The Dragon King and I (4 page)

I will admit. There was a snicker or two that slipped out before I was able to get out what I was trying to say. “I have an appointment.”

Abruptly all motion ceased. The woman straightened to her full height so abruptly that I stumbled into the building with a yelp. Now on my knees and seriously considering violence I looked over to see the Bouncer from hell smiling at me with as much gracious welcome as a newly christened debutante.

“Well why didn’t you say so? My name is Florence—”

‘As in Nightingale?’

“—but you can call me Flo.”

‘Ah. Like the Progressive Girl then.’

Flo’s eyes narrowed on my face for a brief moment before she readjusted her courtesy panties (similar to big girl panties in the same way that a thong is similar to boy shorts) and held out a hand to help me get back to my feet. I eyed it dubiously, not quite ready to forgive or forget her not so distant vehemence to get me out of the house. In a gesture of good will I ignored my misgiving and took her offered hand anyway.

I regretted that stroke of genius almost instantly.

You know those lame-o guys who still think it’s funny to use the whole ‘electric buzzer in my hand’ trick? Well imagine that you’d stumbled across one of those yahoos. Except when the guy tricked you into shaking his hand you didn’t get a mild shock.

Oh no.

You convulsed on the ground as what felt like hundreds of volts of electricity river-danced along your internal organs. For a frightening flash in time the whole world went white. Not just because it was painful, but because the entire thing was an overload of sensation.

Just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. I found myself heaving weakly in a corner of the entranceway. Flo stared down at me impassively, wiping her hands with a handkerchief that was so delicate it looked as if it had been sewn with spiders’ silk.

“How,” I gasped when I could finally breathe without crying, “Did you—? No. Scratch that.” I turned on her with violence beginning to spark through my veins, and my nails dug into the wall at my side as I pulled myself back to my feet. “
Why?
Why did you do that?”

She examined her hands dubiously, and obviously deciding that they were as clean as they were going to get, she refolded the handkerchief and put it away. Then shrugging, she crossed her arms at her waist and gave the question serious thought.

“You missed your appointment.” She stated finally.

“Huh?” Not my brightest moment but I was justifiably dumbfounded.

“You. Missed. Your. Appoint-ment.”

Note to self: Perfect the fine art of water torture.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

She raised a brow at me and my jaw tightened with the effort it took not to look shaken in front of this woman. I suspected that she would take my still-rubbery legs and shaking hands as a sign of weakness.

Something told me to avoid signs of weakness at all costs.

Looking over the top of her glasses she inspected her palm for a brief moment before looking back at me. “Alexandria Greyson. July the 16
^th
at 9 pm.” The way she spoke sounded as if she were asking for some sort of confirmation.

I just blinked.

“Huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “There was a contract created between you and my Mistress. You didn’t show up and as a result it has been—” thoughtful, she looked down at the hand that had just rocked my world yet again and I got the distinct impression that she was reading something. “Invalidated.” She finished finally, still examining her hand as if it were a creature she’d never seen before. I gave her palm a casual glance of my own and from all accounts it looked normal enough. But what had just happened coupled with the attention she gave it made me look at it differently.

I hadn’t noticed before, but there was an almost visible charge hovering just above her palm. It was the same sense of leashed power that you sensed from a live electrical wire. It didn’t have to give off any visible sparks for you to feel the low, threatening hum of it, like a rattler’s tail ringing a warning. The charge wasn’t just on her hand either. It radiated along her entire body. As if her very aura was sparking. I felt a muscle in my left eyelid twitch violently at the thought.

“What does that mean?” My voice was hoarse and for the first time I became aware of just how silent the fairytale house truly was. I suspected that Flo and I were the only two on the premises. “Where’s Madam Clara?”

Flo shook her head at me as if disappointed with my ignorance.

“She can’t help you now, girl.”

“Why not?”

“Because you broke the terms of your contract. Therefore barring you from whatever help Clarabell may or may not have been able to give you.”

“What terms? I didn’t make the appointment, my friend Rachel did. And why the hell are your policies so strict? Do I need to show a Doctor’s note or something?”

A little wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Those who suffer magically are under different constraints than our human clientele.” She began slowly, watching my reaction oh so carefully from behind her glasses. “Any agreement, whether made through a third party or not is magically, and legally, binding. It creates a
geas
of sorts. Therefore, breaking your contract by not adhering to even the smallest point requires that there be certain repercussions for breaking your word. Our policies were formed around these very facts. You know that.”

