Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel (27 page)

“Jiminy, would you look at that line,” Ronnie said, pointing out the window as I turned into the parking lot.

“Jiminy?” I snorted, earning a punch to the shoulder.

“Seriously, look!” She pointed again. She was right; the line actually curved around the corner of the building and disappeared into the alley beyond.

“Frogs on toast.” I shook my head, finding a parking space all the way in the back of the lot. This was going to be a cold walk back to the car. “What night is it, anyway? I’ve lost track.”

“Friday,” Ronnie said with a groan. “Well, that explains it.” I nodded my agreement before shoving the door open and climbing out. At least it had stopped raining. It felt like it had been raining for weeks lately as we shifted from summer to autumn. But I was still happy for my jeans and boots, shielding me from the cold.

Ronnie linked her arm through mine, and we headed toward the bar. I realized, the closer we got, that everyone in line was human – not one supernatural being stood in that mass of bodies.

“C’mon,” I whispered, steering us toward the door. I felt Ronnie hesitate, making me drag her a couple of steps before she consented. The bouncer at the door was half-troll, half-human, and I knew him from high school. Luckily, I had liked him a lot more than Jimmy.

“Bastian,” I said with a smile, causing the brown-skinned, six-foot-tall man to turn my way. Bastian was much luckier than Jimmy when it came to the gene pool lottery; where Jimmy was grey and sallow, Bastian was brown and robust. Where Jimmy had a frizzy red tuft of hair, Bastian had long, thick brown hair that was a little frizzy, but only because he didn’t bother with hair products. The only thing that was particularly off-putting about Bastian was the two tusks jutting out of his jaw that curved over his upper lip. But when Bastian smiled, you forgot about those tusks.

“Mattie,” Bastian said, holding out his hands for mine. I slipped away from Ronnie and took his hands, letting him pull me into a bone-crushing hug. He smelled of damp earth and smoke. It was a pleasant smell, again, unlike Jimmy.

“It’s been ages,” I said before turning and holding a hand out for Ronnie. “You remember Ronnie?”

“Hey, B,” Ronnie said, earning another smile from the half-troll. Bastian pulled her into a hug as well. I caught him smelling her hair before he let go of her. He gave me a pained look, but I winked at him, reassuring him that his secret was still safe with me. When we were much younger, Bastian had a huge crush on Ronnie and, more than once, I wondered if it was all because of that crazy, curly, copper mane of hers.

“Allow me,” Bastian said, recovering quickly as he reached for the black velvet rope, ushering us toward the door. I heard the rustle and grumbles of the waiting line as we cut ahead. I thanked Bastian, squeezing his arm as I passed him, pushing Ronnie ahead of me. When the door fell closed behind us, I heard Bastian roar, quieting the restless crowd. Ronnie chuckled nervously, but I just pushed her forward.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’ll probably be out of here before any of them make it in anyway.”

“You’re probably right,” Ronnie said, and I watched as the tension left her shoulders and she stood up straight. “Shall we?”

We took the twisting hallway, meant to keep the natural light out of the club, until we were a little dizzy and disoriented.

“Ugh, that’ll make you dizzy,” Ronnie said when we finally turned the last corner into the bar itself.

It looked like any other dive bar in any other neighborhood in the world. Dimly lit, so you didn’t see just how grimy the floors and tables were. Tiny candles flickered on the round tables around the room. A couple of worn pool tables stood in one corner and dartboards hung in another. Booths lined one wall while a long bar took up another. Two bartenders worked the bar and the crowded stools in front of them with waitresses coming and going with tiny round trays like mini shields full of glasses.

The only thing that set this bar apart from any other was the number of vampires lurking around every corner. They were in the booths along the wall, cloistered with their prey; they were leaning on the bar, flashing cheesy, fanged smiles at the humans milling around them. They were everywhere, and if you took a deep enough breath, you could taste the tang of iron in the air. I shivered, trying to shake off the creeping crawling sensation this place gave me.

“Kinda creepy, right?” Ronnie whispered to me, but despite her lowered voice, a few glinting pairs of eyes turned our way. I averted my eyes, not wanting to invite any of them over to us.

