Roaring

by Lindsey Duga

  The touch of Colt’s lips on my hand had done something to me. It made me realize how much I’d been living without. Without touch, without connection, without the feeling of being wanted or desired. The realization hurt.

  The man stopped at the threshold of the cellar. He stayed there like a puppet waiting to be moved. Was the magic in my voice too much? Did he have any free will now? Would he always be like this or would it wear off?

  The worry of what my voice had done to this man—even if he was a murderer and thug who worked in a monster bar—sobered me, and I was able to shake off the remnants of Colt’s unexpected and disarming kiss to my palm.

  Gnawing on my lip, I forced myself to look into the man’s blank hazel eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Raymond. Ray. Raymond Harold Fitzpatrick.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Would he have just gone on listing names if he had any more? “Rest at ease, Ray.”

  And he did. He blinked, his shoulders slumping slightly, and he sat back on the steps, tucking his hands in his pockets.

  Looking around, I took stock of the cellar. It was just like any other, I supposed. Brick walls and hard-packed floor covered with cheap, smoothed-over cement then stacked to the ceiling with stained whiskey barrels, crates of bootlegged liquor, drums of panther piss, and racks of fancy wine that were surely sold at exorbitant prices.

  Unsure of how long we’d be here, and feeling the pinch of my new heels, I picked a sturdy crate and sat on top of it gingerly. It held my weight well with only a slight creak in the wood planks.

  Ray still said nothing, looking at me, and then looking at the floor. It was as if his brain seemed to be at war with itself. His desire to watch me and guard me for his boss versus his subconscious need to evade me at any cost.

  I could have sat and pondered what was going on inside poor Ray’s head for another two hours, but a muffled, troubling sound made me freeze.

  I listened hard, barely breathing, and ignoring the sounds of stamping feet, pounding piano keys, shouts and laughter, trumpet and trombone blasts, sax and clarinet harmonies, and bass plucks. It was all still loud, but I could focus past it. I wasn’t sure if it was a siren ability or if I’d simply been born with good ears. Regardless of the reason, I could detect sobbing.

  Real, aching, heaving sobs.

  The heartbreaking sound came from beyond the brick wall. I stood, moving toward the sobbing. Then I stopped and turned on my heel to find Ray, who still sat on the steps.

  “Ray,” I said gently. “Who’s crying?”

  Ray answered immediately. “That’s just the tykes.”

  “Tykes?” I repeated, shooting a furtive glance back at the brick wall. “You mean there are children…down here?”

  Ray nodded. “Yes, miss. Children.”

  “Children…why…what are they doing here?”

  “Dunno, miss. Gin keeps ’em locked up. Good for her experiments.”

  My skin crawled, like spiders and centipedes and manticore tails skittering up and down my arms and back. Experiments? I didn’t want to think about what that meant, and I didn’t need to, to decide what to do next.

  If there was a child crying in a hidden room within the cellar of an illegal monster nightclub, there was only one thing to do.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “Ray…lead me to them.” The roof of my mouth where my pearl was embedded heated and tingled. More and more I was beginning to notice how the pearl seemed to respond to the desire in my voice whenever I spoke. It seemed to be less about the words I used, and more about their intent. Was that the trick to controlling this power?

  Immediately, Ray stood and crossed to the back of the cellar. There was a pathway of sorts between all the liquor crates, and he wound his way past them and then knelt before the wall. Reaching behind a rack of wine, he gripped some sort of lever and a hiss of air escaped through. Then the brick wall creaked inward, toward whatever contents the secret room held.

  Ray pushed the door open further and I hurried past him, slipping under his elbow that propped open the secret passage before I could lose my nerve.

  It wasn’t a room so much as a bunker. It had the same brick walls, yellow lightbulbs, and cold cement as the cellar. The difference was that instead of whiskey barrels and liquor crates, it held two bunk beds, a shabby curtain where I assumed there was a toilet and sink, a lone cabinet, and three small children.

  Two boys and one girl huddled together under one bunk bed. They stared at me with wide eyes. I must’ve had a similar look of incredulity and awe—and horror.

  Slowly, I moved toward them.

  They flinched back.

  I swallowed and raised my hands in an innocent gesture. “It’s going to be all right. You can trust me.”

  The effect of my words was immediate. The smallest boy, whom I could tell from his tear streaks had been the one crying, gave a hiccup and wiped at his eyes. The older girl and the middle boy edged forward on the bed, their expressions transforming from fear to curiosity.

  I turned back to Ray, who still stood in the doorway of the secret passage, looking confused but patiently awaiting further instructions.

  “Ray, is there another way out of the club than through the main entrance?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine leading out three kids in the middle of the dance floor. I would have to enchant the entire club all at once, which seemed highly impossible.

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Up the steps, to the left, through the door into the office closet of the telegraph company next door. It’s the front for the club.”

  “Can you—”

  Footsteps came from above. Heavy, solid footsteps, followed by the click of a woman’s kitten heels.

  I looked back at the children, frozen where they sat, staring at me with trust and…hope.

  Someone was coming, likely to the cellar, likely for me. If Gin had ordered Ray to watch over me, I doubted she’d allow bartenders down to refill their stash.

