Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

by Tracy St. John

  * * * *

  At Exotica Erotica I stood behind the curtain offstage, suddenly really nervous about stripping. Not even the cute little outfit I’d found in Fizz’s locker, a sweet and sexy schoolgirl’s uniform, could calm the sudden onset of shakes.

  Okay, guys were usually happy just to have a naked woman to look at, right? But the girl on stage right now, slowly and sensuously losing her cowgirl costume, was a super good dancer. Her body did things I’d have paid top dollar to a yoga instructor to teach me. I was starting to worry that simply taking off my clothes wasn’t going to fly out there.

  I’d taken ballroom dancing lessons in order to look good in the arms of society men who paid for a polished companion. But doing a waltz by myself on a stage with a pole didn’t strike me as what this audience was looking for.

  I licked my dry lips. “Any advice, Fizz?”

  I sensed the rightful owner of this body sitting back and watching with amused meanness. No help whatsoever there. “Fine, pout if you want. It’s your ass, not mine.”

  At least the glare of the spotlight and footlights would keep the patrons in dimness. I wouldn’t have to see them rolling their eyes or smirking at my awkward attempts.

  The country tune faded out, and Cowgirl trotted offstage in nothing but high-heeled boots and a g-string loaded with dollar bills. My turn. Crap.

  The deejay, a little balding man with a nasally voice, called out with decent enthusiasm. “All right guys, coming on stage we have a sweet little lady as effervescent as her name. Put your hands together for Fizz!”

  Amid a few whistles and claps, music started blaring. I didn’t recognize the energetic tune, and if I’d been nervous before, I was positively terrified now. I’d had visions of performing a slow strip, not tearing off clothes to this hectic cacophony.

  I had no choice. I was undercover and had to keep Fizz and Bane safe.

  I tried to boogie my way out on stage, swinging my hips to the frantic beat. As usual, Fizz’s shoe wardrobe kicked my butt. Yes, pun intended. Those darned stilettos, nearly as tall as her legs were long, were holy heck for me to walk in, never mind dance. Three steps out, and I lost my balance, staggering out onto the middle of the catwalk. The only thing that saved me was catching hold of the pole.

  Laughter burst out all around me, and my face heated. Remember that issue I have with humiliation? Yeah, it was in full force right now. I was making an idiot of myself, no angry Doms required.

  Recalling how the prior dancer swung easily around the pole, I regained my balance and tried to copy her moves, visions of sexiness hopeful in my head. Guess what? It didn’t work. Despite its sweatiness, my hand didn’t slide over the pole’s metal surface so well. It caught roughly, my stupid feet tangled, and I was suddenly on my butt in front of God and the whole room.

  Boos sounded all around me. Fizz was absolutely hysterical with mirth inside my head. Setting my jaw, I climbed the pole hand over hand to gain my feet. Screw the dancing. Naked girl would do perfectly fine. Kind of bouncing in place from side to side, I yanked at the tie knotted around my collar. It loosened and I pulled it over my head. Painfully. I hadn’t given myself enough slack, and I hissed at the pain from my squashed ears.

  More booing and catcalls ensued as my fingers fumbled to unbutton the starched white shirt. I shook my butt at them, but that didn’t help one bit. A slice of lemon from someone’s drink flew past my ear. The music suddenly ended in mid-techno pop screech.

  The deejay’s voice boomed loud, driving the final nail in my dancing career’s coffin. “I think we’ve seen enough of Fizz tonight. Hopefully she tipped her waitress generously.”

  All I felt was relief as I stumbled off the stage to the crescendo of laughter and boos. The moment I was behind the curtain, another dancer accosted me. She was a somewhat worn creature in a devil’s costume complete with little plastic pitchfork. She shook the three-pronged Halloween accessory at me.

  “What the hell, Fizz?” the she-devil stormed. “You’ve cooled the wallets off. I ain’t gonna get shit for tips tonight, and my kid needs braces!”

