Caught in the Glow (The Glower Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

It was hard not to stare. I’d seen people making out in public before, sure, but not... not like that. Not so nakedly, so fervently. Just as I was about to drag my eyes away, Ryder’s hips shifted, the low-slung jeans edging lower. The woman let out a breathy gasp loud enough to penetrate the windows, and I realized they weren’t just making out.

Ryder rolled his hips with another thrust, and the woman moaned. My cheeks outright flared at the same time as a warm little ache formed between my legs.

I spun on my feet and marched back to my bedroom. He’d probably meant for me to see. To let me know he wasn’t changing his behavior one bit in consideration of my being here. Message received. He could sex up his lady friends all over the penthouse if he wanted, it wasn’t going to scare me off.

Though I was going to have to wait until the exhibition was over before I’d have the stomach for lunch.

It was midnight when I heard the whisper of socked feet passing my bedroom door. I’d left it a smidge ajar in anticipation. I’d turned out my light an hour ago, but I was sitting on my bed reading the assigned chapters for one of my distance courses on my phone. The bitter taste of the unsweetened coffee I’d gulped down after dinner lingered in my mouth.

I’d been ready to stay up all night. It was almost a relief not to have to wait that long.

Of course, a
real
relief would have been if Ryder had knocked on my door and let me know he planned to go out.

I got up and headed for the living room. Ryder startled as I flicked on the main lights. They flooded the room, catching his figure in the foyer, one sneaker on, the other still in his hand. Alone. He’d sent his blonde companion off a few hours ago.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave him a once-over as he glanced back at me. Tight dark jeans, tighter royal blue tee. “Good,” I said. “Looks like I’m already dressed appropriately enough for wherever
we’re
going.”

As I ambled over, Ryder muttered something under his breath that was probably obscene. He really did have an awful mouth on him, fine as those full lips were.

“I could try telling you to go back to bed,” he said, “but that’d be a waste of air, right?”

“I see you’re familiar with the protocol,” I said. “FYI, next time a little advance heads up would be appreciated. But you’ll just try to sneak quieter, right?”

He grimaced and pulled on his other sneaker. “Well, let’s go,” he said. “I hope you can keep up.”

Beyond the twinkling lights of the lobby, a car was already waiting for us: a classic Mercedes with a maroon paint job. Ryder slid into the back without a word, so I guessed he’d given his driver directions ahead of time. The tinted divider window was shut. I sank into the leather seat beside Ryder, and the engine revved.

My hands moved automatically to buckle my seatbelt. When I looked over at Ryder, expecting a sarcastic comment about playing it safe, he was doing up his own. He noticed me staring and smiled at me for the first time since yesterday’s meeting, flashing even white teeth.

“I take my risks on a case by case basis.”

“Good to know,” I said.

Wherever we were going, it wasn’t far from the condo building. I figured about fifteen minutes had passed before the car stopped. Ryder leapt out onto the sidewalk, and I scrambled after him. The squat brick building before us was pulsing with red-and-violet lights and a frenetic electronic beat. Its name was etched in shadows on the pitch-black sign: The Catacomber. Ryder strode straight in without a backward glance. Steeling myself, I followed suit.

This club wasn’t in the same category as the polished, upper echelon place where he’d gotten into the fight last month. I wondered if he’d picked that place specifically because of the extra publicity that would come with his stunt, or if he’d picked this one because he thought it would unnerve me.

Beyond the Catacomber’s dim entryway, a short flight of steel stairs led into a dance pit. And pit was the word for it. A crush of bodies jostled and collided beneath the stuttering colored lights. To my surprise, an actual band was playing on the battered stage at the far end, an East Asian guy with a bleached fauxhawk crooning into the microphone as a green-haired girl beside him produced an eerie digitized melody from her keyboard. A drum machine thumped behind them.

A metallic tang mingled with the smell of perspiration in the air, prickling my nose as I trailed after Ryder down into the fray. He went straight through the crowd toward the stage. I took an elbow to the ribs and a smack of sweat-damp hair to the face as I pushed after him. I must have drunk too much coffee, because my head was starting to throb in time with the beat, the precursor to a caffeine headache. I closed my eyes for a second, and winced as a heel stomped down on my foot.

Give me another ballerina next time?
I thought in silent supplication to the Society administration.
A middle-aged character actor? A classical violinist?

I’d expected Ryder to stop at the stage. Instead he hopped right up with a heft of his muscular arms. Fauxhawk looked startled but not upset to see him. They knocked fists and slapped each other’s backs like friends, and the green-haired girl pointed to the scruffy canvas curtain at the side of the stage. Ryder ducked behind it and came back out fiddling with the knobs on an electric guitar.

“Hey music addicts!” Fauxhawk shouted to the crowd as his partner adjusted the winding electronic melody. “We’ve got a surprise special guest joining us for a song or two.”

Damn it. If I’d known he was going to perform in a place as uncontrolled as this, I might have called for backup. At least I’d have tried to lay down a few ground rules beforehand. As it was, all I could do was drift to the edge of the crowd and watch.

An orange spotlight beamed down on Ryder as he stepped to the front of the stage, his lips already curled into that same slanted but sure smile I’d first seen nearly six years ago, that first week at Rushfield. “Oh my God,” said a young woman swaying with her friends near me. “That’s Colin Ryder, isn’t it?” She raised her arm and shrieked, and her friends did too.

The hum of voices in the crowd around us had gotten louder. Ryder wasn’t a household name yet, but that last single off his indie debut—and the swaggering, smoldering video that had accompanied it—had put him in the sights of anyone with more than a passing interest in the rock scene.

