Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  Glancing at Corey, I saw him finishing up with the bouncer and walking my way. Hiding my relief with an effort, I walked around Ponytail, and that time he let me. When he turned, however, touching my arm, I snatched it away from his fingers, glaring up at him.

  “Do not touch me,” I said. “Not ever.”

  Ponytail chuckled, lifting his hands in mock apology.

  “Very nice to see you again, Miss Taylor,” he called after me. “I do hope I haven’t upset you in any way.” Smiling in his words, he added, “I sincerely wish for you and your friend to have a very pleasant evening together… a very pleasant evening, indeed.”

  I didn’t look back, but I felt my jaw clench.

  It didn’t occur to me until later that his words sounded an awful lot like a threat.

  15

  Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  I didn’t end up telling Corey much, although he asked me about the weird mafioso guy who tried to touch me. Corey joked that he looked like a Russian ex-con.

  I laughed when he said it, but truthfully, I was having trouble shaking it off.

  Ponytail had asked about that guy, Simon.

  From the way he’d mentioned him, the two of them weren’t friends, or working for the same branch of law enforcement, which both relieved and alarmed me. I was relatively sure his crack about having a good night with “my friend” had been about Simon, too.

  I still couldn’t get past the why me part of all this. More and more, I had my doubts there was any kind of legal investigation going on, at least not in the usual sense.

  Still, I believed Ponytail that he and his three pals weren’t acting alone.

  Could they be rogue SCARB, like Cass said? It was hard to imagine anyone but SCARB having the balls to tag and bag an owned seer in the middle of Fifth Avenue––or even just openly packing the type of enhanced equipment they’d been carrying.

  I remembered Jon saying parts of SCARB were made up of real hard-core racial fanatics.

  What if they weren’t all racial extremists, but religious ones, too?

  I wished I’d stopped in a kiosk at some point that day and looked up the meaning of the three spirals. But the last thing I needed was SCARB or the Feds flagging me in the system if it turned out to be something they were monitoring.

  I wondered if I should just go back to the hotel, lock myself in for the night––or even call the police. I didn’t feel all that safe going back to the hotel alone, though, or even with Jon and Cass. If they’d known to find me here––twice––they likely knew where I was staying.

  Only a few possibilities came to mind for how they’d even tracked me here.

  None of them boded well for me.

  They could have followed us from the airport, which was maybe the best case scenario. From what friends of mine in feed security had told me, government-issued headsets were pretty close to uncrackable these days, even by seers, so it was unlikely anyone non-law-enforcement could have hacked my headset.

  They could have used a satellite imaging device, but I was pretty sure those were exclusive to SCARB. Someone could have scanned my bar code while I slept on the plane, then used ad-trakkers and the World Court surveillance system to find me. Any hologram on the street had an imprint of my barcode, as would the robo-taxi we took to our hotel.

  Like I said––none of it boded well for me.

  By now, I’d nearly forgotten why I’d wanted to go backstage.

  I was barely present for the conversation with Corey.

  I managed to stay focused long enough to disentangle myself from our back and forth without him noticing anything. As he wandered in the direction of the bar, I resumed walking toward the door leading backstage. I’d dismissed any thought of heavy conversations with Jaden by then. I just wanted to wish him luck, give him a kiss, and go find Jon.

  I didn’t want to freak Jaden out before his big show, but I was thinking now I had to tell him what was going on––as soon as possible once the show ended.

  As I reached the security checkpoint to backstage, I recognized the bouncer who’d been hanging out with us before the doors opened. He broke out in a wide grin upon seeing me, grinning wider when I smiled back. I showed him my badge and he rolled his eyes a little, winking at me as he got off his stool to open the door.

  Motioning me to walk past once he had it open, he inclined his head towards the darker corridor behind him.

  “First door on the left for your guys.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walked the dim hallway, pausing outside the door the bouncer had indicated.

  I tried to collect my thoughts before I went in. I was still past buzzed and on the edges of being drunk. That brief jolt of fear-danger sobriety I’d felt while talking to Ponytail unfortunately hadn’t been permanent.

  Now I mostly felt off-balance and paranoid.

  I’d seen Drake, Winters and Hayden out at the bar, and Corey heading that way, so Jaden should be alone.

  Well, hopefully he was alone.

  Taking a breath, I knocked. When no one answered, I opened the door.

  The room was empty. I thought maybe I’d missed something and scanned it again, pausing on piles of clothes and the ratty couch shoved against one wall. Half-empty beer bottles littered a stained glass coffee table, along with an ashtray filled with what looked like roach butts. Next to that stood a bowl filled with peanuts and empty shells. The room still smelled vaguely of pot.

  No one was there now, though.

  I wandered in a little further, but it didn’t change anything. I saw more beer bottles, empty chip packets, open guitar cases, stray cords. Even their instruments were gone.

  Walking out, I wandered back to the bouncer I sort-of knew from earlier.

  “Hey,” I said. “Have you seen Jaden?” Realizing Jaden hadn’t been sitting with us earlier, I added, “You know, the singer for Eye of Morris. Black hair, blue eyes, six-foot-plus…?”

