I stare harder.
Nothing.
“Abracadabra. Teleport,” I say, just in case it helps.
But I’m still in the hallway.
Screw it. I don’t care what Gunnar says. I squeeze my eyes closed and envision the inside of Chilton’s apartment, zeroing in on the white sofa I memorized in the photo back at headquarters. I’d taken all the pictures of Chilton’s apartment as part of my spy work after befriending him. I feel sorta guilty, which is weird when I really can’t remember the guy.
When I reopen my eyes, I’m no longer in the hallway. I’m standing in front of the white sofa.
“Holy smokes!” I yell then quickly clap my hand over my mouth. I lower it slowly and grin wide. How awesome is it being a witch?
I dance a little jig in place because—awesome!
How far can I teleport? It would be a heck of a lot easier, not to mention economical, if I could return to my apartment using this same zippy method.
I don’t contemplate it long because there, sitting on the kitchen counter, is the silver ticket. Party rock! I pull the duplicate out of the envelope and switch the tickets right as the front door opens. In my excitement, I never heard a key sliding into the lock. I jump back, clutching the real ticket, as Chilton strides in, muttering to himself. He doesn’t see me immediately with his head slightly bent and mind obviously elsewhere. But unless I can make myself invisible in the next second, he’s going to see me.
Before I can even attempt the spell, Chilton’s head snaps up, and his bluish-gray eyes stare at me through the lenses of his glasses. He looks at my hair and does a double take.
“Sabine? What are you doing here?”
“I, uh . . .” Shoot. Caught red handed. Some spy I turned out to be.
Clearing my throat, I lift my chin. “I believe you have something of mine.” I squeeze my legs together and raise my brows. Good save, Sabine. Might as well get my underwear back.
Chilton’s gaze drops to the ticket in my hand. He sighs. “Actually, you have something of mine.”
I’m not picking up sexual energy from him. If anything, he sounds annoyed and disappointed.
“Oh? This?” I say, forcing a laugh as I lift the invitation. “I saw it sitting on the counter and picked it up out of curiosity—shiny object and all.” I giggle and manage to turn the duplicate fake ticket invisible so at least I won’t have to explain why there are two.
Chilton’s focus remains on me. He pushes his frames up his nose and squints suspiciously. “Why are you acting weird?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I guess I’m just nervous after we—you know.” I shrug and glance around the room.
Where exactly did we get down and dirty? The sofa? His bedroom? The kitchen counter?
Chilton gapes at me, looking utterly baffled for several seconds before shaking his head and releasing a heavy sigh. “Your memory was wiped, wasn’t it?”
There’s no sense denying it, and Chilton just confirmed what Gunnar already suspected. This guy had nothing to do with my current state of amnesia. I’m not even sure we slept together. Or maybe he’s annoyed that I don’t remember.
Chilton shakes his head. “You know what? Take it.” My jaw hangs slack. Chilton jerks his chin. “Keep the ticket. You’ll fit right in with all the other monsters.”
He leans back as though I’m some kind of piranha. Yet again, I’m unable to defend my character or any past misdeeds.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Me too,” Chilton answers.
Clutching the ticket, I walk past him, pausing in the hallway.
“You can keep the underwear,” I say before rushing to the door.
He says nothing more as I make my less-than-stealthy escape and decide that Gunnar doesn’t need to know about our little run-in. I got the ticket. The first part of the mission is complete.
Chapter Four
Party Time
Clouds cover the city on All Hallows Eve. I wear a slinky black knee-length dress with a subtle shimmer that looks like stars got caught in the fabric and cling to the material. It has a halter top with thick straps that tie around my neck. The small baggie with the powder is stuffed inside my strapless bra—right boob. My purple hair is arranged in loose curls, and the only jewelry I wear is a thick silver bracelet encrusted with clear rhinestones. I’m in love with my evening heels and their black-sequined embellishments. If I weren’t on mission, I might feel like Cinderella even though Chilton made it sound like I was the Wicked Witch.
