Elements of the Enemy (Alliance Society Book 1)

by C. J. Felver

  Behind us, there are angry shouts from the line. They’re drowned out the second I walk through the threshold. The area rumbles with the beat of the techno music. Reese’s lips are moving but I have no idea what she’s saying. Thankfully, Lyza responds to her, leaning right into her ear. Reese nods and I just follow along, not having any real idea where we’re heading.

  The line outside makes sense. There are so many people inside, I’m sure they are pushing max capacity.

  We manage to find a table a ways away from the DJ—much to my eardrums’ delight. Lyza walks off toward the bar, announcing that our first round is on her.

  Oh no.

  If she brings back tequila …

  Me and tequila do not get along—not in the slightest—and I like the contents of my stomach right where they are, thank you very much. Lyza, on the other hand, drinks the stuff like water.

  “I’m sorry about your job, Cleo,” Reese says, leaning across the table.

  I snort. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not.”

  She gives me a passive look, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in my direction.

  “I mean, it sucks. But I’d rather not work for someone with that mindset. Better I’m gone now rather than later.”

  Reese nods her head.

  In our little trio, each of us has a different elemental calling. Reese has a spirit as free as the wind, and Lyza, well, her personality is electrifying for sure. These two were both there when my dad, Frank, disappeared, and witnessed what a mess I was.

  Lyza sets three shot glasses on the table. Two are filled with an amber liquid, and one clear. I meet my bestie’s saucy gaze, fluttering my lashes at her, gaining a wink in return. She knows me so well.

  Grabbing my shot of vodka, I bring it to my lips. A fruity aroma fills my nostrils. Girl even got me peach vodka, my freaking favorite.

  In sync, we slam our shots back, our glasses hitting the table in unison. Heat blossoms in my chest and I feel myself loosening up as the tempo of the music fills my ears.

  Fingers grasp both my wrists as Lyza and Reese drag me down to the dance floor. Our bodies sway to the rhythm. Forgetting about the events of the day, I enjoy song after song with my girls. There isn’t a better way to spend my night than with these two. They always have my back.

  After I don’t know how long, the dance floor starts to get a bit overcrowded. We decide to head back to our table and order a pitcher of water.

  “Did you hear about Joe?” Reese asks.

  “Joe?” I ask. Joe and I dated a while back. We realized we were better off as friends and have been able to stay close ever since. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard from him in a while. “What do you mean?”

  “He went missing,” Reese says, pushing her auburn hair behind her ear. “I heard his family went to the police, but nothing ever came out of it. It’s like he just dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “How much do you wanna bet AGAS is involved?” Lyza asks.

  “When will those people stop?” Reese says. “They’re messing with people’s families, ruining people’s lives. It’s seriously fucked up.” The snarl she wears looks completely out of place for her; she’s rarely ever in a bad mood.

  “How long has he been missing?” I ask.

  “Uh … a couple weeks, I think,” Reese says. Her family is really close to Joe’s family, from what I understand. She was the one to set us up on our first date. Reese loves to be a little matchmaker, always meddling in other people’s business. But she means well.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for another drink,” Lyza says. I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head.

  As she turns to walk away, a waitress is walking by with a pitcher of water. The two collide in a tangle of limbs. Water splashes around us, soaking the waitress as well as the floor. She slips, landing on her butt in the middle of the mess, her dress sodden.

  Before anyone else can react, Lyza is pulling her back to her feet, apologizing profusely, though it doesn’t seem to take the scowl off of the waitress’s face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lyza tells her, repeatedly. “Let me get you a towel.”

  Without thinking, I reach out mentally and pull the water from her dress—trying to be discreet—trickling it in a stream down her legs toward the floor. If nothing else, at least she can be dry while her ego is bruised. Am I right?

  Apparently not.

  Sheer panic coats the girl’s face. She looks down toward her body as the water drains away. Letting out an alarmed shriek, she kicks and bounces in place, hopping from foot to foot. What the heck is she doing? Trying to shake something off?

