Kept (20 page)

None of them stopped talking when I approached Roscoe. The strong stench of the rum from his rum and Coke drink hit my nose. He was chatting with a lady who needed a few inches added to the hem of her minidress.

When the guard leaned over to tap his boss’ shoulder, the girl gave the guard a dirty look. Evidently, he was messing with her chances of turning into Roscoe’s scantily clad tramp-of-the-night.

Roscoe looked at me and blurted in Russian, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who brought you here?”

“No one.” Why say otherwise?

“Most people who don’t fulfill their moon debt don’t come sauntering back to the debt owner.”

“I’m not most people.” I swallowed twice, hoping to make my voice stronger.

Roscoe’s date frowned further. Maybe she hated not knowing what we were talking about. I, for one, wished I didn’t—no matter the language.

“I’ve come to ask for mercy. Maybe another chance to repay my father’s debt.” My hand itched terribly. I wanted to ignore the desire to scratch it—to keep my eyes on Roscoe and his men. But it was damn difficult when all I could think about was the likelihood that I had millions of ants crawling over my digits.

Roscoe snorted. “Moon debt doesn’t work that way,
devushka
. Do you know what happens to debtors who don’t pay?”

He’d told me earlier, but a thousand other ideas ran through my mind: death, slavery, many others that would be the end of me anyway.

“Baby, you told me no business tonight,” the woman whined.

Roscoe’s hand shot up, and she went silent instantly. “I told you they die,
devushka
.”

I shuddered as a chill ran down my spine. I managed to mumble, “Couldn’t they make a few payments and then die of old age?”

The prickling intensified in the palm Nick had held. Enough to make all the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Had he done something to me? Sweat lined my brow, and when I wiped it, my hand came away with a sheen that sparkled in the light.

I stared dumbfounded while Roscoe motioned to the guards. “You know where to take her and what to do.”

Now the shimmering sweat coated both my hands. And when I unzipped my coat, I found more along my neck.
What the hell?

The guards approached me. I opened my mouth to
ask for more options but stopped when I noticed their shocked expressions. One backed away rather than moved forward.

I glanced over my shoulder to see three people standing behind me: Lisbetta and her parents.

Chapter 15

I
think
I could count on my hand the number of times I’d felt like a mosquito waiting to be squashed by a gigantic eager hand. Thank goodness, this time I was no longer the mosquito. And the hand behind me was a rather big one, even if it came in a little package.

“Your wards are much stronger now,” Lisbetta said. “Quite a clever set of spells to keep spellcasters like me out of your little hideaway.” She was dressed in clean clothes now: a bright red coat with large buttons down the front, a pair of white tights, and black Mary Jane shoes.

In her hand, she held the iron bracelet I’d seen on her wrist. Somehow the fairies had managed to remove it. The bracelet was partially wrapped in a white silky handkerchief. With a flick of her fingers, it flew across the room, landing in Roscoe’s lap.

All conversation in the room died.

Lisbetta stepped around me. Her parents followed. She gave me a brief smile, which would have charmed any grandmother, but made my blood run cold. Pain on the sides of my face warned me I’d locked my jaw. My chest tightened again. Tight enough for me to gasp a few times. My hand found the seashell around my neck. As usual, it didn’t bring me comfort.

“Don’t be afraid, Little Wolf,” Lisbetta said to me.
“I’m not here for you. You’ve done your part to help me, serving as my vessel.” She turned to Roscoe. “Mr. Skins and I, however, have some
business
to settle.”

The guests stared in shock. All of them were werewolves, and most of them suspected this visitor—who stank of magic—wasn’t a welcome one.

“After I deal with you tonight, I’ll hunt down the warlock who helped you trap me,” Lisbetta purred. “Would you like to tell me his name before I pull out your lying tongue?”

“Let me
slit
his throat,” Lisbetta’s father said. The word
slit
came out like a serpent’s low hiss. Compared to Lisbetta, he was less reserved in his anger. His pale fingers jerked madly.

One of the guards in the corner hunched over. His face bulged from the approaching change. Other guards followed suit. A fight was coming. I felt it stirring in the air, and it drew me in to join them.