Goosebumps cover my bare arms as I wait outside on the sidewalk for magic to transport me to the ball, holding on to the silver ticket. An occasional car or pedestrian passes. Then the road goes eerily quiet, and the clouds part just enough to reveal the moon. I stare up in surprise. It appears to glow brighter by the second until I am forced to look away. A blinding white flash has me seeing spots. I blink several times and find myself transported from my urban neighborhood to a dank alleyway. The sidewalk looks grimy and gray in the dark. I don’t like to think about my heels touching the ground. The city noises are louder here.
Did Chilton jinx my ticket? This looks like a good place to get mugged and shot. Not exactly the red-carpet welcome to an exclusive paranormal party.
Dilapidated buildings with broken windows and loose pipes lean in on either side of me. With nowhere else to go, I strut down the alleyway. Something roots round in a large pile of trash I clip past. I’d like to think it’s a cat, though it’s most likely vermin.
An engine backfires in the distance—that or someone just got murdered. The blast of a horn is followed by a shout, but still I am alone as I make my way toward a bright red door at the end of the alley. There’s no queue, which makes me wonder if I went the wrong way. Perched on each side of the door are two gigantic stone gargoyles glowering down. I don’t have long to contemplate them when they transform before my eyes—gray stone turning into mocha skin, gargoyles into winged men—twins! They land on either side of the door—dreadlocks, goatees, and black shiny eyes that are disconcerting because I can’t tell where exactly they’re looking. They face me, so it’s a pretty safe bet that’s where their focus is.
The twins are dressed in tailored slacks and crisp white button-up shirts. One wears shiny red shoes, the other black.
I stride up to the one with the black shoes and present my ticket. He takes it, and his chin lowers when he looks at it, stroking his goatee.
“I think we have a party crasher, Bronx. Should we let her in?”
The males face one another and share amused grins. The one with the red shoes flicks one of his dreadlocks over his shoulder before speaking. “She does have a ticket, Lex. Besides, we can always turn her into stone if she causes trouble.”
My jaw drops. Stone? Can they really do that? Then I’d have no movement or memories!
The twins chuckle.
“I’m just here to have a good time,” I say sweetly, running a hand through my purple waves. I mean, look at me. No coat. No pockets. Not even a purse. I’m harmless. In all appearance, anyway.
A slow smile builds over Lex’s lips. He leans in a bit closer, murmuring, “Trouble never looked so good.”
Bronx grunts. “We’re on duty, Bro.” He turns his head to me next and winks. “Okay, Trouble, enter at your own risk.”
They really ought to tell that to Blaze Addington when he arrives, but I hold my tongue, shooting them each a sultry smile, thanking Lex as he opens the red door for me. Once I step inside, the door slams shut behind me, and I nearly jump out of my heels. Damn! That startled me. And now I’m in a long derelict hallway with dim fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Gunnar led me to believe this would be a swanky ball, not Fright Night.
Ugh, that flickering. It stops—only to plunge me into total darkness. Over the thump of my heart, I don’t hear the music right away. It gets louder and makes me want to groove. Multicolored lights flash in the distance. I hurry towards them and am deposited into a massive warehouse lit with fiber optic lig
hts. The colors flash and change with the beat of the music.
Now, this is more like it.
Puffs of white smoke float lightly over the ground, and the dance floor dominates the ground level. An overhanging loft surrounds the room, and a band plays overhead from a platform. Their enigmatic beat pulses in my veins. Giant white fluffy bean bag chairs on either side of the entrance are occupied with couples making out, oblivious to the crowd. I can feel the energy caressing my arms and legs.
The music draws me across the dance floor until I’m beneath the band where the melody thrums the hardest. “Dastardly Deeds” is written in purple neon lights across the drums. Great color choice if I do say so myself. My gaze floats up to the drummer with his rocking red hair and powerful arms, beating out a tempo that spurs my body into motion.
Might as well enjoy myself while I wait for Blaze to arrive. It would look suspicious to stand at the entrance, watching guests as they arrive.
There are a lot of tall, beautiful supernaturals jam-packed into this party. The young woman with olive green eyes that appear to gleam in the flashes of light and golden blonde hair sweeping down her back is no exception. She moves to the music while scanning the crowd as though she is looking for someone yet ends up grooving beside me. Maybe I’m not the only one on the hunt tonight.
