by Sonya Clark
One of her favorite sets caught her eye. A long necklace of shimmering orchid beads alternating with tiny faceted clear seed beads strung together in a Y-shape that ended with a small calla lily charm would be perfect with the V-neck of the altered blouse. A matching bracelet and earrings completed the set. After putting them on she dumped everything else back in the box, wondering if Nate would still be wearing the piece of hers he’d bought in the shop downstairs.
Not that it particularly impressed her that he’d bought it. Just another bribe, after all. Still, it looked good on him. Onyx and silver suited the solidity of his form and his personality. The shape of his mouth lingered in her thoughts. His mouth would be solid too, as would his kisses.
She slammed the box on the dresser, pushing away unwanted thoughts. A knock and Nate’s voice calling her name announced his presence on the other side of her door, a conjured spirit. Disgusted with herself, she marched across the small apartment and flung the door open, a caustic insult on her lips.
Promptly forgotten at the sight of him.
Nate wore a rich twilight blue, short-sleeved button-down shirt. The open collar showcased just enough bronze skin to tease and the sleeves fit so snug across his impressive biceps she could imagine the shirt ripping easily if he flexed his arms. His shirt being ripped from his body was not something she wanted to imagine but oh, it made for quite a mental image. Her curiosity betrayed her, and her eyes traveled down his body. Charcoal slacks hung just right on his trim waist, hugging his ass in a way that would definitely get him noticed at the club. Or standing on the street, or at her threshold.
“You ready for me?” His mouth quirked in just enough of a smirk to piss her off even more.
“Hi, asshole.” It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Sinsuality was located in an old warehouse at the far north end of the zone. A line of Normals queued outside a nearby gate while a mix of Normal and Magic Born mingled in front of the club in the warm night air. The tang of pot and a thumping bass line underscored excited chatter and the occasional shout of greeting. Nate stayed close to Calla, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. She kept her back to him while they stood in line. Equal parts nervous and curious, he fought the urge to make conversation and people-watched.
Calla’s purple hair and shrink-wrap black outfit was tame compared to what most wore. It covered more skin too, though the deep V of her top was something he much appreciated. Revealing clothes were the norm, as were dyed hair and elaborate accessories. Nate suspected most of the people sporting a tamer appearance were Normals, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t see anyone he recognized, but then he still didn’t know many people beyond those he worked with.
As they neared the entrance, the music got louder. When it was their turn with the doorman Calla paid her own way in then waited for Nate. He’d brought plenty of cash so he could pay the cover charge for both of them, as well as buy their drinks, but she probably wanted this to be as little like a date as possible. He made no comment and paid.
The entrance was a narrow hall, dark except for a rolling glow of neon at the ceiling. The hot pink highlights in Calla’s hair glowed in the dimness, giving him something to follow without having to cross the line of touching her. After a series of sharp corners the hall forked. Calla headed to the right. Nate caught her hand and pulled her close enough to speak to her over the pulse of music. “What’s that way?” He jerked his free hand at the hall to the left.
She pulled her hand away. “That goes to the Garden, where they have a floor show.”
“What’s that?”
Several people filed past, forcing Calla and Nate close to the wall. She said, “Believe me, you’re not ready for that. Let’s break you in with the dance hall.” Not giving him a chance to reply, she resumed walking.
The bass thrummed louder, echoing in his chest and through the soles of his feet. He followed Calla up a short flight of metal stairs, across a gangplank, then down another short flight that finally spilled out into the dance hall. The large open floor was crammed with people, most dancing, some socializing, some watching. A number of elevated metal platforms were sprinkled throughout the space. Some were open areas for several dancers, and some held cages with individual dancers inside. There was nothing he recognized as electric light. Instead the same sort of neon glow as the hallway flowed throughout the space in a variety of colors.
That wasn’t the only light present. Snaking through the mass of dancers and blooming above their heads were flowers, ribbons and abstract patterns that slowly dissipated in the air. It was magic; it had to be. It was beautiful. Entranced, he stared at the dizzying light show, momentarily forgetting his purpose here or that he needed to keep up with Calla.
“Hey!” She stood several feet from the bottom of the stairs wearing a look of annoyance. “You coming?”
“Yeah.” He hurried to catch up.
They weaved through the crowd to one of the tiny tables that dotted the edge of the dance floor. Some had stools, some didn’t. The one they found empty only had one stool, so Nate planted himself on the opposite side of the table from it. Without comment Calla climbed onto the stool. She leaned over to be heard. “Servers make the rounds pretty often, so we can be patient and wait or lose the table and go to the bar.”
“Waiting’s fine.” It gave him a chance to take in the surroundings. A couple nearby seemed more interested in groping each other than dancing. Two tables over a man was reading tarot cards for a woman dressed too sedately to be anything but Normal. A clump of girls stood together giggling and talking, one of them appearing to apply intricate makeup to another.
