“We’ll keep her out of trouble,” Calix offers, as he poises his hand on the doorknob, ready to open it.
“You stay out of trouble,” I grumble, and make my way over to the door. The magical residue hits me like a physical wave crashing over me. My senses feel like exposed nerves as every sin in the place bombards me. The entire club feels as if it’s been tainted with the same dark magic I sensed from the bad witch.
“Wait.” I lift my hand and I feel Grim’s fingers curl over my shoulder as he drags me back. “The whole place is saturated,” I grit out past a wheezing breath. I feel like I’m smothering in the magical ick and gore permeating the air.
“What’s wrong?” Gunnar steps in front of me.
“You can’t feel that?” I cringe.
“I don’t know what you mean either.” Calix looks at Gunnar for confirmation, his brow is drawn low as he opens and closes his fists.
“A Charmed one was killed here, and not long ago.” Grim wraps both of his arms over my chest and curls around me.
“What?” Gunnar spins to look out at the heavy crowd in the club. People are dancing and laughing as if it’s just another night.
“If you can’t sense it, how do we know it hasn’t happened here before? They could have been killing right under your nose.” I let the disgust I feel drip from my words. It’s not Gunnar I’m appalled with, but the situation itself.
“I have no fucking clue, but I’m about to find out.” Gunnar smashes a glass box on the wall and pulls down a little red handle. His fist is coated in a thin layer of blood, but he doesn’t seem to notice. A bright pulse of light flashes from the ceiling in regular intervals. The music cuts off next.
It only takes a breath before people realize the fire alarm has been triggered, and panic hits with the exhale.
Shouts and screams fill the air as the sound amplifies to a level even louder than the music was blaring moments ago. Pandemonium ensues.
There are a few stragglers who look around in a daze, unsure of what’s happening. They’re probably too drunk or high to catch the urgency of what’s really going on. The others all flee for the exits: some caught up in the wave of people pushing toward the doors, others charging head-on with such determination that they don’t care whom they trample in the process.
“Holy hell,” I curse under my breath, as I take in the scene before me. A few of the patrons at the back of the mob look around for other possible exits, their eyes wild with fear, and then they land on us standing in the open door.
“Over here!” one guy shouts, and runs in our direction. Gunnar steps back, his arm out wide he pushes me and Grim, because he still hasn’t released me from the wall. He flattens himself against the hall right along with us as a hoard of people swarm the corridor.
Grim is breathing hard as he changes his position. His face comes into focus above me and he squashes me to the wall.
“What the hell?” I gasp, as my breath leaves my lungs.
“Be still,” Grim orders.
The flow of people only lasts a minute or two, but it feels like eons as we’re jostled and battered from every side. I can’t even see Calix. Gunnar still has his arm banded over Grim and me.
The moment the crush of bodies is gone, Grim places a gentle kiss on my temple and steps back. I draw a heavy breath in, placing my hands on my knees.
Seemingly unaffected, Grim steps over and grabs hold of Gunnar’s throat with him still pressed to the wall. Gunnar doesn’t put up an ounce of fight as his heels leave the ground. I’m watching, but I’m too worried about my next breath to do anything about it.
“You are not on a battlefield, Berserker, with no thought of your consequences.” Grim’s mouth is close to Gunnar’s ear as he speaks. “Put her in danger again with your thoughtlessness, and I will end you.” Grim releases Gunnar’s throat and steps back, giving him a little space, but he doesn’t retreat far.
I’m waiting for the shitshow to start, but Gunnar doesn’t even react to the threat. Instead, he gives Grim a nod of agreement and turns to face me. “I made a rash decision,” he explains. No apology, not that I needed or expected one. He just states the facts. “It won’t happen again.”
I stand up straight and let my back and head relax against the wall. I eye Calix; he’s a little ruffled, but seems to be okay, too. I nod also, not sure how to respond to Gunnar’s words.
After we gather ourselves, we walk into the empty club. I note a few members of the security team rousing partiers who were too stupid or drunk to leave with everyone else.
Vanessa is standing at the top of the VIP staircase, her hands on her narrow hips. The air around her is smudged with oily magic. “Somebody better have a good fucking explanation.” She eyes the club. The place is a mess: stools are turned over, their silver legs jutting into the air like spikes. Cups and glasses are littered among the rubble with napkins sprinkled like confetti everywhere.
Yet my eyes are drawn to the bar along the back wall. There’s a pentagram etched into the front, which is typically obscured by the countless number of bodies pressed up against it waiting for their drinks, mine included.
I take another look around with freshly searching eyes and see small runes and symbols dotted throughout the entire area. How could I have never noticed this? Some part of me had always been drawn to this bar in particular—could this be part of it? Did I sense the magic of this place without even realizing it?
Vanessa’s stance shifts when she sees me: her brow furrows and her hands slide off her hips. “Seems you’re coming around a lot more lately, Deanna. To what do I owe the honor?” Vanessa’s eyes slip in Gunnar’s direction after butchering my name. She gazes at him as if waiting for his explanation, as if he owes her something, or at least as if she thinks he does.
I take a step forward, not liking the way her eyes linger on him. “What can I say? This place draws me in like flies to a shithole. What the fuck have you been doing to stink this place up,Vanessa,” I sneer, spitting her name.