  Kiss’ ‘Heaven’s on Fire’ cranked up, saving me from a potential butt-whupping from the irate stripper mom. With one last venomous glare, she plastered on a naughty smile and slunk out on stage.

  Jeez. All I could say was Bane had better close his case fast, because I was so not doing this again.

  I turned around and jumped back with a little scream of surprise to find Hazel right there, his lanky frame looming over me. The witch looked pretty darn mad, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t want any witch looking that ticked off at me.

  The first words out of Hazel’s mouth only proved my point. “You fucked up, Fizz. You know how I feel about that.”

  I felt Fizz not just cower, I swear I heard her shriek in my head. Panic vibrated in our shared mind. I edged back from Hazel, wondering what he’d done to her in the past to make her so scared.

  Carefully, as if trying to soothe a rabid dog, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been real sick all day.”

  He had Fizz’s skinny bicep in his hand in an instant and yanked us close. He smelled sour and smoky, like he hadn’t showered in a couple days. He also smelled like power; a buzz of electricity mixed with something sulfurous. “You’re not as sorry and

  sick as you’re going to get.” Hazel squeezed hard, and bright, vicious pain flashed through my arm.

  I cried out, nearly going to my knees with agony. Hazel’s eyes widened, and he smiled. His tongue, a wet, pink slug of muscle, licked all around his lips. The crotch of his jeans swelled.

  Oh jeez. He was a sadist, and the kind that didn’t go looking for an actual masochist to play with. In fact, the less a woman liked pain, the more fun a man like Hazel would find her. No wonder Fizz was gibbering in terror. Hazel was one sick puppy. And he was looking to hurt.

  Being part of the BDSM scene I know the type all too well, and I’ve been pretty good at avoiding them. Sadists who don’t play within the scene’s rules are quickly ostracized from the kink community, but somehow I was sure Hazel could have cared less about such things. He’d been playing outside the boundaries probably his entire life.

  Knowing it was wasted breath but unable to stop myself, I said, “Wait, please. I swear it won’t happen again.”

  Hazel grinned, and Fizz screamed inside my head again. “We’re going to make sure of that,” he chortled.

  Before I could brace myself, Hazel twisted me around so that my arm was bent painfully behind my back. Lifting me off the floor, he ran across the hall to ram me up against the wall. My forehead rapped sharply on the unforgiving surface, and I cried out along with Fizz.

  The next dancer was leaving the dressing room, and I saw her skitter towards the stage, keeping her eyes averted from my predicament. No help there. I was blinking back stars when Hazel crushed against my backside, rubbing his very prominent erection against me.

  He panted. “Nice. I like it when you bitches scream. You’re going to scream for me a lot more before I’m done with you, and you’ll never get loaded before work again.”

  As he pushed my short schoolgirl skirt up, he bounced my head off the wall again. Black crept in for an instant, and Hazel muttered something incomprehensible. I realized it was a spell. The dazedness passed, leaving only thudding pain in my skull. He kicked my legs apart.

  “That will keep you conscious. You’re going to feel everything I do to you, you stupid cunt.”

  He was yanking at the G-string I wore, trying to tear it off me. I had an idea of what he was going to do to me once it was gone. With his witchy skills, he could make the agony so much worse. Fizz’s nonstop shrieks left me no doubt of that.

  I could have escaped Fizz’s body. I didn’t have to endure whatever torture Hazel had in mind. But as scared as I was, I had gotten her into this mess. You may ask what good would it do for both of us to suffer at Hazel’s hands. Not a bit. I still couldn’t leave her alone to face whatever hor
rors Hazel had planned.

  But I was every bit as panicked as she was now. My struggles weren’t enough to free me of the psychopath’s grip, and the G-string was finally ripped free. Hazel ground his hips against mine, chuckling with breathless delight as I sobbed.

  “Oh yeah, bitch. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt good.”

