"You don't have to—," I said hesitantly, not wanting her to get any more involved than she was, but aware of the warm fuzzy feeling I got thinking about her support.
"Of course I do not. But I wish to. It will be... interesting. Cecile? Come,
ma petite,
we march."
"I have a feeling
interesting
is going to be the least of it," I said with a morbid sigh.
I just hate it when I'm right about things like that.
20
It was standing room only when we arrived at G & T. We had opted to wait for Rene to find a spot to park before walking to the nightclub, but even before we got to the building, crowds were visible streaming in from all directions.
I felt a lot like a big, bad gunslinger coming into town as I walked down the sidewalk with my posse behind me. Rene was riding shotgun (literally, although in this instance the gun was a small snub-nosed .38 he'd tucked into his brown leather jacket) while Amelie and Jim were on my left. Cecile was left to snooze in Rene's taxi.
"I still do not understand how it is the man Drake is really a dragon," Rene complained. We had filled him in on everything, and much to my surprise, he had been amazingly accepting of ideas I was still coming to grips with. "He seems so human."
"Most beings use human forms these days," Amelie explained. "Some have been in human form so long, they have lost the ability to change back to their true form."
I made yet another mental note, this time to ask Drake if he was stuck in a man shape. Not that I was complaining—
I was just curious. Such trivial thoughts were quickly dismissed as we approached the club.
"I am confident," I said softly to myself as I slipped a hand into my pants pocket to touch the Eye of Lucifer I had placed there earlier. "I am a professional. I have power. I can do this."
"Talking to yourself is a sign of mental instability," Jim said helpfully.
I shot it a thin-lipped look.
"Just trying to break the tension a little. Sheesh."
As they had done before, the mass of people flowing into the club parted before me, people stopping to whisper as we passed through the narrow channel of bodies.
"You know," Jim said, looking from side to side as we walked the gauntlet, "I'd say this was really cool except I have a nasty suspicion we're all going to end up dead."
"One more crack like that, and you'll find yourself in solitary confinement with no hope of parole," I breathed in an undertone I knew it could hear.
We walked up the steps to the club, the mass of people closing behind us. I stopped at the door, confused by the invisible net that seemed to be strung across the doorway.
"What is it?" I asked, pushing against it. The net held for a few seconds, then reluctantly gave way and allowed me through it. It was like pushing myself through a dense mass of air.
Rene pushed his way through it without too much difficulty, Amelie on his heels. "It is a ward, a powerful one, intended to keep out all creatures of Abaddon."
I looked back through the door at where Jim stood, fifty or sixty people behind it. "Jim?" I asked.
It tried to step forward. For a fraction of a second an intricately drawn symbol glowed black on the air, then disappeared.
Jim shook its head. "It won't let me in."
I went back through the door, feeling no resistance as I left the club. "Here, let me help you. Maybe if I push, we can get you through it. I need you in there with me."
As I approached the door again from the outside, I could feel the power of the ward filling the door.
"I don't think this is going to work," Jim complained as I shoved him into the doorway. Its black body distorted as if a sheet of glass blocked its path. "Ow. Ow. Ow."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I muttered, glaring at the door. "I do
not
have time for this."
I pulled the Eye out from my pocket, held it so it faced the door, and mentally envisioned a crack in the ward. The lodestone grew hot in my hand, drawing an answering heat from deep within me—Drake's fire, the fire that never entirely left me. I let the two blazes join together into one conflagration, then directed it toward the ward at the same time I shoved Jim through. There was a crack like thunder; then we were inside.
Amelie stared at me in horror. "Aisling ... you should not... you should not have been able to do that! The ward, it was most strongly drawn!"
The crowd outside the door went absolutely dead silent at her words. Every hair on my head stood on end at the look people were giving me. I imagined it was the same sort of look the guys running the witch trials gave the convicted.
"Just warming up, folks," I said with a weak smile, trying to diffuse the situation.
"Oh, that's gonna make everyone feel better," Jim muttered.
"Come on, let's get this over with. The sooner everyone has Ophelia to focus on, the quicker they'll forget about me." I marched forward, my little gang of three following close behind.