  My mind raced through fifty possible scenarios, and all of them ended with the one thought—if the children stayed in the bunker and I didn’t come back, they’d be there until only God knew when, but if they hid in the cellar, then they could have a chance. Maybe they’d get caught and hauled back to their same fate, but at least there was some slim possibility for them to escape when the partying was at its peak—where monsters and patrons alike were zozzled with drink and weary with dance.

  At the sound of a lock sliding out of place and the key turning, I whispered my instructions to the three children.

  “Quick as you can, hide behind the barrels and crates and don’t make a sound. Don’t leave until I tell you to or if you’re sure no one else is in the room. If I don’t come by the time you count to one thousand, try to leave the way Mr. Ray described.” I looked at the girl, who was the oldest. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded. I placed a hand against the doorway to steady myself as a feeling of fatigue swept through me. So many instructions, and so much magic at once. But I couldn’t stop now.

  “Quickly then.”

  The girl grabbed the tiny boy’s hand and hurried out of the bunker, the middle boy followed, and in the span of fifteen seconds they were hidden amidst all the bootleg liquor. Hidden well, too.

  “Close the door, hurry,” I told Ray, hurrying toward the center of the cellar.

  The brick wall slid into place just as shoes came into view on the stairs.

  No use waiting. Better to use my voice now to make sure the children wouldn’t be found.

  “Stop right there. Don’t come closer.”

  But the shoes kept coming down the stairs, one by one on the wooden steps, tap, tap, tap, tap.

  The magic in my voice wasn’t working. Why? My intent and desperation was there. Did they have the same mysterious ability
as Colt to resist me? Or was it because I was getting tired?

  I tried again. “Stop—stop where you are.”

  People emerged into view. The first was a man, maybe in his mid-twenties, pale with black hair and a sharp black suit with white suspenders. His eyes were dark, practically black, and he was smiling at me. No, smirking.

  The second was a young flapper. Maybe my age or a year or two younger. She wore a loose purple dress with a violet beaded headband around her forehead, holding down thick locks of springy gold curls. In her hand was a glass of some sort of liquor I didn’t recognize—and I’d seen a lot of liquor.

  “Stop immediately.” Panic strangled me as they continued across the cellar floor, fast. “Ray—stop them!”

  Ray took a step forward as the pale man pulled out a revolver from his jacket and fired three rounds into Ray’s barrel-sized chest without breaking stride.

  Raymond Harold Fitzpatrick went down like a statue.

  I screamed, clawing my fingers down my cheeks.

  Blood gushed from three open bullet wounds, and I was still staring at them in horror when the pale, slender man grabbed my wrists.

  I just got a man killed. I used him like some kind of…shield…or weapon.

  I really am a monster.

  I barely comprehended the flapper girl gripping my jaw and forcing my lips to pucker. She pushed the glass of brownish liquid to my mouth. I choked and coughed as she poured the concoction down my throat and pinched my lips shut, forcing me to swallow.

  It burned like fire. Like I’d chugged real rubbing alcohol.

  The pale man released me and tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers, like I was no longer a threat.

  My nails dug into the skin on my throat—it felt like it was being turned inside out. Like sewing needles in a machine punching at my vocal cords and ripping them apart. The pain was too much to handle, and I fell forward on all fours, coughing and hacking, wanting to throw up. To get whatever poison they poured inside me out.

  Flecks of blood sprayed onto the floor and down the front of my beautiful white dress.

  “That should do it.”

  I looked up as the pale man plucked out two thick cotton wads from his ears, and the flapper girl did the same.

  Cotton in their ears so they couldn’t hear my voice…just like the minotaur.

  He was smiling as he crouched in front of me and took my chin in his hands. “Hello, little siren. Welcome to the Cerberus Club. Gin would like to meet you.”

  I tried to speak, to tell him to let me go, but no words came out. Only a small squeak. That liquid had done something to my vocal cords.

  I couldn’t talk.

  For years I’d chosen not to, and now I literally couldn’t. If this was permanent, the world was unfair and cruel. Or maybe it had always been.

  I thought of the children hiding behind the rum crates and the dead man on the floor. Despair and desperation threatened to swallow me whole.

  “Millie, go get their drinks,” the pale man told the flapper who had yet to say a word.

  Millie mounted the stairs back up to the main level.

  I stared at the concrete floor, listening to Millie’s heels on the wooden steps and then the click and creak of the cellar door.

  A cold hand moved curls from my neck. I recoiled and found the man’s face much too close. His irises were tinged with red, and he was looking at me like he was ready to…to eat me.

  “I wonder how a siren tastes,” he purred, his thumb brushing my collarbone. “I’d dearly love to find out.” A tongue slid between his pale lips and then he grinned, and that’s when I saw them. Fangs.

  “But,” he said with a frown, “that man would likely kill me if I drank from you.”

  Was he talking about Colt? Or someone else?

  “Up you get, little siren.” The man hoisted me up with only one arm, and I was surprised at his strength. It was deceiving from the look of his slender upper body, but maybe that was one of his monster powers. Paralyzed with fear of what was to come, I let him lead me up the cellar steps.