I take in her black tulle dress with its sumptuous layers. Inky vines wrap around a plunging V-neck bodice, and a black ribbon wraps around her tight waistline.
Is she an Agent of Night with another branch? I suppose it’s against protocol to ask. Hopefully they haven’t sent two of us after Blaze in case my lost memories get in the way of completing my mission. Or did they send someone to keep tabs on me?
No way. This would be too obvious, not to mention they would have had to steal a second ticket. Before I have a chance to second guess myself, the woman smiles and says, “Safety in numbers, right?”
My shoulders relax.
False alarm, and I’m down with her reasoning, especially when a pasty man in a gold suit jacket and bow tie sidles up, stretching his arms around me. Oh, hell no! There is something seriously off about this dude. Even his hands are repulsive with their dark red smudges. Is that blood?
“Hello, ladies. You look like you need company,” he slurs.
His gross fingers rub against my hip. Outrage spikes through me, rushing up my neck and out of my flared nostrils.
Above us, the flashing lights intensify, and the music skips a beat. Am I causing this?
The golden blonde slams her hand into the guy’s chest, inhaling sharply. Nope, not me. Looks like I found a new friend in the magic community. I need to get her name so we can have a witch’s night out one day . . . you know, off the clock.
The hairs on my arms rise when I feel the current of electricity passing from the blonde to what I suspect is a vampire. Fascinating. Is this a mind-over-matter kind of thing like teleporting? Unfortunately, zapping Blaze isn’t part of my mission.
With a final burst of power, the woman snaps, “Get lost!”
Her words and power work like a charm. Handsy McVamp releases me, mouth gaping open as he clutches his heart and takes a stumbling step back into the dancing mass.
Bold and deadly. I like this witch’s style, and I don’t just mean her dress, which is wicked lovely. I flash her a conspiratorial smile, thoroughly impressed by her display.
The groovy witch turned ally grins and shrugs. “I hope you don’t mind; I saw him sucking blood from a woman’s neck earlier.”
“Good call,” I say. I don’t know a whole lot about myself, but I think it’s safe to say that bloodsucking is not my flavor of jam.
The witch studies me a moment before introducing herself.
“I’m Tansy.”
“Sabine.”
We shimmy to the beat as though Tansy didn’t just nearly electrocute a vampire. Would serve the sucker right for putting his bloodied fingers on a witch. From what Gunnar told me, there are no humans allowed at this rave. I hope Handsy McVamp tries to grind against a she-wolf next. Gunnar also told me that killing isn’t allowed here, but you never know; maybe the vampire will have his turn bleeding before the night is over. Poetic justice.
I glance around the room again in case Blaze arrived during the interruption. Beautifully decked out guests continue to emerge between the two white beds at the entrance. A woman enters the rave in a stunning long white layered gown with a tight bodice. Lights catch the blonde highlights in her messy bun and the crystals covering the dress, making her appear to shimmer all over as she sweeps in gracefully.
Tansy spins, sending the gauzy layers of her dress into a dark twirl around her ankles. I’m about to compliment her gown when she stumbles back, eyes rounded on the entrance. Seeing no sign of Blaze, my heart rate continues its steady beat. But whomever Tansy spotted seems to have more than her dress spinning.
“You okay, Tansy?” I ask.
She stammers a reply. “Yeah . . . uh . . . I’m sorry . . . I have to . . .” Gesturing to the other side of the room near the bar, she takes off, beelining it to a rainbow staircase as though she’s chasing down a pot of gold.
Dang it, I didn’t get her contact info or even learn where she’s from. Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again before the night is finished. It doesn’t have to be all work and no future play dates.
Before Tansy appeared at my side, I didn’t feel alone. Now that she’s left, dancing solo soon loses its appeal. I shimmy away from the crowd and make my way to a bar that has a marbled counter with cracks filled with neon light that pulses with the beat of the music. Metal industrial stools coil from the floor. This party is wicked cool. Too bad I’m on duty—not that I can’t still enjoy myself. I figure that as long as I slip Blaze the tracking powder before the night is out, I’m free to let loose a little. Gunnar told me I didn’t have to hide my powers at this supernatural rave the way I do back home.
