The Fae's Amulet

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The Fae's Amulet Page 19

by J F Posthumus


  Fifteen minutes later, I was parking my car and trying to figure out how the little tykcri I’d rescued wound up in my lap. Since I couldn’t leave it in my car, I tucked it into my purse with an order to stay put. The little cub looked up at me with a decidedly smug expression and curled up in my bag. I was so going to demand answers from someone soon, because this couldn’t continue. At least it was small and could fit in my purse.

  The house was an oddity for this region. It resembled a miniature version of a grand Mexican hacienda, stuck on the corner of a street filled with ranch, colonial, and 1950s house designs. A scaled version of a hedge path surrounded the place, and everything was lit up like it was fiesta time. I blinked, looked down at my phone app, which assured me I had reached my destination, then looked back at the house.

  “Welcome to the Hacienda Dante, I guess,” I muttered to myself and walked toward what I hoped was the front entrance.

  Dante opened the door while I was still twenty feet away. Music and noise leaked out from around him, but neither was obnoxiously loud. He wore a blood red robe with gold cuffs, collar and belt, and he appeared to have on no other clothing. Even his feet were bare.

  “Greetings, Catherine. Welcome to my home. Come in, be comfortable,” he said amiably.

  This just gets better and better, I thought. I put my car keys into my left jacket pocket, and left my hand in. I grasped the small bag of components in case I needed to throw high level spells in a hurry. I smiled at him, but he noticed what I was doing.

  “Really, Lady of Death? You come prepared to fight?” He gestured to my hand in my jacket pocket. “If it helps you enter my abode, then cling to your spices and roots. No one will raise a hand against you, including myself.”

  I went up the three steps and went right at him. He didn’t flinch, only smiled. When I was inches from his face, he pivoted sideways and gestured for me to enter. I kept eye contact with him as I walked past and into the foyer. The music and sounds of people were louder and seemed to come from everywhere. Dante closed the door and gestured to my right. A tall, wide entryway was curtained by hanging beads, like something from an old movie. I pushed through the beads and into an enormous living room.

  The party in the living room looked like it would escalate into an orgy within minutes. The music came from speakers hanging at six-foot intervals on the walls. Three long couches formed an open triangle, with an expensive Turkish area rug in the middle. At least two dozen people populated the room, in various stages of dress and undress.

  Almost every being had a drink or something to be inhaled in hand. My eyes began to burn from the combination of burning tobacco, meth, marijuana, and clouds of vapor in the air. A few were handling flesh, others’ or their own.

  “Aww, you’re having a party to remind me of old times,” I said casually. “But there aren’t enough people, I hate smoke, and there’s no throne for me to sit on.”

  Dante laughed.

  “I have heard tales of the excesses that earned you your title, Lady. But no, this is my usual environment. I find it easier to manipulate humans and other beings when I am throwing parties and providing stimulation for their so-called brains. Certainly, you must have discovered the same, a few centuries ago?”

  Nodding, I stated, “I’m not going to be able to detect or recognize anything significant in this noisy place. Let me guess, we should adjourn to your bedroom?” There was no lack of sarcasm in my question.

  “Unless you want pleasure before business, no, we should not,” he responded. “Please, follow me to the lower chambers.”

  He moved past the crowd, making for a door on the east side of the room. I kept my focus on Dante to avoid being distracted by the inviting sounds and sights around me. Still, my eyes flickered around the room on occasion, and I noticed many familiar faces. Several of the area police were here, and it wasn’t for protection or to keep things from getting out of hand.

  Someone who might have been Nick’s cousin and a good many of Nick’s former coven members had made themselves quite comfortable and available. More area politicians than the mundanes would want to believe were scattered about, participating in every distraction and pleasure offered. Some were partaking in quite a few at the same time.

  While it was all familiar and somewhat tame to me, I felt some relief when I began walking down the stairs hidden behind the east door. The noise abated rapidly with each descending step.

