by Jen Kirchner
A ripple of laughter echoed through the building as I emptied the commercial-grade fire extinguisher on the actor twice voted sexiest man alive. Stumbling under a thick cloud of white foam, Cody slipped and fell gracelessly on the floor.
As the foam settled, I noticed Mikelis had come in through the fire door at the end of the hall. His lips were pinched and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly in a suppressed smile.
The club was in an uproar and cameras were flashing nonstop. VIP guests were gathering at the hall entrance, and Cody's bodyguards were going to be on us any second. We had to get out of the building.
Brad must have been thinking the same thing because he pulled me around Cody to the emergency exit. Mikelis stepped aside for us, and his deep, blue eyes met mine. He had come back just for me. I didn’t know what to say, and I was a little frazzled, so I just handed him the fire extinguisher.
He took it. His lips broke into a lovely, amused smile. I smiled back.
Brad was totally unaware of the exchange and punched the alarm handle. Sirens screamed to life as he pulled me to safety.
SIX
I slammed my front door shut, dropped my purse on the entry table, and kicked my heels off, sending them flying into the wall so hard they each made a loud, satisfactory smack. Silence descended over the house just in time to hear my cell phone make a cheery chime inside my purse. Another voicemail.
That brought the total to eighteen calls from our record company, management company, and public relations people. I didn’t need to hear the messages to know what they entailed. Tonight’s events were all Cody’s fault, but no one was going to see it that way—he was the star and we should have been grateful.
I heard the floorboards creak. A small, dark shadow floated just above the floor, heading toward me, invisible on Death Radar. I waited until my cat padded into the entry and sat down, looking at me expectantly.
“You wouldn’t believe what I did tonight, Nadia.”
She stared back with wide, unblinking eyes. Her tiny head tilted to the side, then she flipped over and started licking her butt.
“You’re right. It’s not a surprise. But hey, at least I didn’t get killed.”
I needed some good news. I grabbed my cell phone and called Dad, but there was no answer. Just as I was leaving a voicemail, my phone chimed, alerting me to a text message.
“Still in Council. Requests for Occupancy from France and South Korea. Unauthorized community found near you. No update on your mother. Stay indoors. Love, Dad.”
That must be quite a meeting. I was sorry to miss it.
Every country vied for Immortal settlements. Immortals were stable, fiscally sound, promoted local business, and even came with their own law enforcement. But the Immortal State didn’t simply approve everyone who asked. Being approved for residency required formal inquiry to determine a forecast for economics, population health, and a host of other criteria. Becoming approved typically required multiple requests. The first stage approved a country’s bill of health and general safety, allowing citizens of the Immortal State to at least vacation there. France had been unapproved since World War II, and this would be their second request. South Korea had been unapproved since the sixteenth century and this was their first request.
The discovery of an unauthorized community was not the good news I was looking for. Since I had been born, only one other had been found. They were rare and incredibly problematic for the Immortal State. They comprised people who had been abducted and made immortal against their will—a violation of the state’s highest laws. The first community had been discovered in a remote Russian village around five hundred years ago: fourteen newly made immortals trapped by a voodoo hex. The victims weren’t voodoo practitioners; they hadn’t even heard of it. The worst part was, a few weeks after they were freed and integrated into Immortal society, they exploded.
It didn’t take long for the Immortal State to connect the killings to Ruairí O'Bryne, a serial necromancer-killer and the head of the organized voodoo world. To this day, Ruairí O'Bryne is still at large, and no one knows what purpose the unauthorized communities serve.
Voodoo is a lot like necromancy, except exponentially more difficult and incredibly dangerous. Unlike channels, one isn’t born into voodoo. All who practice it start at ground zero with a dangerously low tolerance for funneling magic through their bodies. Their early work involves small blood rituals and sacrificing small animals. As their capacity to funnel magic grows, sacrifices get bigger, and eventually they graduate to sacrificing people. The ultimate goal is to sacrifice a necromancer. All of the necromancer’s powers would transfer to the voodoo master, as long as said master had the capacity to store all of that magic somewhere. Any miscalculation would result in death.
The last thing I wanted was to end up on a voodoo master’s sacrificial table. Luckily, as far as I’m concerned, they have to find me first.
“Come on, Nadia. Let’s get some treats.”
I took a right at the end of the hall and followed it to the kitchen. As I passed beneath a wide arch, I flipped the light switch and felt my mood instantly improve. Warm light splashed over a custom display of speckled granite countertops, glazed cabinetry, and shiny appliances. When I remodeled this room, I thought the door to the garage was a little tacky and out of place, so I had a chalkboard mounted on it. I meant to write silly little notes and menus on it, but I never did. The surface was spotless, just like the rest of my kitchen. Everything in the room sparkled. Everything was immaculate. Everything was—
Oh my God, is that a scratch?
I bent so low my nose nearly brushed the counter. Something was definitely there on the surface. I licked my index finger and furiously rubbed a mark about the size of my fingernail.
Phew. Just a smudge.
The pantry was crammed with food and supplies, but I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was hiding. So did Nadia. As soon as I grabbed the step stool, she started to run in circles around me, meowing excitedly.