  The other patrons near us stop what they’re doing to watch the scene unfolding at our table. I’m not really sure what her problem is. It’s not like Lyza ran into her on purpose.

  “You,” the waitress says, pointing at Lyza. “You did that on purpose!”

  Oh boy. Here we go.

  “Excuse me? Because I definitely wanted to be covered in water, right? It was a mistake, which I did apologize for. More than once.”

  “It was on purpose! You spilled it all over me so you could use your, your magical crap on me! You’re hardly even wet!” Every word out her mouth is a high-pitched shriek, grating on my nerves. Heads are turning and every patron within hearing distance is staring at us with varied expressions of disgust.

  “Hey now,” I say, stepping away from the table with my hands up, hoping to calm her down. “No one is at fault here. It was an honest mistake.”

  The waitress makes a sound of disagreement. “There’s nothing honest about what just happened. You people are nothing but trouble.” She whirls on her heel, knocking into Lyza as she storms off.

  Surprisingly enough, Lyza ignores the brush, shaking her head. “Yeah, I need that drink right about now,” she announces, and takes off in the direction of the bar. Plopping back in my seat, I let out a huge gust of air.

  “Did that really just happen?” I ask.

  “Yep,” Reese says, “that just happened. I’m not even sure I really understand.” Her expression is incredulous.

  “Is it bad that I don’t want to just leave that puddle in the middle of the floor?”

  Reese groans, glaring at me. “You can’t be serious, Cleo. After the stunt she just pulled? No, she can clean her own damn mess up. Don’t you dare move even a single drop of that water for her. You should have left her clothes wet too. Ungrateful bitch.”

  “It seems to be a recurring theme this week,” I mumble, unsure why I even bothered in the first place. I should’ve known better than to do that in public, again. The look of panic in the waitress’s eyes is burned into my brain, along with each sidelong look pointed in our direction.

  What is everyone’s problem with us, anyway? It’s not like we’re violent. Hell, humans have their own violent people to deal with. They can deal with us elementals the same way they do any ordinary person who breaks the law. Isn’t that what jails and prisons are for?

  Lyza’s right, a drink sounds pretty damn good right about now. Glancing over in the direction of the bar, I hope to find Lyza on her way back with a round of something strong for us, but she’s nowhere in sight. It probably wouldn’t hurt to go check on her. Reese agrees, standing to come with me.

  As I stand, I tug my dress back down into place and make sure to step carefully around the puddle. It would really suck to fall flat on my face, because that’s definitely what would happen if I were to slip with these heels on.

  The two of us push our way through the crowd toward the bar, keeping my eye out for Lyza. Sure enough, she’s leaning against the edge, so we walk over to join her. A thin man in a button-down shirt is standing beside her, talking to her. This guy looks stressed out, with bags under his eyes and wrinkles on his shirt. Lyza seems agitated as well. She lets out a huff as she points her finger at the man and half shouts at him.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you. As I said, neither one of us were
at fault. It was an accident.”

  Now I notice our waitress is standing—almost timidly—behind the man, who I’m guessing is the manager. When she sees me approach, her hands pop to her hips and her lips twist into a nasty snarl. Not far from the scene is Reese’s brother, Brett. The look on his face is helpless pity mixed with frustration. Reese is next to him, speaking close to his ear.

  Great … this can’t be good.

  “I’m not concerned about how she fell,” he says, his focus solely on Lyza. The waitress starts to protest, but he waves her off. She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “What I am concerned about, however, is the use of elemental power in my establishment. That I will not tolerate.”

  My vision goes red as anger blooms in my chest. Will not tolerate? That’s seriously messed up.

  “Are you serious?” I ask, my tone seething. “Won’t tolerate what? She was drenched in water. All I did was help her dry off. You won’t tolerate someone helping her out and doing her a favor?”

