the baroness of the house, Lady Scarlet Amos. Scarlet, this is Steve Remington.”
The woman smiled and showed impossibly white teeth beneath her impossibly red lips. Steve’s heart melted just a little more. His eyes were wide in his skull as he shook the woman’s hand, then, quite uncharacteristically of him, he kissed the woman’s knuckles. He had never done that before, and he felt confused at doing it now.
Scarlet chuckled at Steve’s expense and said, “Aiden, you flatter me. But I’m just a simple hostess.”
“You’re stunning,” Steve blurted. Then his hand flew over his mouth in shock. He hadn’t told his mouth to form any words, so why then were words coming out of his mouth?
“You’re too kind,” Scarlet said. She had somewhat of a Southern drawl. Then she turned to Annabel, whose pale face was blushing furiously. Dressed in her typical white dress, she felt severely underdressed for this “party.” Scarlet pouted at Annabel. “And your friend . . . ?”
Steve shook his head vigorously. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry, madam. This is Annabel Lee.” He was even starting to speak differently, he realized. Something was not right here.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, dear,” Scarlet said, gingerly shaking Annabel’s hand.
“And yours . . . madam.”
Scarlet turned to the shortest member of the group and said, “Now, Aiden, will you be a doll and entertain my guests? I have business to take care of.” She smiled again at Annabel and Steve—her gaze lingering on Steve for a little too long—then she walked toward the other end of the table. Wherever she walked, someone wanted to talk to her. It was usually a male who would try to woo her, even at the discomfort and dismay of the men’s wives and girlfriends.
Aiden came up beside Steve and, together, they stared at Scarlet’s sashaying, curvy ass as it disappeared from the room with a well-dressed man by its side.
“She’s quite something, eh?” Aiden whispered.
Steve nodded dumbly.
“I wonder what her talent is,” Annabel said, with more than a little spite in her voice.
“You couldn’t guess?” Aiden said. “She’s a succubus.”
Annabel snorted and ventured off toward the food table to try to find Dale. She quickly found him with a plate full of crab legs piled high, smoked salmon, and crackers with caviar. He took no time at all to begin stuffing his face with the delicacies.
“I don’t think your friend is too fond of Lady Amos,” Aiden said, chuckling.
Steve cleared his throat and turned away. “Neither am I,” he lied.
Aiden’s chuckle grew louder. He slapped Steve on the shoulder and said, “No need to lie, mate. Scarlet has a certain . . . allure. It makes her irresistible.”
“I could tell.”
“What you’re feeling is only natural.”
“Yeah, what I’m feeling feels natural . . . I just don’t know why I can’t control it.”
Aiden smiled. “Because she’s a succubus, mate. Her job is to seduce men.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “Don’t succubus’—”
“Succubi.”
“Right. Don’t succubi steal the lives and souls of men, or something? I remember reading about that somewhere . . . like in the Odyssey.”
Aiden shook his head. “I think you’ve read too many mythology books.” Then he shrugged. “I mean, maybe she can. I don’t know. It’s funny you mention the Odyssey, though, because Homer himself was a Mythic, lost on Terrus.”
Steve furrowed his brow.
Aiden grinned. “Where do you think he came up with all those creatures? I’m sure he met them in person.”
Steve shook his head, trying to figure out if Aiden was fucking with him or not. Still staring down the hallway, he asked, “And who is that man with her?”
The succubus and her man had disappeared down the hall and through a door, out of sight.
“Her prey, I imagine.”
“I thought you just said—”
“Ah, Michelangelo, there you are!” Aiden interrupted, walking past Steve. Steve turned around and was face-to-face with the pretty boy angel from the bar.
Steve was starting to wonder if he was the only normal person here—or non-fantastical person . . . Non-Mythic? Terrusian?
Then he eyed Dale across the room, who was now seated on a throne-like chair so he could easily devour the food on his plate. No, even Dale was not normal. Steve thought Dale might be categorized as a behemoth, if they were getting mythological.
“Where were you, my friend?” Aiden asked Michelangelo.
“Taking care of something,” the angel said in a low voice.
Steve’s eyebrows perked up. He glanced down the hallway that Scarlet had walked down, then he glanced at Michelangelo. “Something?”
Michelangelo shook his head. “Not like you think. Not with her.”
Steve said, “Hmph,” and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked around and realized Aiden had vanished.
Well, not actually vanished, because the leprechaun returned a moment later from a separate room, holding three beers. He handed one to Steve, who declined, and one to Michelangelo.
After taking the beer, Michelangelo smiled at Aiden while pointing at Steve. “He thought I was with Scarlet.” Then he chuckled, perhaps the one ugly sound that could come out of his gloriously handsome face.
When Aiden started laughing alongside Michelangelo, Steve just shrugged. “Is it so wrong to think that? You look like a comic book superhero . . . she’s beautiful.”
Aiden put a hand on Michelangelo’s shoulder, which was nearly eye-level with the leprechaun. “Oh, believe me, Scarlet’s tried. But he can’t.”
“Can’t?” Steve asked. “Or won’t?” He turned to Michelangelo for an explanation, who seemed reluctant to give one.
Eventually, Michelangelo sighed, his shoulders drooping. “It�
��s my curse,” he said. “Just how it seems Aiden here can’t ever win a damn gamble—”
“Can too, ass.”
“—I can’t fall in love.”
Steve was taken aback. “Like, never? What kind of a cruel joke is that?”
Michelangelo sighed. “My job is to make other people fall in love. But it seems I’m destined to forever be alone. It comes at quite a price, believe me—Scarlet gets angry whenever she sees me, because I’m the one person who isn’t falling all over her.”
“Which makes you that much more desirable, I assume?”
Michelangelo shrugged.
Steve turned back to the hallway in time to see Scarlet reappearing from the closed door. She adjusted her bosom and her heels clanked on the marble floor as she made her way back to the room. The man she had disappeared into the room with was nowhere to be seen.
“And why have you brought me here, Aiden?” Steve asked. “Why have you introduced me to this woman? You made her sound important.”
Aiden said, “She is important, mate. Maybe you should just talk with her and find out.”
Scarlet’s butler had made his way back into the room holding a tray of half-filled champagne glasses. Scarlet took one of the glasses, grinned salaciously at him, and wandered toward a group of people near the table.
“I suppose I will,” Steve said, eyes ogling the succubus. Before he could tell his legs not to do it, he was walking in Scarlet’s direction.
HE HAD GOTTEN HER ALONE. He didn’t feel safe as they slowly sauntered through the front courtyard. Well, he felt safe, per se, but he didn’t trust himself. His mind kept wandering to dirty, nasty things he wanted to do with this woman. It was quite distracting.
Scarlet glanced at him and chuckled. The look on Steve’s face was one she must have seen time and time again. Her only reaction to it was to smile and play it off like the hardcore sexual fantasies in Steve’s head were a part of everyday life.
And he didn’t want them to be. But he couldn’t help himself.