The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (12 page)

“Hey, you’re blocking the road,” someone called from behind. A hand shoved her squarely in the back. Even with both hands on the banister, she fell…or almost did. Joarr thrust out his arm, catching her. Then twirled her toward him, as if they were performing some fancy dance move, and just as quickly, he pivoted on his foot to stare down the human couple who stood behind them.

It was obvious the female half of the pair had shoved Amma. Her arms were crossed over a strategically torn T-shirt and her overly made-up face was sullen. And Amma couldn’t help but notice they were the same height and weight. It gave her an idea.

She eyed the woman’s companion. He was almost as tall as Joarr, but skinnier. Plus his dark pants didn’t look as if they would stretch, and his shirt barely fit him. In other words—not a match.

But the pair could still be useful.

She pulled on Joarr’s arm until he leaned so she could whisper in his ear. “You asked for my help. Either take it, or I leave, now.”

His eyes grew round. She expected him to argue, or offer some other bit of dragons-the-invincible wisdom, but instead he made a sweeping “go ahead” motion with his hand.

She used the banister to pull herself forward and squeezed her way past Joarr. Standing next to the overconfident human, she raised a brow. “I’m sure that was an accident,” she said.

The woman’s chest threatened to explode from her T-shirt; she puffed it out further. “We’re regulars here. I don’t think you want to make trouble with us.”

Oh, but Amma did. She really, really did. She flexed her fingers.

Joarr slipped his hand around hers; warmth poured into her, but no magic. She growled.

He seemed to sense her meaning; his fingers pressed into her back and this time she felt it, the sweet release of magic, dragon magic. Her face showing nothing of what was going on, she soaked up every bit of power he offered.

“Regulars? What kind of place is this?” Joarr managed to look intimidating and encouraging at the same time.

The woman turned her black-lined eyes away from Amma. When her gaze hit Joarr, her mouth formed a perfect circle and an “ooh” sound escaped her pinup-girl red lips.

The man beside her, however, did not seem similarly impressed. He jerked her by the arm. “Fafnir’s on the door. Be nice this time.” He held up a hand and called to the dwarf who had appeared in the bar’s now-open doorway.

Joarr’s fingers tightened. He, like she, recognized the name. Now crackling with power, Amma grabbed the woman by the forearm. She jerked, but Amma didn’t let go. “Don’t tell me you go in this way? Don’t you know the VIP entrance is on the other side?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but her insecurity was easily visible.

Amma motioned with her head. “Come on. We’ll show you.” She turned just as the dwarf glanced in their direction. She pulled on Joarr, warning him to keep his back turned, too.

The woman’s companion waved his hand and jumped, obviously struggling to gain Fafnir’s attention, but the dwarf barely looked their way.

She pulled on Joarr’s sleeve. “Give me the invitation.”

He handed it to her.

She dangled it between two fingers. “Well, if you don’t want to go to the VIP door with us, I guess I understand, but I hate to see you standing out here while others—” she made a sniffing noise as the stocky dwarf gestured the first group of annoying humans they’d encountered into the club “—waltz inside. Here.” She held out the note as if it was a golden ticket—which it was. She was sure it would guarantee admittance. Of course, once Fafnir realized the bearer wasn’t the dragon or the witch he was most certainly expecting, things might go decidedly south. A problem that most definitely wasn’t hers.

The raccoon-eyed wannabe eyed the note with suspicion. Amma started to pull it back. “Of course, if you think—”

“No.” The woman snatched it from her fingers.

The light by the bar entrance didn’t make it to where they were. The woman flipped open her cell phone and used its light to study the piece of paper. “Huh.” She twisted her lips to the side. “Kind of strange.”

“Well, I’m sure—” Amma’s fingers grazed the edge of the note.

The woman jerked it out of her reach. She punched her companion in the arm. “Let’s go. Dolly’s been inside an hour. She’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

The woman shot one last suspicious glance at Amma. Then the couple tromped down the stairs.

“Come on, over here.” Amma pulled on Joarr, until they were both deep enough in the crowd Fafnir wouldn’t spot them.

The couple elbowed their way to the front, the woman waving the note like a flag. “Let us pass. We’re here by special invitation.”