“But—” What was happening to me right now? I couldn’t seem to think straight. The only upside to all of this was that any lingering weakness had dissipated. The twitching eye thing was still going on though. One thing she’d said stuck out, and it was this that I jumped on. “But I
am
human.”

For a moment, shock made Flo’s dark skin pale. Then she smiled, and there was a faint sense of melancholy about the gesture. “No, dear. You aren’t.”

“How would you know?” I asked sullenly.

“Because I’m not either. There’s nothing wrong with not being human. However, it does mean that you are under certain time constraints.” She cocked her head to one side and regarded me with much less hostility. I think something about my helpless confusion was getting through to her. “Your gift,” her fingers brushed my arm and I flinched away without thinking. “It’s getting away from you, yes?”

My lips were numb and I realized with a start that I was shivering. When she reached for me again I forced myself to hold still as she gently grasped my hand and pulled me out of the corner I’d been huddling in.

“I’m not gifted.” I corrected her finally as we made our way down the hallway. “I’m cursed.”

She patted my hand and the gesture had me upping her age by a few decades. “What you have is a gift, my dear. My gift is to see that of others and yours is quite strong. But you lack discipline.” I felt her look at me, but I was too lost in my own myriad thoughts to acknowledge the glance. “Am I right in assuming that that’s because you’re new to all of this?”

My laughter was harsh.

“You could say that.”

“I see.”

I realized that while we’d been talking she’d led me into a room not far from the front door. It had vaulted ceilings and the walls were made of glass. Not that you could see much past the creeping rose vines that covered the surface of it. The lights in the room were the byproduct of old ironwork lampposts. Along the back wall was a chalkboard listing a number of food and drink choices, a display case filled with cakes and cookies, and a bar-looking area that boasted a cappuccino machine and porcelain mugs.

My brow furrowed. “I thought Madam Clara was a Medium not a barista?”

Flo chuckled and indicated that I should take a seat at one of the empty tables as she made her way over to the display case of sweets.

“Clarabell has her hands in a number of pots. Business can get slow. This—” she indicated the room with a nod of her head as she pulled forth two slices of cheesecake. “—helps supplement our finances.”

I dug into the cheesecake she set before me while she went to go grab us some bottles of cream soda out of the stand-up cooler.

“Can’t you just write me up a new contract?” I asked, once we were settled. If I sounded more than a little desperate, that was something I couldn’t help. “I promise I’ll show up this time.”

Flo shook her head. I noticed that she ate her cake with as much care as she took with everything else. If she hadn’t just electrocuted me I would have found her tidiness endearing.

“I’m sorry, but no.” she didn’t sound all that contrite. Not that I blamed her. I couldn’t work up all that much sympathy for anyone when I had cheesecake in my mouth. My empathy died faster than a crack addict’s brain cells once I started consuming sugar, so I didn’t take her lack of concern to heart until we both scraped our plates clean.

Pushing my dish away, I sat back in my chair and sighed. This was the safest I’d felt in a long time. It was also the most despondent.

“So what do I do?”

Flo shrugged and took a swig of cream soda. “Go home?”

I considered that, but the thought of a man scratching at my door and sniffing for me like a hound with a scent intruded on my imaginings and brought home yet again just how dire my situation was. “That isn’t an option.”

Flo sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Here.” She pulled a pen and her dainty little handkerchief out of her pocket. Then she scribbled something down and slid the cloth across the table to me. On it was an address to a part of town that I’d promised my mother never to drive through, and a name.

Seraphim.

“What is this?”

“That—” Flo stated between swallows of soda. “—is your last chance at a normal life.” She pulled a pocket watch from god-knew-where and whistled as she inspected the time. “I’d hurry if I were you. Her shift is almost over and she handles walk-ins about as well as I do.”

Chapter Two

There ain’t no rest for the wicked,

Money don’t grow on trees.

I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed,

And ain’t nothin’ in this world for free.

I can’t slow down, I can’t hold back, even though I wish I could.

Cause there ain’t no rest for the wicked,

Until we close our eyes for good.

—Cage The Elephant ‘Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked’

“Did you make a wrong turn somewhere?”

The cabbie met my eyes in the rearview mirror and scowled.

“Look, lady. This is the place.”