  The big, no-neck guy in the club T-shirt gave me a sheepish look. I don’t know any other way to describe it. Clearly, he had seen Jaden, or knew where he was, and didn’t want to tell me. Or, more likely, he’d been specifically told not to tell me. Or tell anyone, maybe.

  Not sure I wanted to interpret what that meant, I let my voice grow a touch more pointed.

  “I’m not going to bug him,” I said. “Honest. I just wanted to wish him luck.”

  “I haven’t seen him, doll. Not recently.” Smiling at me, that avoiding look still lingering in his eyes, he added, “I saw you and your friend dancing earlier. You wanna dance with me later? After the bands?”

  I smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “Sure. If we’re still around.”

  Even heavily buzzed, I knew he was distracting me. I decided it wasn’t worth pressing. People like him probably got instructions all the time to keep girlfriends and family and whoever else away from members of their headlining bands. Not losing his job probably depended in part on his ability to keep his mouth shut.

  “You mind if I look for him more back there?”

  That nervous twinge in his eyes grew. I saw him thinking, maybe trying to come up with a reason to say no. Then he shrugged.

  “Sure. Just don’t bother the other band, okay?”

  Nodding, I patted his thick shoulder again, then walked back the way I’d come, wandering deeper under and behind the stage.

  I thought maybe I could at least find Randy.

  Randy often lurked in dark corners, smoking, especially right before a big show. Since he wasn’t in the dressing room or out at the bar, I figured he was probably back here, alone. He wasn’t exactly a people person––a fact I’d always found funny, given his role. Jaden swore he was a magician at the business end of things, though, and Drake told me Randy knew absolutely everyone in the industry, another fact I found inexplicable.

  The music from the band onstage echoed strangely in the dark corridor.

  I passed the first few doors, which were closed, then glimpsed the hea
dliner band hanging out past the open door of the fourth. I only saw one of them, really, the lead singer, who lounged on a beat-up looking green velvet couch, a girl curled up in his lap. He was playing with her hair while he talked to someone I couldn’t see.

  Once I passed their door, the rooms got fewer and further apart. Where I was now looked more like storage for the club itself.

  I was almost to the other side of the corridor, getting ready to turn around and walk the length back––when I heard a giggle.

  I froze.

  My breath stopped, even before I’d put a face to that laugh.

  The giggle came again.

  The band on stage must have been between songs; I heard the echo of the lead singer’s voice above me, addressing the audience. I couldn’t make out most of his words, but he was loud––loud enough that I likely wouldn’t have heard anything if they’d been playing music.

  Fighting not to react, I looked in the direction of the giggle. I hadn’t noticed until then, but the door set in the wall there stood a few inches ajar.

  I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go in there.

  More than pretty sure––I was maybe ninety-eight percent certain I didn’t want to look on the other side of that door.

  My feet moved that way anyway, seemingly on their own. Pressing my lips together, I walked softly to the door and rested my fingers on the handle. Just before I pushed it open, the band started up with their next song.

  I’d been right; the music was deafening. The floor and metal door handle vibrated under my feet and fingers.

  I’d only heard the giggle because the band stopped playing. Now I couldn’t hear a thing. Whoever was inside that room wouldn’t be able to hear me, either.

  Taking a breath, I tugged on the handle, bringing the door open a few more inches so I could slip inside.

  I just wanted to look, I told myself.

  I just wanted to reassure myself that it wasn’t what my overactive imagination wanted to make of it, before I let myself get paranoid over nothing.

  I eased cautiously past the door’s opening. At first all I saw were the types of storage-room things you would expect for a big club.

  Costumes hung on freestanding racks. Light stands and fixtures littered the floor, along with club chairs and barstools that needed a leg or some other part fixed. Burned out bulbs sat next to new ones in padded boxes on a metal shelving unit, along with folded tablecloths, cloth napkins and lace doilies for trays. Part of a booth hunkered next to a stack of dismantled round tops. A giant, papier-mâché head sat in a corner from some event or other.

  Then I saw Jaden.

  I couldn’t see all of him. A long, standing rack of clothing stood in the way of most of his body. But I could see his face––and the fact that he was leaning back on a stack of cushions. I knew his clothes, down to the necklace I’d given him and his bomber jacket. I also saw his hands, one of which was coiled into the hair of the woman leaning deeply into his side.

  They were kissing.

  I stared for a moment, taking it in.

  My brain just… stopped.

  While I stood there, the band blared behind me, leaving the room strangely soundless, making the whole thing feel even more unreal when the two of them didn't come up for air. Then Jaden leaned forward, saying something into the ear of pouty lips, who looked up long enough to giggle again, her breasts pushed up against his chest.

  Seeing their faces so close together somehow made it real. More real than my brain could really handle.

  “What the fuck?” I shouted.

  Jaden jumped violently, looking up.

  Seeing me standing there, he pushed pouty lips back instinctively, even as I saw panic touch his blue eyes as he took in my face. She didn’t seem to want to let him go. Frowning up at Jaden’s expression, she just held onto his side, as if confused.

  Then she turned her head.

