“I’m going to be sick! Move!” Iris shoved past me
and ran to the bathroom. I could hear her retching and then, after
a moment, the toilet flushed and the sound of water ran in the
sink.
Grimacing, I decided she could manage on her own
and busied myself by putting the finishing touches on my outfit.
Please, oh please, let me be dressed up enough
for tonight. My jeans were new, for a change, with no rips, and
dark black, and I was wearing a bright fuchsia tank top with a
rhinestone kitty on the front. I’d traded my utilitarian leather
belt for a white leather one with a silver buckle, and I’d
grudgingly changed my shit-kicker boots for a pair of suede ankle
boots with three-inch heels, which put me at an even six
four.
My spiky hairdo was back to the golden shade it
normally ran, although I’d waffled and finally asked Iris to add in
some chunky platinum highlights and a few thin black ones, and now
I had tiger-striped spikes. Camille had helped me with my makeup,
and I looked reasonably ready for clubbing, even though my usual
night was spent hanging around in front of the TV with Shade,
curled up eating junk food and trading kisses.
I slipped into my black leather jacket and
patiently sat on the edge of the bed, playing with one of my kitty
toys. The squeaky mouse had become a favorite of mine and—even in
human form—it made me grin.
Iris poked her head out of the bathroom.
“Will you stop that damn noise? You’ve been
obsessed with that mouse night and day for the past two weeks.”
She’d fixed her makeup and, with a look that told me she wasn’t at
all sure about our plans, she edged out of the tiled room and
shouldered a smile. “Do I look okay?”
Grumpy notwithstanding, I could tell she was
anxious. Six weeks pregnant, even though she wasn’t showing yet;
her hormones were playing her like Jimi Hendrix played his guitar.
Add to that, tomorrow she was getting married, and our
Talon-haltija sprite was as jumpy as a cat in a thunderstorm.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
Iris looked radiant, for all she was going
through. Her ankle-length hair shone like spun gold, and her face
was smooth and flawless—pregnancy agreed with her in the skin
department. Her eyes were luminous, round and blue as the early
morning. And she still had her figure—she was curvy and buxom and
for all her size, at three ten, she put me to shame.
She stared at me for a moment. As she cautiously
dashed at her tears, trying to keep from messing up her mascara,
she gave me a blissful smile. “You’re so sweet. Can you braid my
hair for me? I sure wish I had Smoky’s abilities and could order it
to fix itself.”
“I think a lot of people want a taste of Smoky’s
talents.” I sat her down and divided her hair into three sections.
“I know I’d love to come out looking peachy
clean every time we fight a battle.”
After I wove one section over the other and
finished it off with an elastic-coated rubber band, Iris coiled it
around her head in an intricate pattern, leaving the tail end of it
hanging down to her midback like a tidy, intricate ponytail.
“I wish you could, too. Then I wouldn’t have so
much laundry to do.”
She laughed and smoothed her skirt—a gorgeous
cobalt blue number she’d paired with a pale gray button-down shirt
and a pair of white pumps. The Finnish house sprite looked like a
pretty secretary rather than the high priestess she was.
Talon-haltijas were good at blending in. Even when they could whip
your butt in a battle.
“Ready?” I stood, reaching for my purse.
She closed her eyes and pressed one hand against
her stomach. “My stomach feels like it won’t ever be ready for
anything again, but let’s get a move on.” As we left my room, she
glanced up at me. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be Iris O’Shea.
Bruce’s wife. What the hell am I doing?”
I laughed at her panicked expression. “You’re
marrying the leprechaun you love, Iris. And you’re going to have
his baby, so you might as well get used to it. Life’s changing.”
Cocking my head, I added, “So you’re taking his last name?”
She nodded. “If Kuusi was my family name, I’d
hyphenate. But . . . as much as I loved the Kuusis, they weren’t .
. . I worked for them. I tended to them but when it comes down to
it, they were my employers. So I figure, I’m starting over yet
again, I might as well start with another new name. Only this time
it’s just the last name, not both. You’re right. Life is changing.
And I’m embracing it.”
