Jewel and I stared at him blankly, then at each other.
“We . . . met on the plane,” I said.
“I gave her a card to my performance in Oakland,” Jewel said. “Then, after she saved me that time, I told her about the performance in . . . in Union Square.”
“An illicit performance of magic,” the Commissioner grumbled. “Well. From the reports, even though the later unpleasantness eclipsed it, it was spectacular. Like a fountain of liquid fire. Too bad I did not see it.” His eyes glinted at her. “Do you plan other performances while here?”
“No,” Jewel said. “We, uh, canceled our schedule after the second attack.”
“Good,” the Commissioner said. “Let this blow over, and then we would be glad to have you back in San Francisco. With the appropriate permits, of course. You can get permits for fire performance in Union Square, you know. There is no need for you to break the law.”
“Yes, sir,” Jewel said.
“As for you, Dakota Frost,” the Commissioner said, picking up another roll slowly, “are you planning any demonstrations of magic?” His eyes scanned my tattoos. “Your clan inks are as vibrant as I have been told, but inking tattoos of any kind in California requires a license.”
“I know,” I said. “Magical tattooing requires an elaborate setup. I don’t travel with it. Nor would I trust someone else’s setup—I make my own needles, and prefer my clan’s own inks. I . . . am supposed to give a talk in San Jose on Friday, though, on magical tattoo safety—”
The Commissioner waved his hand dismissively. “No license needed for that,” he said, “and safety is something I hope more people would consider when attempting these dangerous manipulations. Back to the matter at hand. I understand you are assisting the police.”
“Yes,” I said. “In my experience, three incidents of misuse of magic in just two days is an extremely bad sign. I’ve offered my expertise to the police—”
“Three?” the Commissioner said sharply.
“Oh, hell,” I said, and explained the magical mark we’d seen at Liquid before the battle of Union Square. “I assumed the bar staff would have reported that. I assumed wrong.”
“Stop assuming,” the Commissioner said, leaning back in his chair. “Pass on all the information you have to the police. Cooperate to the fullest, but back off if they tell you to—you understand the complications involved with having a magician on the scene of a crime.”
“I do. Fortunately, no one has died—yet,” I said. “That makes things easier.”
“Yes, yes it does,” the Commissioner said, eyes looking up past me. “Let’s try to keep it that way. And now, I believe the first course is arriving. Let us put this awful business behind us for the moment, and enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing good food in good company.”
And then, surprisingly, we did enjoy a good meal in good company. The Commissioner relaxed once food arrived, and successfully steered the conversation away to safer topics. He and Cinnamon hit it off well, and Jewel and I watched with amusement his twinkle-eyed attempts to follow her explanation of just exactly what “the twisty snake function,” was, why its zeroes were so important, and how she had gotten into higher mathematics in the first place.
“Quite the bright flame,” Jewel murmured to me.
“Whispering won’t help you,” I said, trying to ape that wry smile of hers that I loved so much. “She’s a werekin. She can hear you anywhere in the restaurant.”
Jewel smiled. “It’s OK if she hears it,” she said. “It’s just stating the obvious.”
“What about your friend?” I asked, nodding at Molokii. He was ignoring the rest of us completely, deep in conversation with Nyissa via American Sign Language (and sneaking glances at her deep décolletage whenever he could). “Shouldn’t you be translating for him?”
“Molokii?” she asked, elbowing him. He looked, and she flicked her hands. «You OK?»
Molokii smiled, tilting his head at Nyissa; then he made a curious gesture, thumbing his chin with his right hand, then letting both hands out, wriggling his fingers, blowing as if on a flame—and then gestured at me and Jewel, again with a knowing smile.
My mouth fell open. I couldn’t have read that right—either he’d called me a mother of a dragon, or told us to set a bed on fire. But my ASL is rusty, and before I could “speak,” Jewel had already had a whole mini-conversation with Molokii and turned back to me with a half smile.