  Seeing me standing there, she gave me a simpering, innocent look that made me want to punch her in the face. Or maybe do a lot more than punch her.

  My brain shorted. My breath came harder. A sick feeling coiled up from somewhere inside, blotting out rationality.

  I felt hatred. I don’t think I’d ever felt so much hatred.

  I wasn’t sure which of them it was even aimed at.

  Something in that feeling actually scared me. A surge of heat hit my chest, so intense it wanted to overwhelm all my other senses. For the first time in my life, I realized I was capable of violence––real violence––in a way I’d never wanted to believe. Understanding flashed through me, a knowing that if I let go of control, even for a second, I would do something.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what I might do.

  All of that passed through me in seconds. Then another understanding reached me.

  I didn’t want to act on that feeling.

  I really didn’t want to do whatever that thing was.

  Turning, I ran for the door, stumbling and sliding in the high-heeled boots before I caught my balance by grabbing onto the wall. I left without looking back, without closing the door behind me.

  I just fled.

  16

  Revenge

  I didn’t see him at all. I don’t think I could see anything at that point, and he was so tall, his face wasn’t exactly in my range of vision.

  All I knew was, I was trying to get through the crowd of people by the bar.

  I didn’t even know where I was going precisely. Out, I guess. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, but my brain hadn’t progressed beyond that. I wasn’t consciously looking for anyone else. I wasn’t even looking for Jon or Cass.

  My vision was a dark blur of moving bodies, all of them in my way.

  As a result, I ran into him pretty much full-tilt.

  I plowed into him harder than I had the female seer earlier that day, but this time, I didn’t fall down, maybe because he caught hold of my arms. When I looked up, the shock of seeing him standing there, frowning at me, wiped every other thought out of my mind. It also brought my eyes abruptly back into focus, maybe for the first time since I’d left Jaden.

  But all that came out of my mouth was one word.

  “You!” I said.

  Anger filled my voice, a fury that sounded harsh, even to me.

  The man looked slightly taken aback.

  It was probably the most visible reaction I’d ever seen on him.

  Maybe it was my tone of voice, or something in my face, but he seemed entirely at a loss for words as he looked at me, even more than he had on the plane. Unlike ponytail guy, he looked pretty much exactly the same as he had that morning, down to the same jacket, T-shirt and dark pants. His black hair looked damp though, like he’d gotten out of the shower pretty recently. If anything, the wetter look emphasized that angular face and those light eyes even more. His narrow mouth pursed in a frown as he looked me over.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I said. “What do you want from me?”

  He continued to stare at me, his face close to expressionless.

  He didn’t let go of my arms.

  “Are you looking for your pal?” I snapped. I was trying to get a reaction out of him, I guess, any reaction. “…Because he already did the creepy stalker thing tonight. Are you guys taking turns? Did he pass the mantle to you for the rest of the evening?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, growing openly wary.

  I pulled away, meaning to push past him, but he tightened his hold.

  “Where?” The German accent surprised me again, audible even when he spoke over the sound of the band. “Where did he go?”

  I jerked back, and that time, his fingers released me.

  Staring up at him, I found it was me who was at a loss for words.

  Remembering what I’d just left, I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes before I averted my gaze. Looking back at him, I felt another surge of fury, that time, hotter than I could control. Without thought, I shoved at him, hitting him in the mi
ddle of the chest with my palm.

  In that instant, I completely forgot he might be a SCARB agent. It never even crossed my mind how completely stupid it was to lay a hand on him.

  He barely budged from my shove, but I saw his eyes widen.

  He looked down at where I’d shoved him, a bewildered look on his face.

  “Just leave me the hell alone, all right?” I clenched my hands, fighting the impulse to shove him again. Hell, some part of me wanted to hit him. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not religious. I’m not political. I don’t know jack shit about Third Mythers. I’m not interested in being your bait for some kind of sting operation. So whatever the hell you want, whatever bullshit game this is… leave me out of it. I have my own problems.”

  His expression didn’t move. He might have blinked.

  Something about my complete inability to read him infuriated me more.

  I was about to walk away before I hit him again, when someone else grabbed my shoulder from behind, forcing me to turn.

  That time, it was the absolute last person I wanted to see.

  Jaden stood there, panting, like he’d run to catch up with me. Now he scanned my face and eyes, and for the second time, I saw fear in his expression. That fear turned rapidly to anger while I watched, maybe in self-defense.

  Even seeing that, I was caught off-guard by his words.

  “Trust you to walk in at just the wrong time!” he snapped.

  For a moment I could only stare at him.

  I swung before I’d thought, but my fist and arm were abruptly stopped, mid-arc. I turned, looking behind me, stunned to see the black-haired man with those crystal eyes holding my wrist. His expression didn’t move as I glared up at him.

  He released my wrist after a bare instant, startling me when he spoke.

  “Surveillance,” he said.

  That was it. One word.

  Staring at him incredulously, I fought with how to reply, how to even make sense of what he’d just done. Then I gave up, turning my back on him to glare at Jaden. Once I faced my supposed boyfriend, I realized I wasn’t up for this conversation, either.