As we headed downstairs, I realized that was so
true for all of us. Life was changing all around us. Some things
for the better, some things not. And there was no way to stop the
ride now that we’d all gotten on board.
The guys were sitting around the living room
looking guilty. Not sure what they were up to, I gave them a
sideways glance as we passed into the foyer and then the kitchen
where my two sisters—Camille and Menolly—were waiting with
Menolly’s lover, Nerissa. A trail of wolf whistles followed, and
Iris gave me a look and shook her head.
“They’ll be out like a light by the time we get
home, want to make a bet?”
“I kind of hope so.” I really didn’t want to
think about what kind of trouble they could get up to without us
there to supervise.
Menolly’s coppery cornrows shimmered under the
lights, and she was dressed in blue—tight jeans and a denim jacket
over a rust-colored turtleneck. Her boots were even made of denim,
and they sported thin stiletto spikes, almost as high as
Camille’s.
Camille, on the other hand, was fully decked out
in her usual fetish noir. Chiffon skirt, a green underbust
long-line waist cincher with black boning and silver hooks and
eyes, beneath which she wore a shiny black spaghetti-strap top that
left nothing to the imagination with regard to her DD breasts. She
balanced on a pair of sky-high stilettos that I couldn’t even
imagine wearing and was carrying a sparkly black wrap.
And Nerissa, who was munching on a bread stick
she’d found in the cupboard, wore a flirty tiered powder pink skirt
that barely covered her butt, and a glitzy tank top. An Amazon of a
woman, she was a werepuma who wasn’t afraid to tackle life with my
sister the vampire—and she was always ready to party.
Camille lit up as we entered the room. “You both
look great. Sharah’s meeting us at the club. Come on, let’s get
this show on the road and leave the house to the guys. Trillian
told me they’ve got a fully stocked bar, but he didn’t say anything
about a stripper . . . I’d be surprised if they don’t just end up
playing that damned Xbox all evening.”
Supes or not, some of our lovers and cohorts had
developed an addiction to video games. It seemed odd to watch two
grown demons battling it out over Super Mario or whatever was the
latest Xbox rage.
“What about Maggie? Who’s looking after
her?”
“Don’t you worry about our baby gargoyle.
Hanna’s watching her.” Iris picked up her purse. “I’m ready.”
“Then we’re ready.” Camille arranged her shawl.
“Bruce gave us the use of his limo and driver. Ladies, our chariot
awaits.”
“At least we aren’t headed out to get our butts
kicked.”
I peeked back in the living room at the guys.
They looked innocent enough, but the amount of trouble an incubus,
a demon, a leprechaun, a dragon, an FBH (full-blooded human), one
of the dark Fae, and a half dragon, half shadow walker could get
into boggled my mind. I had a bad feeling that without us to watch
over them, they’d wreck the house.
Iris must have been reading my mind because as
we clattered down the porch steps, she muttered, “Here’s praying
Hanna can keep those men in line.”
“We’re praying right along with you.” Camille
nodded to the limo. “Bruce’s driver is named Tony; tip him big
tonight. Okay, let’s go, ladies. Iris, this is your last night as a
free woman, we’re going to live it up.”
“Just so long as my supper stays where it’s
supposed to,” Iris countered.
As we maneuvered through the melting snow—spring
was finally on the way and though it was still cold, most of the
harsh winter snows were standing puddles of slush and mud now—Tony
got out of the car to open all the doors for us. The limo was lush;
roomy enough for six in the backseat. I decided to push my worries
away for the evening. Nothing would go wrong. It was the night
before Valentine’s Day—and the night before Iris’s wedding. The
gods had to be kind to us at least once, didn’t they?
The Demented Zombie lived up to all the hype
except for its name. Though not a high-class club, the disco
seriously rocked. Run by a Fae couple from Otherworld, they had
named it after a drink they served. I was determined to find out if
the drink was as good as rumor had it.
We slid through the crowd. “Do you think we’ll
be able to find a table?” I asked, looking at the crowd on the
dance floor. Most of them were women, and I had a sudden feeling
Menolly and Nerissa had brought us to a lesbian bar. “Hey, this a
gay bar? Not that it matters, but . . .”