“He says he’s all right, and told us to ‘go have fun,’ ” Jewel said, rolling her eyes—and while I don’t think that’s quite what he suggested we do, I’d take it. “Sad as it is, I think he’s used to being left out—and I think he’s digging having Nyissa to stare at. I mean talk to.”
“She is good for that,” I said. I was still a little miffed that Jewel and Molokii felt like they could have private conversations right in front of me in sign language, but I didn’t press the issue—if they didn’t want to share, it wasn’t my business. “No doubt about it.”
“Soooo. . . ,” Jewel said. “Having fun . . . what are your plans for this evening?”
“Stay out of trouble, have a good time, and get a good night’s sleep,” I said, smiling again. “Why do I have the feeling that you can help with only one of those?”
“You know me too well,” Jewel said, with a wicked grin. “Care to go dancing?”
Jewel called up a couple of friends and took us to Bondage a Go Go, a BDSM-themed dance night playing every Wednesday in the SOMA district at a sprawling, multi-level affair called the Cat Club. Bondage a Go Go was extremely long running: the Lady Saffron and I had visited ten years ago, back when she was still called Savannah.
Something else that was extremely long running was the music. Everything gets periodically recycled in the club scene, and the very same track—Spank My Booty by Lords of Acid—was playing when we walked through the door, though then it was “New Beat” and now it was “Old News.” Fortunately, the music quickly began to fast forward through the ages.
I noticed other changes—as before, smokers were corralled outside, but now, inside, the ban was actually enforced. Club kids mixed in with the Goths and punks, and even a small contingent of tourists. But the soul of the place was the same—a cavalcade of fetish fashionistas strolling over balconies and catwalks surrounding a cavernous dance floor powered by thumping music.
Like a child in a playground, Saffron laughed and pulled Darkrose onto the dance floor; Nyissa followed, then a lesbian couple Jewel invited joined them and they all began bouncing to the music. Vickman and Schultze hung back, watching; Jewel and I broke off, wandering.
I missed having Jinx here, but I was glad she and Doug had decided to stay in and watch over Cinnamon. My little monster had sulked when I told her they carded at the Cat Club—and that if she produced a fake ID, I’d confiscate it—but had perked up at the idea of math games with my brainiac friends. Unexpectedly, Molokii had decided to hang back and join them.
“You sure Molokii is going to be all right?” I shouted, as we climbed a tight curvy stair toward the second level. I’d felt bad about ditching our friends for a girl’s night out, but the four of them seemed happy with the arrangement. “Seems like he’d enjoy all the thumping music—”
Jewel glanced back at me, a bit sad. “Too much confusion,” she yelled. “Even when he can feel the beat, everyone else is dancing to rhythms he can’t hear—”
“Or yelling to each other in the dark,” I said, a notch more quietly as we turned the corner and stepped out into the quieter, warren-like upper level. “Jinx feels the same way. She’s not a big dancer, but she used to love people-watching. Now she says it’s like—”
“Like pouring salt on a wound,” Jewel said, toning her voice down too.
“Yes,” I said, not precisely smiling, but gratified as she got
it. “Her words exactly.”
If this was the same place, it was more crowded than I remembered, but it had the same energy that had drawn Savannah and me so many years ago. I got a charge out of watching the costumes, seeing the gear, spotting the occasional handcuff or collar or leash—though ten years ago, bondage and discipline had been the exciting new thing Savannah and I were discovering, and now it was a nostalgic reminder of . . . if not a happier time, at least a different one.
Repeated slaps—the noise of whipping—could be heard in an unseen room, and the hall was partially blocked by a standing couple—a dazed but happy man in the arms of a dommish woman, who tousled his hair and whispered in his ear in what was almost certainly aftercare.
With barely suppressed grins, Jewel and I stepped around them on either side. That took us on opposite sides of a larger area where a crowd was gathered around a man who was rigging a woman up a rope sling, using knots similar to those in Jewel’s bikini. For a brief moment, we could see each other passing on either side of the show, and Jewel’s eyes must have caught mine noticing the knots—because when I glanced back down at her, her eyes were gleaming.
