The Dark Storm (17 page)

Within the walls of the Black Court the magical energy was far more potent than in the main area but also more controlled. Those who frequented the Court ranged from the highest levels of the coven to the lowest, but all knew to exercise control when in the king’s domain so as not to become the target of his anger. It wasn’t unheard of for Dutch to dispatch swift punishement to those who broke his rules, which Rogue was doing at the moment.

Trying to remain as unassuming as possible, Rogue slid up to the bar. The young lady working it was wearing skintight leather pants and a sheer shirt that left little to the imagination. He was so busy admiring her that she had to ask him for his order twice before he was finally
able to blurt out, “Corona.” A few stools down were two attractive young witches. The blonde had a strong aura, but it was the brunette who burned brightest. He smiled at them, and while the brunette returned the gesture, the blonde snubbed him. “Fuck, snob,” he mumbled, and hunkered over his beer.

Using the bar mirror, Rogue scanned the room. One by one he picked the different magical auras apart, searching for the needle in the haystack. Everyone in the room had an aura, but the one he was looking for would stand out amongst them. Rogue’s starlit orbs missed it on the first sweep, but on the second he picked up on it, the triangle in a room full of squares.

She was a wiry young girl with purple hair and torn fishnet stockings. To everyone else she appeared to be little more than a low-level witch who was slumming with the rest of the anarchists, but Rogue saw through the mask. As the stars in his eyes began to dance, the layers of magic began to fall away from the girl like dead leaves. The image only lasted a second, but it was more than enough time for Rogue to make a positive ID. Snatching his beer off the bar, Rogue ambled over to the young lady.

When the girl noticed Rogue coming in her direction she tried to lose herself in the crowd. Trying to make herself smaller, she skirted to the other side of the room, sparing a glance over her shoulder as she made for the door. She’d almost cleared the room when Rogue’s frame cut her off.

Rogue gave her his sexiest smile. “Don’t jet off yet, baby; I haven’t bought you a drink yet.”

“No thanks.” She turned and went back the way she’d come. She hadn’t seen him move, but the mage was again blocking her path.

“Come on, doll. I think I’d make more interesting company
than these stiffs.” He motioned to the other clubgoers, who for some reason didn’t seem to notice them.

“I said no thanks,” she said a bit more forcefully. When she tried to walk away, Rogue grabbed her by the arm.

He slid his shades down so she could see the stars shifting in his eyes. The energy he passed through her was so heady that it caused her form to waver. It was like the reality around her distorted and there was a person within a person. She forced the illusion back into place and hissed at Rogue.

“Save the tough shit, because I ain’t impressed,” he whispered. “Now, either you can talk to me or I can expose you to these good folks in here; what’s it gonna be?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’d be just as much up a creek as me.”

Rogue tapped his finger against his chin as if he were giving it some thought, then smiled. “Yeah, Dutch would probably be pissed that I came in here without an invitation with me being a mage and all, but,” he waved his hand in front of her, causing the illusion to waver again, “what do you think he’d do to a demon who violated his inner sanctum?”

“Filthy darkling puppet, you wouldn’t dare,” she challenged.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

The girl weighed her options. She knew from past experience that Rogue was a man who didn’t play by anyone’s rules but his own, so you could never be sure how far he would go. She could always try running, but with those blasted eyes of his there was only so long she’d be able to hide before he tracked her down. With a sigh, she headed for the exit and motioned for him to follow.

Rogue had just fallen in step behind her when he felt a familiar magical pulse. Without even thinking, he grabbed
the girl and pulled her into a lover’s embrace. She started to protest, but he silenced her with a hand clamped over her mouth. She could feel him working some kind of magic, but before she had a chance to figure out what it was, the lights went out just in the spot where they were standing. Rogue had draped them in shadow, which unnerved the girl, but before she could argue about it, Dutch walked right past them.