“Not so much. And we’ve got reservations for the
big table in back they keep for parties, so chill.” Menolly
shouldered her way ahead, and after a moment we caught sight of the
bar. She winked at the bartender—who looked like your average hunky
guy, except I could tell he was Were—and motioned us over to the
big table that had balloons surrounding it. Oops, dangling ribbons.
I stared at them for a moment and my tabby wanted to come out and
play, but I forced the instincts back long enough to turn to
Camille.
“Balloons—ribbons? You think it’s such a good
idea around me?”
She snorted. “Can’t you control yourself for one
night? Sometimes I think you use the fact that you’re a werecat as
an excuse to do what you want. Now, be a good Kitten, Delilah, and
behave yourself.”
As we slid around the table, I heard a familiar
voice and looked up to see Sharah hurrying up, carrying a large
pale silver box wrapped in a pink ribbon. Her blond hair caught
back in a sleek ponytail, the elf looked good. Very waiflike in her
go-go dress and white knee-high boots. She made retro work.
Sharah was Chase’s girlfriend. Chase used to be
my boyfriend, but we broke up and now were good buddies. Sharah had
slipped in to fill the void and they seemed to get along together.
Whatever the case, I knew enough to keep my nose out of it.
She handed me her present for Iris, and I put it
with the others on a side table as the waitress came up to take our
orders. We quickly went around the table. Iris couldn’t drink, of
course, so she ordered a glass of orange juice. Camille ordered a
rum and Coke, Nerissa asked for a mai tai, Sharah and I ordered
Demented Zombies, and Menolly ordered a bloody vamp—which was
actually just blood, but it sounded better that way.
“Here—you have to wear this tonight.” Camille
pulled out a rhinestone tiara with a miniature veil attached and
plunked it on top of Iris’s head.
“Only if you guys are wearing party hats, too.”
Iris shook her finger at us, at which Nerissa pulled out a pack of
sparkling princess crowns. We all slid the cardboard hats on as
Iris grinned and adjusted her tiara.
The music started—Lady Gaga’s “Born This
Way”—and Menolly and Nerissa excused themselves to the dance floor.
A stunning pair, their dancing got dirtier, and they began to pull
in looks from both sides of the fence. I stifled a snort—some of
the women looked jealous; others looked at them like they were the
best thing since sliced bread. Not a gay bar, my ass. The few men
around didn’t look interested in anybody but each other.
A rather tall biker chick tapped Camille on the
arm. “Dance?”
Camille blinked, but then grinned and excused
herself to work the floor as the music turned to “Weapon of
Choice.” After a few seconds, Biker Chick was looking mighty
impressed. Camille had lost herself to the music and they went
spinning around the floor, Biker Chick’s arm hooked around
Camille’s waist.
“I’m glad to see her smile,” Iris whispered to
me.
“Yeah, after Hyto’s attack, I wasn’t sure how
she’d come through.” I leaned down so Iris could hear me. The noise
in the place was almost deafening.
“It will take some time for her to fully move
on, but I think she’ll be okay. Eventually. Her men help a lot,
especially Smoky, though it can’t be easy, him looking so much like
his father.”
Sharah leaned across the table. “Nerissa’s
counseling will go a long way to helping, and at least Hyto didn’t
infect her with any disease.”
“My sister’s doing a remarkable job. She always
pulls through.”
I couldn’t forgive our father, though, for not
standing up for her after he knew what had happened. That he’d sat
in our living room, listening as she told him what horrors the
crazed dragon had put her through, and then chosen to leave had
hardened my heart to him. His own daughter, kidnapped and raped,
and he walked away. Our cousin Shamas had threatened to go home and
confront him about it. We persuaded him to hold off, but he was
pissed enough to do it without our consent.
Iris tapped her fingers on the table in time to
the music as the others returned from the dance floor.
“Did you want to dance?” Menolly asked.
She shook her head. “Not the best idea.
Stomach’s still a bit queasy.”