“Yeah, kinda creepy,” I agreed, keeping my voice low as well. The vamps could glare all they wanted. We were whispering, so the humans couldn’t hear us – we weren’t fang blocking them or anything.

“So, do you want to get a drink or something?” Ronnie asked.

“Not even a little bit,” I said. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Right.” Ronnie nodded, but when I looked at her face, I realized she wasn’t looking at me. She was watching some of the more open couples in the booths. There were couples and groups huddled together, a mixture of vampires and humans. One such couple, a female vampire and a male human, were twisted around each other on a bench seat. The woman had the man’s wrist clamped to her mouth, not even the tiniest of trickles escaping her hungry lips. His head was thrown back, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parted in a moan.

“Ron, you okay?” I leaned into Ronnie, tugging on her arm.

“Yes,” she said slowly, pronouncing the word carefully. “Yes, we should move on.” She turned us away from the sights and sounds of the room around us. Ronnie had never been with a vampire, never felt the sweet sting of their bite. It was normal to be curious, and I was definitely not one to judge in this instance. But we didn’t have time for this so I just tugged her along with me.

There was a huge arch in the back wall leading to a sunken room that, at this distance, looked like it was completely pitch black. That was the room I was looking for: the opium den.

“Ready?” Ronnie asked.

“No,” I said, but I lead the way forward anyway. There were no guards at the entrance, no one checking anyone for weapons or ID, but I guess if you made it into the bar, you were allowed to come and go through the rooms as you pleased.

When we passed under the arch, I felt a ripple of power pass over us. It was cool and soothing, like walking through a gentle waterfall. Ronnie turned surprised eyes to me, but I only shrugged. I figured it was some sort of charm to keep the vapors and smoke inside this room and out of the rest of the bar because once inside, I realized how difficult it was to see.

“
Claro,
” I whispered, and suddenly it was easier to see. Ronnie repeated the charm under her breath so she could see just as well.

There were huge cushions strewn about the floor and fainting couches set all along the walls. There were bodies lying everywhere; it almost looked like a mass suicide. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to get that thought out of my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I could focus on the moving parts of the room. People were lounging next to their pipes, smoking and passing them along to the next person.

Soft music filled the room and went a long way toward calming my nerves. Only Ronnie’s clutching fingers in my arm kept me on edge.

“Be careful not to touch anyone,” I reminded Ronnie in a whisper. Psychics could control their visions for the most part, but when surrounded by too many people or touched, the visions took over. After too many years of seeing too many people’s fates, murders, pain, and suffering, they either checked out of society and became hermits or their minds would snap. Many middle-aged psychics lived in assisted-living complexes.

“May I help you?” a woman asked, appearing in front of us through the vapors and smoke. She was dressed in traditional Kabuki robes and makeup. Her pitch black hair was rolled and pinned artfully on top of her head with a jeweled hair comb. Her face was paper white, making the red lipstick stand out on her face even in the poor lighting.

“I, uh,” I stumbled, not really sure how to answer her.

“Can I show you to a seat?” she half turned, holding out one hand to guide us. Ronnie started to take a step, but I stopped her. I wasn’t interested in smoking, and I had no idea how much something like that would cost anyway.

“No,” I said, “we were looking for someone.”

“Whom are you looking for?” the hostess asked, making me stumble again. Who were we looking for? Anyone who would help us, I guess. We’d come to a place where psychics went to get away from their visions and here we were hoping one of them would be willing to help us find Roane. Roane, who was being held captive, possibly tortured. Yeah, I’m sure any one of these people would jump at the chance to help us.

“We needed the help of a psychic,” Ronnie said, stepping forward to answer the question. I cringed at the look on the woman’s face. She looked ready to pull her hair comb out and stab us in the eye.

“My patrons do not come here to be bothered by tourists,” she snapped, stepping toward us again, pushing into our personal space to herd us back through the archway.

“We’re not tourists,” I said, holding my ground. “We just need help.”