  “What are you doing with my property, Hazel?”

  Bane’s thick, growling voice was a godsend, and I looked over my shoulder to see the big, bad wolf stalking down the hall from the front of the club. Had anyone ever looked so good? Sorry Dan and Tristan, but no. Bane, with his golden eyes glowing bright, was absolutely beautiful.

  Hazel bent my arm further up my back, and I squalled in agony. “I’m teaching my employee a lesson in sobriety. She’s went onstage fucked up.”

  Bane snarled at him, flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “She’s been sick all day. I made her take some dope I got from Doc for it. So you want to teach me a lesson?”

  Hazel glared at him. I sensed how geared up he was to hurt me, so much so that he was actually thinking of challenging Bane. Bane seemed to feel it too, because black and gray fur began to run out of every bit of naked skin his vest showed.

  His words growing more garbled by his elongating muzzle, Bane warned, “That’s my ass and pussy and I don’t share unless C.K. tells me to.”

  Hazel finally relented, shoving himself away from me. The menace disappeared, and he sulked like a teenager denied the family car on a Friday night. “You owe me. God knows how many customers walked out after that scene she did.”

  Bane yanked his wallet from his back pocket and drew three bills from it, flinging them on the floor. My eyes widened to see they were all hundred dollar bills. Nice to know I was worth so much.

  Still more wolf than man, Bane stomped towards the back door, passing me. “Come on, Fizz. Let’s get you home so you can rest.”

  He didn’t help me, but I knew he couldn’t. He was playing a Beast, and I was playing property. Ducking my head to avoid looking at Hazel, my throbbing arm cradled in the other, I wobbled unsteadily after him. Neither Fizz nor I relaxed until we got outside.

  Once out the door, Bane waited for me to catch up to him. I flexed my fingers, willing the ache to dissipate. Fizz was shuddering and quiet in the corner of my mind. She didn’t show any sign of wanting to come out. I didn’t blame her.

  I told Bane, “I’m glad you came along when you did. Fizz is terrified of Hazel. I am too now.”

  He rested a big hand on my injured shoulder, gently rubbing the pain away. The fur he’d sprouted was receding. “No doubt. The man is a sadist. He gets off on hurting people. You should see his rap sheet. On second thought, you don’t want to see his rap sheet.”

  I had to ask. “How much danger is Fizz in now?”

  “Enough that I’m not letting you – her – out of my sight. That means you get to tag along tonight. We’re off to find the smoking gun.”

  We reached his chopper, and he helped me put the extra helmet on. I was grateful. The fingers on my left hand alternated between numbness and sharp pain. They were feeling pretty clumsy.

  I took the opportunity while he concentrated on my chin strap to enjoy his slowly humanizing face. “Where were you that you could hear me scream? I know shifter hearing is excellent, but the music in there was so loud.”

  “I was in Hazel’s office, not out in the club.” At my gasp, he grimaced. “Yeah, I used your distraction of bad dancing to get into Hazel’s computer. It took all I had to not charge straight to your rescue when I realized you were in trouble. I had to slip out the back door and come around the front so Hazel wouldn’t realize where I’d been.” A growl slipped from his lips, and his transformation to more man than wolf halted for an instant. “Sorry you had to suffer like that. How’s the arm?”

  I rotated my shoulder a little to loosen the still cramped muscles. “It hurts like heck, but I can put up with it. We’re lucky Hazel didn’t dislocate the shoulder. You found something on his computer?”

  Bane mounted the bike and waited for me to clamber up behind him. “No, I didn’t have that much time. He left his tablet out though, and I checked his calendar. He’s meeting someone at the wharf tonight. He might be getting a shipment of tainted blood in.”

  I snuggled up behind him, but not because I was feeling particularly amorous for a change. Hazel had meant to hurt me and hurt me bad. I was looking for security, not sex. “Are we going there now?”