Sharah handed her a packet of saltines. “Here,
these will help.”
Iris munched on them. “I see presents—and
they’re unopened.” She grinned, motioning to the stack of boxes on
the side table. We’d brought gifts from the guys, too.
“Not just yet,” I said, glancing at Camille and
Menolly. I’d been in charge of the party, much to their dismay, and
one of the first things I’d decided was we were going to entertain
Iris to the max. “Up, you two.”
Camille grimaced. “Oh please, do we have to?”
“Yes, as excruciating as Delilah’s yowls can be.
We have to.” Menolly’s eyes were pale as frost but she smiled a
toothy grin. “Come on.”
A path opened in front of our table to reveal
the stage and a karaoke machine. I snickered.
“You just wait. I’ll get you back for this.”
Camille shook her head, leaping lightly up on the stage.
“Hey, Menolly’s not complaining.”
“She can sing! You and I are pathetic . . . well . . .
mostly.”
We clambered up on the stage and Menolly swung
around in front of us, striking a pose with legs spread and both
hands around the microphone. Camille and I took up our stations as
her backup singers. The music swept in, and, with a deep breath, we
dove into our rendition of “We Are Family.”
We turned on the glamour, dropping our masks so
our charm shone through, and the crowd went wild, laughing with us
and clapping along. We spun and twisted to the music, throwing our
hearts into it. Even though Camille and I weren’t that great in the
vocal department, we warbled away while Menolly carried the song.
We’d been practicing in secret for over a week now, and though we
weren’t polished, we were doing a pretty good job keeping a beat to
the music.
Menolly leaped off the stage, carrying the
microphone with her, and danced her way over to Iris. Gently
lifting the sprite onto her shoulder, with another leap she made
her way back onto the stage, where she set Iris down and we
surrounded her, singing as she clapped and swayed to the
music.
People started throwing dollars on the stage,
“for the bride,” and by the time we finished, jazz hands and all,
we’d collected seventy-five bucks and several rounds of free
drinks, which put an end to Camille’s and my being able to sing
anything.
“You guys are great,” Iris said as we headed
back to the table. “And thank you. Presents now?”
I laughed, a little too loud, and burped. How
many drinks had I managed to put away? I counted—there were only
three glasses in front of me, but the Demented Zombie was one hell
of a drink and packed more than a punch. I wasn’t sure what was in
it, but it was better than catnip.
I glanced around. I’d arranged for some special
entertainment for the evening and—and . . . there he was. The guy was fine, gorgeous, with dark
hair to his shoulders. Even beneath his policeman’s outfit, it was
obvious that he was ripped. I motioned to him and he sidled over to
the table. The music dimmed and everyone around us turned to
watch.
“Are you Iris Kuusi?” His voice was smooth—so
smooth it made me want to slide up against him.
She blushed bright red and her eyes glistened.
“Yes . . . ?”
“Iris Kuusi, you have the right to scream as loud as you want. You have the right to
get aroused—” And with that, he motioned to
someone at the counter, and Amanda Blank blared out from the
speakers as his hips began to move.
He was a great dancer, keeping up to the beat in
perfect rhythm with the rapper even as he—woo-hoo! There went the
jacket, tossed on the ground near him. As he slid his hands to the
cuffs of his shirt, he jerked and the shirt ripped off and landed
in Iris’s lap. Gleaming muscles flexed as he wrapped his arms
behind his head and swiveled his hips in a move that put Elvis the
Pelvis to shame.
“Wow,” Sharah said, breathing softly. “Just . .
. Wow . . .”
“Wow is right.” I felt a little glassy-eyed
myself. He looked far better than I thought he would and his dance
was just . . . well . . . the way he moved his hips had me thinking
about a different kind of bump and grind. Oh yeah.
Camille was looking at him suspiciously, and
Menolly was staring at the crowd, but Nerissa, Sharah, and Iris
were all fixated on the dancer. He slid his hips from side to side
and caught my attention once again, as he grabbed hold of the
waistband and—just like that—the pants flew off and over to the
side.