I hoist myself onto a stool. Please tell me this is an open bar because I don’t have a single loony on me. Even if I did—they might not accept Canadian money. Two bartenders are busy mixing and pouring drinks for beautifully dressed people. I feel like I’m at an Oscars after party with the who’s who of the underworld. Long brown sun-kissed dreads swing over the male bartender’s shoulders as he shakes a drink. Stunning blue eyes shine through golden skin and a dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose.
He sprinkles shimmering powder into reddish liquid, shakes the concoction, then pours and hands it to a buff man with a partially unbuttoned dress shirt.
“Thank you, Barassa. I should probably slow down, but your Shifts and Giggles taste so good and make my troubles not seem as bad.”
I notice the man doesn’t pay for his drink. This party is looking better and better.
Barassa, dressed in a charcoal tank, bobs his head. “Alcohol is the cause and the solution to many of life’s problems.” He speaks in a thick African accent.
The female bartender looks over at Barassa and says, “Here’s one for you: If you can’t be happy, at least you can be drunk.”
“An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools. Ernest Hemingway,” Barassa quotes back. He reaches to grab a bottle of pineapple juice off the counter, only for his fingers to clasp air when it disappears. “Onyx,” he says in a low, rumbling voice that ends in a sigh.
“What?” Onyx asks, her eyelashes fluttering innocently despite the juice reappearing in front of her. She tosses pink hair over her shoulder. A wicked septum ring pierces her nose, and she wears a short black dress. I dig her style. When she finishes handing a drink over to a partygoer, she turns her brown eyes to me. “Cool hair,” she says.
“I was just thinking the same thing about yours.”
She grins. “You need to try my specialty drink—Witchy Woman—it’s got grape vodka and grape juice.” She inclines her chin at my hair. Bottles are already flying off the shelf splashing into a mixer. She’s a pink-haired witch w
ith a purple specialty drink—seriously coolest person at this party . . . after Tansy. Remembering the way the golden blonde zapped Mr. Handsy Vamp makes me smile to myself. I wonder if I have any cool friends in my real or fake life. Too bad this isn’t a recruiting mission.
Once the drink has mixed itself, Onyx pours the purple concoction over ice and hands me the glass. I knock it back and swallow the grapey goodness down until there’s nothing left.
“So, you hated it.” Onyx smiles smugly.
“Disgusting,” I say, pushing away the empty glass.
Onyx laughs. A green olive appears in her fingers, and she pops it into her mouth as Barassa roars, “Not again.”
The dude’s seriously patient. He plucks a fresh olive from a jar and drops it into a martini before handing it to a partygoer while offering philosophical insight into dance movement being the language of the soul.
Onyx mixes me up another Witchy Woman without asking. I’m beginning to think of her as my new best friend. It’s not like I have any—that I know of. Maybe we can exchange numbers before the night is out—only, I don’t currently have a phone or a known number. I’ll just have to remember hers and tell her to look me up if she’s ever in British Columbia.
More guests crowd in for drinks. I slide off the stool, taking my purple cocktail to go. As I sip the delicious drink and enjoy the live music, my body begins to heat. It’s as though the sun has come out from behind clouds and is caressing the skin beneath my dress. I scan the undulating mass of dancers swaying in fitted suits and gorgeous gowns. No one stands out until I look up and see Blaze leaning against the bannister of the overhanging loft that surrounds the entire perimeter of the warehouse. He’s wearing a snug black dress jacket that gapes open over a white dress shirt that’s partially tucked into dark trousers. A thin red tie hangs carelessly, loose around his neck, looking as relaxed as he appears. He surveys the floor below as though he owns the damn place. Then his gaze lands on me. The lazy pout of his lips turns into a full-on grin that summons phantom flames licking up my legs before slipping beneath my skirt. I feel heady magic pulsing between my thighs. It spreads higher, throbbing at my center, sparking with desire.
The Monster Ball Year 2 Page 35