The inside of G & T was packed, but still people poured into the club, squishing together like sardines. We pushed our way through to the dance floor, which had been cordoned off. At one end Drake stood with Pal and Istvan. All three were wearing knee-length dark green silk tunics and black leggings, Drake's tunic embroidered with an intricate gold-and-black dragon on the chest. He looked incredibly handsome and absolutely dangerous. I stopped at the edge of the dance floor, aware that someone had squeezed forward to unsnap the black velvet rope to allow us onto the parquet floor. The surrounding crowd was so dense, it was almost impossible to see how deep they were, but I scanned them nonetheless.
I didn't see Ophelia.
Drake smelled the air, his eyes glittering black with anticipation. I knew without him even saying it that he was aware I had more than just the talisman with me, proving my suspicion that the talisman had indeed done well to hide the presence of the Eye. "You come to meet me in challenge. Guardian?"
I stepped forward two paces and spoke the formal words per instruction from Amelie. "I come to meet you in challenge, wyvern. Who are your seconds?"
Pal and Istvan stepped forward. "Pal Eszes of the green dragons, known as the wise, and Istvan Vadas of the green dragons, also named the hunter. Name your seconds, Guardian."
Uh-oh. Ophelia was supposed to be my second. "Um... I call a time-out." I turned to face Rene and Amelie. "Guys, this is probably going to get ugly later, so why don't you both find yourself a good place to watch and let Jim be my second."
Amelie spoke as she shook her head. "A demon cannot serve as second. It will be the greatest honor for me to serve you."
Rene nodded. "Me, as well. I do not understand it all, but I know you need me."
"You guys are just the best," I said, giving both their hands a little squeeze before turning back to Drake. "Team Aisling consists of Rene Lesueur, taxi driver, and Amelie Merllain, healer."
"I'm the mascot," Jim said, pushing itself forward. "And our cheer is 'Aisling rules, others drool,' so you can just stick that in your pipe and blow it out your—"
"Thank you, I think that will be enough." I glared Jim into silence.
I swore one corner of Drake's mouth twitched as he inclined his head toward me. "You are the challenger, Guardian; by what means will you meet me body to body to prove your superiority and claim control of the green dragon sept?"
Rene came forward at my gesture, holding out a dark blue canvas bag. I pulled out a round sisal and metal object, holding it up to show him, turning so the crowd could see it as well. "I, Aisling Grey, challenge you, Drake Vireo, to a game of darts' Winner takes all."
If I thought the crowd was silent before, it was positively breathless now. At least it was for a second or two; then everyone erupted into comment, most of them outraged yells of foul.
Drake stormed toward-me, his eyes an angry forest green. "What are you doing?" he asked softly when he got close enough to me. "Why are you doing this? Why do you make a mockery of me?"
I clutched the dartboard to my chest, more to keep from grabbing Drake than to protect it. "I'm not mocking you, Drake. This was the only thing I could think of."
"You issued me a challenge to meet me body to body. That is traditionally defined as combat. What you suggest is not combat—it is a game!"
I let my eyes caress him from his nose to his toes and back up again. "I'm not stupid, Drake. There's no way I want to try to fight you physically. I can't even arm-wrestle you, I've got girly arm muscles. I might be able to take you down with a few self-defense moves, but Jan, my instructor, told me never to use them except in life-threatening situations, and you can't kill me."
His hands made fists at his sides as he leaned into me, his breath feathering my face. "What you plan is ridiculous. I told you I was an expert at darts. You will lose."
"I know," I whispered back. "And I'd appreciate it if you could keep that fact in mind when your sept is dreaming up its punishment for me."
"Why are you doing this?" he asked again, his eyes losing a bit of their anger.
"It's part of my plan," I said, wanting desperately to kiss him. "Don't worry—it'll be over quickly. I have a horrible throwing arm. Is it kosher for the challenger to kiss the challengee?"
"No," he said, a startled look flickering across his face. "It is not done at all. What plan?"
