Which was good, because there was no way I could make a stand alone, but I was also attracting way too much attention.
Beside the table in the corner was a small hollow, visually cut off from the live band on the other side, which was why it was empty, even though the table a few paces from it was full of people.
As I made my way to the empty table, a man I didn’t know with dirty-blond hair falling to his shoulders in a wave nodded at me, his eyes glimmering with violence and kindness at the same time. He didn’t mean me harm. His companions had already looked away, studying their drinks.
Across the bar, Reagan was sitting next to a youngish guy with a goofy grin. She cradled a tumbler half-full of brown liquid, probably whiskey. Apparently she was the type to drink on the job. The bartender, Trixie from the other night, took Reagan’s money with a flat expression and headed to the till. Her posture screamed wary. She was uncomfortable with something in the bar, and based on how she’d handled Reagan’s violence the other night, it wasn’t her.
Guild.
Anger wobbled my balanced bubble, but Emery strutted into the bar behind me, his posture loose and relaxed, confident and in charge. He surveyed the crowd, letting his gaze linger on a few of the male patrons, probably magical people, before drifting out of my view, toward the area of the bar nearest the band. He’d go deaf on this stakeout.
In the far corner, Reagan glanced up at me before shifting her attention back to the crowd in the bar. I couldn’t tell who interested her most, because one of the lopsided grinners from the bar cut off my view, his lean pronounced and his eyes slightly glazed.
The dirty-blond man who’d nodded at me stood up, pushing his chair back as he did so. Just over six feet tall with a powerful frame, he turned toward the bar with a loose body that almost looked like it was lounging. Like he was getting in a good stretch before he attacked.
“What do you want?” he growled out to Drunk Guy, and a spicy elixir tickled my magic, like a wind-swept prairie in the hot moonlight.
“I got no beef with you, bro,” Drunk Guy said, the words slurring and jumbled together. “I’m just heading over there.” He pointed in my direction, and I shrank back without meaning to.
The shifter stepped into the path between me and Drunk Guy. “Does she look like a ringmaster, mate?” he asked.
Drunk Guy frowned and swayed. Confusion turned to anger, and alcohol erased the desire for self-preservation. He bristled and stepped toward the shifter. “Why don’t you get out of the way, bro.”
“I said, does she look like a ringmaster?” the shifter said, not moving. The change in his body was slight, but I could feel raw power and brutal grace exude from him. “Because if not, she has no need of clowns.”
“Get him out of here, Steve,” Trixie yelled across the bar. “He’s had enough.”
“With pleasure, love.” Steve, the shifter, grabbed the man by the shirt with both hands, lifted him without effort, and muscled him toward the door.
As soon as they left, I caught another glimpse of Reagan, downing her whiskey and staring toward the corner that Jimmy had pointed out.
She nodded to Trixie and slapped another five on the bar, now staring straight ahead.
Steve wandered back in, seemingly without a care in the world. He nodded at me as he passed, then shrugged at my muttered thanks. He took his seat without a word, and the others around him shifted and adjusted their positions. Certain figures stilled, their hands in front of them, close together. Others straightened up, ready for action. Still more shifted and fidgeted, looking around uncomfortably. It felt like we were all in a pressure cooker, waiting for something to blow.
My attention was drawn to one of the middle booths in the bar. The occupants were studying each other intently, silent communication in their eyes.
I edged farther out of my nook so I could see better.
Magic wisps rose feebly from the hands of the man nearest the bar, his hands clasped next to his empty glass. Another mage had her hands below the table, magic rolling into a messy sort of weave intended for destruction.
“This is about to kick off,” I told Steve absently, edging still farther out.
“It was about to kick off when these maggots wandered into the wrong part of town. We’re just waiting for the go-ahead.”
“No, I mean, it is about to kick off right now. They are creating shitty spells that will get Reagan riled up, which will get Emery riled up, which will make me do something stupid. You might want to walk out now.”
“What? And miss the fireworks?” He laughed and turned in his chair. I got the impression he was preparing to surge up and out. The people around him pushed their chairs back a little, too, also in anticipation.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” I said through clenched teeth.
“They don’t scare us, love,” Steve insisted. “Just lead the charge. We’re right behind you.”
“I meant, you don’t know what is going to come at you, probably accidentally. I have no idea what I’m doing!”
Steve looked at me in confusion, but it was too late to explain.
A man with wire-rimmed glasses and a comb-over popped out of the corner booth. Glasses. A gush of magic ballooned up in front of him, intending to melt the face off someone. The weave was loose but orderly, and he’d called it up quickly. And it was directed at Reagan.
Magic twisted through my fingers without my prompting it. As I rocketed off a spell, I saw streams of magic rushing at Emery. We’d all joined the fight.
Reagan stood gracefully from her stool and reached for her sword, but something held her back. She probably felt my spell. “Wearing glasses doesn’t make you smart, four eyes,” Reagan said with a laugh, leaning back against the bar to watch.
My spell slammed into his, eating it away while ingesting its power and forcing it to change direction. Changing it so it grew larger but less heinous. Forcing it back on him, and whoever was with him.
Emery shot his spell off next, hitting one of the middle-aged guys at the bar who’d looked at me for just a moment when I walked in. He cried out and fell off his stool, landing on his back and shaking.
The guys at the back table grabbed at their pockets, trying to get more ingredients for their spells. Those in the middle booth all shifted, probably arming themselves with ingredients.
35
“Steve!” I pointed at the table.
Steve and his friends were up in a flash as Reagan launched forward, grabbing the woman from the corner booth, who’d (smartly) jumped off her stool and run for the back exit. Screaming from the corner booth drowned out the squawking of frightened tourists.
Steve grabbed the guy across the table with one hand before dragging him over the bar. The mage got off his spell, which threatened to blast Steve’s face with something frozen.
I ran at them while creating a weave, but Emery dodged in front of me, faster and more efficient. He got his spell off, hitting the mage in the dead center of his forehead. A crack said the force had snapped his neck.
“Cleanup on aisle five,” Trixie yelled, jumping over the bar. “Get them out of here, Jimmy.”
Jimmy rushed in and started grabbing non-magical tourists. “For your own safety,” he said as he wrestled them out. “Come back tomorrow for free drinks on us. So sorry. These things happen.”
Trixie followed him out, marshaling other non-magical tourists with no such explanation or offer.
A surge of intent rose from the corner where Emery had been stationed. I stepped out with my spell still building between my fingers, then stopped dead.
Mary Bell. Callie and Dizzy’s acquaintance.
A glimmer came to her eyes when she saw me. “You found your knight, I see.” The spell she’d been weaving dissipated between her hands, and she slid off her stool. “Don’t mind that.” She nodded at the magic fading into the world around her and dropped her hands, walking toward me. “I just wanted your attention.”
She stopped in front of the door, five feet from me, no hostile magical intent sullying the air. “I have a message for you.”
“Does Callie know you hang out here?” I asked, confused. Emery hadn’t done anything to her, so he clearly hadn’t thought she was a threat. But the spell she’d been creating was horribly vicious and gruesome. It would mangle bodies and render the victims almost unrecognizable.