Fafnir looked up. Even from this distance, Amma could see the excitement flash behind his eyes. He rubbed his hands together, and as he spotted the woman’s companion, he licked his lips.

Amma frowned. Fafnir’s reaction was disturbing. Obviously, he’d been expecting someone to arrive with the note, but there was something about the way he looked… She glanced at Joarr, wondering if he had noticed.

Fafnir slammed a board down, cutting off the entrance. Mutters and angry looks traveled through the waiting crowd. He stepped forward, hands on his hips, and motioned to the couple waving the note, pushing other patrons who had been about to enter to the side.

Amma could see his lips move, could see whatever he said to his aspiring customers was far from polite.

The couple disappeared through the doorway. Fafnir followed close behind, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chaos broke out immediately.

Joarr looked down at Amma. “And that helped, how?”

“Excuse me.” Two women and a man, girls and a boy actually—Amma doubted they were out of their teens—tapped on her arm. “Did we hear you say there’s another way in?”

The three looked at Amma expectantly.

She glanced at Joarr and didn’t even try to hide the victory she knew shone from her eyes.

It took approximately two minutes to lead the three to the alley behind the bar and zap them with enough magic to knock them unconscious. As Amma pulled on the smallest girl’s thigh-high boots, she muttered to their inanimate forms. “Good lesson for you. Don’t be walking off with strangers. When you wake up, remember that.” She squatted next to the second girl and shuffled through her bag.

A few feet away Joarr was holding the boy’s pants. “Is this necessary?” he asked.

“Put them on or magic something like them yourself.” She turned back to the bag.

Ten minutes later, they were both dressed and sporting black eyeliner.

“Open your eyes,” she told Joarr. She held a ball of power in her hand; it felt good to be able to use magic on something so small again, to not feel as if she had to hoard it like a dragon did his gold.

Joarr stared down at his black fingernail polish. “This is not my normal style.”

“Exactly the point. Even as big as you are, they’d never expect a dragon to look like this.” She held the ball low, checking his appearance from the tip of his black leather boots, up the skintight pants, and onto the gray snakeskin jacket and old concert T-shirt.

He ran his hand over the jacket. He had objected as soon as he noticed the scales. “Is this necessary?”

A smart reply on her lips, she held the ball up to illuminate his face. The words froze in her throat. Her whole body froze. Joarr’s eyes were always intense, always made her feel as if he could see inside of her, but now, surrounded by the black eye makeup… She swallowed.

“What?” he asked.

“You…” She closed her fist over the ball, extinguishing its light. “You look good, totally believable.”

Five minutes later they were back by the club entrance. A new dwarf was at the door. “Who’s that?” she asked a girl dressed in ankle boots and torn hosiery.

The female glanced at her and apparently finding her acceptable replied, “Regin. He doesn’t usually work the door, but Fafnir disappeared a while back. The door was closed down for hours.”

More like half an hour, Amma calculated. Long enough for Fafnir to have discovered her and Joarr’s trick. They needed to get inside fast. Her hand wrapped around Joarr’s arm, she dived into the crowd.

Chapter 11

F
afnir placed his hand on the handle of his ax. The worn wood protruded from his belt; the head was encased in its leather sheath. A “safeguard” his father forced upon him. Couldn’t let the humans see the blade. Might cause a panic. Might start talk.

He flicked his thumbnail over his finger, imagined he was unsnapping the sheath…running the pad of his thumb over the blade, preparing to slice into the dragon’s neck. In his mind, he could smell the blood. Dragon blood… It smelled like the deepest part of a cave, where the dirt was thick with minerals, where you would find the strongest, most rare of metals. His mouth watered and his fingers trembled.

The dragon, his hand covering the female’s, placed his foot on the next step. He glanced at Fafnir and hesitated, suspicion fluttering across his face. Fafnir stepped back and yelled at a bartender who was oblivious to the dark elf leaning across one of the club’s many bars, trying to fill his mug for free from a beer tap.

When he looked back, the dragon had climbed two more steps. He was almost to the main floor now. Fafnir rolled up onto his toes, fighting to keep his excitement hidden and his face blank. He didn’t have his prize yet. Once the dragon was in the main club Fafnir would have to get him into a private room without his brother seeing.