I looked over the bright neon lights and multitude of cars cramming the parking lot.

“Are you sure? This doesn’t look—”

“Who do you think you are? Siri? I’m tellin’ you. This is it.”

“Fine.” I snapped, “How much do I owe you?”

“$32.50, plus tax.”

My lips twisted in derision even as I pawed through my purse for my wallet. Now would have been a really good time for my little ‘condition’ to make itself known but, in keeping with my luck so far, it fluctuated. Sometimes it was strong enough to entrance a stadium full of people and some days I couldn’t even talk myself out of a ticket. “I thought the $0.50 was the tax.”

“That’s state tax. I’m talking personal tax.”

“Personal tax my ass.”

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing. Here.” I handed him a wad of bills and got out of the car, swinging the strap of my purse around me like a messenger bag. Just to be on the safe side. I took a hesitant step forward but paused at the sound of the cab driver’s voice.

“Hey. You work here? Cause if you work here we may be able to work something out. A barter system, maybe. You scratch my back I’ll scratch yours. Mi casa es su casa.”

I ignored the offer, giving him the ol’ single-fingered salute over my shoulder as I picked up my pace. Some men didn’t have to be affected by the curse to be creeps. It just came naturally. A lovely fact that I was reminded of all too often during my years of living in the city.

The cab driver and his shenanigans were forgotten the closer I came to the front door of the
Hungry Kitty.
Despite Rachel’s many attempts to rectify the situation, I’d never been inside of a strip club before. At first it hadn’t interested me, and later on it just hadn’t been safe. All those men, hyped up on hormones and alcohol, trapped in a room with dim lights and few exits?

No thank you.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to go in there now, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Flo had said that Seraphim would get off around 12:00 am, after which it would be almost impossible for me to find her again. Unless, of course, I was willing to make nightly trips to the club in search of her. I had neither the time nor the inclination to do such a thing, so tonight it was. Last time I’d looked at my watch it was only 11:15 am so I had a bit of breathing room.

I paid the entrance fee and tried to ignore the way the bouncers were staring at me. I traveled down a long, dimly lit hallway, the music from the interior of the club already pulsing in my ears like a second heartbeat. Coming onto the main floor was like walking into…well…a strip club.

There were four separate stages and each one boasted a dancer. There were tables set up around the stages as well as in the balconies, and along the rim of the stages, chairs were stationed for those who wanted to get up close and personal with the dancers when they handed off their money.

I suppose that it was still relatively early, so there weren’t nearly as many people in the room as I had expected. There were also about as many women as there were men and the sight of them had some of the tension bleeding out of my muscles. I declined the offer of a drink from a passing waitress (who wore less than most lingerie models) and took a seat along one of the stages. From my vantage point I had an excellent view of the rest of the room, and as long as the girl working her pole in front of me kept her silver toned, platform heels, out of my direct line of sight I was happy.

Thankfully, the men inside the club hadn’t noticed me yet. Too distracted by all the available female flesh I guess, and I found myself relaxing even further when a minute or two passed and no one turned to look at me.

“You payin’?” Startled, I looked up to realize that the stripper whose stage I’d commandeered as my look-out post was gyrating directly above me. There was a moment where all I knew was a tanned (yet toned) derriere and a metallic silver g-string. She did some complicated maneuver that made flesh giggle in a strangely fascinating way, and turned over onto her back. Settling the heels of those dangerous looking shoes on either side of stage where I sat, she arched her back until she was sitting upright, bare breasts glistening under the careful lighting of the club. Then we were eye to eye and her beauty momentarily took my breath away.

There was a light dusting of sparkles across her skin that made her seem magical. Her lips were full and wide and painted a lush violet. Her eyes were smoky thanks to a careful application of eye shadow and the green of her eyes sparkled like jewels within the delicate structure of her face.

She looked very…fayish.

She tsked and wagged a warning finger at me and I realized that I had been leaning out to touch her.

“Nuh-uh, pup. No money, no touchy. There’s an ATM by the bar when you’re ready to play.” Even as she spoke her hands traveled along her chest and down her stomach. She teased the spectators surround her stage with peek-a-boo glimpses of what was beneath her panties and I had to fight not to slap a hand over my eyes.

Good thing I didn’t, because otherwise I would have missed the little signal she sent the bouncer. Before he could take more than a few steps in my direction I reached into my purse and slapped a five dollar bill onto the stage and the stripper purred like a kitten before allowing the bouncer to stand down.