  “Yeah.” He started the bike. After its initial roar of wakefulness, the engine purred like a kitten. Bane turned the upper part of his body to look me in the eye.

  “Brandilynn, you have to do whatever I say tonight. If anyone sees us, the best case scenario is my cover is blown.”

  I swallowed. “Jeez, do I want to know the worst that can happen?”

  He held me with those golden eyes. “Me and Fizz are as dead as you.”

  Chapter 11

  Even though it was late, Fulton Falls’ port was as busy as a kicked-apart anthill. Bright lights set up on high poles buzzed with white-hot illumination. Forklifts raced around the asphalt prairie between barges and warehouses amid the shouts of workmen. The air was alive with the sounds of pallets scraping concrete, cranes on the ships whining under their loads, and men yelling their conversations to be heard over the din. This place was hopping.

  It was a regulated area, and Bane had come prepared with a hardhat and coveralls in his saddlebags. In Fizz’s schoolgirl stripping costume, I was woefully overdressed. Not to mention those heels. Jeez, I’d stick out like a peacock in a flock of turkeys. But Bane surprised me with a couple of warded crystals slung on cords that we could wear around our necks.

  “These should get us past everything, including the wards used by Customs to get into the gate. The bigger problem will be getting past the detection spells used by private practice witches. I’ll have to hope one in my collection will work on those.” Bane patted the pocket of his vest, hidden beneath the coveralls. “Let me stay half a dozen steps ahead of you. If one of the protections gets past my ward and makes it so I’m seen, you head back to the bike.”

  “Okay.” I was excited to be able to walk around in a physical body without anyone noticing me. It wasn’t that the wards made us invisible. They simply encouraged people to kind of glance over us. It was like a bullet-proof vest in which eyesight sort of bounces off you. You’re there, but yet you’re not. Such wards are only legal for the feds. I was feeling very Charlie’s Angels right now.

  We walked past the gate and the guardhouse with a uniformed man drinking coffee from a cup the size of a silo. Okay, maybe not that big, but it was a huge cup. Graveyard shift is a bear. The guard's bored expression never changed as Bane stalked silently by and I clippity-clopped in stilettos, my pleated skirt floating around gooseflesh-bumped thighs. Darn, it was cold. I sure was missing panties right now too.

  It was a bit of a haul to Dock 56, where Hazel’s shipment was supposedly coming from. It was the site of some of the more frenzied activity, what with forklifts racing back and forth between the hulking barge parked there and the nearby warehouse. The well-loved brine scent of the river mixed with exhaust and Bane’s pleasant animal aroma.

  As one orange forklift barreled out of the warehouse close enough that I could have jumped on for a ride, I paused to slip one shoe off and rub my aching foot. I noted the forklift's tines securely speared through a pallet covered in crates.

  I observed, “You got the wrong dock, Bane. They’re loading that barge, not unloading.”

  Bane put a finger to his lips and pressed me back around the side of the warehouse. He lifted me up and carried me when he realized I couldn’t move too fast with one bare foot leaving me five inches short on one side.

  He whispered, “Hold up. Hazel’s coming out of the warehouse with the dockmaster.”

  I stilled. Warded or not, Hazel was a witch and might be able to see us. After my earlier encounter with him
, I was in no hurry to test the efficacy of the government’s spellcasting.

  I heard his nasally voice carry in the breeze. “No, not all of them go to Liverpool. The other half goes out tomorrow night on the ship headed for Dakar. Didn’t you get the revised orders I faxed over?”

  A gruff voice answered, “Fax machine’s on the fritz. Come on over to the office and we’ll get this straightened out. Let me tell the foreman meantime.”

  The voices faded as they moved along, and I relaxed. I mused out loud to Bane. “Hmm. He’s sending stuff out to Europe and Africa, not bringing bad blood in. I wonder what he’s smuggling?”

  Bane considered. “Whatever it is, if Hazel is involved, I’ve got to get in there to find out.”