  I sent a prayer to God to keep the children safe. Help them escape. Please.

  Gin’s man marched me across the dance floor, down a long hallway and into a room where he shoved me to the carpeted floor. I fell on all fours again—another coughing fit taking over my lungs and throat making me hack up droplets of blood.

  When I lifted my head and saw the man standing before me, I couldn’t help but try and say his name.

  Colt.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Agent

  “When did you know?” I asked Gin, my gaze still glued to Eris on the floor.

  Gin’s smooth, delighted tone wove through the air. “As soon as I saw the emblem. The CEO has been looking for this little monster for quite some time.”

  “How did you know he was looking for her?” As far as I knew, the BOI wasn’t aware of any monster trade within the corporate world, so the secrets must be kept locked tight.

  A soft laugh from Gin. “Pillow talk. You know how it is, sugar.”

  I dropped to one knee in front of Eris. Our gazes locked, and while she seemed on the verge of tears, she held them back valiantly with a tight jaw. Gently, I took her chin and lifted it, moving it from side to side to get a full look at her neck and collarbone. Then I rotated her arms, staring at her wrists.

  No fang marks.

  “Does she pass your inspection?” Frederick sneered.

  I stood. “I was just checking if I needed to kill you fast or slow.”

  There was a long, tense pause. Then, “You’ve got some balls on you, ole sport,” Frederick said. “Let’s see how big you talk when I rip them off.”

  Gin held up her hand as he took a step forward. She was no longer smiling. “Colt, it doesn’t have to be this way. There’s no need to get violent. You tell me the information you owe me and I’ll let you walk away free and clear.”

  “Will you let me take the girl?”

  “Out of the question, I’m afraid. Her creator wants her back very badly.”

  “Then no deal.”

  I looked back down at Eris to find her staring at me with earnest. As if she was trying to tell me something. Her gaze flicked down to her right hand on the carpet. She had her index finger and thumb outstretched.

  Gun.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, sugar.”

  I refocused my attention back on the vampire. She was frowning.

  “I wasn’t lying. You really were one of my favorites.”

  In just a subtle motion of Gin’s index and middle finger in a come here gesture, the conversation was over. No more talking.

  In that half second after Gin lifted her fingers, Frederick had two small revolvers out, pulled from the waistband of his trousers, and he was already burning powder. Which meant I had to be moving half a second beforehand.

  I dove for his shins, driving my shoulders into his kneecaps and my head through his legs. The guns went off above. I could feel the heat of their flints catching and sparking just over my head. Wrapping my arms around his calves, I twisted, forcing him to the ground. He fell down hard, the gun in his left hand going off accidentally while pointing the other down to fire at me for a third time. But I already had hold of his wrist. With pressure on one side and a jerking motion in the opposite direction, I broke his wrist. He howled in pain, dropping the revolver and twisting around to protect his injury.

  “Carl!” Gin screamed over the scuffle and gun. “Carl, get him, you idiot!”

  But Carl didn’t “get me” because Eris had told him not to. He just stayed there, locked in place.

  Meanwhile, I drove the base of my palm into Frederick’s nose, shattering it and sending bone fragments up into his brain. The vamp rolled his head backward, as dead as the undead could get.

/>   Dimly, I heard heels running across wood and when I looked up, Millie was gone. But Gin still stood there, her hands twisted into Eris’s hair and a knife at her throat.

  “She did something, didn’t she?” Gin hissed through her fangs, the point of the knife digging into Eris’s bare throat. “To my Carl?”

  I licked my lips, heat searing through my whole body. “You won’t kill her, Gin,” I said slowly, picking up a gun from Frederick’s limp hand.

  Her lip curled, eyes dark and full of anger. If there was one thing about Gin it was that she hated when her loyal followers were hurt.

  “Are you sure about that?” Gin snarled, pressing the knife tip into Eris’s flesh so a bead of blood rolled down its blade.

  My chest burned with the truth. No, I wasn’t sure. But I had to guess. I had to call her bluff. “Yes, you’re scared of him. Of her creator. It’s why you don’t have your fangs in her right now.”

  Her eyes flashed with a hint of surprise, and I knew that it was the truth. That in itself was frightening. What kind of person made Gin, the Queen of the Netherworld, scared?

  She lifted her chin. “I am scared of no man.”

  “If you weren’t scared…” I glanced at the knife at Eris’s throat. “Then she’d be dead already.”

  “She’s useful.”

  “She’s an innocent girl. Let her go.”

  “Innocent?” Gin cried. I’d never seen Gin look unkempt before—nothing but calm and sophisticated—except now her voice was shrill and her eyes were wild. “No monster is innocent. We’re all condemned to dance with the devil.”

  A small whimper escaped Eris’s lips. Her eyes were lifted to the ceiling and at Gin’s words, she closed them. One tear trickled down her cheek.

  Strangely enough, Eris’s reaction seemed to calm Gin. The vampire queen took comfort in others’ weaknesses. Gin shushed Eris, petting her waves almost affectionately. “There, there, baby doll. You’re going back to your daddy. Don’t you worry.”