by Linsey Hall
“Can you feel the magic?” I asked. It prickled against my skin, different than a regular protection charm.
“Yes. This whole place is strange.”
A massive gator stared at me impassively from the bank where it was sunning itself. The thing had to be fifteen feet long, if it was an inch. Another one popped out of the water only feet from the side of the boat, its eyes unerringly finding me.
“Hi,” I said weakly.
Gators scared the hell out of me. Rightfully so. They were basically dinosaurs on tiny legs. And tiny limbs had never stopped a T-rex.
The gator just stared.
I waved. Did his mouth turn up in a grin? Hard to say, since it was terrifying.
I glanced back at Roarke. “Let’s keep moving. Head north.”
He nodded and directed the boat north. The sun was beginning to set, turning brilliant orange as it neared the horizon.
A few moments later, I held out a hand in the universal motion for stop.
Roarke cut the engine, and we drifted to a halt, the boat finally stopping when the bow brushed the field of grass.
“We’re really close, I think. Let’s wait till the sun sets. Keep a low profile.”
“Agreed.” Roarke pointed to a couple of paddles sitting in the hull of the boat. “We can approach with these.”
“Perfect.”
We stood silently, watching the sun dip down over the horizon. Deep shadow cut across the water and grass. Night bugs and animals began to screech and howl.
“I don’t want to know what the heck else is out here besides giant gators,” I muttered.
Roarke chuckled, but the sound was cut off by a rustling in the grass.
“Not the wind,” I whispered, debating whether or not I should adopt my Phantom form. But my blue glow might shine above the grass, drawing predators toward us.
The rustling grew louder. Water splashed. My hair stood on end.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the black tornado of Roarke’s magic as he shifted to demon form. I drew my sword from the ether, powering up an icicle spear just in case I needed it.
Roarke finished the transformation and picked up an oar, propelling us backward from the grassy reeds. We were only five feet away when a massive form plunged through the grass.
It was easily twenty feet tall and covered in scraggly gray hair. A squashed face and beady black eyes completed the strange figure.
Bigfoot?!
I swung my sword toward him. He was too far away for me to make contact but he reached out one long arm and grabbed me around the waist like he was freaking King Kong. I stifled a scream as I struck out with my blade. It bounced off his thick hide, and he tucked me under his arm like a football.
The rotten cabbage scent of his fur made me gag. Bile rose in my throat as I struggled to free my sword arm. It was no use, so I flailed and kicked. Anything to make him drop me. But that was worthless too. I was tucked tightly against him as he trundled through the swampy reeds. Water splashed me with every step.
I called upon my Phantom form, letting the magic flow through me. My skin turned transparent and blue. I pushed against his side, willing myself to drift though him like I normally would. But nothing happened.
Dang it.
Whatever magic this monster possessed, it was blocking me. He was the ultimate predator—able to hold on to any prey.
Except I really didn’t want to be prey.
An idea popped into my mind. I already had my ice magic powered up… I drew upon it. But instead of an icicle, I sent the icy magic down into the water at Swamp Thing’s feet.
He roared, the sound echoing through the quiet night. I forced more magic into the water, straining to give it everything I had. His steps slowed. At least, I thought they did because I bounced less. I couldn’t see anything because my head was pressed against his smelly side.
Finally, he stopped dead still and roared again, sounding like an enraged lion. I kicked, trying to free myself, but made no headway. A second later, the monster’s arm loosened and I fell, crashing against the frozen swamp water. Pain shot through my hip.
Above me, Roarke flew at the monster’s side. He must have pulled Swamp Thing’s arm away from me.
From this angle, the beast definitely looked like Bigfoot, with his furry man-shaped form and apelike face. But Bigfoot was supposed to be a myth. Despite all the crazy species in the supernatural world, Bigfoot was still a mystery.
But if the big shoe fit…
Bigfoot swatted at Roarke, though he couldn’t lunge toward him because his feet were still trapped in the ice. I was too familiar with his long reach. Roarke dodged, flying around to the beast’s back. I recognized that move. He was going to break his neck.
“Stop!” I cried, guilt streaking through me. What if this was Bigfoot? I couldn’t be responsible for his death. And he hadn’t killed me. Maybe he was lonely and stealing me to be his Bigfoot bride?
“Stop?” Roarke’s voice was gravelly, as it always was when he was in demon form.
“Don’t kill him.” I scrambled back across the ice, pushing my way through the grass that poked up. It scraped my hands. I dug into my pocket and pulled out one of the potion bombs.
Without a second thought, I hurled it at the monster. It crashed again his massive chest and exploded in a poof of green. The beast opened his mouth to roar, but no sound came out. Instead, his eyes rolled back in his head and he swayed, eventually falling backward like a massive oak.
He landed with a solid thud against the ice that I’d created, crushing the grass.
Roarke landed at my side. “What did you do that for? Don’t you normally kill demons and monsters?”
I shrugged as I climbed to my feet. “Yeah, but doesn’t he look like Bigfoot?”
“Bigfoot isn’t real.”
I pointed to the body. “Sure looks like he is.”
Roarke studied the body. “You could be right.”
