Rise of the Alphas

by Alexis Davie

  His anger had begun to dissipate, coming off him first in a way he could only describe as fizzing until he felt just a hum of it. It had been absorbed into him, and he was carrying it, and it wafted vaguely around him. He wasn’t giving up on sorting it out—he would let none of those men hurt Brinley or anyone else—but he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

  About twenty minutes from The Gimlet, Garrick was forced to take more populous streets than he had been walking. There were coffee shops, bars, pizza places, record stores that were also bars, pizza places that were also barbers, a cinema in a florist’s shop, and a buzz of human activity. Human excitement.

  He didn’t mind the human excitement, though he wished it was for something better. They used to buzz like that watching lions fight elephants. Not fair on the lions or the elephants, or the front row, really, but still. Fair enough. Buzz-worthy. They used to buzz like that for Shakespeare! That was still around yet tended to be austere. No buzzing allowed.

  It was tiring him out. Well, either that or the four-hour walk had. He looked at his watch. It was almost six o’clock. He hoped Brinley would be at the bar, waiting for him. He could see her perched up there, swinging her legs, probably saying something sort of mean to Harry. He almost smiled thinking of it. Imagining it, as he had never stood at the door and seen her at the bar, clunky shoes knocking against the legs of the barstool while she fidgeted.

  Three streets away, he began to feel… and this was a sensation so unusual it almost seemed to be new. He was nervous. Would she be there? Maybe she had just been getting rid of him. What did he really know about her, anyway? It could all have been an elaborate—

  Garrick shook the thoughts from his head. He didn’t get nervous. And she would be there.

  Then the chipped sign was in front of him, and the double door, looking boarded up until he got close to it. He pushed it open. The bar was three-quarters empty as usual, just how he liked it. From across the room, Harry held up a white-blue hand. Garrick returned the gesture absentmindedly. He was scanning the room for the little red bob, the green dress from this morning…

  She wasn’t here. There was a couple in the corner with a griffin on a chain, a sad looking man with a bottle of wine to himself, a couple of old hawk-shifter women, big eyed and gossiping at a table where they could see anything, and a couple of burly wolf-shifters at the bar, leaning up against it, whiskeys in their hands and two more on the bar top.

  He felt the air leave his body, but he hoped no one else could discern the change. Harry was gesturing to him. Garrick looked at him sharply, couldn’t help his annoyance, shrugged. Harry pointed to the other end of the bar, beyond the wolf shifters. Garrick approached him, lifted his eyebrows questioningly while he was still too far from the bar to sensibly talk to the bartender.

  “Your little lady friend,” called Harry, who didn’t care for social norms, “she’s moping over there. Waiting for you, she said.” Harry then winked at Garrick, who ignored him.

  “Drink?”

  “Coming up, boss.”

  Garrick skirted around the beefy werewolves, his boots sticking to the floor. There she was, boots knocking against the barstool just like he’d imagined, a book open in front of her.

  “You’ve changed your clothes,” Garrick said, pulling up the stool next to her.

  “I have,” Brin said, looking up from her book. “If this is the start of an observational comedy routine, it needs some work.”

  “Still sassy, though.” He sat. Harry put a pint in front of him, and Garrick thanked him without looking at him.

  “Some things never change. Harry asked me to up the nausea charm on this place, but I’m worried I might have gone too far. Everything’s been a bit… weird with the witchy stuff lately. Were there any piles of vomit, puked up organs, or passed out humans outside when you came in?”

  Garrick tried not to laugh at this stupid joke, because he wasn’t a man who liked to allow himself to show amusement, etcetera, but he let out a chuckle. “Didn’t notice anything. I liked the green dress. You look all moody now. And it’s sunny out.”

  “Are you high? You seem… cheerful? My dress smelled of cabbage and socks. Anyway, what I wear is none of your business. And I like wearing black. I am, after all, a witch.” Garrick rolled his eyes theatrically.