As soon as Lucy entered the Black Court she could feel the magic in the stares that came her way. It was such an intense feeling that she stroked her fur collar absently as he moved across the floor. Physically, she was a strikingly beautiful specimen with long black hair and flawless pale skin, but it was the raw power coming from her that drew everyone’s attention. Some greeted her with smiles, while others flashed looks of disgust, but none of her enemies were stupid enough to challenge the young witch outright. Lucy carried herself with the air of a princess, because technically she was. At one time her late mother, Wanda, had been the White Queen of the coven, and her power flowed strong within her daughter.

At her usual position at the bar was Sulin, a gifted young healer and one of the few witches Lucy could’ve called a friend. Sulin was a statuesque young lady with hair the color of cornstarch and striking green eyes. She was leaning against the bar, stroking the head of her Pomeranian and speaking in a hushed tone to a handsome young warlock. She must’ve felt Lucy’s presence, because she looked up from her conversation. Sulin reluctantly excused herself and made her way over to Lucy.

“Trolling for fresh meat?” Lucy greeted her friend with a hug and kissed her on both cheeks. Not wanting to
be left out, the Pomeranian licked Lucy’s chin. A handsome young man wearing dark sunglasses gave them a flirtatious smile. Lucy smiled back, but Sulin didn’t.

“Hardly.” Sulin rolled her eyes at the man in shades and turned her back to him. “I’m on call for Angelique tonight and he was just keeping me company.” Sulin waved at the warlock dismissively.

“What’s Her Highness got you doing tonight?” Lucy sat on the bar stool and ordered two drinks.

“I’d be lying if I said I knew. All she’s told me is that something is afoot in New York and she needs me close.”

“That explains why everything is so dead. I went to two of my regular spots and there was no one there but mortals; even the Triple Six is looking suspect tonight,” Lucy pointed out.

“Maybe the vampires are at it again; you know how ugly their skirmishes can be,” Sulin said.

“Tell me about it.” Lucy recalled the damage the Gehenna clan had done to the city before the Lamia had gotten things under control. “So what’s the action like in here tonight?”

“Other than the Hunt making their usual rounds, nothing special.” Sulin shrugged.

“The Hunt, I thought I smelled wet dog,” Lucy spat.

“Don’t start anything, Lucy.” Sulin looked around nervously.

“Give me a break; you guys run around whispering like the Hunt is the bogeyman or something. Asha and her brood aren’t so tough.”

“We’re tough enough to break disrespectful weak little witches,” a voice called from behind them. The witch addressing her had been the thorn in Lucy’s side since Dutch had adopted her into the coven. With long deadlocks and china doll eyes the color of a smoldering camp-fire, set in cherrywood skin, she looked like a princess of
some forgotten African kingdom. Her shapely hips pressed against her skintight leather pants as she took a wide-legged stance and glared defiantly at Lucy.

The sisters Lisa and Lane rose to stand beside her. From afar you couldn’t tell one from the other, but up close you could see the differences. Both had milk chocolate skin and dark eyes, but while Lane was petite, Lisa had more of an athletic build. A large gray wolf spider sat perched on the side of Lisa’s head like a flower, while one that was almost transparent crawled across Lane’s neck, leaving a trail of silk like a scarf. The witches eyed Lucy from behind their web-like veils, daring her to make a move but not advancing on her. Though they were dangerous killers, they weren’t very skilled spell casters, which meant they were no match for Lucy.

“Disrespectful, sure, but broken … not in this lifetime, sister,” Lucy said as if she couldn’t feel the intense power building in Asha. Lucy was skilled, but Asha was brutal in her spell casting.

“Says you,” Asha replied, flipping her long auburn dreadlocks behind her. Azuma, a small brownish monkey, danced on the seat beside her, flashing his crooked teeth at Lucy. Asha and her familiar had been together since she was a girl.

“Don’t you know when to quit?” Lucy stroked her fur collar. Her eyes warned Asha to stay clear.

“Oh, oh, I think she’s getting mad,” Lisa taunted.