Only...not. More magic, Nate supposed. The girl traced her fingers in the air inches from the other’s face, and vibrant color appeared in an intricate pattern around her eyes.
“What is all this?” Nate made a gesture he hoped encompassed all the light as well as whatever the girls were doing. “I mean, I know it’s magic.”
Calla followed his gaze to the girls. “That’s just glamour. It’s pretty easy magic—low level stuff. Some of the earliest stuff we learn.” Nate cocked an eyebrow, not sure how to ask for more information. She swiveled on the stool to face him. “Here, I’ll show you.”
She held her hands an inch above her hair and moved them down the short length. The color shimmered and changed to an electric blue. She did it again, this time making her hair cherry red. Once more with acid green as the result. Finally she returned it to its customary purple with hot pink highlights.
Nate stared in amazement, unable to suppress a grin. “That is pretty cool. What’s your real hair color?”
“That you have to earn.”
Whatever hoop that took, he just might be willing to jump through it. “What about the light? What’s that?”
“A very mild form of fire magic we call witchlight. Fire is plasma, so you can invoke fire and instead of actual literal fire you can make a kind of light.”
Nate didn’t understand most of that. “Can you do it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know this was going to be show-and-tell night.”
“Come on, indulge me.” He rested his forearms on the table and leaned closer, deploying a certain smile he’d always had success with in the past.
What do you know, the witch wasn’t totally made of ice. A blush crept across her cheeks and she bit her lip, breaking eye contact.
Calla brought her hands together. Her customary smirk back in place, she kept her eyes on him while she spread her hands apart again slowly, fanning her fingers. A wine red calla lily bloomed, made of the same glowing light as what was scattered throughout the club.
“Pretty color.” He hovered his index finger close to the lily, curious what would happen if he touched it.
“Go ahead.” Her smile widened.
Nate
knew it was a dare but he had to take it. With deliberation he lowered his finger, stroking a petal. It tingled, like he was touching a live wire with just enough current to make his nerves fizz and pop. The more he stroked the flower, the stronger the current got, little teeth gnawing on his finger and spreading to the rest of his hand. He wouldn’t back down. He spread his entire hand into the space occupied by the bloom, its light shining on his skin.
The sensation intensified. So did Calla’s smirk and the amusement in her eyes. He held his hand steady, keeping his face a mask. The flower exploded in a shower of miniature fireworks, little embers of sizzling current landing on his face and arms and dissolving to nothing so fast he barely felt anything. The suddenness of it still shocked him and he jumped back.
Calla laughed, a sound as warm and open as one of her rare genuine smiles. It turned that small shower of fireworks into a supernova. Basking in the light, he smiled in return.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She looked deliciously pleased with herself.
Nate couldn’t be the least bit angry. “You owe me for that.”
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’d rather have a dance instead.” He hadn’t been planning that, but now that the words were out he knew he wanted it. Wanted her close to him, wanted to risk a touch. He steeled himself for rejection, sure she would refuse.
She bit her lip and reached for his hand. “Let’s go.”
Another supernova burst inside him, made of light and heat and the pleasure of anticipation. He followed her to the dance floor.
Chapter Seven
A long set of high-energy dance numbers segued to a slow song as Calla and Nate found a place on the floor. She thought about turning back, making some excuse to wait for another song, but he didn’t give her the chance. Solid, heavy hands took her by the waist and pulled her close to him. The top of her head came to about the middle of his chest, and she took advantage of the excuse to avoid eye contact. What she couldn’t avoid was the scent of his cologne, a clean woodsy fragrance that teased and hinted at a surprising sensuality. Also unavoidable was the weight of his hands on her hips, the obvious muscle underneath his shirt, the smooth skin revealed by the open top button, the warmth of his body that lulled like a drug.
Trapped in his embrace, Calla had to choose between placing her hands on his chest or on his arms. She tried his arms first, resting her hands gingerly on taut forearms. Not wanting to hold on tight, she let her fingers move up and down his smooth, warm skin. He pulled her closer, his hands moving to the small of her back. The slow, hypnotic rhythm of the music had to be the reason she allowed it. Had to be the reason she moved her hips against him, the reason she let her hands travel up his chest, pressing against the hard muscle there, to drape around his neck.
She looked up to find him staring at her intently. Eyes she knew to be hazel were black in the darkness of the club. Witchlight from the walls and other dancers reflected off the sharp angles of his face. Too hard to be handsome, except for that mouth. His lips drew her attention. For a long moment there was nothing but the music and her own guilty desire.
Some angry part of her brain kicked in and said, This is the closest you’ve ever been to a Normal. What the hell are you doing? Tearing her gaze from his mouth, she looked at the floor, the walls, anywhere but at Nate. Someone leaving the dance floor brushed against them, forcing her even closer to the cop for a moment. Calla pushed away, breaking his hold.
Feeling ridiculous and out of sorts, she lashed out. “You’re stepping on my feet, asshole.”
“I’m tired of you calling me asshole,” he said. “My name is Nate. I want you to call me by name.”