"Just a plan I have. You'll find out about it as soon as this is over. Well, good luck. I mean,
bonne chance."
I held out my hand. He stared at it for a moment, then shook it carefully as if it were made of glass.
Everyone watched as I gave Rene the dartboard. He hung it on the wall, pulling out the cheap blue and yellow darts from the cloth bag. Istvan shot Drake a disbelieving look before reluctantly accepting the yellow darts.
"OK, so how do we do this? First one to hit center wins?"
Drake rolled his eyes, then grabbed me and hauled me up to his chest in the best arrogant, domineering wyvern manner. "You are impossible," he muttered just before his mouth descended upon mine, his tongue immediately invading, stroking the fires that burned so deep within me. Before I could do more than think about responding, he was gone. It took a moment for me to realize that the dull roar I heard wasn't just my blood pounding in my ears—everyone in the club was laughing and applauding.
"We will play the 501 game," Drake announced, ignoring the still howling crowd. He briefly explained the rules, showed me how to throw a dart, and even gave me a couple of practice shots before we started the match proper.
"Well, that didn't take long," Jim said when Drake beat me in record time. My score was still in the four hundreds when he made zero. "Almost anticlimactic, you could say. Too bad about Istvan. You think he's going to hold that wild shot against you?"
I looked over at where Istvan had a protective hand clapped over the edge of his groin. I'd missed the important parts, but just barely. He glared back at me. I grimaced. "I hope not. I also hope he doesn't get a say in the sept's punishment of me."
Pal stepped forward and held up his hands for silence. The audience, which had been loudly and vehemently discussing the outcome of the challenge (several people shooting me vengeful looks that left me making a mental vow to be sure I had Rene with me at all times), lowered their voices enough so Pal could speak. "By the laws of the Otherworld, Drake Vireo has met the challenge and proved the victor. The terms of the challenge call for the Guardian known as Aisling Grey to accept the punishment meted out by the green dragons." He turned to look at Drake. Istvan limped forward and grinned an evil, anticipatory grin.
I decided right then and there that if I ever truly did become Drake's mate, Istvan would be the first one to go.
Drake glided forward, interrupting his henchman's gloating look. "The punishment will be delayed until such time as the sept can meet to discuss the matter. The challenge has been satisfied."
He looked at me. I put my hand in my pocket and fingered the lodestone, turning to face the crowd. If my plan fizzled out, I'd have to do the one thing I was dreading— summoning Bael. "Drake is right, the challenge has been met and satisfied. He will not turn himself in to the police for the three recent murders that have stained the reputation of the Otherworld. He has no reason to do so even should he have lost, since he is not guilty of those crimes."
"You are the one wanted by the authorities," a tall black man said in heavily accented English. "You are the one who has caused much difficulty to those of us in the
L’au-dela
.
Why should we not turn you over to the police?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Because I'm innocent, as well."
"And I say you lie," a voice called from the back of the room.
I smiled as I released the lodestone, breathing a sigh of relief. I had counted on Ophelia's need to witness the challenge to bring her out into the open. The throng in front of me shimmered, then parted slowly, revealing the figure of a woman in black striding toward me, her blond head held high.
The gasps of horror were eerie, but it was the woman herself who set my skin to crawling.
It was Perdita.
"You're—you're dead," I said, my flesh tightening along my back and neck. "We saw you dead." I turned to Drake, confused beyond all confusion. "She was dead, right? We saw her? Together? All of us?"
Drake nodded, his eyes on Perdita. He had that bored look on his face again that I was coming to learn was a warning sign. "I suspect it was a setup."
"Well, that's the understatement of the year," I said as I looked at Perdita. "Why did you pretend to be dead?"
Perdita laughed and spun around with her arms up, showing everyone how healthy she was. "Me? It was I who was drugged and made to look as if I had been murdered, but I am quite well, as you all can see. Your little plan to pin the murders on my servant Ophelia have failed. Now everyone will hear the truth of how you killed the Venediger and Aurora Deauxville in your attempt to serve your master Bael. Everyone in the Other-world will know how you intend to rule them by wielding the Tools of Bael."