Witchlight

by Sonya Clark

  One of the security guards approached, waiting for Vadim to acknowledge him. “Gina said you wanted a reminder about the Garden show.”

  “Yes, thank you.” The guard disappeared into the crowd. Vadim took Lizzie’s hand and led her to the stairwell leading down into the Garden.

  The hall below the dance floor was much quieter though the bass still knocked in his chest. Stragglers milled about. One man paced at the far end of the hall, texting furiously. A couple made out against the wall. Vadim gave Lizzie a smirk and drew her closer. “What have you heard about the Garden?”

  “Enough to be surprised it’s allowed to remain open. Especially after what you said about keeping people from getting too wild.”

  “Mostly I meant fights. But yeah, this is the expensive part of the operation.” He nodded at the doorman and passed through the entrance, holding the heavy black curtains apart for Lizzie.

  Twice the size of his apartment, the Garden was designed to be a place of sumptuous decadence. Witchlight served as the only illumination, in pools of deep blue and dark red above sconces close to the ceiling. A handful of tables along with wide chaise lounges and circular sofas were arranged around the room to provide a modicum of privacy and space. One wall was painted as a stark red-and-black chessboard with enchanted illustrations of chess pieces moving across the board. The opposite wall depicted a poker game of gods and goddesses from various pantheons. Tonight Isis was winning, a tall stack of chips shimmering in front of her. The wall surrounding the entrance flowed with water, mermaids and undersea vegetation completing the tableau.

  People in pairs and threes of all ages, races and orientations awaited the show. Vadim scanned the room. More Normals tonight than Magic Born. The ration problem was probably part of the reason for that. Tickets to the Garden were even higher than the club’s cover charge and far fewer in number every night. Waitstaff wearing only glamours meant to mimic body paint moved gracefully through the seating with trays of drinks. Nightshade smoke curled from discreet incense burners at the corners.

  A stage took up a third of the room. At the moment a band played. The lead singer wore black faux-leather pants and glamoured tattoos that snaked across the bare skin of his chest and arms in twists and turns. A slow, lush ballad echoed through the small space.

  Vadim pointed to the empty center lounge. “That’s reserved for us. Come on.”

  A waitress brought them tall glasses of absinthe as they settled into the seat. Lizzie declined hers and gestured at the singer. “He’s amazing.”

  “He’s just the warm-up act. There’s a show tonight.”

  She gave him a questioning look. He smiled and draped his arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer. The small band played several more songs, building to an intense closing number that had some of the small crowd on their feet dancing. They left the stage in a flourish, a glamoured curtain of black falling to shield it from view.

  Vadim knew what was coming. Zinnia had been toying with the idea for a while and he had finally persuaded her to finish it. Much of the dancing would be improvised though a general mood had been worked out in rehearsals. He’d insisted on a few specific details but otherwise found Zinnia’s concept perfect.

  The lights dimmed for a long moment. The black glamour fell in an instant, revealing a beautiful young woman with long red hair standing at the edge of the stage. Her vibrant jade dress was fitted at the top and flowed into a skirt of layered, wide strips designed to show off her legs. With a wave of her hand she created a witchlight flower bed at her feet. Speakers at strategic spots in the room piped out soft music.

  A subtle shift in the song announced the appearance of the man. Dark-haired and dressed all in black, he approached the woman from behind and seized her arms. He lifted her off her feet in a smooth motion, her legs swinging out and shock registering on her pale face.

  Vadim whispered to Lizzie, “Do you know the story of Hades and Persephone?”

  She nodded but said nothing, her eyes on the stage.

  The flower bed transformed into flames as Hades swept his stolen prize into the underworld. Persephone faced him, defiant, every line of her body quivering with anger. Hades stalked a half circle in front of her, his stance domineering. She refused to cower and it brought a lascivious smile to his face. He took a deliberate step toward her, the music hitting a deep note. For several beats Persephone stood her ground. When he reached for her she moved away, dipping under his arm to the other side, her skirt flying. He whirled to catch her but she slipped from his grasp. Again and again he pursued and she fled, always winding up just out of his reach. The chase left them both taut as wires.

  Persephone stood at the edge of the flames, escape a tantalizing possibility. The music spiked and took on a Latin rhythm. Hades threw his arms wide, an exclamation and a challenge in his face. Persephone twirled, the ends of her skirt seeming to catch fire as witchlight flames covered the green. This time when he approached, she met him with a bold glare and stepped into his arms. For a long moment there was nothing but silence, then the guitarist from the earlier band stepped out of the wings and began to play. A fast, complicated Spanish rhythm, the song propelled Hades and Persephone into a dance.

  This part was one of the things Vadim had insisted on. His mother had filled their apartment with dreary Russian classical music that somehow managed to carve itself a place in his affection despite his professed hatred of it. The dance music he heard in off-zone clubs and the grinding industrial beats in the arcade had been the first music he loved as a kid. It suited him and his magic in ways he couldn’t express at the time. But he’d always nursed a soft spot for an old man who sat on one corner of his neighborhood, never speaking or singing but always playing a beat-up acoustic guitar. Vadim’s mother had told him once that the man said what he had to say through the guitar. It was the only voice he needed. Much of the music was mournful but in a much rawer way than the classical Russian symphonies, deeply emotional. Sometimes too much so for a restless, angry boy. Vadim had been an adult before he knew enough about the man to know that when he played flamenco, it was for his wife who listened from an open window three stories above. It took longer still for Vadim to realize it was a form of courtship.

