Right Hand Magic (17 page)

“What’s with all the motorcycles?” I asked, pointing to the line of Harley-Davidson Sportsters and Softtails parked handlebar to handlebar along the curb.

Hexe raised an eyebrow. “Looks like the gals are out on the town.”

“ ‘Gals’?” It was now my turn to look surprised. “You mean there’s an all-female motorcycle club in Golgotham?”

“There are two, actually: the Maiden Lane Amazons and the Odin Street Valkyries. They used to be sworn enemies, until their respective leaders reached a meeting of the minds—and, uh, other parts.”

“Do you think there’ll be any trouble?” I asked uneasily.

“It depends on what your definition of ‘trouble’ is,” Hexe laughed as he opened the door to the restaurant.

As I scanned the downstairs bar area, I recognized several familiar faces: Dr. Mao and Meikei were seated at one of the booths, accompanied by Mr. Manto; Faro was lounging at the bar, openly flirting with the maenad barmaid, Chorea; and to my surprise, Kidron and Wildfire were standing at the back of the room, chatting with an elegantly dressed Kymeran woman with very blue hair. Although I could not place when and where I might have met the blue-haired woman before, there was something extremely familiar about her.

“We’ve got to get out of here—” Hexe whispered urgently.

“What’s going on?” I asked as he turned back toward the door. “Is something wrong?”

Suddenly Lafo stepped out from behind the bar, blocking Hexe’s path. The towering chef folded his arms across his chest and grinned down at his old friend.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not getting away that easily!”

Hexe sighed and turned back around to face the crowd. Everybody in the room lifted their drinks in welcome and said as one, “Happy birthday, Hexe!”

Hexe glared accusingly at Lukas. “You knew about this the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” The young were-cat beamed. “Meikei told me about it when she brought my lunch today. I didn’t want to miss out on the party.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” I chided. “I would have gotten you something!”

“I was going to tell you, over dinner,” Hexe muttered. “But somebody beat me to it.” He glanced meaningfully at the well-dressed woman approaching us.

As she drew closer, I realized the reason the blue-haired woman looked so familiar was not because we had met before, but because I had seen her in the newspapers. I was in the presence of none other than Lady Syra, “Witch to the Stars,” occult adviser to the wealthiest men and women in the city, if not the world.

Lady Syra carried herself with a self-assured grace that was both dignified and no-nonsense. Her perfectly coifed, shoulder-length peacock blue hair framed her translucent skin, wide forehead, strong cheekbones, and tapered chin to great effect. She was dressed in Dior, complete with black kid gloves especially designed for her slender, six-fingered hands, and she smelled of rose, vetiver, and jasmine.

“Happy birthday, darling.” Lady Syra smiled as she embraced her son. I noticed that they shared the same golden eyes.

“You got me again, Mom.” Hexe sighed resignedly, planting a kiss on his mother’s powdered cheek. “But how could you be so sure I’d decide to come here for dinner?”

Lady Syra turned and pointed to Mr. Manto, who was engrossed in a game of Chinese checkers with Dr. Mao. “Aloysius was kind enough to tell me.”

Hexe gently grasped my elbow and pulled me forward. “Mom—this is my new tenant. Tate, I would like you to meet my mother.”

“It’s an honor, Lady Syra,” I said, bowing my head in recognition. “I’ve read so much about you in the newspapers and magazines!”

“Damned lies, all of it, I assure you!” she laughed, waving away my compliment with an elegant six-fingered hand.

“That’s a lovely piece you’re wearing,” I said, pointing to an ivory necklace resembling a snake with its tail in its mouth. “Wherever did you get it?”

“You mean this?” She smiled, reaching up to touch her throat. To my surprise, the necklace opened its ruby red eyes and slithered onto Lady Syra’s gloved hand, where it wrapped itself about her wrist and became a bracelet. “That’s just Trinket, my familiar.” To my surprise, Lady Syra took my arm, steering me toward one of the booths. “Now come, sit with me, my dear. I want to hear
all
about you—”

Hexe quickly stepped in, putting himself between his mother and me. “Mom, please—you can monopolize Tate some other time. Right now I’d like to introduce her to some of the friends you were kind enough to invite to my party.”