He wasn’t looking at the crowd now, his head thrown back as his fingers danced over the strings as if he were channeling inspiration from on high. Fauxhawk had started singing again. The notes that ripped from Ryder’s guitar entwined with the ragged vocals, the keyboard melody, and the artificial drums into something dense and complex and, if I was going to be completely honest, beautiful. I found myself swallowing thickly.

The guy could play. Say anything else you wanted about him, he could
play
.

And that was exactly why the Glowers would want him.

I’d barely had time to be swept up in the song when my gaze caught on a figure in the crowd who stood out from the rest. A petite woman with light red hair and creamy skin, whirling in a shimmery black dress that was more gaps than fabric. To my eyes, it wasn’t only her dress that shimmered. So did the whites of her eyes, the breath that escaped her lips as she peered up at Ryder, and the pale flame of her hair when she shook it around her face. No one around her could see it, but they’d had enough instinct to leave a careful space around her.

My stomach twisted. The Glower couldn’t have been here waiting for Ryder, I didn’t think, given that his appearance seemed to be a surprise to everyone but himself. Either she’d been considering marking one of the band members, or she’d been drifting, absorbing the shreds of energy any crowd like this gave off. But she’d noticed him now. Whenever she raised her glittering eyes, she was looking at him.

Double damn it.

There was no immediate emergency. Before a Glower could affect any permanent damage, it had to open a connection. Offer some common point of interest or temperament to make the target enjoy its presence. Insinuate itself into the target’s inner circle by offering little glimpses of the highs of creative exhilaration it could provide, holding off on siphoning that energy back for the time being. Only then could it suggest a marking, in whatever misleading language it thought it best to couch the deal in, and expect the target to accept.

Once it got to that point, once the target was marked, there was no going back. No one at the Society had found a means to break that connection once a Glower had created it. And the Glower would use that bond to suck away all the spark and joy from its target’s life, feeding them just enough inspiration at intervals to keep the spiral going, until the target crashed at the bottom. Like Dad had.

A Tether could moderate the effect of a mark, but it was still a terminal condition, our presence no more than a palliative treatment. A client who’d have held on for two or three years before the Glower sucked them dry might survive as many as ten with our involvement. But that was the best outcome we could hope for. Eventually the Glower always claimed its final price.

The safest approach was to interrupt the marking process before it could even begin.

A Tether had a choice to make when they spotted a Glower who hadn’t yet made a move on their client. I could wait, hope she’d find some reason to decide against pursuing Ryder, and only intervene when there was something concrete to intervene against. Or I could try to nip this in the bud, which would either save me some hassle down the road or ensure a lot more hassle. Some Glowers got excited by the idea of a challenge—at least at first, before they’d sunk much energy into the pursuit. They knew someone like me wouldn’t be here unless there was real treasure to protect.

I considered for only a moment, and then started toward the shimmering woman. In a place like this, crowded and completely unfamiliar to me, I couldn’t be sure of seeing if she did make a move. Even if she came back stronger next time, if I could get rid of her just for tonight, next time we might be on more favorable ground.

I squeezed past a couple who seemed more interested in groping each other than dancing and a bunch of teens in retro goth gear and parked myself in front of the Glower. The little pocket of space she’d carved out for herself suited me just fine. Thanks to Dad’s genetics I was a big-boned five foot eight, which gave me at least half a foot on her. But it wasn’t as if the physical realm was her primary arena.

Her eyes flicked over me and away, disinterested. I leaned close enough to be sure she’d hear me.

“Time to leave, demon.”

Her gaze darted back to me, a gratifying amount of shock coloring her expression. Then she grinned, sharp and quick.

“He is as precious as he looks, then, is he?” she said, with a husky voice that sounded too big for her delicate frame.

“You weren’t here for him.”

“I think I am now.” She licked her thin lips with another glimmer of breath.

My hand had slipped into my purse. I tugged the knotted string out of one of the pockets and curled its end around my forefinger.

“This one’s off limits,” I said, at the same time as I whipped out my hand in a gesture so practiced it came automatically, flinging the string around her. I caught the end with my other hand and completed the ring before she’d had time to do more than widen her eyes. Then she was gone, with a faint crackle and a sputter of sparks only I could see.

Anyone around us who’d noticed her would find themselves imagining she’d vanished by normal means into the crowd. I collected the string into its usual loose loop as I turned toward the stage, feeling the gritty texture where the strands had been rubbed with oregano and rosemary. My heart was thumping, the adrenalin rush carrying away my impending headache, but I didn’t feel triumphant.

Banishings were temporary. The ring cut the Glower off from all the energies of this plane, destroying its ability to hold human form. It’d need at least a few hours, maybe as long as a day, to recover. But then it would be back, on the hunt again.

At least we should be long gone from here by then. If I was lucky, this one hadn’t caught Ryder’s name. It hadn’t seemed experienced with Tethers, so the banishing might have intimidated her—and even if it was familiar with the Society, there was a good chance the knowledge that he was protected would put it off.

I couldn’t count on that, though. And there would always be others.

While I’d been distracted, the band had finished their song. Fauxhawk laughed as Ryder bounded across the stage, wringing the most intricate solo that guitar had probably ever produced from his instrument. His cocky smile was gone, replaced by a smaller one, as if just for himself. For an instant, he looked like a little boy enamored with his favorite toy. A hint of pride and maybe a bit of affection flowed through me.

I’d protected that boy from the worst fate I knew of.

Ryder ended with a flourish and raised the guitar over his head, all pomp and posturing again. The crowd cheered. He stared out over the pit, his gaze searching—for me? To avoid me, not to find me, I’d bet. With my next blink, he was jogging off-stage.