  “Miss, I need you to calm down. Speaking to me this way is not going to solve the problem,” the man says. His wide stance and raised chin suggests he isn’t trying to solve any problems. Hell, the little vein practically popping out of his neck says plenty of his own attitude. Still, I take a deep breath and try to shutter some of my emotions.

  “But since you basically admitted to being the guilty party here, as opposed to your friend—” he sneered in Lyza’s direction “—you need to answer for the damage you’ve caused.”

  Damage?

  “Please explain to me what damage was caused in this situation that brokers your lack of tolerance.” My request comes out caustic and abrasive. Shuttering my emotions did absolutely nothing. This guy seems pretty eager to poke the bear.

  “I don’t owe you an—”

  “Excuse me, sir, there’s no reason—” Brett cuts in, but the manager cuts him off.

  “Don’t interrupt me, Brett. It’ll do you some good to learn how to deal with a situation like this.” The manager’s tone is verging on murderous as he whips his glare back to me. “You’ve caused some serious damage in my establishment with your use of elemental powers and now—”

  “Sir, this is out of line,” Brett says, his firm tone leaving room for no argument. “We don’t have the authority to—”

  The manager whirls toward Brett once more. The mirror on the wall behind the bar reflects his face as he whispers in harsh tones through clenched teeth.

  Lyza and I share a look. This was supposed to be a night of fun, one to forget all the bad shit that happened earlier. Clearly we’re not getting that here. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll just—”

  “We’re not done here,” he says, his tone condescending. He has a serious problem with allowing people to finish their sentences. Talk about rude.

  Lyza levels him with a glare. Clearly, she’s feeling the same way I am.

  “I can’t allow you to stay. I will not tolerate elementals in my club. You—” he points to Lyza, “—may stay and order your drink, as it seems you weren’t at fault for anything amiss. But you—” he points to me, “—must leave. I will call for someone to escort you from the premises.”

  Um … what?

  Before I can register what he’s saying, Lyza’s fists fly out. She grabs hold of his collar and drags him closer to her. The waitress shrieks again. The electricity in the air shifts as Lyza calls upon her powers. Out of the corner of my eye, Brett’s shaking his head, but he makes no move to stop her.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she says. “You ‘will not tolerate’ elementals in your club?” Electricity tingles across my skin as she unleashes a tiny amount of her power on this man. I try to feel sorry for him, but I just can’t find it in myself to. He brought it upon himself with his discriminatory attitude.

  Lyza slams his face down onto the bar top, reining her power back in. Her eyes show pure rage coursing through them.

  “Tell me,” she says as she holds him against the counter, “what is it, exactly, about elementals you won’t tolerate?”

  Fear and panic take over his expression.

  The next second, three huge, muscular bouncers close in around us. Reese and Brett talk in hushed tones. Lyza releases the manager. He staggers back, straightening his tie and smoothing down his shirt. Then he clears his throat.

  “Please escort these two women from the premises,” he says, completely ignoring Lyza’s question. “Make note that they are not welcome back into the facility.”

  Letting loose a touch of her electrifying energy again, Lyza glowers in their direction. “If any of you touch me, this little problem will get a whole lot bigger.”

  The manager must believe her, because he nods toward them.

  One steps toward me and Lyza. “Alright, ladies, I don’t see the need to forcibly remove you as long as you agree to leave willingly,” he says, gesturing toward the door.

  I roll my eyes. As if we’re being given a choice here.

  Without saying another word, Lyza and I walk toward the exit, the bouncers walking behind us the whole way. I don’t need to look behind me to feel the daggers Lyza is shooting the manager as she brushes past him. Reese catches up to us.

  “I’m sorr—”

  “Don’t even apologize,” Reese interrupts. “You cannot be held accountable for those people’s actions. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  So much for our night out.

  “I have an idea on how to fix it,” Reese says. Apparently I said that out loud. “How about I go pick up some tubs of ice cream and meet you at your place, then?”

