by Cece Rose
“I just got fired,” I mutter, knocking my head against the mirrored wall of the lift.
“That doesn’t sound great… did they give you a reason?” he asks.
“Other than them thinking I’m a possible murderer.” I roll my eyes.
“You don’t look like a murderer…and even if you were, who would think irritating a murderer by firing them would be a good idea?” he muses aloud. I think my opinion of the newbie just shot up a bunch. Able to make a joke during stressful times is always a good quality in my book, but then again, my sense of humour has always been a little off-kilter.
“Headless apes, I’m telling you,” I say, shaking my head in mock-dismay.
“I’m sorry you got fired. You seem nice,” he offers.
“Nice for a serial killer nice? Or just nice?” I ask teasingly.
“Just nice, I think,” he answers. He looks at the time on his phone, and his eyes dart up at the number countdown of floors as we descend.
“Somewhere to be?” I ask.
“Something like that. I only came in to ask HR if I could have a few more days off,” he says.
“You could have just called, you know that right?” I say.
“Now I do. First thing they said when I walked in there,” he responds with a grin. The lift dings as we reach the ground floor. As the doors slowly open, he turns to me.
“Good luck, Kayla. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too, Gideon. Sorry we didn’t get longer working together, you seem fun,” I reply, smiling genuinely for the first time today as we walk out from the building, and into the morning sunshine. As he goes one way, I go the other, sparing a glance over my shoulder to watch him leave until he turns the corner at the end of the street. After a few minutes of walking, the brief moment of humour leaves me, and the anger builds back up. My pace increases as I basically power walk through the busy streets.
I can’t believe they basically just fucking fired me! The bad luck curse seems to be very much in place, and I make a mental note to ask Aunt Silvia everything she knows about it. There has to be a way to free myself from this. I can’t have everything going wrong all of the time for the rest of my life.
The fact that Grandma gave me her necklace means she must have figured out another way to manage this. I need to find out what that is and quickly. I’m sure she would have shared this with Aunt Silvia.
More than ever, I need to get the blame pointed at the real culprit and away from me. I mean, how am I going to pay for my damned bills otherwise? I cannot believe any of this. A idea springs itself at me. I could at least try and find out if it was a vengeance, and if it was, try and find out who summoned it. Even if Solas said there wouldn’t be a way for me to find out, I have to at least try. I’ve already summoned a demon, how could summoning a vengeance make things any worse? Grandma’s grimoire suddenly feels heavy in my bag. With a renewed vigour from having some kind of plan, I pick up my pace as I practically storm through the streets.
I feel his presence before I see him. Stopping dead in the middle of the packed street, I turn around to face him. The rage bottles up inside me as he stops too, just a few paces behind me. “Do you not get tired of seeing my back all of the time?” I demand loudly, drawing the attention of a few curious people, but they keep walking, just sparing a glance or two over their shoulders. Too busy to be caught up in some stranger’s drama, I suppose.
The detective smirks, before raking his eyes up and down me. “The view is pretty good if I’m honest.”
I splutter from the surprise of his words, barely able to get my next ones out. “You can’t…You can’t talk to me like that!”
“Like what? Factually? Lots of sights to see following you around London,” he says mock-innocently, throwing his hands up and gesturing all around us.
I groan, my hands flying to my head as I rub my temples. “You know, I’m really not in the mood for this. If you could just piss off, that would be great.” I can’t exactly summon a vengeance with him hanging around. That’s sure to make me look even more damn guilty, like I’m trying to find a way to cover my tracks.
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that, Kayla. There are very few places that I can’t follow you.” He shrugs, as if his blatant stalking of me is totally justified. Asshole.
His words sink in, and I realise there’s a loophole. There must be places he cannot follow me. I think of a short list in my head. The local white coven’s estate, but that’s out. With my bad luck I’d get myself shunned today too. Any of the species main government buildings, but I wouldn’t be allowed in any of those either.