  “Oh, so dark and brooding, so mysterious, so witchy!” Realizing he hadn’t even started his drink, he took a sip. “You went to Mollie’s, then? Brave move. I suppose you want another night with me?”

  She gave him a look that could cut stone. “We talked about that, and what do you mean, another? That was… a tumble.”

  “I didn’t mean… I meant another night at mine. The lounge chair is all yours if you want it. Or… I might have a blow-up mattress somewhere…”

  Brin shook her head. “No, I got a room. It’s… It has a bed. And I guess it must have a view. It’s in the attic. Would need a ladder to look out the window, though.”

  “Yeah?” He was disappointed, obviously. He wanted her close to him, even if she was in a different room. God, this was awful. He wanted to touch her now, her lovely soft skin. She was wearing a longer, baggy black dress. She really did look moody and witchy. And it was extremely attractive. It hid her figure, so he wanted to take it off her and reveal what was underneath. But how long would she last at Mollie’s?

  “Does it have a shower? Washing machine?”

  “There’s a shower. It’s just, well, sort of a dribble. And I was afraid slugs or something might come out, honestly. But I’m fine. I’m an independent woman. Now, what did you find out on your mission? Why all this chit-chat?”

  She could read him so easily, and not just his mood. He didn’t want to have to tell her any of this, because he didn’t want it to be true. His good mood ebbed from him at speed, seeping into the sticky bar floor.

  12

  Brinley

  The room had uneven floorboards and wallpapered walls. It was floral and looked ancient and perhaps even tobacco stained. Mollie had stood by the door as Brinley walked in, then she held out the key. Her upper lip had been beaded with sweat.

  “If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen,” Mollie had said. No asking if the room was okay, then. She clearly wanted to get back down to sea level as quickly as she could.

  When the door had swung shut, Brin sat on the edge of the iron, framed bed. She had almost expected dust to puff up when she did so, but there was just the creek of ancient springs. There was a pointed window, since she was up in the eaves. Yet another terrible smell wafted from the bathroom attached to the room. Brin had taken it all in quickly, then stripped off in front of a round mirror that topped the chest of drawers. It was flecked with discoloration that looked almost like dried petals. She had felt she couldn’t trust the reflection was her. Well, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was Alice…

  One look at the shower—more rust—had told Brin she wasn’t going to be able to wash. They’d… her and Garrick… they’d had sex after her shower that morning, and she still felt it on her, in her. It wasn’t that she wanted it gone, or that it felt bad. More that she liked it. She was sure she could still smell him on her skin. The thought turned her on, made her think of pressing her skin against his again. And she didn’t want to want that. But, as expected, when she had turned the tap of the shower, only a thin dribble of lukewarm water had greeted her. She had washed a little in the sink, thrown on clean clothes because she felt her favorite green dress must be impregnated with the smell of the house by now, and tucked all her other clothes deeper into her bag for protection before heading to the pub.

  It had been a couple of hours before Garrick arrived. She’d done the nausea charm for Harry and felt it well up out of her and surround the place like a forcefield. Far stronger than she had intended or been aware she could produce.

  “All right?” Harry had asked, seeing her face. “Doesn’t make you sick too, does it? I can get a bucket.”

  It had been hard to concen
trate on her book, but she had tried her best, and then, eventually, there was Garrick.

  When he got to the pub, he was radiating a strange kind of… mania? A surface joy, and a storm at his center. She was getting better at this empath stuff. And she was worried about what he might have found out. All the same, they bantered, because she did like to banter with him. He was quick and a little mean, and it was hard to make him laugh, like he didn’t want to let himself. Eventually, though, she’d had to ask.

  “Well,” Garrick said, “I don’t like that cafe, or your fiancé. You said he was attractive; he looks like a pig. And so does his father—”

  “Hey!” Brin cried, and for some reason, she clapped her hands at Garrick. “Focus. Did you find out what’s going on? Any secret plans, or what my father is doing to look for me?”

  Garrick met her eyes then, and her stomach lurched. Was it because of the silver in his eyes, or was it his expression? He didn’t want to tell her. She felt it. He wanted to protect her.