  “That actually sounds amazing.” I could go for some chocolate chip cookie dough right about now.

  With the promise to see us soon with frozen treats in hand, Reese heads off toward her car. The single shot we had has long since left my system, so I offer to drive Lyza’s Jeep home.

  “Girl, if I get into a car right now, I’m likely to blow it up. Let’s just walk,” Lyza says.

  She’s right. And I completely agree.

  “I’m good with that.” We’re not too far from the apartment, and it’ll give both of us the chance to collect ourselves. There’s something insanely infuriating about being kicked out of a club for nothing other than your race. It’s a level of messed up that I cannot even begin to describe.

  Rights

  “Oh my gosh,” I groan around a mouthful of pancakes. “Lyza, you really need to stop feeding me like this. What am I going to do when we don’t live together anymore?”

  “Uh … actually learn how to cook, maybe?”

  I laugh. Cooking was the one thing my dad, Frank, never got around to teaching me. “It won’t be the same.” I tip back my mug of coffee, drinking every last drop.

  “Whatever, girl. I’ll teach you. It’s really not that hard.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, pushing away from the table to wash my dishes.

  “It’s a lot easier than the self-defense training we did a few years ago.” She laughs.

  I grimace. “Well when you put it that way.”

  About a year after my dad was taken, we decided to take a self-defense class together. We pushed ourselves to learn not only how to physically keep ourselves safe from harm, and also how to keep a defensive mindset. It was physically and mentally demanding, but the payoff has been worth it.

  “Well, I better get out there and try to find myself a job.” Technically, the pancakes—plus all of Lyza’s fixings—are brunch today. Reese didn’t leave until well into the morning hours after eating way more ice cream than anyone should. But it was much needed.

  “Good luck, girl,” Lyza bids. Her cheery attitude gives me a little hope.

  I wave my thanks, trek my way down the stairs and hop into my car. The first place I try is Blue Lace and Denim—a cute little boutique. There’s been a sign in their front window for at least three weeks.

  The woman behind the counter looks to be about my age, her strawberry-blond hair pul
led into a high bun and freckles smattering her face. She’s tagging and folding clothes, but looks up from her task as I approach, asking sweetly if there’s anything she can help me with.

  “I noticed the sign in the window, and I’m interested in applying. Do I need to apply online, or do you have a paper application?”

  “Of course. I can give you a paper one, if you’d like.” She reaches under the counter and passes me a form.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking it from her.

  In bold letters at the top of the form, it says “We reserve the right to refuse employment to elementals.” A heap of hot coals drops into the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh, excuse me? Can you tell me what this means?” I ask her, pointing to the repulsive statement at the top of the form.

  “Of course,” she says. “Corporate frowns upon hiring elementals. Bad for business.” She shrugs and walks away.

  Wow. Bad for business, huh? What is going on with the world?

  The next four places I go to have a similar outcome, each one giving some lame excuse why they don’t hire elementals. Each excuse is as ridiculous as the one before it.

  Lyza’s sitting on the floor in the middle of our living room, folding laundry. After kicking my shoes off, I park my butt on the couch behind her.

  “Wanna hit the gym?”

  “Dang, girl. That bad?” Without even looking up at me, she senses my sour mood. The gym is always my go-to torture to relieve stress.

  “I’ll tell you about it on the way. I’m gonna go change.”

  My muscles are itching to be used. After our self-defense lessons, Lyza and I try to stay as fit as possible. During those lessons I learned that I enjoy the high I get from physically pushing myself.

  Padding down the hall and into my room, I shuffle through my dresser to grab a pair of navy yoga pants and a matching sports bra, then tug on a loose tank-top. The entire time, all I can think about is how awful it felt to be so discredited. The feeling has twisted in my gut and grown roots there. It’s been there all day and has started to turn to rage. Thank goodness we’re going to the gym, because I could use a punching bag right about now.