  Dante’s lower chambers were not a basement except that they were underground and beneath a ground floor of a residence. We descended into a dwarven-made cavern with a chamber that was ten feet by thirty feet. Along the smooth walls, roots had been worked into shelves and chairs. Three additional rooms had been tunneled and lined with clay.

  Illumination came from huge crystals Dante activated with Magickal energy. They were set into the floor at each point of the compass with the largest in the center. The smallest crystal was two feet in diameter, and the center crystal was at least four. Only one of the side rooms was lit. It seemed that Dante wanted to leave the other two dark.

  Holding and protection spells, as well as runes, had been carved into the walls. The former were likely placed to keep the foundations of this and the surrounding houses intact. All in all, it felt like walking into a vast painting from some forgotten realm.

  My senses were trying to process all the stimuli around me, so I didn’t get defensive when Dante led me by the hand to the illuminated side room.

  When I finally focused on the new location, I saw a single chair, crafted for the room, sitting opposite a cabinet. The cabinet was made from ancient mahogany and measured six feet high and four feet wide. I could easily feel the new locking spell in place and the scattered remnants of the former spell. I had no doubt Dante had poured a great deal of power into both spells.

  Stepping forward, I carefully laid my left hand on the cabinet. The warm, smooth texture of the wood was a pleasing contrast to the energies that swirled and stuttered around the cabinet. I’m not sure how long I stood there, reaching out with my senses and reading the information that was there, but when I took my hand away, I had a fairly clear idea of what had happened.

  “Your lock spell wasn’t ‘picked,’ Dante,” I declared. “The spell was fed so much energy, it flew apart.”

  “My spell was overloaded?” Dante reflected, and his brow furrowed as he said, “There are very few beings that can summon that much energy, let alone command it.”

  “The commanding part wasn’t a big deal. All someone had to do was pour energy into the existing spell,” I said. “Finesse wasn’t required. It could have been done by a novice, if not for the amount of power required to…”

  I trailed off. Dante looked quizzically at me.

  “Dragon’s blood. If a novice consumed enough dragon’s blood, he or she could gather that much power,” I said, looking at Dante.

  Dante appeared skeptical. “Taking that much, even once, would destroy some of the saner parts of a human’s mind. Even an elf would be taxed to handle that much without permanent damage.”

  “How often do we find humans who care more about their health than they do about power?” I countered.

  Dante was about to reply, but I didn’t wait. I hurried back to the stairs.

  “What is it?” he called after me.

  “I thought I saw someone on the way here,” I shouted over my shoulder, “someone who fit that profile all too well.”

  I made my way up the stairs and through the door at the top, bursting into the party room. Arena rock music from the 70s was playing, and the occupants of the room had shifted around a bit. There were some new faces and a few of those that had been there earlier.

  Dirk was still there, however, as were most of the ex-coven members. They had moved to a different couch and all were topless, including Dirk. Surprisingly, Nick’s cousin had a rather developed torso, not the scrawny, junked up physique I expected. Regardless, they were the ones I was interested in. Within a fe
w seconds, I was standing behind them.

  “Where are the rest of your girlfriends?” I asked loudly.

  Dirk twitched and looked around until he found me. The women belonged to two camps: those that lazily looked up at me, wondering why I was dressed, and those busy with each other.

  “Oh, hey there…let me think…it’s Catherine, right?” Dirk said rapidly. “None of these ladies can really be called my girlfriend, because, ya know, they were devoted to Nick. You saw there were vampires here, right? The rest, like the blond I sometimes hang with, were big fans of that cable show from a few years back, and they wanted to see if vampires are, ya know, superheroes in the sack like that show made them out to be.” He wiggled his eyebrows to make sure I got the “subtle” subtext.

  “They might be disappointed,” I said with malevolent glee. “As with any species, it’s individuals who rise above, and the rest who cash in on their prowess.”