“Very well.” Lady Syra sighed, relinquishing her grip on me. “You
are
the birthday boy.”

Hexe’s eyes lit up as Lafo emerged from the kitchen carrying a cake. “Ah! That’s more like it. I could definitely go for a snack.”

We followed the Calf’s owner and head chef to the back of the room, where he placed a triple-tiered cake slathered in pale green icing on a buffet table that was already groaning underneath the weight of a bewildering collection of hors d’oeuvres.

“It looks delicious.” Hexe smiled. “In fact, everything here looks incredible—wouldn’t you say so, Tate?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed as I eyed the candied sea horses and deep-fried silkworm cocoons.

“Happy birthday, my friend,” Kidron called out. He and his stablemate were both wearing long, elaborately decorated caparisons that covered their rumps and flanks and hid the manure catchers slung under their tails. They also wore down-filled mufflers on their feet to lessen the sound of their hooves against the wooden floor. “Or should I say happy anniversary?”

“Anniversary of what?” I asked.

“Our friendship,” Hexe replied. “Kidron and I met at my fifth birthday party.”

“I was the pony ride,” the centaur explained.

Suddenly a pair of large hands clad in fingerless biker gloves clapped themselves onto Hexe’s shoulders, freezing him in his tracks. They belonged to a towering blond woman dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket, matching leather jeans, and a waist-length chain mail tunic, her hair worn in Teutonic braids. She stood six foot nine, with a right eye as blue as a Nordic fjord, while the left was covered by a leather patch emblazoned with the Harley-Davidson logo.

“Where d’ya think
you’re
goin’, Birthday Boy?” the blonde thundered.

Before Hexe could answer, she spun him around and wrapped her muscular arms around him, lifting him off the ground.

“Hi, Hildy,” Hexe squeaked as he was squeezed in a bear hug.

A six-foot-tall brunette wearing matching riding leathers stepped forward and gave the blonde a friendly slap on the ass. “Put him down, honey, before you break his ribs.”

“Oops! Sorry, dude,” Hildy said, setting him back down.

“Thanks, Lyta,” Hexe gasped. After dusting himself off, he gestured for me to join him. “Tate, I’d like you to meet two very good friends of mine—Brunhilde and Hippolyta.”

“Just call us Hildy and Lyta,” the brunette said as she shook my hand. Instead of a chain mail tunic, she wore a black leather bustier, the right cup of which was conspicuously empty.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” Hexe said.

“
Ja
,” Hildy replied, nodding her blond head. “We’ve finally been given permission to consolidate our clubs. From now on we roll as the Golgotham Iron Maidens.”

“That’s wonderful.” Hexe smiled. “I’m very happy for you.”

“It’s hard to believe we spent so many years fighting each other.” Lyta reached up and lovingly touched her girlfriend’s patch. “Remember when I took your eye?”

Hildy smiled and nodded. “The bike chain. Odin’s beard, you marked me good that time! I think that’s when I started to really fall for you.”

Lyta took Hildy’s huge hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re such a romantic.”

While Hexe and the gals caught up with one another, I drifted over to Lukas, who was staring across the room at his own object of affection.

“I see Meikei’s over there with her father,” I said, stating the Blatantly Obvious.

“Yeah.” Lukas sighed wistfully.

“Aren’t you going to tell her hello?”

The young were-cat shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Why not? I know you like her. You practically talk the poor girl’s ear off every time she comes to the house.”

“It’s easy to talk to her at the house,” Lukas explained. “But this is
different
. . . . We aren’t alone. What if another male who’s interested in her comes up and starts to talk to her?”

“Things are different here than it is on the preserve—well, kind of, anyway. You don’t
have
to fight someone to the death simply because he’s talking to your girl.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “Besides, as far as Meikei’s concerned, you’re the only male in this room.”

Lukas’s eyes were filled with hopeful surprise. “You really think so?”

“Kid, I
know
so!” I grinned. “So stop wasting your time and just go for it—it’s that simple!”

“Okay, I will,” the young were-cougar said. “But you have to promise me you’ll do the same.”