Regin was already suspicious. If he learned a fourth dragon had arrived at the club, he would feel the need to shove his way into Fafnir’s business. Maybe even steal the dragon away. Fafnir couldn’t have that.

He ran his thumb in a circular motion over the ax’s handle. How to hide a dragon? It shouldn’t be hard—not with this one. He frowned.

This dragon was different from the others…weaker, paler. He sighed; he guessed it made sense. Dragons like any species had to have good and bad, strong and weak. Unfortunately he’d hit upon the latter. He could only hope his blood was as thick and strong as the others’ had been. Not watered-down and anemic as this dragon appeared.

He sighed. At least his plan had worked; he’d attracted a dragon. His spies had followed the male from the dragon-stronghold portal. No one except dragons lived there. So, weak as this male appeared, he had to be a dragon.

Concentrating on that, Fafnir watched the dragon and his companion step onto the main club floor. He glanced around, looking for Regin or his father. Neither was in sight. He released a breath and began shoving his way through the crowd, leading the pair to the closest bar. Behind it was a small seating area—not as private as the rooms overhead, but a place to stash the dragon while he located his family and retrieved the dragon’s bane from his office. Once he knew his family was occupied and wouldn’t see what he was doing, he’d get the dragon onto the boards and into one of the rooms. There he’d slip the bane into the dragon’s drink. Then, he’d be set.

A dwarf stumbled into his path and fell onto the floor. Fafnir kicked him out of his way. The dwarf spun across the polished concrete floor like a hockey puck. Fafnir kept going.

Nothing and nobody was going to make him lose this dragon.

A human, knocked off balance by the spinning dwarf, teetered close. Fafnir elbowed him, knocking him into the crowd.

Nothing could stop him from getting his dragon blood now, and the gods protect any who tried.

* * *

Joarr followed the witch through the press of humans. She blended in now, as much as a witch determined to get somewhere or something could. The short skirt she’d stolen from one of the girls they’d ambushed clung to her ass. The shirt clung to everything.

He smiled. It was a whole new look from the loose peasant top she’d worn earlier. Still, while this outfit, dark and in-your-face, was undeniably sexy, Joarr preferred the juxtaposition of her angelic wardrobe with her determined reality. He wasn’t sure the human males eyeing her from all angles agreed, however.

One ran a hand down Amma’s bare shoulder as she passed. Joarr paused to stare at him, let a little fire flicker in his eyes. The male stepped back, startled.

Amma, realizing Joarr had stopped, jerked on his arm. With one last flickering gaze at the male, he followed her.

There was a throng jammed in front of the door. The dwarf standing beside it seemed little interested in managing the scene. A fight broke out to their right; the dwarf simply moved to the left, stepping in front of a group seconds from entering. Another fight erupted.

The dwarf tapped a wooden rod he held against his palm.

“He’s getting ready to shut it down,” Amma called. “Follow me.”

Suddenly the crowd in front of them parted, magically. Literally. As Amma approached the humans blocking her way she tapped them lightly with her finger, and each jumped and moved from her path.

Joarr leaned down. “Is that wise?”

She shrugged. “They’re lucky I’m being careful.” She zapped another group.

Within seconds they were in front of the door and stepping over the threshold.

“Now what?” Joarr asked. The interior was dark, but no challenge at all for his eyesight. Many dragons chose to live most of their lives underground. Light was optional.

“We find Fafnir.” Amma moved forward with ease and grace, as if she, too, had no difficulty with the dark. He admired her for that, for her sudden desire to take charge, too. Not that she was in charge, but for now he was happy to let things play out as she chose.

Still, he did need to remind her whose mission they were on. He grabbed her by the arm, slowing her pace. “Moving a little fast, don’t you think?” he asked, moving casually as if they were strolling through an art gallery absorbing all the sights, instead of winding through a narrow hallway where the only adornment on the walls was an occasional hole in the drywall or smear where a drink had been sloshed. “Lovely place,” he murmured.

“There has to be more,” she replied. And she was right. A few moments later the hallway opened into a bigger room. It was still dark, but a few dim lights revealed a bar in the back. Beside it were stairs going up. They had also found the crowd, or part of it. As they approached the stairs the noise level multiplied.

“The main club must be up here.” Amma already had her foot on the first step.

Slipping her hand back through his arm, Joarr joined her.