We rejoined on the other side of the crowd and walked through a seating area where people were actually dining. They have a kitchen now? The Cat Club had expanded since I’d seen it, or maybe I’d been too into dancing with Savannah to notice all that it had to offer.
“So,” Jewel said, still trying to suppress that smile, “you’re into bondage.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” I said with a smile. “Leather coat, leather chaps—”
“Steel collar,” she responded. She winced slightly, chewing over something that seemed like a delicate subject. “If I may ask . . . whose submissive are you? Darkrose’s?”
I laughed. “I’m no one’s sub,” I said. “I was Sav—the Lady Saffron’s once, long ago, and I think that gave her the idea to use a collar for the sign of her house. But it’s not a sub collar. It’s the sign of her protection—a big red neon ‘fangs off’ to other vampires.”
“Ah,” Jewel said, half smiling, but falling back into that wince. “And Saffron’s a switch, then. So . . . you’re not technically a sub, but . . . her human servant, then?”
“Most vampires think that because I’m her ‘troubleshooter’,” I said, “but, technically, no. I’m not a blood donor, bound by a psychic link or even a part of her ‘household.’ ”
“And Nyissa?” Jewel said. “She sticks to you like glue. Is she your sub?”
“What? No!” I said. “That’s ridiculous. She’s a full-time vampire dominatrix.”
“Is she now?” Jewel smirked. “Most interesting. Not her sub either, I take it?”
“We—are—just—friends,” I said. “She kidnapped me once, then saved my life.”
“Sounds . . . complicated,” Jewel said. “I don’t mean to be so particular, Dakota, but . . . vampires scare me. I just wanted to be completely sure that—oh, hell, that you were—”
“Completely free, Jewel Grace.”
Jewel stared up at me, swallowing. “You know, Dakota,” she said, eyes wide, hopeful. “You have a lot of power. You should use it.”
I stared at her a long time. Then I smiled. She smiled back. I leaned toward her. Then we kissed, first briefly, then passionately. Her lips were sweet, and I could smell the patchouli on her skin, feel something almost damp in the heavy curls of her hair.
I leaned back, cradling her cheek in my hand. “Well, hello, Jewel Grace.”
“Hello, Dakota Frost,” she said, head shifting aside so she could kiss my palm.
“You are really sweet,” I said, relishing the taste of her lipstick against my lips. Even my Dragon stirred against my skin. I really like the taste of her lips. “And I really like you. But I have to take it slow. I’ve been burned too much, lately.”
“Burned, she says, to a fireweaver,” Jewel said, with a sudden grin.
“Badump-tish,” I responded. “Totally unintentional.”
“S’okay,” she said. “That one kiss is enough of a start.”
A couple at one of the tables was grinning at us, so we finished our circuit of the upstairs, coming out on a balcony almost exactly opposite the stairs we had just climbed. Briefly, I caught a glimpse of Nyissa, prowling on the far balcony, her eye catching mine as she descended. She’d been keeping tabs on us, at a discreet distance. Huh. My bodyguard wanted to make sure we were safe—without interfering. How sweet of her—and I’d thought she’d been jealous.
Jewel and I leaned against the railing overlooking the dance floor and looked down on the world of Goths, punks, bondagiers, and club kids milling about to the music. A staff member was bringing out a ladder, and a shapely young model was bopping next to it, preparing to climb up and do her go-go thing in a previously unused hanging cage that I’d thought was decoration.
“Hey, my friends are here,” Jewel shouted over the music, waving to a group on the dance floor—and the small knot of dancers waved back. “You know, we’ve so been looking forward to coming back here,” Jewel cried. “Ready to hit the dance floor?”
“Coming back?” I shouted back. “This is a planned thing? People know you’re here?”