Instead of giving in to the urge, though, I contemplated a question—
Why the hell was I standing where I’d surely get mauled?
My weak legs finally moved, and I backed toward the nearest wall.

Roscoe’s date trembled in her seat, and then she bolted for the door.

Lisbetta’s hands flowed through the air. The crates slid across the floor and slammed in front of the exit. Sparks danced across her fingers, filling the air with the tang of acidic spring fairy magic.

Roscoe’s date yelled for help and banged her fists against the barrier, while the wolves crept up on the fairy trio in a standard attack formation. Lisbetta’s parents continued to hold their ground with their weapons.

Wolves crept toward them from the front and the back. Roscoe continued to sit comfortably in his seat, while his guests all stood. At first I thought the wolves
would be the ones to come for the parents. But it was the armed guards who moved.

The men with AK-47s opened fire.

I gasped, expecting the fairies to fall bleeding—their bodies contorting—to the floor. But they stood there, unmoving, as if the guns had fired blanks. Bullet shells rained down, and the fairies continued to just stand there.

“Are you done yet?” For a moment Lisbetta appeared weakened, but then I realized she was merely bored. Her hands rose again. When they fell, the guns smashed to bits.

“No more metal toys. No more games.” Her normally high-pitched voice sounded strange. More guttural. More primal.

Roscoe glanced at the wolves behind Lisbetta. They rushed at her. I couldn’t tell how many. I saw only the pack leaping forward again, now toward Lisbetta’s mother. She moved deftly. The first attacker didn’t even touch her. The second flew straight into her blow. Its belly opened as if her blade were slicing through butter. The rest of the wolves went for Lisbetta’s father, but he was just as deadly. These fairies definitely knew how to use their weapons.

Another wave of werewolves came for them—a larger and much faster one. From their approach, these wolves were far more experienced. The first one approached Lisbetta’s mother from the front, while the second came from the rear. A dark wolf grabbed her by the arm with an elongated snout and snapped down. The fairy screamed. Another one clamped down on the back of her neck. Now everything sped up, happening too fast. Lisbetta’s father had a wolf on his leg while another disarmed him.

Lisbetta finally moved. And I wished I had closed my eyes at the sight. Her tiny form swarmed the wolves, leaping on one, then another. When she touched them,
something strange happened. They folded in on themselves and withered away. Skin grayed and wrinkled. Hair turned white. Bodies convulsed. I couldn’t help but remember her young voice when she whispered at my neck,
“Your life force smells warm and alive.”

What kind of damn fairy drained the living? But drain them she did. With each touch, she moved faster. Lisbetta showed no mercy to the wolf that attacked her mother. With one lingering touch, it shrank to dusty bones.

The once-bold guests slowly backed away from the carnage in front of us.

Roscoe flipped open his cell phone and yelled into it, “Primus, get your ass down here right now!” Then, as Lisbetta advanced toward him, he inched backward. “I’ll have your sorry ass for every piece-of-shit spell you failed to cast. That girl got in, and she’s fucking pissed.”

I just about laughed, watching Roscoe squirm. A line of sweat formed on his brow. His fancy jacket had sweat stains under the armpits. Wow, she’d worked on his psyche pretty fast.

Lisbetta took several bold steps, then froze in place. Her face showed effort as she tried to move. The scent in the air changed. A faint whiff of cinnamon grew strong—and became overwhelming. A powerful spellcaster had arrived.

The man in question materialized in a black suit with a dark green shirt. His hair was long and dirty blond, with a trace of gray along the edges. He stood between Lisbetta and Roscoe, in the fifteen feet or so that separated them.

I glanced around for her parents. Her mother perched on bended knee behind Lisbetta, nursing her bleeding arm. Her father lay on the ground, unmoving.

“About time you got here,” Roscoe said with a visible pant.

From the wave of magic around the newcomer, I suspected he was the warlock Roscoe had on speed dial. The man approached Lisbetta with a smug grin. “Now, how did you get out of my little cage?”

He stepped forward. I wanted to speak, but I only growled instead.

When the warlock glanced my way, I dropped closer to the ground and tried to look insignificant. Rather difficult with all the madness around me.