Standing on the top step, on my toes, I reached behind a jumbo-sized bag of cat food and caught the edge of some plastic packaging. I pulled the bag of chocolate chip cookies from its hiding spot, popped one in my mouth, and grabbed another. The bag went back in its hiding spot. If Pasha ever found my secret cookie stash it would go into the garbage. It had happened before and I wasn’t taking chances.
Next to the bag of cat food was a small, plastic container of cat treats. I grabbed the jar with my free hand and shook it, causing the few treats left inside to rattle about noisily. Nadia went into a frenzy, running around the stool, hopping up on the step with me, and jumping down again. Her meows had turned into crazed, high-pitched yips.
I hopped down and sat on the stool, set my extra cookie on a paper towel, and lowered my hand for her to reach. Squeaking excitedly, she stuck her face into my cupped palm and quickly scarfed it down. After finishing, she looked mightily offended that there had been only one.
“Sorry,” I said, reaching for the second cookie, “but it seems you’ve been getting more than your fair share. I’m going to find out who else has been feeding you and make them stop.”
Apparently she was displeased because she turned around, stuck her tail in the air, and waltzed from the room.
I left the treats on the counter and ran upstairs. I changed out of my dress and into a pair of jeans and a red, long-sleeved silk shirt. My hair had been frazzled by the party, so I pulled it back into a ponytail. I considered removing some of my heavily applied makeup, but as I was getting out the cotton swabs, I heard Brad honking his horn in the driveway.
I ran downstairs, grabbed my purse and keys, and ran out to meet him.
Thick bass and heavy-handed drums assaulted me as I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Knowing Brad drove like a maniac, the first thing I did was reach for my seatbelt. Greeting was second.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. You look nice.”
“Th
anks.”
I gave him a cursory inspection. His attire was dressed-to-kill on bottom and couldn’t-care-less on top. He was obviously feeling conflicted about meeting his dad’s new girlfriend.
“Dinner’s going to be later than expected. Apparently she had to work late.”
I gave him a hopeful look. “She has a job. That’s promising.”
“There’s something wrong with her,” he grumbled. “There always is.”
I understood. That was true for all of Brad’s girlfriends too.
Uncle Rick lived ten minutes from my house in the grassy suburb of Webster, a residential area well-liked for its schools and golf courses. He lived in a two-bedroom condominium sandwiched between rows of other condos. When Vis Viva became successful, Brad tried to upgrade his dad into a bigger house, but Uncle Rick said he was perfectly happy in the one where he had raised his son. Uncle Rick was a great guy. Everything he did was for Brad, and he had always treated me like his daughter.
We parked in the driveway but were too nervous to get out. The porch light was on, illuminating a narrow walk with sparse shrubbery and mashed bark that hadn’t been freshened after the winter thaw. The condo only had two windows in the front: one on the ground floor and another on the second floor directly above. The ground floor window was open and smoke poured out of it.
Brad turned to me expectantly, pointing at the smoke as if to say, “See?”
“You can’t cook either,” I said. “It doesn’t make you a bad person.”
He grimaced, then gestured to a large paper bag in the backseat. “Can you grab that?”
I twisted around in the seat, reaching for it. “Two bottles of wine? Do we really need that much?”
He gestured again at the smoke pouring out of the house.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
We walked to the front door. I considered entering on my hands and knees. Brad gave the door two sharp raps and opened it.
“Hello!” he called.
A similar voice returned his greeting. “Hello!”
An older version of Brad appeared at the end of the hall, beaming a hundred-watt smile. His blond hair was going stylishly gray, and laugh lines had worn around his eyes and mouth. Aged jeans had been paired with a brown blazer and leather shoes. He tackled Brad in a fatherly hug. I was next. My hug was gentler, but retained the warmth.
“Happy birthday, kiddo!”
“Thanks.”
When he pulled away, he stepped back and studied Brad.
“We’ve been listening to the radio. The DJ was talking about a fight you two got into with a ‘drunk and hunky’ actor.”
“More drunk than hunk. Brad saved me.”
Uncle Rick beamed a smile at Brad. Brad stared at his feet. I guess you’re never too old to be embarrassed by your parents gushing.
“It was no big deal.”
“Yes it was,” I said. “It was a very big deal.”
“There’s nothing more important than family,” Uncle Rick said. “Speaking of family, come in and meet Suzanne. She's really looking forward to meeting you two.”
We followed the trail of gray smoke wafting along the ceiling. Every smoke alarm we passed was missing its cover and the batteries had been removed.
Uncle Rick’s condo had undergone noticeable changes. Photos showing different generations of the Kasen family had been arranged in an artistic collage along the hall, starting with old black and whites and ending with a photo of Uncle Rick, Brad, and me at Brad’s college graduation ceremony. Most of the walls had been freshly painted. The living room now had a bright blue accent wall. Matching throw pillows threatened to make the plaid couch and leather recliner look like distant relatives. A thin, brown blanket had been folded up and draped over the far arm of the couch at an angle so only the corner showed. A woman had forced her mark upon this bachelor pad and Brad clearly didn’t like it. As we passed through the living room, he glared at the accent wall as if it had called him names.