  “Ah…well.” Dirk tried to sound worried or sad, but his smirk was far too genuine. “I guess they’ll just find out for themselves. What brings you out here? I’ve never noticed you at one of Dante’s gatherings. Not that you aren’t a welcome sight and change of pace!”

  “I’m here on business,” I explained. “Dante needed my appraisal skills. Have you been coming here for a while?” I added a sly smile. “Showing the ladies what life is like outside the coven?”

  “I’ve been a regular here for about two years,” Dirk replied, and he seemed very happy to be talking about himself. “Some of the ladies would come along. Nick only wanted a few to stay with him at all times, and he rotated through them, ya know?”

  I nodded, and he kept talking. I only listened, while my other senses tried to detect the energy I’d encountered downstairs or the trace scent of dragon’s blood. None of the former coven members bore the slightest trace of either. Neither did Dirk, and that was quite disappointing. I figured he’d been involved. Ah, well. It had been a theory.

  Looking around for an excuse to end Dirk’s monologuing, my eyes happened upon Dante, who was watching me from the door. I gave him the slightest shake of my head, and he shrugged.

  “Excuse me, Dirk. Our host seems to want my attention,” I said and focused back on Nick’s cousin. He stopped talking and smiled.

  “Sorry, I was rambling a bit. It was a pleasure talking to you,” he said.

  I nodded and made my way over to Dante.

  “I presume that ends your reason for being here this evening,” Dante said woefully. “I suppose I shall have to have a throne installed to make you stay next time.”

  “I can’t guarantee that will work, but please, feel free to do so,” I countered, nodding curtly. “I will show myself out. Enjoy your festivities, Dante. I will be in touch.”

  Dante, who was no fool, did not argue with me. Instead, he bowed deeply and blew me a kiss.

  I kept from walking too fast, so it wouldn’t be obvious how much I wanted out of there.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  I kept telling myself I hadn’t left too fast as I drove to Fellhaven’s parking lot.

  Between the time I stepped out of my car and walked into Fellhaven, I managed to finally quiet my mind.

  Curt was tending bar, and he nodded once to me, then his big, infectious smile broke out from beneath his well-groomed, but voluminous, moustache and beard. Deciding I could get a table later, if I desired, I strode over and sat on the stool closest to the bartender.

  “What do ya know, Cat?” the burly man asked. He placed a highball glass in front of me, slid two feet from my left, fetched a large metal cup and filled it with ice. His dark eyes twinkled with a combination of humor and will.

  “How do you do that? Do you treat the floor with olive oil, so you can slide around like that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Well, Mark’s the kind one, and Chris is the angry one, so I had to be the smooth one,” Curt replied, then laughed.

  “The three of you are a trichotomy.” I said. “You don’t want to tell me that secret, fine, I’ll try for another. What are you making?”

  “That’s no secret. I’m making your drink. Your first drink, to be precise,” he said easily, while pouring vodka and dry vermouth into the metal shaker.

  “And my first drink is…?”

  “Delicious and just what you need,” Curt said confidently, flashing his broad smile again.

  I watched him add a little lime juice to the mix, then top the shaker and agitate the container and its contents. He shook it over his right shoulder, but added his own flourish by shaking his hips slightly to the music coming through the speakers. Tonight was jazz night, and the music was from the Big Band era. Curt slid back toward me, tapping the shaker on the bar like a chef cracking a supersized egg, and expertly poured the mixed beverage into my glass.

  “Wha—” I started to speak, trying to figure out if I wanted to know how long it took him to perfect his moves or what the hell he was serving me, but Curt surprised me again.

  After pouring my drink, he twirled and sank out of sight behind the bar. Just as I was about to lean over to see if Magick was involved, he popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box with a celery stalk in one hand and a cucumber spear carved to resemble a harpoon in the other. He slid them into my drink, then pushed the glass toward me.

  I looked at the drink and realized my mouth was hanging open. Looking back at Curt while shutting my mouth as nonchalantly as possible, I picked up the mystery drink and took a tentative sip.