  “The exposition was ridiculous,” he said. “They discussed it in a booth in the middle of the place.” Garrick was still playing for time, and Brin told him so by raising her eyebrows. “Okay, look, he’s sold you. And he’s playing for time, I guess, until he gets you back. But your boyfriend, the one with the stupid name—”

  “You know his name is Xander, and what the hell do you mean, sold?”

  Garrick took a breath. “Okay, not you, the book, your family’s book—”

  “My mother’s book!” Brinley interjected.

  “Well, yeah, but it only works for family, right? Only opens and stuff for family?”

  “Oh…” Brinley said, understanding now. She felt herself go limp, thinking she might start to cry. She’d known her dad was a bit of an asshole, but this…

  “If it’s any consolation,” Garrick said, “I think it’s a lot of money. They said another million to move the wedding up, and for a night alone with you in a hotel room first.”

  “I’ve always been under the impression he has a lot of money,” Brin said. “And that book… I looked at it today, Garrick, and you could rule the world with that book if you wanted to. Well, I mean, not you, but me, and maybe my future husband…”

  “You’re not marrying him!” came out louder than Garrick expected.

  “Of course I’m not!” Brin was indigent. “The book doesn’t seem to agree, though. There’s a family tree, and his branch is appearing… his name.”

  “Ugh, that name.” Garrick took another sip of the beer he was drinking uncharacteristically slowly.

  “Well, it’s not his name yet. Just a smudge. God, I hope the book’s wrong. But it’s older than you are—”

  “I’m wrong a lot,” Garrick said. “The book might be, too. Look, if we stop all this, then we stop Xander and his idiots, and his big fat dad, from revealing us to the humans? We stop this bloody coup?”

  Brin nodded. “Harry, can I get a double gin and tonic?”

  The barman looked over and nodded at her.

  “Caning it tonight?” Garrick asked.

  “Well,” she said, “this is dramatic. We’re in like, a romcom. We have a wedding to stop! Or maybe it’s a drama…”

  “Not a farce, let’s hope.”

  Harry put the drink down in front of her. She reached for her purse, but he held up his hand. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Drinks are on the house, and next time I need a witch, I’m calling you.”

  Brin held up her glass in silent cheers.

  “You’re a good man, Harry,” Garrick said.

  The vampire made a grumpy sort of a noise. “Yeah, well, your tab’s still running, Spyro.”

  Brin laughed. Garrick looked blank. She wondered how old Harry was. Or if he’d just spent time playing video games. He seemed like he could easily be pretty lonely, and he couldn’t go outside in the daytime without being enchanted. Her mind snapped back to the problem at hand.

  “So, I’m being bartered,” she said. “This is so fucked up. Did you hear anything about a timeline? When are they moving the wedding up to? And what am I supposed to do in this hotel room…? Is my dad, like, my pimp now as well?” She felt sick. She took a massive slug of her gin and tonic, which, courtesy of Harry’s thankfulness for the spell, was largely gin. She felt herself grimace, and her mouth tingled once she’d swallowed it down.

  “I’m sorry,” said Garrick, chewing on his lower lip. He had a lovely mouth, especially when he was sad or whatever he was now. She felt an urgent need to kiss it. She filled her own mouth with more killer gin and tonic.

  “Thanks,” Brin said. “I mean, thanks for doing that for me today.”

  Garrick shrugged. “It’s in my best interest, too, isn’t it? The delicate structure of our society is about to be destroyed by some stupid boys who think they can buy respect. And… well…”

  “Me?” Brin asked. “I don’t think I’m even part of it, really. Rather, I’m necessary to get the book, but apart from that, it’s just to piss Dad off. The hotel thing, the big wedding…”

  Garrick shook his head and swallowed his mouthful of ale. “No way. You’re crazy if you don’t think some people—bad people, mind you—would pay to have you on their arm. It’s a bonus, sure, but Xander wants everyone to know he’s marrying a beautiful woman. A beautiful, smart woman, and a witch who has no idea yet how powerful she is. But he probably isn’t betting on those bits. Those bits are what’ll scupper him, right?”