“Aw, is Angelique’s prized pupil having a bad day?” Asha ran her fingers over Azuma’s fuzzy head. The monkey rocked back and forth grumbling in anticipation of Asha’s command, occasionally slapping his frail chest. When unbound the familiars could wreak all kinds of havoc, but with a power line like the bond he and Asha had going Azuma could complicate things considerably.

Azuma leapt and lashed out with his dirty little claws
at Lucy’s left cheek. The motion was so swift that Lucy’s eyes never even registered it, but Tiki did. The ferret draped around her neck sprang to life, sinking his needle teeth into the monkey’s forearm. Azuma roared and tried to club Tiki with his fist, but the lithe body wouldn’t remain still long enough for him to land a blow that would count for anything. With panic setting in, Azuma sank his teeth into the soft skin at the base of Tiki’s skull, causing the ferret to let go. Azuma wasted no time darting back to his mistress and glaring at Tiki from behind her leg.

“You’d better control your rat, little Wanda.” Asha scooped Azuma up but kept her eyes on Tiki.

“Watch your mouth,” Lucy warned, picking Tiki up and draping him back around her neck. “You’re not fit to speak my mother’s name, the name of a
pure
witch, but I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, mongrel bitch!”

The hurt in Asha’s eyes only lasted for a split second before it was replaced by rage. Asha’s mother had been a Voundon priestess of a long-dead cult, who had become smitten by one of Dutch’s Initiates. She gave herself body and soul to the warlock only to find that he was married, with a family, and she had been little more than sport to him. Shortly after she murdered him she found out that she was pregnant with Asha. As punishment for killing one of their own, the Council took the child and banished her mother to God only knew where. Asha was raised in the circle, but the others always made it clear that she’d never be one of them. The same, however, did not hold true for Lucy. Because of who her mother had been, Lucy was guaranteed a spot at the table whether she wanted it or not. She was the child of royalty and Asha hated her for this.

As if by magic a blade appeared in Asha’s hand. “You
white-trash whore, I’m gonna fucking gut you!” She went to move in on Lucy but found that her body would no longer cooperate. When Lucy tried to take advantage she realized that she was also paralyzed. Though neither one of them could as much as turn her head, they heard the clicking of boots on the tiles and knew that they had made a terrible mistake.

“Cool it, ladies,” Dutch said, waving a hand over each witch. Their magical auras spilled from them and snaked up his arms like two racing serpents. There were few amongst the covens that could neutralize a witch’s power without first preparing the proper ritual and fewer still who could do it to two witches at once. As always, Dutch was dressed in leather pants and a leather vest over his bare arms and chest. Rings of black curls touched the tips of his broad shoulders. He didn’t look a day over forty, but it was rumored that he had been around for well over a hundred years.

“I didn’t start it, but I’m more than ready to finish it.” Lucy struggled against the
immobile
spell Dutch had cast on them. Had she been paying attention during her lessons, she would’ve known how to break it.

“Dutch, just give me five minutes with this whore; that’s all I need.” Asha closed her fist and was trying to work her arm forward. The fact that she had even managed to close her hand while under the spell was a testament to her strength. Unlike Lucy, she was familiar with the spell and could break it against an average witch or warlock, but Dutch was a king.

“What part of ‘cool it’ don’t you understand?” Dutch pushed a little more power into the spell. It wasn’t enough
to hurt Asha, but it was very uncomfortable. “There are battles to be fought, but not amongst each other and not in my house, ever!”

“Sorry.” Asha heaved, having spent herself trying to break the spell.

“No need to apologize, Asha. We are all kin here and no one is greater than the circle.” With a wave of his hand he returned their magics and freed them from the spell.

“Dutch just saved you from a good ass kicking, mongrel,” Lucy said arrogantly.

Asha’s hate for Lucy grew so intense that she dug her fingernails so deep into her palms that they started bleeding. Smoke rose from the droplets as they hit the floor. “My king, I would gladly give up my position within the Hunt if you would finally let me shut this bitch up.”

“Asha, remember who you are. Personal grievances are second to the strength of the circle. Are you still a part of that strength?” Dutch looked at her.