At the top of the stairs was another room—a room that gave Joarr pause.

Somehow the dwarves, or whoever ran the place, had opened up the center of the building—no second or third floor, not really at least. Instead there were swinging boards that only dwarves, elves and billy goats could cross easily…and dragons, but only in their dragon form, complete with wings. These strange roadways led to what appeared to be private rooms located on what should have been the second and third floors. They jutted out over the main club, like jagged hunks of rock that at any minute might tumble down and crush the partyers below.

There were three bars in this room, each constructed of stalagmite-like structures. Water dripped from the ceiling in spots and a small stream wound its way through the center of the room. And it was dark, not cave-dark, but close.

“Interesting,” Amma murmured. “It’s like…”

“Being inside a cavern,” Joarr finished for her.

“They brought a little Nidavellir here to the human world.”

Joarr brought her fingers to his lips. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

Across the room he spotted Fafnir. He was still with the humans. He had them in the back by a small bar cut off a bit from the main room. Joarr nodded toward them, and he and Amma wove their way through the crowd.

He bent and whispered in her ear. “Did I tell you the dwarf who brought the note asked about you? He offered treasure in trade for you. Any idea why?”

She stiffened, but he kept moving, sliding the pair of them between groups, smiling and blending as best they could.

Amma’s fingers dug into his arm. “Did you explain to him that I’m not yours to trade?”

He patted her hand, nodded at a woman who turned as they approached. “Didn’t occur to me.”

Amma looked to the side, as if bored. But he knew she wasn’t. He knew the dwarf’s offer was like a stick jabbing her squarely in the back. It was wrong of him to poke her with it, but then, he was a dragon. They liked to poke things, and he, in particular, liked to get Amma fired up.

“Perhaps he doesn’t realize how much more rare you are than me. Perhaps he’d be more interested in acquiring his own dragon for a pet,” she replied, smiling at a few patrons herself.

“Hmm.” He pretended to consider her suggestion. “It would make sense. Witches…so common, but a dragon? Yes, you are right. I am the far more valuable catch.”

Throughout their sparring they had continued to close the distance between themselves and Fafnir. The couple was sitting on a gray couch. Fafnir stood in front of them, his back to Joarr and Amma.

A waitress arrived with drinks, but as she held a glass out to the girl, Fafnir knocked it out of her hand. “Where did you get the note?” he shrieked.

The girl paled and shrank toward the male sitting beside her. His arm was around her, but he looked none too sure, either.

“A woman gave it to us. She said it would get us in—”

“A woman—was there a male with her? What did they look like?” The dwarf bounded onto the couch beside them, then jumped onto the sofa’s arm. He peered down at them like a bird of prey calculating when to make his strike.

“I don’t know. They were old—her, anyway—and average.”

A dagger appeared in Fafnir’s hand, matching the ones that had appeared in Amma’s eyes at the woman’s comment. He plunged the blade into the back of the couch, inches from the girl’s head. A lock of her hair fell onto her lap. She stared at it stupidly. The male, however, came to life. “Hey, you can’t—” He reached for the girl and started to stand.

Fafnir lifted a hand. Three dwarves all bearing daggers appeared as if from the shadows. The couple sat back down.

Their fear was palpable. The girl clung to the boy, her dark nails digging into his skin.

Fafnir, however, took on a new appearance of calm. “I asked what they looked like. Are they in the bar now? Did they follow you or leave?”

“I—I don’t… I didn’t see them behind us,” the girl replied, her gaze darting over the crowd.

Joarr pulled Amma against him, kept them both shielded behind a stalagmite protruding from the floor.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snapped back toward Fafnir. “White. They were both wearing white—all white, even their shoes.”

She glanced around again; lines of desperation surrounded her eyes. “There!” Her hand rose and she pointed.

Joarr pulled in a breath, automatically preparing to shift, but Fafnir and the couple were looking past him to the stairs he and Amma had walked up minutes before.

“Oh, not good for them,” Amma muttered. The two girls and the boy whose clothing Joarr and Amma had stolen walked into the main bar, one of the girls in Amma’s white dress, the boy in Joarr’s jacket and pants.

Fafnir jerked his dagger from the couch and motioned to the three dwarves. They moved closer, their daggers obvious to Joarr, but hidden from the other patrons.