Did that mean I’d sensed something—or someone—who wasn’t human?
A demon or some other type of supernatural entity I’d not come across before?
“Meaning what?” Ginny said sharply into my ear. “Are you okay? Do you need me down there?”
“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t need you down here, and yes, I’m okay.”
“Then what the hell did you sense? A vampire? Because I can imagine a place like this would be the perfect hunting ground for a bloodsucker.”
“It wasn’t a vampire.” I knew well enough what they felt like, because we had several working for the Society. While their life energy was decidedly muted—understandable given they’d basically died and been reborn as something other than human—it still emanated from their bodies. Unless their bloodlust overran their control, their essence remained a muddy sort of yellow rather than the murky dark grays generally associated with the darkness that demons and other entities of their ilk usually emitted.
“Do you think it has anything to do with our bride?” Ginny asked.
“Well, it wasn’t headed this way, so probably not.” And hopefully I hadn’t jinxed the situation by putting that comment out there. “Hang on while I check the kid dancing with our bride-to-be.”
I turned and brushed my fingers across the young man’s bare arm. The caress was light, and he didn’t acknowledge it in any way, but his essence ballooned before me, a roadmap of possibilities and intentions I could read.
Right now, said intentions were very single-minded.
I smiled and moved on. “Our lad’s name is Grant Levi, he’s a virgin, and all he’s thinking about right now is popping his cherry with Lanie. Believes he’s in with a chance, too.”
Ginny snorted. “Lanie Marlowe is way above his pay grade.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with aiming high, and it’s not like Lanie hasn’t had a relationship with someone from the so-called ‘commoner class’ before now. She doesn’t appear to be as fussy as the other three, especially of late.”
“I thought you said you didn’t read the files?”
“I lied.” I moved past another gyrating couple and spotted the stairs leading to the upper platform that ran around three sides of the building. “Heading for higher ground again.”
I pulled the mental “glove” back on and clattered up the stairs, pausing briefly on the top step before finding an empty piece of railing slightly to the right of Monica’s position. Once I retrieved my phone from my handbag—a small but sparkly bit of bling that added a flash of rainbow color to my otherwise staid black outfit—I pretended to skim through social media while surreptitiously scanning the dance floor again. I hadn’t yet shuttered the inner gateway, and the flames of life continued to dance and pulse, their beat matching that of the music. There remained no sign of the island, and disappointment flickered through me. Which was insane, given I had no idea who or what I’d so briefly felt, and yet also so very understandable. I’d spent most of my adult life hungering for a shelter, a safe spot where I could just let go and be myself without the shields or the worry of hurting someone.
It was a threat that had haunted my marriage, despite my ex’s reassurances I could never hurt him—that he could contain me long before it became a problem.
I shifted slightly and began a visual check of the upper deck area. Ginny was currently perched on one of the large lighting platforms hidden within the rafters high above, which not only gave her a three-sixty view of the entire area, but allowed her to spot the tiniest mouse moving through the morass of humanity below with the greatest ease. But unless someone made a direct move on Monica or pulled out a weapon, she wouldn’t see any danger before it happened. She was a shifter, not a witch or a clairvoyant.
The area to my left was lined with booths, most of them being used by patrons simply wanting to talk, drink, or rest. The last two booths near the stairs at the far end were occupied by a drug dealer and his enforcers. Ginny and I had cottoned on to them almost as soon as we’d arrived at the venue and had reported their presence, but our orders were that unless Monica left with, or was seen being sold any sort of drug, we were to do nothing. And then, of course, we were reminded that our orders were to protect the brideandkeep her out of the headlines. I wasn’t sure why the director had been so emphatic about the latter, and a quick Google search hadn’t provided any answers. But that wasn’t really surprising, given royal witch families were very good at manipulating the news and keeping unwanted information out of social media. I knewthatall too well.
Therewasa second reason—the club was owned by one Tony Wright, a high-profile investor with friends in all the right places, and a man I’d heard plenty about over the years from my father. Of course, those same high-ranking friends wouldn’t stop the Society placing an anonymous tip with the cops once our bride-to-be was clear of the area.
I switched my gaze to the right arm of the upper platform. It was dotted with tables and stools rather than booths and, once again, all were occupied. My gaze skimmed over them and then abruptly stopped.
At the very end of the platform, tucked closely into the corner, were two grayish halos.
Just halos, nothing more. No table, no shadowy figures showing through the murk of gray, and that could only mean one thing; magic—concealment magic—was being used.
My stomach clenched. “Ginny, deep corner, two o’clock to my right—what do you see?”
She paused. “You’ll have to be more specific—there’s about ten people in that general area.”
“I mean at the junction of the two walls, about twenty feet to the left of the stairs if you’re approaching from the ground floor.” I looked up. “Almost directly under that big old ceiling fan.”
There was a longer pause. “I’m not seeing anything more than space and shadows in that corner, but I can see the bug crawling up the brickwork to the right of them.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Concealment shields?”
“Yeah.”