“I think I am. There’s so many supernatural creatures that it’s crazy no one has ever proven the existence of Bigfoot. But here he is!”
“Take a picture.”
I grinned and reached for my phone, then hesitated. I clenched my fist. “No. Let him stay a mystery. I don’t want to be the one to ruin it for him.”
“Then we’d better go. I don’t know how long that potion will last on him.”
“Good point.” I hoped he woke up before the ice melted. Though he was so big and the water so shallow that I doubted he’d drown.
“Want a lift?” Roarke asked.
Freezing the water hadn’t killed the grass—not yet, at least—and it grew up around me like a thick forest. Worse, the stalks were really sharp, with tiny teeth all along their serrated edges.
“Definitely, thanks.”
Roarke picked me up, holding me against his chest. He flew over the tops of the grass, toward our boat that was now drifting back across the open expanse of water.
The view from up here was crazy. It was nearly dark now, but I could make out the sea of tall grass that waved in the breeze. Open waterways cut through the field as winding rivers and straight passageways. Here and there were patches of mangrove forest and little islands of land dotted with trees. In the distance, tin rooftops gleamed in the light of the moon and stars. The trilling chirp of crickets and frogs sent up a cacophony as they woke with the moon.
“We’re close.” I pointed to the roofs. “It’s just over there.”
“Good. It’s dark enough to approach.”
Roarke lowered us to the deck of the boat. It rocked underfoot, but I steadied myself against the tall seat. The sandalwood scent of Roarke’s magic surged as he shifted back to his human form.
“To keep a low profile,” he said.
“We’d probably better paddle our way in, then, huh?”
“Probably.” He bent and picked up both sturdy paddles, then handed one to me.
We each took up position, him slightly ahead of me at the
bow, and began to push through the water. The boat had such a shallow draft that it was easy to make quick headway through the calm water. Moonlight glinted off the jet-black surface, and the occasional ripple made me think of gators.
“Real swampy out here.” The sounds of the crickets and frogs nearly drowned out my quiet voice.
“That’s the truth.”
We followed the water passageway through the reeds, turning left to come upon a big section of open water dotted with wooden houses hovering about three feet over the surface, built on thick wooden stilts. They were all ramshackle and rough-looking.
There were probably about fifty buildings, all laid out like a small town with streets and everything. Though the streets were made of water. Wooden porches surrounded each building, and airboats were pulled up alongside many of them. Though it was possible to walk from some buildings to another using the wooden porches that touched each other, many of them sat alone too. Golden light glowed through small square windows.
We paddled toward the entrance to town, which wasn’t anything formal. Just the beginning of the water street. The sound of the crickets and frogs was muffled here, as if even they didn’t dare get too close.
Dark magic prickled against my skin as we made our way between the buildings, down the narrow street. I shivered, unable to help myself. It felt a lot like Darklane, which was no surprise.
The twang of music filtered toward us, something that could only be described as a swamp jive. Lots of banjo. I liked it. Maybe they’d have a CD I could buy for Connor.
Or maybe that was nuts. We were hunting Roarke’s evil brother in a dark magic town. There wouldn’t be time for acting like a tourist.
The road turned onto a main thoroughfare. There were no other boats out, but it was wider and the buildings slightly larger. At the end of the street on the left was a larger building with lights glaring. Music poured from the open door.
“Twenty bucks, that’s Willy’s.” I pointed with my oar.
“I won’t take that bet. You’ll win.”
“Smart man.”
We paddled toward it and turned down a small alleyway right before the main building. There was a line of airboats pressed up against the wooden walkway.
“Swamp parking lot,” I muttered.
“Let’s just hope that Jim Bob’s airboat doesn’t get keyed.”
I grinned. “Better park inside the lanes, then.”
“There are no lanes.”
“A perfect analogy for this town.” I stowed my oar and grabbed my jacket, slipping it on, then boosted myself up onto the wooden walkway. Roarke passed up a rope, and I tied off the bow of the boat to a post. I took the stern rope and finished the job, then Roarke jumped up and joined me.
“Try not to look so wholesome,” Roarke said.
“Wholesome?” I looked down at my all-black leather. With my jet hair and pale skin, I didn’t exactly look wholesome. That was for blonde girls in dresses.
“Compared to the folks in Willy’s, you’re going to look wholesome,” Roarke said. “Scowl. Look a little drunk. We don’t want to seem like threats.”
“That, I can do.” I leaned against his side and grabbed his arm, holding on like a drunken monkey. He was strong and warm against me, so it was no hardship to cling to him. I dropped my eyelids and slurred, “How’s this?”
“Laying it on a bit thick, but it should do.”
“Good.” I didn’t know how Roarke was going to try to look non-threatening—fact was, with his size, he really couldn’t—but better to have just one of us look like a threat rather than two. And if he appeared to be distracted by my hot self instead of pinning people in his laser gaze, people would be less scared of him.
We ambled down the walkway, footsteps thudding on the dock, and around the corner. Music blared out the windows and door, which was swung open to the night.
A few people leaned against the rough wooden wall, swilling beer and staring out at the water. I ignored them, trying to maintain the illusion of a harmless drunk girl. Though drunk girls were rarely harmless, most men were blind enough to think they were.