  Hades and Persephone danced, their bodies moving closer together with each turn, the heat between them palpable. Flames slowly climbed her dress. He grabbed her roughly, crushing her back to his chest and snaking one arm around her waist. He traced a line down her cheek. She turned her head into his touch, his seduction and her surrender complete.

  Lizzie held herself perfectly still, staring forward. Vadim detected a distinct chill in the space between them.

  A shrouded figure appeared from the back of the stage. The guitarist stopped abruptly. Persephone jumped from Hades’s arms. The figure approached her and lowered the hood to reveal an older woman whose red hair was shot through with gray. Demeter.

  Persephone faced her mother with one hand behind her as if reaching for Hades. He stood back. The decision would be hers. Demeter held out her arms for her daughter. Persephone half turned to gaze at Hades, caught between them. He raised one hand, extending an offering to her. It was a necklace of garnets interspersed with tiny crystals. She nodded in permission and he draped it around her slender neck, kissing her as he fastened the clasp.

  Demeter pulled her daughter from the king of the underworld’s grasp. Persephone left his arms with a longing look that quickly turned to sadness. Hades stood alone, watching their retreat to the back of the stage. With every step the flames left her dress, its bright green a shock in the darkness.

  Persephone looked from her mother to Hades and back, then came to a halt. She rose and swiveled on the toes of her slippers to run into his arms. The instant she moved, the guitarist began to play again.

  Witchlight flames spread up her dress, leaving the dancers both bathed in a fiery glow as
they resumed their tango. The garnets and crystals caught the light, winking.

  Vadim glanced at the audience members he could easily see. Most were paying more attention to their dates. Some looked restless and bored. A few Magic Born exchanged curious looks, no doubt surprised by the relatively tame performance. It was certainly much more circumspect than Zinnia’s short story.

  A smattering of polite applause sounded as the audience realized the performance was over. Cheers erupted when the band returned. Vadim leaned over to speak to Lizzie and was caught off guard when she stood and made her way to the door without a word.

  He caught up with her in the hall. “What, not a fan of Greek mythology?”

  “That wasn’t exactly subtle.” She ate up the ground with her long stride.

  Vadim rushed to cut her off at the entrance to the upper level. He threw his arm up, resting his hand on the doorframe. “It’s just a story. Nice music, pretty dancing. What’s the problem?”

  The withering glare she gave him would have demolished a lesser man. As it was, it gave him an uncomfortable quake in his gut. She said, “Hades kidnapped Persephone. She was forced to live in the underworld half the year, away from her mother and everything she loved.”

  “That’s one version, sure. Who says that has to be the only version? Why not one where she chooses to stay with Hades? Where she loves him. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “He kidnapped her! You can’t make something like that into a love story.”

  He lowered his gaze from the blistering ice gathering in her eyes, resting his chin on his upper arm. “It’s just a fantasy. No need to think anything of it.”

  She stood perfectly still. He could feel the space between them widening as surely as if she was walking away. “I’d like to go,” she said.

  “Of course.” He dropped his arm. “I’ll take you back upstairs, then I need to get some things done in my office.” That was a lie but he had no intention of telling her how badly he needed a drink.

  “I mean I’d like to go home.”

  His heart sank and he wanted to set the traitorous lump on fire. “I thought you wanted tonight.” He couldn’t finish.

  “I think it’s best if I go home.”

  “Sweetheart.” He breathed the word, instantly hoping she hadn’t heard.

  “Please don’t ask me for something I can’t give.” Her voice choked, at odds with her glacial expression and ramrod posture.

  Unable to speak, he nodded. She followed him through the labyrinth of the club, down to the underground tunnels and all the way to her home in the city, where he left her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took barely a thought to black out the security cameras and bypass the alarm at the liquor store’s back door. Three blocks from Lizzie’s upscale apartment, an antique neon sign advertising a brand of whiskey so premium even Vadim couldn’t normally afford it had caught his attention. Turned off after hours, it still hummed with power that whispered to him as he walked aimlessly down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Within moments he’d cast aside all good sense and decided to help himself to a bottle.

  He tossed up a ball of sapphire witchlight and searched for the whiskey. Bottles glowed blue and electricity from the security system prickled his fingertips. He found what he was looking for, wrenching the cap off and taking a long swallow. It burned going down but not enough to get rid of the lingering taste of humiliation. Looking around, he spotted a small glass cabinet by the register full of mini bottles. The back panel was unlocked so he helped himself to as many bottles as he could shove in his pockets. He headed for the back door but stopped long enough to enchant the witchlight. It would still be there in the morning, ready to transform into a dancing, singing foul-mouthed coyote at the first entrance of a Normal.

  Vadim took another swig from the big bottle, snickering as he hit the alley. Gods, it had been years since he’d let himself be so gloriously stupid. There was something oddly refreshing about it, like a cool breeze on a hot day. Theft gave the booze an added flavor of irresponsible youth with a tantalizing hint of smoky freedom.