“I suggest you look elsewhere. Now go.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger over my shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, “but two men’s lives are at stake, and I’m desperate. I’m running out of time and I didn’t know where else to go.”

Before the Wave, many psychics had shops where they read palms and cards for humans because few enough people believed in them that they could manage the number of customers they received. But once we were all out of the closet, humans realized that psychics were just as real as the rest of us, and suddenly their quaint little shops were overrun with humans looking for winning lottery numbers, begging to speak to their passed loved ones, and any other life-altering request you could think of. Within ten years of the Wave, most shops had been shut down. Now it was very difficult to find a shop with a legitimate psychic running it and not some human, witch, or warlock pretending to be a psychic to scam innocent customers out of their hard-earned money.

Now psychics were just trying to assimilate into society as best they could. Many of them worked from home. Hell, most telemarketers that call and interrupt your dinner are psychics, just trying to earn a living while staying away from the populace. They were often erratic and difficult to talk to, so I mostly stayed away from them and just depended on my own castings for answers to questions I had.

“Please,” I said again, reaching out a hand to touch the woman, but before my fingers touched her, she roared, her face contorting from the porcelain perfection to a lined and aged face. Her mouth split open into a gaping maw full of needlelike teeth, and she lunged at us.

“Get out,” she snarled, her back hunching over and her manicured nails turning into stained claws as she tried to swipe at us. I fell back into Ronnie, stumbling over the step and nearly sending us to the floor.

“
Onibaba
,” Ronnie hissed, scrambling back and pulling me with her. I could feel the edge of the curtain separating the bar and the den.

“Wait,” a lazy voice called out, catching all of our attention. I watched as the woman’s face melted back into the perfect mask of beauty before she turned to face the man who spoke.

He was lounging on the floor, a pipe held in one hand. His head was dropped back so that he was staring at the ceiling as he expelled a stream of white smoke. Ronnie pushed me forward to help me back to my feet and off of her. I straightened my jacket, tucking my hair behind my ears before taking a step forward. The
Onibaba
hissed at me as I walked by, but I kept my shoulders straight and refused to look at her.

“Excuse me?” I said when I stood close enough to the man that he could hear me whisper.

“Sit,” he said, waving a hand at the cushions scattered around him. There were two other people with him, a man and a woman. The woman’s head was resting on his thigh, and he dropped his empty hand to toy with her curly brown hair. The second man was lying on the floor, not touching anyone or anything, not even using a pillow to cushion his head. His eyes were wide and glazed over, a strange smile tugging at his lips, making his cheek twitch.

I glanced over my shoulder at Ronnie. She was staring at the man on the floor, watching his cheek jump. I wondered how much opium he’d had already – too much, by the looks of it. I took a breath and crossed my ankles before lowering myself to sit on the floor. I had to reach up and tug on Ronnie’s hand to get her to sit next to me, finally blinking and tearing her eyes away from the man.

“You’re looking for help,” the man said, not making it a question, but if he’d heard me pleading with the demon, then it wasn’t that impressive.

“Yes,” I said as I reached into my pocket to dig out Roane’s ring.

“There is a man missing,” he said. Wrapping his lips around the pipe, he took three quick puffs, holding the vapors in for a moment before passing the pipe to the woman on his thigh. “His life is in danger,” he went on, expelling the smoke.

“Look, guy,” I said, cutting him off as my temper started to rise. “You heard me say all that right over there.” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder. “You’re not fooling me, all right? I’m not some two bit human fresh off the bus. If you’re just gonna waste my fucking time, we’ll be on our way.” I tapped Ronnie on the knee and started to get to my feet. The couple snickered, making me pause to glare at them. I shook my head and stood.

“Wait, wait,” he said, pushing up on his elbows to look up at me. “I’m sorry. Please, sit.”

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Here…” He dug into his pants pocket until he came out with a black leather wallet. “Go see my friend,” he said as he dug through the many creased business cards until he found the one he was looking for. He held the white card out to me.

“Your friend, huh?” I asked, arching a brow at him. “Is he as helpful as you are?”