I sigh. Places a black witch turned vampire would be banned from are surprisingly few and far between. But what about places he can’t go because of his job? The answer hits me like a ton of obvious answer bricks. The Rift. Perfect. I smile, knowing for a fact anyone working for any form of government, police force, or embassy are banned from entering there. There are no laws in The Rift, after all, and that’s how they like it and want it to stay. I haven’t ever gone there myself, but they’re said to have a strict policy against violence on grounds, even with the place being packed with criminals. It should be safe enough, and nobody there is in a place to judge me for calling up a vengeance.
“What are you smiling about, Kayla?” he asks in a concerned voice.
I look up at him, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Goodbye, Detective Huxley.” I whirl around, ignoring his protests as I pull out my phone to text Lizzy. I’d need her help getting there. Hopefully she’d be able to hold off her judgment for a few days while I sort my life out.
The Rift isn’t the sort of place a white witch should hang out, but what’s a witch to do when she’s being treated like a criminal? Where else can I go when I need a place to evade a pesky detective?
There’s only The Rift.
Fifteen
The Rift
My first look at The Rift shows it to be exactly what it’s rumoured to be. A large dreary warehouse-type building located within a small rift between worlds. This little pocket sized dimension only stretches about two miles all around. The three story warehouse dominates the centre of that space, with only a few creepy—and downright dead-looking—trees surrounding it. The space cuts off into blackness around the far edges of the dimension. Let’s hope my bad luck doesn’t cause me to end up being thrown into it.
I stand frozen as I look ahead, the guards manning the door are terrifying to look at. Trolls. Actual fucking trolls. I hadn’t expected that, at all. I swallow my nerves, and step forward, forcing my feet to carry me towards the towering beasts. I couldn’t chicken out without even going inside. Not after arguing with Lizzy about it. She’d met me in a café across from work and I pulled her off into the ladies to talk away from the detective, who had not so subtlety followed me in and ordered himself a coffee.
At first, she’d been dead set against me coming here, and then insistent she should come with me. Eventually I’d convinced her to cut open a jump portal for me, and that she should open one back up for me in the same spot, in exactly one hour. If I didn’t come through within a few minutes, she had permission to come in after me. She’d demanded to know about fifty times why I wanted to come here, but with some careful aversion of her questions, and some damned firm refusal of explanation, she’d given in.
I reach the doorway, and crane my neck looking up at the troll on my side of the door. His skin is grey and wrinkled. He kind of reminds me of an elephant. He looks me over briefly, before gesturing for me to continue through. I let out a deep breath, feeling the relief wash over me. I was worried I’d be stopped, like they’d know a white witch like me doesn’t belong in a place like this.
Nervously I walk through a short, dark corridor. The door on the end doesn’t have a handle, so I assume it pushes in. Without giving myself a chance to chicken out, I walk straight at the door with my hands out, pushing it open as I step through the doorway.
My eyes dart around the st
range place, wanting to take everything in at once. There are market type stalls everywhere, selling goddess only knows what kind of things if they’re being sold in a place like this. The ceiling is set high, but I can still see some stairs going up. The stairs are roped off, with another set of trolls guarding them. These ones look meaner than the ones at the front door, bigger, tougher. I step back without even realising that I’d made a decision too. I collide with a warm body behind me. I quickly whirl around.
“I’m so sor—” my words cut off as I see who is standing behind me. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask Rhydian. My eyes fly wide as I look up and down him. He’s dressed differently from the other two times I’ve seen him. He’s wearing clothes that would certainly draw far too much attention on earth. All of the clothes seem to be made of some leather-like substance. I notice a faint scale-like pattern on the shirt. Or maybe it’s more like snake skin?
“I could ask you the same question,” he replies casually, as if he isn’t at all bothered, but his eyes tell another story as they watch me curiously. One of the trolls grunts loudly, as I find myself jumping back again on impulse. Rhydian rests a hand on my shoulder, holding me still as he leans down, pressing his lips against my ear. “Easy now. Sweetheart, that troll over there isn’t a monster. The real monsters that hide here look just like us,” he whispers.