Now in a tight G-string leaving nothing to the
imagination, with fringe shimmering down the sides and in front, he
began to gyrate toward Iris, whose eyes had gone immensely wide as
she stared at what was coming toward her.
I was staring, too, but suddenly realized that
my attention was no longer on the stripper, but on his fringe. Boy,
that fringe looked like it would be fun to play with—to bat around,
to yank on, to chew on . . . to....
Before I could stop myself, I was shifting right
at the table. A few screams echoed around me, but mostly, I heard a
lot of laughter. None of it mattered as I pounced on the object of
my lust. Those strings—those glorious strings, all dangling and
fluttering, calling my name—and all I wanted to do was reach out
and grab one and have my way with it.
“Delilah! No!” Camille’s voice echoed from
across the table, but the fringe was too pretty and too dangly. The
next thing I knew, I’d sideswiped Stripper-Boy’s thigh and was
hanging from his G-string, several of the pieces of fringe in my
mouth, tugging on it.
“What the fuck? Where’d the cat come from?” The
guy suddenly didn’t seem quite so chipper anymore. As he tried to
pull away, I yanked harder.
Menolly put her arms around my tummy and tried
to pry me away. Determined that the fringe was going to come with
me—it was my toy, damn it—I held on for
dear life.
Riiiippppppp. . . .and
the G-string gave way. Triumphant, I held the fringed banana
hammock in my mouth and started to purr, glancing up at Menolly,
waiting for my praise. The least she could do was tell me what a
good girl I was.
The stripper, in trying to get away from my
claws, fell toward Iris in the process but managed to catch himself
on the edge of the table. Iris stared at the dangling penis that
now hung, free as a bird, flapping inches away from her face. She
looked fascinated at first—or so I thought from my cat’s fuzzy
brain—but then as she opened her mouth to speak, she started to
cough and, the next moment, vomited all over the stripper’s
goodies.
From there, it was all downhill. There was no way
to salvage the evening after that. As the stripper disgustedly
wiped down with a towel the barkeep gave him, I managed to gain
enough control to shift back. Still tipsy, and with the taste of
sweat-soaked G-string in my mouth, I blushed and cleared my throat,
trying to stay steady on my feet.
Iris was wiping her mouth, totally embarrassed.
Sharah and Menolly were taking care of the stripper—I saw a few
extra twenties pass hands. Camille had moved over to their
side.
“Dude, you’ve got some sort of glamour going on.
Don’t deny it—I can sense it a mile away. You’re an
FBH—full-blooded human. So what gives?” Her voice was low, but loud
enough for me to catch.
He jerked his head up and stared at her. “Babe,
I dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t even try with me, dude. You have no clue
who you’re dealing with. I just want to know where you got the
potion. There’ll be an extra fifty in it if you tell me the truth.
And I’ll know if you lie.” She pulled out her purse and waved a
fifty-dollar bill under his nose.
He paused, then cleared his throat. I tried to
focus on what he was saying, but it was hard because the drinks and
shifting and the promise of those dangling fringe pieces had all
clouded my mind.
After a moment, the stripper shrugged. “What the
hell. Why not? I got it from a little shop in south Seattle. Name’s
Alchemy for Lovers, and they said that if I put three drops on my
dick before a performance, it would increase my profits. Boy, were
they right.” He gave a sideways glance to Iris, then me. “Well,
until tonight, that is. Damn stuff burns a bit, but hey, it makes
sex better, too.”
He sounded vaguely hopeful, but Camille motioned
for him to leave.
The bartender was giving us dirty looks, so
Menolly gathered up the presents. With Nerissa carrying the cake
and Camille helping to guide me, we stumbled out to the car. Tony
was waiting right where he’d parked. He opened the door and we
crawled in.
Nerissa sat up front with him, holding the cake
in her lap, while Camille and Iris sat on one side. Menolly,
Sharah, and I sat on the other side of the back seat, and we set
off for home to finish partying where we wouldn’t chance ruining
anybody else’s evening.