  Damn him! It was delicious and tasted like just what I needed—something strong and a little tart, but also robust and fresh.

  “Okay, I will shut up and enjoy my drink, now,” I said wonderingly, and took a much bigger sip.

  “That is a Screaming Viking,” Curt explained. He took a step to my right and began typing on a screen. “You’ll need protein to survive the rest of the drinking you plan to do, so I’m ordering you a plate of pheasant wings in spicy orange glaze and a pair of meat trio sliders.”

  Opening my mouth to speak again, I realized what he was ordering sounded perfect. I closed my mouth, again.

  “You are a regular customer who sits in the bar more often than in the restaurant,” Curt said pleasantly. “We try to get a sense of our regulars’ tastes and make suggestions. Jen and Mark say I have an unnatural gift for it. I’ve been hoping you’d come in while I was tending bar, since I think I’ve finally gotten a good lock on what you like.”

  “Your gift is doing very well so far,” I admitted. “I might be joined by Sterling from the Council. Do you know what to get him?”

  “I know to wait until he says what he wants,” Curt said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure if I can’t read him, or if he enjoys contradicting what I order for him to keep me from getting too cocky, but after a dozen tries, I gave up.”

  I snickered and took another long sip. While I let it tickle my taste buds and slide down my throat, I examined the glass and realized that half of the drink was already gone.

  “Do you have a second round in mind yet?” I asked, shaking my glass slightly.

  “Oh, yes. All the ingredients are portioned out under the bar,” Curt assured me. “I’m just waiting for the right moment to bring them together.”

  Toasting him with my glass, I said, “Looking forward to it.”

  I noticed Jen moving towards us from my right. A look of surprise briefly crossed her face, before her usual smile and pleasant expression reappeared.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” she said, moving past Curt. “I didn’t think you made a habit of visiting an establishment so frequently.” She winked as she began tapping on the screen on the far side of the bar. “You said something about not becoming predictable.”

  I snorted. “This hasn’t been a normal week by a long shot.” Not that I was going to complain. “Dante hired me for a job, and I had to briefly go by his place.”

  “Uh oh!” Curt exclaimed with a laugh. “Did you walk into o
ne of Dante’s infamous parties?”

  “They’re infamous?” I asked in genuine surprise. “It was pretty tame compared to the ones I used to hold. It wasn’t very intimidating or exciting. And there was far too much smoking; it obscures the air so much, it’s hard to do anything worthwhile.”

  Jen cackled and held up her right hand. I gave it a sisterly slap with mine, even though I wasn’t sure which part of what I’d said she approved of.

  “Thank you! I’m allergic to smoke, and what Dante calls a party, we call a bad way to deal with customers and hook ups,” she declared.

  “Back when I earned my ‘title,’ the parties I had were bigger, and instead of drugs, it was wine, live musicians, and tables of food,” I said before finishing off my drink.

  As I pulled the cucumber spear out of the glass and began munching on it, Curt slid a snifter of some dark liquid toward me. He then made the highball glass disappear under the bar.

  “How do you know I wasn’t going to eat that celery stalk?” I teased.

  “Because you went for the cucumber instead. You only eat half of the celery you get, and it’s usually when you have one of Mark’s Bloodiest Mary drinks,” Curt replied. He nodded at the new beverage. “That’s Jen’s favorite.”

  I took a sip, allowing it to flow over my tongue and down my throat. The rum was the first thing I tasted, followed by a cherry flavor. It was dark, smooth, and a bit fruity, and the alcohol left a delicious bite. I stared at the drink before taking another, longer sip.

  “This is amazing. What is it?” I asked, deliberately setting the glass on the counter, so I wouldn’t drink it all in two gulps, before demanding more.

  “It’s a Black Rose,” Jen replied as Curt handed her one. “So, aside from needing something to get the taste of dealing with Dante out of your mouth, what brings you here?”

 

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