“He looks like a monster,” I mumble quietly.
“He’s just some hired muscle kept around to keep the criminals and rebellious youths that frequent this place orderly. Be more afraid of the people who do the hiring,” he says softly, before pulling away and releasing me. “Which are you, Sweetheart? You don’t look much like a criminal or a rebellious youth,” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow at me in question.
“I could ask you the same question,” I answer, grinning as I repeat his own words right back at him.
“Touché. Just be careful; some creatures here would love to take a bite out of you.” He looks me up and down slowly, his eyes basically burning a path everywhere they stray. “Hell, I might too.”
My irritation at him from yesterday resurfaces. “Did you not listen at all to what I said?”
“I listened, whether I’ll ever learn is a different matter,” he answers honestly, shrugging as if it’s all nothing to him anyway. I sigh, turning away and looking around for somewhere hidden away to summon the vengeance. I spot a neon sign in the shape of a bottle with an arrow next to it pointing downwards in front of some stairs. These stairs are luckily unguarded, so I can only guess that people are allowed to go down there. “Going to the bar?” he asks, following my gaze.
“Something like that,” I say, heading off in the direction of the stairs.
“Once I’m finished upstairs, maybe I’ll come down and join you for a drink,” he calls after me.
“You wish, asshole,” I call back to him, rolling my eyes as I start down the stairs.
A thick smoke engulfs me as I near the bottom of the steps, I cough on it, covering my mouth. What the hell could leave so much residual smoke in the air? It doesn’t smell like cigarettes. I push through, trying not to squirm from discomfort as I walk into the bar.
My eyes dance around, taking everything in at once. A long, gunmetal bar dominates the left wall, and the other side of the room is mostly tables and dark booths. None of the furniture matches. A mixed assortment of magical beings sit throughout the bar. Most having whispered conversions that are drowned underneath dampening spells or the music. There are candles scattered around lighting the place, the only other source of light down here are flashing strobe lights. Between the flickering candles and flashing lights, it’s enough to give anyone a migraine. I seem to be adjusting to the smoke down here though, at least.
I wander towards the bar, not wanting to go too close to the dark booths. Who knows what could lurk in the shadows of a place like this?
I take a seat on a stool, and glance around for a bartender, but there doesn’t seem to be any workers in sight down here. I frown, tapping my fingers on the metal bar top. I could really go for vodka and coke to ease my nerves right now.
As if the thought has just been plucked from my brain, the drink appears in front of me. My eyes widen and I look around again, trying to figure out how the hell that happened. There’s nobody at all behind the bar, only bottles and bottles of all kinds of alcohol. I bite my lip, and tap my fingers on the bar again. I pause suddenly, feeling a slight vibration coming off from the bar. I lay my hand flatly over the top, and bring up my second sight.
Magic flows all over the bar. A complex enchantment, some of the most delicate spell work I have ever seen. Someone put in all this effort and time into spelling a bar that serves drinks without the need of hiring any employees to do the job. How could someone this gifted waste their magic on something like this? In a place like this? I shake my head, the thought is baffling. The level of complex magic needed for this is way beyond anything I’ve ever seen used for something so trivial.
I take a sip of my drink, and then put my bag on top of the bar. Casting a glance to make sure nobody is paying me any attention, I pull out Grandma’s grimoire from my stuffed bag. Flicking quickly to the bookmarked page, I run my eyes over the summoning spell I’d found in here last night after my conversation with Solas. Summoning a vengeance was easy enough, but entering into a deal with one was very, very illegal. It’s a good thing that all I want to do is ask them a few questions. Legal technicalities are what I’m reassuring my morals with these days, I try not to let that fact scare me too much. Admitting that I’m changing is scary, especially when I feel like I have no option but to adapt if I want to survive.