“That’s more like it, pup.” Leaning her upper body back along the stage she lifted her hips, and moved her bottom half like…well let’s just say that the implication was that something raunchy was being done to her nether regions.

My mouth went dry and I felt myself turn a couple of unnatural shades of red.

“Um.” I said, speaking to her vagina since it was currently giving me the stink eye, “I’m not really here for a dance. I’m actually looking for someone.”

She snorted, “Tell me a lie I haven’t heard before.”

She poked me in the cheek with her boob and I angled my head away and scowled into her neck.

“Her name is Seraphim.”

There was a brief hesitation, and then the woman in front of me extended her left foot, toe extended like a ballet dancer, and let an older man who’d sat beside me pull her panties the rest of the way off with his teeth. She considered me silently while the music pulsed its drugging beat and the man with her g-string in his mouth fell into a pleasure induced coma.

“What about her?” She said finally, getting back into the groove of her routine.

“You know her?”

Her lips quirked as if she were laughing at some private joke. “We’ve met.”

Relieved, I put another five on the stage so she wouldn’t be tempted to wander off right when we were getting somewhere.

“I need to talk to her.”

“Seraphim doesn’t really like…”

My brow furrowed, “Talking?”

“People.”

“So, you’re not going to help me find her?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped and I stared down at the stage, mind working furiously.

A couple of seconds passed, during which the stripper got to her feet and bent over. The man singing the song was ordering her to shake it like a salt shaker, and while I personally had never used a salt shaker, I thought she was doing an admirable impersonation. While I applauded her technique, I probably could have gone the rest of my life without knowing what the inside of her va-jay jay looked like.

Rising, I turned away from the stage and began making my way through the rest of the club. If she knew Seraphim, then there was a good chance the rest of the employees here knew her as well. One of them had to be willing to point me in the right direction. A sense of urgency began to set in; it was already 11:30. If the rest of the staff proved as reluctant as the pretty stripper, then I was going to be SOL.

While I questioned the half-naked wait-staff, the bartender, and the other dancers, I noticed something very peculiar about the men occupying the club. There was something…off about each and every one of them. Not only had I not been accosted or leered at by a single patron (weird to complain about that), they all reminded me a bit of Flo.

Some of the men were too small, their skin too tough, like bark or leather. Others were simply too tall, slim figures willowed out almost to the point of emaciation. The rest were vaguely animalistic. Dangerous. It wasn’t the vibe one would get in a room full of bikers or gang bangers. This was more along the lines of ‘
Granny, what big teeth you have
’.

A wolf in accountant’s clothing.

To any casual observer I’m sure they all seemed normal enough, but just like with Flo, if I looked just a little harder, maybe out of the corner of my eye, I could just make out the…ah.

See that?

They sizzled.

The longer I worked the room, the more obvious the power around me became until I was standing in the middle of the club with my arms wrapped around myself and flinching each time a man passed too closely to me.

“But I
am
human.”

My own words mocked me.

“No, dear. You aren’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m not, either.”

They were like her. Like
us
if her accusations were to be believed.

Inhuman.

Had the world always been like this? Or had I simply stumbled into a part of it I’d never seen before? It was hard to say, but one thing I knew for certain was that I didn’t handle sudden changes in my environment very well. Which was why, when a waitress came and tapped me on the shoulder, I swung around and punched her in the nose.

Maybe she was concerned, maybe she wanted to ask me to leave, or hell, maybe she was just trying to do her job by offering me a drink. I’d never know. Mainly because she was unconscious. The other contributing factor had to do with the fact that strip club bouncers, by definition, don’t care too much for violence against their female coworkers.

I would like to say that I handled things well after that. Talked myself out of some serious trouble maybe. But here’s the thing. Being tackled by a 200 pound man is no walk in the park. It hurts like a bitch and pretty much takes away the concentration necessary for one to ‘talk’ oneself out of anything at all.

I’m not ashamed to admit that there was sobbing involved.

Otherwise I reacted to my situation in the best way that I knew how. Which is to say that I reverted back into childhood techniques, which consisted of squirming around like a worm to try and get loose, punching, kicking, biting, and when all else failed, flailing ineffectually at my attacker’s chest (thereby generating sympathy from any onlookers) and wailing like a banshee.