We turned to go through the main door, and the scent of stale beer and sweat hit me hard.
“Looks like showering isn’t a big thing here,” I muttered.
“Clearly not.”
The place was bigger than it looked from the outside, with a few dim bulbs hanging from the low ceiling. Dark shadows spread over the crowd, which was large and diverse, like the crowd at the gambling den.
A variety of magical signatures swept over me, everything from the smell of rotten eggs to a chill wind. Most of them were dark, the kinds of powers that hurt more than helped. No surprise, for a place that was a hideout for the worst of the worst in the supernatural community.
In the back corner was a three-piece band made up of individuals who looked like they slept in the swamp—literally in the swamp. Like, underwater. They had slimy green skin and weeds hanging off them. But damn, could they rock a tune. The one with the banjo was wailing on it, and honestly, I kinda wanted to dance. I didn’t know how one danced to this music—probably a lot of knees and elbows—but it would be fun.
“I kinda like the band,” I said.
“Me too. Surprisingly.”
The rest of the crowd appeared to be huddled in groups. Card players in the front right corner of the bar, pool players at the left. Dancers in the back right near the band and mopers at the far left. The bar was pushed up against the far wall.
As we approached, I took in my surroundings, looking for threats. Folks were interested in us, with many peering our way, but no on looked like they were about to attack.
There was a tiny free space at the bar, and we squeezed in, right between a couple making out like they were going down on the Titanic and a massive monster who looked like a relative of the band. Though he was twice their size, he, too, dripped with weeds and green slime.
I pushed closer to Roarke, trying not to get any on my clothes. The smell of rotten vegetation was fierce, and I didn’t relish smelling like that for the rest of this adventure.
Roarke leaned over the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. Willy looked just like I would have expected—cut off T-shirt and denim shorts, a lack of dedication to oral hygiene, and a ball cap stuck on his head with the bill tilted up.
Willy leaned on the bar. “Yer not from around here, are ya?”
“You are, though,” Roarke said.
“That, yer right.” Willy chewed on a massive wad of something in his cheek. I had no idea what it was and didn’t care to guess.
From behind the bar, mounted gator heads stared down at us impassively. I scowled. Dead animals shouldn’t be decor. Even gators.
Roarke pitched his voice low. “We’re looking for an old friend and were told you might be able to help.”
“An old friend, eh?” Willy asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s what they all say.” Willy stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels. “It’ll cost ya.”
“That’s fine.”
“Meet me out back, then. Five minutes.”
Roarke nodded.
We killed a few minutes at the bar. The swamp monster kept leering at me.
I scowled up at him. “Quit trying to look down my shirt, Swamp Thing.”
“Not low enough to give a show, anyway.” His voice sounded like gurgling water.
“That’s the point.”
“Can’t keep a guy from hoping.”
Roarke stepped around, as if he were going to try to defend my honor or something chivalric and old school. I pushed against his stomach, holding him back.
“I got this,” I muttered to him. “And the last thing we need is a fight.”
I turned back to Swamp Thing and smiled sweetly, then pressed my fingertip to his chest and shot some of my icy cold magic into him. His slime froze. “If you don’t back off, I’m going to freeze your internal organs, turn them
into ice cream, and then feed it to a gator.”
I had no idea if I could selectively freeze his organs, but my magic was cold enough that Swamp Thing swallowed and nodded, backing up.
“That’s right,” I said. “You go on now. And have a nice night.”
I gave a little wave of my fingers and he spun, headed for the hills. Or the swamp. Or whatever, as long as it was far enough from me.
“Nicely done,” Roarke said.
“I know.” I smiled up at him. “Nice thing about supernaturals is that big threats can come in small packages.”
It was one thing I hated about the human world. The biggest guys could often throw around their weight and strength like it made them important. Problem was, it did. If you were too small to fight and didn’t have a gun, then the big guy won. That left women at a real disadvantage. But here, in the supernatural world, I could kick as much ass as the biggest dude.
With Swamp Thing no longer causing problems, we turned to leave. The locals still eyed us, curiosity and annoyance on their faces. A shiver of foreboding went over me. I might be tough, but if all these folks decided I was bad news, then I was screwed.
We left the bar and followed the wooden porch around to the back. The orange glow of a cigarette waited for us, the only color in the otherwise black night.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to smoke when your house is made of wood?” I asked. “And there’s gators waiting when it sinks?”
We were close enough that I could now see Willy shrug in the dim light of the moon. “So I smoke outside.”
“I guess that helps,” I said.
“I figure it does.” He flicked the spent cigarette into the swamp.
“Not worried about littering?” I asked.
“Nah, Clarence loves the things.”
A splash sounded, and I caught sight of a huge gator out of the corner of my eye. He’d chomped down on the cigarette butt with his massive jaw.
“You feed your pet gator cigarette butts?” Roarke asked.
“What? He likes ‘em.” Willy shrugged. “Now, what do you want to know?”
“We’re looking for a man who looks a bit like me, but a bit shorter and paler,” Roarke said. “He’s part demon, with a magic that allows him to disappear at will into black mist.”