“What do you mean?”

Lukas rolled his eyes. “What do you
think
? I see how you act whenever Hexe is around. And I’ve seen how he looks at you. ...”

“Like how?” I cringed even as the words came out of my mouth. I sounded like an insecure junior high student obsessing over her first crush.

Lukas shook his head in disbelief. “Haven’t you noticed how he
always
smiles when you come into the room?”

“You
really
think he likes me?” I felt myself start to blush.

“Of course!” Lukas grinned as he headed off to join Meikei. “He’s just waiting for you to show
you’re
interested. All you have to do is take your own advice, Tate.”

He was right. It was time for me to stop hemming and hawing and to let Hexe know how I felt. It was just that simple.
Yeah, right
.

After all I’d been through recently, I was still skittish about making myself vulnerable again. At one point I’d thought my relationship with Roger was strong enough to build into a marriage, but it had proved to be an illusion. What if I was misreading Hexe’s intentions? He
was
from a different culture, possibly even a totally different species, come to think of it. What if he was just being polite and had absolutely no romantic interest in me? What if he viewed being involved with a human the same as bestiality? It was one thing to be rebuffed; quite another to be viewed as repulsive. I didn’t know if I could handle that kind of rejection.

“Would you like to sit down and have a drink?”

I blinked, finally able to break free of the Möbius strip of self-doubt going on inside my head. I smiled gratefully at Hexe.

“You must have read my mind.”

He escorted me to one of the booths and motioned for the barmaid to bring two tankards of barley wine. Then, to my surprise, instead of seating himself on the opposite side of the booth, he slid in alongside me. I was keenly aware of the heat from his body against my own, which sparked a separate fire deep inside me.

When Chorea brought our drinks, Hexe took my tankard from her and handed it to me himself. His leg was against my leg, his smell in my brain, as his fingers touched mine. I did not pull my hand away, nor did he remove his hand from mine. I looked into his face and found myself once more staring into those golden eyes, which were as compelling as they were dazzling.

He smiled, unoffended by the nakedness of my gaze, and like an acrobat falling from a high wire, I felt a sudden vertigo as disorienting as it was delicious. It was as if my heart were filled with helium and trying to escape my body. I almost expected to see it bobbing between the smoky rafters of the pub like a toy balloon.

Suddenly a man’s voice thundered out. “Where’s that chuffing dunderwhelp?”

The entire room fell silent as if struck collectively mute. From the look of dismay on Hexe’s face, he knew the voice all too well. I craned my head, trying to see who it was who had brought the party to a screeching halt.

Standing framed in the doorway of the restaurant was a tall man dressed in a black wool caped coat. His shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed goatee were dark indigo, liberally shot with streaks of ice blue. His face was gaunt, with cheekbones sharp enough to draw blood, and golden eyes that blazed with an inner fire, like stars from some cold and distant galaxy. Perched on the dark man’s left shoulder was a raven with the bright red eyes of a familiar.

Lady Syra stepped forward, blocking the newcomer’s path. “Esau! That’s no way to speak about your nephew,” she admonished. “And it’s
certainly
no way to greet him on his birthday!”

“I’ll call him worse than that, if what I heard is true,” her brother snarled, glaring about the room. “So where is he?”

Hexe sighed wearily and let go of my hand. “I’m over here, Uncle,” he said as he slid out of the booth. “I take it you didn’t come here simply to wish me happy birthday.”

Esau stalked across the room, coming to a halt before his nephew. The smell of leather, black moss, and brimstone radiated from the older warlock like heat from a summer sidewalk.

“Of course not,” Uncle Esau replied. “I came to see if there was anything to the rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“That you’re renting rooms to numps.” He spat the last word out like poison.

“I didn’t rent a room to a
nump
—I rented it to a
human
,” Hexe replied, with more than a little heat. “Besides, what difference is it to you whom I rent to?”

“I grew up in that house!” Uncle Esau retorted, stepping to within inches of Hexe’s face. He pointed a long, nicotine-stained finger at me as he trembled with indignation. “I refuse to see it defiled by this nump!”

“Stop calling her that,” Hexe snapped.