  Brin could feel herself going probably the reddest she had ever been. Her whole face, neck, and chest were hot. “Thanks. I don’t know if everyone sees—”

  Garrick put a hand on her upper arm. It tingled were he touched her, and the feeling swirled out from the point of contact. “No. Everyone does, Brinley, everyone sees you like that. Because it’s just objectively true.”

  More of the mostly gin, splash of tonic. She was either beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, or the swirling tingles had reached her head. “Well, okay. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

  “Thank you!” Garrick took his hand away. She could breathe again, but all the same, she wanted the hand back. She wanted the hand in other places, too. Damn it. This was such a distraction when they should be saving the world. You’d think that would take precedence, but bodies had a way of being bodies, no matter what else was going on.

  Brin had missed the whole teenage awkward-puberty thing because she’d been home-schooled. She had done it mostly alone, with a few friends she saw now and then. Her first crush had been on a young tutor, Alex, and once her nanny had told her father that his little girl was all moon-eyed and hanging around outside the tutor’s quarters waiting to ‘accidentally’ bump into him and ask him endless questions about his life and his dreams and his hobbies, Alex had been replaced. Joke was on her father, because the next tutor, Alyssa, was even hotter than Alex. And so it had gone, with no talk from her dad, no explanation of the changes that were happening to her biologically or magic-wise. It wasn’t until she started sneaking out at seventeen that she’d got a taste of life. And then she had maybe got rather too much of a taste, climbing back in through her window as the sun rose after hours of dancing and sweating with humans. Doing other things with humans, too, sometimes. But that had been a long time ago. Well, sort of. She’d had her fill of being a bad girl, at least for a while. It became repetitive, drinking, sleeping with people without knowing their names and then trying to hide a hangover during a potions lesson, or while one of her ‘uncles’ was over, asking her questions about her lessons and her plans while surreptitiously staring at her legs.

  “So, someone will be looking for me then? If more money has changed hands? My dad doesn’t have a lot of friends, but he knows a lot of people. I should have changed my appearance, but it all seemed quite calm the first couple of days. I’ll move on after my week at Mollie’s.”

  “A week?” Garrick asked. “No way, Brin. That’s too long. And we’re going to have to do something by then.
I only have a week, and the council want results—”

  “Aren’t you the boss?” She knew this would annoy him and was giving him the side eye as she said it. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore her, knowing she was goading him.

  “Yeah,” he said, “for now, I am. But I haven’t been exactly… statesman like in the last few, well, decades. Maybe a century.”

  God, he was old. “God, you’re old.”

  “Mature. And therefore wise, and I think we need to make it known that your father doesn’t have the book anymore. Or you.”

  This didn’t sound exactly sensible. “Won’t that just get them looking for it? Raise tensions?”

  Garrick nodded. “Sure, but it’ll draw all of them out and make them angry, and angry people make mistakes. Besides, they don’t seem like the sharpest knives in the drawer.”

  “They aren’t.” Brin had finished her drink now and was definitely tipsy again. It took the edge off the fear, at least.

  “So, they’ll come out smashing things up, unmasked, making a big to-do, and we’ll—that is, the council—will come down on Xander and his idiots with the full force of magical law,” Garrick said. “Simple!”

  Brin sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. Until my father finds someone else to marry me off to.”

  “Hey.” Garrick was touching her arm again, and she could hardly hear what he was saying over that tingling desire. “I won’t let that happen, Brinley.”

  She muttered a reply. She wasn’t even sure what. ‘Thanks,’ maybe, or, ‘Okay,’ but whatever it was, he let his hand fall, looking a little bashful about his sudden display of chivalry.

  “Shall we head off?” he asked. “We can tie down the specifics of this tomorrow… not like we can send a ransom picture of the book with a dated newspaper. I’ll need to talk to the council, get out networks… Why are you laughing?”