At the source of the smoke, we found a slim brunette holding a spatula.
Uncle Rick beckoned her over, using the gesture to covertly wave smoke out of his face. “Hey Sweetie, the kids are here.”
Brad shot me a sideways glance and mouthed, “Sweetie?”
I elbowed him in the ribs.
Suzanne turned around. Her face lit up like she had been called out as a game show contestant.
I could definitely see why Uncle Rick liked her. She was bright, happy, and having a hard time staying contained in her orange halter. Had she been ten years younger, Brad would have asked her out too.
Uncle Rick put one arm around her narrow shoulders. “Kids, this is Suzanne. Suzanne, this is my son, Brad, and my niece, Kari.”
“I'm so thrilled to meet you,” she gushed. “Rick told me so much about you, I feel like I know you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I said.
Brad looked undecided. I shifted on my feet, nonchalantly jamming another elbow into his side. He blinked and snapped out of his stupor.
“Nice to meet you too,” he echoed, and pointed to the paper bag in my arms. “We brought some wine for dinner. I wasn't sure what you liked, so there's one red, one white.”
“Oh!” Suzanne gushed, clasping her hands together. “So thoughtful, just like your dad.”
Uncle Rick shot us a lovestruck grin. “Let's get these open. I think we have some clean glasses.”
Brad and I took the bottles to the table while Suzanne looked for glasses. Uncle Rick passed Brad a corkscrew over the counter.
As soon as Uncle Rick turned his back, I whispered to Brad, “See? She's okay.”
“Just wait,” he muttered, “there will be something.”
“Like what? She's got all her teeth. What more could you ask for?”
That comment cracked his façade and we both started snickering under our breath.
Uncle Rick turned around, eyebrows raised. “What are you two laughing about?”
“Nothing,” we chorused.
Suzanne's laugh bubbled out. “Rick said you two were practically brother and sister. He was right!”
Brad grinned. “Yeah, right after I get these bottles open, Kari's going to get a noogie.”
“If I do, Brad's going to get a wet willie.”
Uncle Rick walked around the counter with four wine glasses. “If you two don't knock it off, I'm going to turn this dinner around.”
Everyone laughed. Brad started pouring a healthy serving of Montepulciano into the glasses.
I decided it was safe enough to venture into some conversation. “So, Suzanne, what do you do?”
She smiled and her eyes widened as if that was the best question I could possibly ask. “I’m a naturopath!”
Brad’s hand faltered and spilled a little wine on the tablecloth. Luckily, Uncle Rick was looking away and didn’t notice.
I threw a napkin over the spill and forced a smile on my face. “That sounds interesting.”
“I just love helping people,” she said. “Brad, I understand you were a medical student in college.”
Brad dislodged his mouth from his glass long enough to acknowledge that with a grunt.
Uncle Rick beamed. “He was studying to be a surgeon.”
Suzanne’s smile didn’t falter, though it felt apologetic. “I don’t believe in surgery. I think the body is best at healing itself.”
“What about first-channelers?” I asked.
“I think they should keep their spells to themselves.”
Brad inhaled the entire contents of his wine glass. Let the games begin.
She continued, “The state won’t let me call myself a doctor, but things are changing. Naturopathy is becoming a well-respected form of medicine.”
“You’d be amazed at some of the things she can do!” Uncle Rick said.
Smiling from ear to ear, Suzanne came around the counter holding a platter full of something that had been charred black. She set it on the table. “So what mad
e you two decide to go into music?”
That was a much better subject. Even Brad looked happy for the diversion.
“We were a college band,” Brad said. “It was a bit of a fluke, really. We started playing shows around the state and eventually got asked to open for a big act. We were paid pretty well to do it, so we decided to continue.”
I added, “We didn’t expect it to last more than a year or two, but it did.”
Uncle Rick brought two bowls to the table. One contained a salad and the other had something bright green. Radioactive salad dressing, maybe?
“Brad, do you ever regret not pursuing medicine?” Suzanne asked.
“No, not really. I still help people when I can.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, sharing a knowing smile.
We all took up places around the square table but didn’t sit down. I think Brad was a little irked that Suzanne was sitting in my usual spot, but he didn’t say anything. I stood opposite to Uncle Rick.
Suzanne pulled from her pocket a small, wooden stick with a few colorful feathers tied to it and a rock with a strange, painted design.
Brad’s head cocked slightly to one side. “Are we going to exorcise the food?”
“We are cleansing the meal of evil spirits,” Suzanne said.
“It’s really quite incredible,” Uncle Rick assured us.
Brad sucked down a little more wine.
Suzanne lifted the rock in one palm and the stick in the other, high above her head. She started to chant and jerk her arms awkwardly.
“Lif-or-rah-hoo,” she intoned. “Mee-ho-foo-foo.”
Brad looked away, trying not to laugh.
No runes were forming in the air so I knew her spell was nonsense. Still, she was going for it, waving her arms like it mattered. I reached up to rub my nose, stifling an itch.
“Fee-fo-hoo-hoo.”
A sneeze came over me. Slapping my hands over my mouth and nose, I turned away and sneezed so hard my ears rang.