“Yeah,” she cried back. “Bondage a Go Go only runs on Wednesdays. The Fireweavers come here every time we visit San Francisco, a girl’s night out, sometimes with a light-balls performance thrown in, but we had to cancel that after—”
“Oh, God damn it,” I said, shoving myself back from the rail. “We’re going!”
“What?” Jewel said, as I turned to the stairs. “But, Dakota—”
“When I said cancel everything, I meant cancel everything,” I cried, stomping down the stairs, whipping my hand round in a “let’s go” motion. “A performance at a club every time you visit San Francisco is as big a frickin’ bulls-eye as flyers for a performance in Union Square—”
And then, cutting even over the music, the screaming started.
We gathered, forming up, Vickman and I taking point, Jewel and her two lesbian invitees in the center, and the vampires in a triangle around them. Vickman and I pushed through the crowd, past Jewel’s newly arrived friends, standing there in shock.
Out by the bar, the screaming and commotion was louder, but it wasn’t the terrified, panicked screaming that I expected, accompanied by a strong flow back from the doors. It was a more shocked-relieved-oh-look-at-that screaming . . . and the milling of curious gawkers.
We pushed through the crowd and stepped into the street. Outside, the smokers and the curious were stopped and staring; but as whatever shocking event had died down, people began to disperse, backing away in fear from what they did not understand. And then we could see:
———
From curb to curb across the street burned a dragon, ringed with symbols written in fire.
26. The Drake Cage
After that, the idea of leaving Jewel to her own devices was over. When the police were done questioning us, we hightailed it back to our fortress on Cathedral Hill. Vickman sorted out a new arrangement with the hotel—the entire block of rooms down a dead-end corridor with a fire escape at the end. Vickman opened up all the interior doors and pulled out chairs and sofas to soft block the L join of the hall, making our wing into an impromptu fort.
Molokii joined us, staying with Jewel and Nyissa, and the rest of us mortals stacked in rooms on either side as the vampires prowled about. As everyone else was settling in, I buttonholed Vickman by the ice machine for a conference.
“Jewel and Molokii have changed their flight to Hawaii to midnight tomorrow,” I said. “We keep her with us, and safe, until we put her on the plane. At that point, I hate to say it, she’s on her own. We don’t have the manpower to start protecting people all over the globe.”
“We don’t have t
he manpower to protect the people in this hall,” Vickman said.
“Yeah,” I said. Vickman used to have a dozen men. Most of those were dead now, at the hands of Scara, the enforcer of the Vampire Gentry in Atlanta—another reminder I needed all the allies I could get. “But, damn it, Vick, I’m trying. I didn’t ask for this. But I still got it.”
Jewel padded up, in fuzzy flannel pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and holding . . . well, I supposed the thing in her arms was supposed to be a dragon, but whatever animal the shapeless thing had started its life as was no longer clear. “What?” she asked, reddening.
“I didn’t say anything, fireweaver,” I said, smirking.
She started to retort, then just looked at me. “I love your smile,” she said, and then bit her lip, glancing over my shoulder at Vickman. “Hey, look, it’s been a long day and I’m—I’m turning in. I just wanted to say good-night.”
I walked Jewel back to her room. “I’m glad you’re safe,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re keeping me safe,” she replied, clutching the dragon.
“We’ll do our best,” I said, “but . . . when you get back to Hawaii . . .”
“I’m going to lie low,” she said. “Let this blow over, reconsider my approach—”
“OK . . . but don’t let the bad guys win,” I said. “This country was founded on the strategic withdrawal, but don’t let them intimidate you into giving up—”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Jewel said. “You’re guarded by vampires and weretigers and your skin is a living weapon. All I’ve got are some spinny sticks that become useless at the first tangle, and known and unknown enemies that know just how to tangle them.”
“Well, think of it this way,” I said gently. “Fireweavers are good at tangling up those around them.” Then I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Good-night, Jewel.”
She stared at me, eyes wide. She bit her lip. But before she could nerve herself to kiss me back, she whirled and ran back into the room. “Good-night,” she said, closing the door.
Liquid Fire Page 20