“Fuck. I need a match,” I mutter to myself, as I look back over the spell again. As if the bar is happy to accommodate any request at all, a box of matches appears before me. “That’s handy,” I mumble. Should I thank the bar? How do I pay for this, would the money just vanish from my purse too? I hope it doesn’t tip itself too highly.
Nervously, I look around again, paranoid that someone must be watching me. Not a damn eye is directed my way. What the hell? Surely I don’t blend in a place like this? Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, I pull out a match, holding it between my finger and thumb. I light the match with my mind, thinking the incantation word in my head. Scintillam.
The flame flickers instantly to life, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. At least my bad luck didn’t have me accidentally setting fire to the whole building. I take a deep breath, as I watch the flame dance on the end of the match. “Salva me inveniet vindictam contra me. Veni ad me. Nam illud mihi vindictam quaerere,” I whisper, without further hesitation. I quickly blow out the match, not wanting to burn my fingers.
I wait for a moment, but when the moment passes into a minute, and then a minute passes into two, I relax in my seat. Somehow, I must have messed this up. I take another swig of my drink, before throwing the grimorie back into my bag. I stand up, dropping my bag back onto the bar as I go to finish off my drink. A light pop sounds in the air behind me, and I feel the air shift with a cold breeze. I turn around, seeing a dazed-looking woman standing behind me. She coughs, as if the smoke in the room bothers her too. Her grey hair, and pale, blue eyes are striking. She’s paying me no attention, as she looks around the bar in awe.
“You’re a vengeance?” I ask disbeliving, pulling her attention to me.
She watches me with her peircing blue eyes cautiously for a moment before she answers, “Depends who’s asking.”
I smile and stick out a hand. Unfortunetly for me, I stick out the hand still holding on the drink and drop it. I cringe as the glass hits the floor, sloshing my drink everywhere. “Crap.” I swoop down to pick up the now empty glass, and place it back onto the bar. I wipe my hands off on my black jeans, before reaching out my hand to shake again. This time, she takes it.
“I’m Christina,” she says, introducing herself.
“I’m Kayla, and you’re really not what I expected,” I reply
honestly.
“What does that mean?” she asks, frowning.
“Nothing! Please don’t be mad. I just mean that everyone says that vengeances are terrifying, that you are the big, bad scary, and that we’d be smart not to summon you. The only thing worse than summoning a vengeance is summoning a demon...” my words trail off and I press my lips together tightly. Fuck. Why did I have to word vomit when stressed? I tuck a blonde curl behind my ear, taking a second to recentre myself. “Why don’t you take a seat?” I offer, gesturing at the stools by the bar.
“Demons?” she squeaks. Great. Even the vengeance has more sense than to summon demons.
“Yes...um, I may have summoned on of those too recently,” I admit, panicking when I see the bewildered look on her face. “Crap, you’re thinking I’m a black witch, right?”
“No, you’re fine, Kayla. Breathe,” she says calmingly. I try to take a few deep breaths, standing back from Christina.
“Look, let’s just get a drink. I have some questions for you, could you answer them?” I ask, trying to get back on track.
“I guess so?” she answers unsurely.
“Great! What do you want?” I ask, sliding onto the bar stool. I watch as Christina takes a seat too.
“Whiskey?” she asks.
I place my hands back on the bar top and think of whiskey and a glass of wine. Within seconds they appear in front of us. A girl could get used to a bar like this. I grab the wine glass, taking a sip to try it out. The wine tastes amazing, much better than the stuff Lizzy brought over anyway.
“Why did you summon me here?” she asks, drawing my attention back to her.
“The bar?” I ask, blinking at her. Why does she care where I called her?
“Yeah, the bar. Why here?” she affirms, asking me again.
“Well, I can’t summon you at my house. There’s a demonic kitty currently crashing there, and a smoking hot detective following me absolutely everywhere else, but he’s barred from here.” I pause, realising what I’d just said. My eyes widen and I shake my head at myself. “Wait, did I really just call him hot? Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”