We pulled in the driveway and slid out of the
limo just in time to see Vanzir and Roz tossing each other around
the yard. They were both stripped to their waists and were involved
in what looked like some sort of Greco-Roman wrestling match.
“What the hell . . . ?” Camille stared at them,
then shook her head.
“I’m not even going to
ask.” My head was pounding. Apparently the Demented Zombies weren’t
agreeing with me. As I squinted, I saw Bruce stumbling around,
chasing a dog that looked suspiciously like Speedo, the neighbor’s
basset hound. “Holy crap, how much have they had to drink?”
“I dunno, but we’ve got a pair of dragons on the
roof.” She pointed to where Smoky and Shade were sitting on top of
the roof, dangling their legs over the side. Neither looked too
cozy, but they were talking and not arguing for once. A pile of
rocks near the cars told us they’d been having a rock-throwing
contest. At least they hadn’t broken any windshields, as far as I
could tell.
As we stumbled our way into the house, we found
Cousin Shamas, Morio, and Chase in the living room, playing poker.
The table was covered with change and dollar bills, and it looked
like Chase was wiping the floor with both of them. Empty bottles of
Nebelvuourian brandy and Elqaneve wine were strewn about, along
with a couple empties of Irish whiskey. The smell of cigars made me
want to hurl, and I glanced at Camille, who was also wrinkling her
nose.
“Honey, you’re home!” Morio glanced up at
Camille. As he stood up, he tripped and went sprawling at her feet,
where he stayed down, just reaching out to play with her strappy
shoes.
“You’re drunk.” She moved her feet just out of
reach.
“Ya think?” Morio burped and promptly dragged
himself to his feet, where he threw one arm around her shoulders
and one arm around Menolly’s. Camille’s eyes narrowed and she
glanced at Menolly, who quickly sidestepped out of Morio’s embrace.
He still wasn’t quite over the bond that had developed when some of
her blood went into his veins, but Menolly seemed to have shaken it
. . . or most of it.
“You’re all drunk.” I
glanced around as Shade and Smoky followed us in, clutching Bruce
between them. “Well, maybe not those two, but geez . . .”
The pair seemed relatively sober, but then
again, they were dragons and it probably required a whole keg of
hard liquor to even begin to get a dragon bombed.
Smoky took the cake from Sharah and carried it
to the kitchen, returning with Trillian, who had his nose in a
book. One look at Iris’s pained face and Trillian set down the book
and slipped back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a
package of saltines. She gave him a soft smile and began to
eat.
As the guys sprawled out in the living room and
we joined them, Iris made the mistake of telling them about the
stripper.
Smoky leaned forward, his eyes whirling. “You
watched another man remove his clothing for entertainment?” He
glared at Camille.
“Chill out, Iris threw up on him and that killed
the mood.”
“I can’t help it if I have morning sickness all
the damned day!” Iris looked hurt and Camille slipped over to give
her a hug, then plopped down on Smoky’s lap. His hair reached up to
stroke her shoulders and entwine around her waist.
“I’ll bet the gentleman wasn’t expecting
that response.” As Shade began to laugh,
the phone rang and I picked it up.
“Delilah?” Yugi was Chase’s second in command at
the FH-CSI—the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation unit. And he
sounded so frantic I could barely understand him. “Please, we need
you over here now. Sharah especially. It’s
an emergency.”
“What’s up?” A tingling in my gut told me that
whatever it was, we were in no shape to deal with it.
“There’s been a bombing at the Supe Community
Council. Four confirmed deaths so far, and two people are in
intensive care. We don’t know how many others were in the building.
Rescue teams are heading in as soon as the bomb squad confirms no
more danger. Get over here. Now.”
As I hung up, staring helplessly at the phone
and wondering if any of my friends were among the dead, I realized
that regardless of the celebrations going on in our private lives,
we were always on call. There would never be another moment when we
could fully relax—not until we’d pushed back the demons and stopped
Shadow Wing and his cronies. And even then . . . there were other
horrors in the world waiting for us to stop them.
“Sober up any way you can,” I said, setting the
receiver back in the cradle. “We’ve got work to do. And it can’t
wait till tomorrow.”