Calla shook her head. “You want me to like you. Why?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because I like you.”
That was no good at all. She looked away. “Don’t.”
“Too late.” He claimed her hips again, drawing her close and wrapping his arms around her.
The song dripped honey into her veins, making it impossible to break away from him again. She didn’t fight it. It was just the music. Not him. Not his solidity, his warmth, the feel of his hands on her body, the curve of his lips or the darkness revealing a promise in his eyes. No, it wasn’t Nate. It was just the music.
The song came to an end, filling Calla with regret. Whether she regretted dancing with him or the dance ending, she wasn’t sure and didn’t want to think about too much.
They’d lost their table to another couple, so she headed for the bar. “Come on, let’s do what we came here for.”
“Right,” he said. “Work.” He sounded like he was feeling a fair amount of regret himself. “You still going to introduce me to the owner?”
“If he’s here. If he’ll talk to you.” The spell of the music broken, she felt on firmer footing and intended to stay that way. No more dancing with Nate or letting him touch her. Or thinking of him as Nate for that matter. “You want a drink?”
“Whiskey and soda.”
She held out her hand. He produced cash and she hurried to the bartender.
* * *
Nate watched her walk away, moving as if she couldn’t get far enough from him fast enough. He knew he should take her cue and remember this was all about a job, and a murder case at that. The dance had been a mistake. Admitting he liked her—a colossal mistake. He’d never been any good at this kind of thing, always too likely to wear his feelings on his sleeve. Playing games seemed pointless, so he’d always been honest with women. Too honest. What got him into trouble was assuming women would always be honest with him in return. His wife cheating on him with a vice president at the company where she worked had eventually disabused him of that notion.
Being attracted to an informant was one thing, acting on it another. If Calla would give him a chance once the case was over, maybe they could see each other. Then again maybe not. The gulf between Normal and Magic Born was not insignificant. He might be new in town and still unused to being around Magic Born, but even he knew that.
Calla talked to the bartender as their drinks were made. It looked too intense to be a friendly chat. The bartender waved a thumb over his shoulder. Calla nodded, picking up their drinks.
Time to go to work. Nate shelved all other thoughts and tried to focus on his purpose.
“Vadim’s in his office.” Calla shoved his drink at him. She had a bottle of water in one hand. “He’s in a good mood, so if you have enough cash you might have a shot at getting something out of him.”
“Lead the way.” Nate took a drink of the whiskey and regretted it instantly. Battery acid might go down easier. He left it on an empty table as he followed Calla.
The office was in the back of the club, up a flight of stairs and overlooking the dance floor. A couple of beefy security guard types tried to stop them outside the door. Nate showed his badge and Calla gave them an apologetic smile.
“It’s okay, guys, everything’s cool. He just wants to waste a little money trying to get information.”
One of them said, “You’re coming down in the world, Vesper.”
She grinned, bold as brass. “But I’m still not as low as you, asshole.”
The other guard snickered and opened the door. They passed through it into a short hall leading to another door.
Nate said, “Trying to make me jealous, calling some other guy asshole.” It slipped out before he could stop himself.
“You’re all assholes as far as I’m concerned,” she said good-naturedly.
She rapped her knuckles on the second door. “Vadim, it’s Calla Vesper. With a cop.”
A voice called for them to come in. Entering the room they were hit by a miasma of smoke and a strong herbal scent. Nate waved his hand in front of his face, his eyes burning.
“Evening, officer. What can I do you for
?” Vadim Bazarov sat behind a wooden desk with his feet up, a drink in one hand. Forty-something with slightly receding black hair, he had the look of a poker player who never lost a bluff.
The sound of Calla’s laugh cut through the smoke like sunlight through early morning fog. “You could have at least put the incense out.”
“What? It’s my religious right.” Vadim looked at Nate. “Isn’t that right, officer?”
“It’s detective. Nathan Perez.” He flashed his badge. “This is nightshade incense?”
“Yes and perfectly legal in this form for religious purposes. I’m communing with the Goddess, you see.” He raised his glass and took a drink.
Calla snorted, dropping into a chair against the wall. Nate seated himself in the chair directly opposite the desk. “I don’t care about incense. I want to know about the pills, the illegal stuff that gets sold on the street.”
“Direct and to the point.” Pointing at Nate, Vadim said to Calla, “I like him.”
“I’m willing to pay for information.”
“Ooh, I really like him. But you can’t possibly have enough money to make that worth my while.”
Nate took out his cell phone and cued up a picture of Alan Forbes. Showing it to Vadim he said, “Do you recognize this man?”
Vadim didn’t bother to look. He just sat there with a little smirk on his face. Nate reached into his other pocket and forked over some cash. Vadim didn’t bother to count it. He glanced at the phone. “Oh yes, I know who that is. Dr. Alan Forbes, head of the DMS clinic. Newly dead.” Those last two words were uttered with an unseemly relish.