  It kept him warm too, as he trudged through the cold rain. The wee hours of the morning offered little traffic or any other trouble in this part of town, so he’d have to go find his own. It was a bit of a hike to the antiseptic gated communities of Sheridan Village where she’d grown up, but if he was going to be stupid he figured he might as well do it up right.

  During previous trips to her parents’ house he’d noticed the neighborhoods still decorated for Christmas like hookers advertising their wares on a Rockenbach corner. Ostentatious and overdone in some bourgeois competition for Tackiest Holiday House, most of the homes were blanketed in lights. The yards were full of nutcrackers and reindeer and other themed items designed to light up and move to appropriately cheerful Christmas music. Even in the dead of night with the systems powered down, electricity crackled in the air from all the computerized display controllers.

  Vadim scoped out the area and found a high vantage point that would allow him both a good view and provide cover. He draped himself in a glamour spell that would make him blend in with his surroundings. The whiskey was half gone, the mini bottles clinking in his coat pockets. Nightshade would have made this perfect but he’d neglected to restock his cigarette case before escorting Lizzie home.

  He pictured her fast asleep, safe and warm in her bed. Unconcerned by his absence because, after all, she liked sex and she didn’t like relationships and that was just fine because he felt the same. She might want to learn a bit of magic. She might even want to help the Magic Born. She’d never be a witch though. She’d never let the truth become public knowledge.

  The hell of it was, he couldn’t blame her. Comfort and freedom and money and everything it could buy—who would give that up? Nobody in their right mind. Lizzie had everything to lose, so it stood to reason that staying hidden and doing whatever her chief of staff told her to do was the best course of action she could take.

  He would not go to her for help again. Even though she’d seemed willing, it was best not to ask. Walk away while he still had some fucking dignity.

  With a wave of his hand the streetlights winked out. To hell with dignity. He was in the mood to do something gloriously stupid, the likes of which he hadn’t done since he wasn’t much older than Tyler. A cold sweep of rain and wind tried to discourage him but he would not be persuaded. Not as long as he had his new best friend, Absurdly Expensive Stolen Booze, clutched tight in one hand.

  He took a drink and closed his eyes, reaching through the wash of electricity to find the nearest control systems. Dozens of channels rose in his vision, blue-white pathways from the control boxes to the lights they were programmed to work. Trancehacking into closed-source software was a piece of cake, much easier than navigating the wide-open wilds of cyberspace. Still, it took some time and meticulous care to write over all the code and craft a spell to make the boxes he’d swept up under his power do as he wished. The trickiest part was weaving in the music he wanted from the old MP3 player in his pocket. Back when he was a dumb kid, this used to be his favorite way to mark the season. That was years and years ago. Decades. Centuries. A full head of hair, various scars and addictions ago.

  A voice in the back of his head told him to not do this, to walk away and go home and get high and get some sleep and forget about Lizzie Marsden. Don’t do this stupid thing that would no doubt cause a metric shit ton of trouble.

  In the end it was the voice of a fourteen-year-old who won out. “The ones that are scared of a little harmless magic? Fuck those cowards.”

  Vadim laughed. Tyler and his friends thought they were the first witch punks to roam the streets of New Corinth, lighting up the night with illicit magic and youthful defiance. They didn’t invent stupid. No, Vadim Bazarov invented stupid. Got a patent in his
name and everything.

  He took another drink, the liquid sloshing in the bottle and his belly. Gathering his will, he raised his arms as a symphony conductor might, the stolen bottle still clutched tight in one hand. He took a deep breath, held it and tasted the cold night air. With the exhale, he blew life into the spell.

  Every house in a two-block radius with outdoor Christmas lights exploded with color—flashes of red, green, blue, orange and other shades, slow at first but picking up speed quickly. Rooftops, windows and doors, even walkways—any place strung with lights. With another push of magic came the music. It started as a deep vibrato that built into a storm of sound. Clashing layers made of different rhythms, out-of-nowhere squeals and loops of vocal effects. Vadim pointed the bottle at a yard full of nutcrackers and snowmen, sending the robotic human-sized decorations marching down the street. He upped the decibels on the music with a flourish of his arms, laughing as lights came on inside the houses and homeowners stumbled out in their bathrobes to investigate.

  For once he wished he had the knack for natural magic. A heavy snowfall would cap the experience nicely. Shouting broke through a brief lull in the music, complete with swearing almost as colorful as the reprogrammed light show. Ah, if only he had the 1812 Overture on his little antique player. Cannons in the dead of night would have been magnificent.

  He took a drink then raised the bottle in salute to the seizure-inducing light show, other hand waving a middle finger. Time to go. Even with the glamour spell camouflaging him and his renewed fondness for stupid, reckless acts, he still didn’t want to be hanging around when the cops showed up. He sang softly to himself the whole way back to FreakTown, nearly forgetting he needed to go through the tunnels since he hadn’t badged out. The first weak hint of daybreak was lightening the sky as he fell into bed, still fully dressed and holding the stolen bottle like a security blanket.