“If you had only stayed put, your family never would’ve been hurt. But look what you’ve done.” The warlock continued to smile at her. “You’ve brought them right to me, so now I have two new playthings.”

Lisbetta spat in some language I didn’t recognize. But I doubted she was reciting a nursery rhyme, from the way a bit of spittle clung to her chin.

Primus placed his palm up and another bracelet materialized in his hand. “Once I put this little lovely back on your arm, we’ll hold another auction, to see where you’ll be useful. It’s a shame the Jackson pack won’t be interested buyers again.” He strolled toward her. “They paid a lot of money to assist Tamara’s spell-casting. I’m sure it would’ve been worth it in the end.”

He fingered the bracelet. Lisbetta stared at it, but her expression didn’t waver.

Primus glanced around the room. “So, who wants the honor of putting this on her?”

“Why not do it yourself?” Lisbetta said with a smirk.

Primus’ eyebrow rose and he shook his index finger at her. “I already know your range, sweetheart. I know your touch is a lot more powerful than most.”

Lisbetta laughed. “I’ll slaughter any of these dogs you bring my way. Why not feed me more of them before I feast on you?”

“Why don’t you have one of your boys take care of this?” He turned to Roscoe.

Roscoe shook his head vigorously, then he spotted me. “Her! Make her do it!”

Fear sucked me in, and I wished I could melt into the wall.

Primus shifted his gaze to me, and then he pulled at me. At first I sensed it as a slight tug on my midsection. But then it strengthened, until I was shuffling across the floor. I tried to fight it. To use what little strength I had to propel myself in reverse. Nothing worked. My hand snaked out as if I were an eager child coming for candy. I heard whimpers and thought that perhaps Lisbetta’s father had awoken. But something inside told me that the whimpers came from me. That I knew this would be the end of me, either by Lisbetta’s hands, Primus’s, or Roscoe’s.

I never should have returned here. For once, I should have taken advice, Nick’s advice.

When I came to a halt in front of Primus, I noticed that, up close, he was a handsome man. His skin was flawless, without a single wrinkle. He continued to hold the bracelet out to me.

With everything I had, I willed my hand to my side. After I closed my eyes, I finally felt it move. It shifted downward, as if something powerful, something besides my will, was pulling it there.

Was it Lisbetta?

Someone else?

From my side, my hand moved to my pocket. It twitched as it tucked inside the fold of my jeans, then rested on something warm—something about the size of a pocketknife. I searched my thoughts frantically, trying to remember what the hell was in there. A pack of gum? A tissue box? Hand sanitizer? I’d gone daft standing there waiting for my demise. Now, when my hand emerged, I opened my eyes. I was holding something golden and rectangular. It vibrated.

Primus whispered, “Most unexpected.”

Then the lights flickered.

Primus waved his hand toward the box, but nothing happened. His confident smile broke.

Lisbetta blinked and then she took a step toward him.

I just about shit my pants.

What happened next wasn’t pretty. Whatever tricks or spells Primus had, the golden box had sent them flying south for the winter.

Lisbetta came at him, leaping through the air. She landed on him, clamping down, refusing to let go. The stench of cinnamon overwhelmed my nostrils. Sparks—bright red and orange—flew from her hands, while the essence of Primus’s life force flowed into her. It was rather comical—for a moment anyway. Here was this little girl hugging a grown man. All the while, Primus screamed again and again—punching and flailing while Lisbetta drained her prey.

Not far from us, Roscoe was cursing in Russian, running to join his floozy at the blocked door. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Oh, God, help me!”

The whole time, I stood there like an idiot, holding the golden box in the air. I had no idea what the hell it did, but if I just had to stand there to save my ass, I’d do it.

Dust covered Lisbetta’s hands. She even had a few handprints on her pretty coat. I found it creepy that my first thought was to offer her something to clean it off.

Lisbetta walked slowly toward Roscoe. His girlfriend now tried to get help on her cell phone, but who the hell could she call at a time like this? Another warlock? Roscoe turned to face Lisbetta, his face ash-white.

She briefly turned my way, winked, and then
skipped
toward him. Talk about a mind-fuck in the making.

Like a cockroach caught in daylight, Roscoe tried to scamper away, but Lisbetta trapped him with her tiny clawed hands.