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He peeked inside. “Spell components. A couple firebombs. A bottle of…Wolf Briar. It’s labeled. Another bottle that’s got pixie dust in it. I’ll bet the pixies hate him.” Taking both bottles, he shoved them into his backpack. “We won’t leave these here for anybody else to find.”
Roz took the firebombs, and Camille grabbed a bottle of dishwashing soap off the counter by the sink and poured it liberally over the rest of the things in the locker.
“Spell components need to be untainted. This will ruin them for anybody’s use. Even if he rinses them, the chemicals in the detergent will have altered their energy and they’ll be useless.” She threw the bottle on top of the components, grinning. “Anything to screw him over.”
“Okay, are we ready? We head through that door, and this is it. We’re going to be walking into a den of vipers.” I glanced at them. “Remember, there’s a spirit seal out there—and we have no idea what Newkirk can do with it.”
I went first, with Menolly and Shamas right behind me. As I opened the door a crack, I could see a hall to the right and the left. Directly ahead was a beaded curtain leading to what I assumed was the main club. There was laughter coming from down the hall, and moans, blending into the throbbing music from out front. Van probably wasn’t with the whores, but there was no telling whether they were here voluntarily. For all we knew, Clarah Rollings was destined for this joint. If the prostitutes were prisoners, then their customers might not think twice about cutting the girls’ throats if they thought they were being raided.
I motioned for Vanzir and Shade to check out the rooms, and then, with a wave to the others, I burst through the main curtains.
The Energy Exchange was packed. The dim green light gave an eerie neon glow to the room. A deep heavy beat throbbed beneath the wailing music; the reverberation had to be some form of magic. The bar was lined with patrons, drinking everything from beer to tall glasses foaming with steam that spiraled up, sending a pungent smell into the air.
Dancers writhed on the floor, and the booths were filled. Camille and I scanned the room for Van. Camille pointed to a table near the bar. Van was sitting there with the bald-headed man—Newkirk. They looked like they were waiting for someone.
As we waded through the dancers, I wondered how the hell we were going to get away without hurting anybody not involved in this mess. Van wouldn’t hesitate to put innocent people at risk—and the minute he saw us, he was going to come up swinging.
“Over to the bar. Now. Everyone.” Camille whispered loud enough for all of us to hear, then—as we moved to obey—she and Morio pulled back, and they linked arms. They were staring out over the crowd. Fuck, they were up to something and it felt big.
As they murmured softly, drowned out by the music and crowd, a shadow began to emanate from their hands, and it grew larger, then billowed up, a cloud of smoke that rolled over the dance floor. People began to scream as the cloud took the form of a large winged creature. Whatever it was scared the hell out of me, but I managed to stand steady.
Several dancers looked confused but not frightened, and they held their ground, but a stampede toward the door started as the shadow dove into the crowed, screeching over the music. I glanced over at Van to see him jump up, looking around wildly. Newkirk sat still beside him, unmoving, staring straight at Camille and Morio. Crap. We’d been made.
As the crowd pushed through the door, leaving ten dancers behind—all looking suspiciously like Tregarts—an older man huddled in a booth in the corner. He had grizzled hair and a scruffy five o’clock shadow. Shade and Vanzir popped through the curtains right about then and gave me a nod.
“Van, I just punked your stash in the back.” Camille stepped forward.
“Bitch. I’m going to gut you.” He motioned toward Newkirk. “The three girls are mine. The rest—you deal with.”
I glanced at the older man in the booth, but he just sat, watching, a smile playing over his face. And then, I knew who it was. Telazhar. Fuck, he was going to play cat and mouse with us—and probably with Van. I fell back to where Smoky and Shade were standing. “That’s Telazhar—”
But I’d barely gotten the words out when he slowly stood and flexed his fingers, then pointed at me and I screamed as a burning blast caught me on the arm. Slammed back against the floor, I rolled over to staunch the flames that were blazing brightly.
Van whirled, staring at Telazhar. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Shut up.” The necromancer held up his other hand and a ghostly host appeared in back of him. Five etheric figures, all terrifying and mist-shrouded, headed our way.
“I think we have company!” I pulled out my dagger.
At that point, Morio yanked out a miniature coffin, opened it, and tossed Rodney onto the floor. “Grow, fight them, and keep your mouth shut.” Rodney grew to full size, a terrifying sight considering he was a skeleton with an attitude, and he headed directly toward Telazhar.
I felt something brush by my side. Arial was here—I could sense her. She raced past me, headed for Telazhar.
The Tregarts on the dance floor were converging, along with the ghosts. This wasn’t going to end well. Shade vanished into the shadows. I didn’t bother looking to find him—I didn’t have time to waste seeing what he was going to do.
Smoky took on the Tregarts. He rushed in, talons sharp, a blur of white against their somber black. A whir of chains flashed through the air at him, ending in garbled cries as he took down two of the demons, bashing their heads together with a tremendous crack. Blood poured from fractured skulls as he tossed them to the side, grinning wide.
Menolly and Roz joined Smoky on the dance floor, while Vanzir raced by, catching up to Rodney, and they were a blur of demon and bones on their way to face the necromancer. Fuck—Vanzir didn’t have his demonic powers anymore! He could get himself killed. I didn’t give a damn if Rodney got toasted, though he was helpful when he kept his mouth shut, but I kind of liked Vanzir and wanted to see him come out of this alive.
Just then, I turned to see Newkirk focusing on Camille and Morio while Van was homing in on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as he let loose with a blast. Before I could move, the energy bolt hit me and knocked me off my feet, slamming me a good ten feet back. I landed on my butt, skidding even farther back till I hit the wall.
Shaking my head to clear the ringing in my ears, I jumped up and—not wanting to wait for his next attack—raced forward, Lysanthra poised to stab through whatever flesh I could find. For such a pale, bland man, Van was incredibly powerful. Looks could lie, and lie big.
He was ready for me, laughing as he held up his other hand and a wave of flame emerged. I managed to duck to the left, away from the blast, and as I did so, I spun around and lunged toward him. Lysanthra sang as she clipped Van in the side, ripping his jacket and slicing the skin below.
Van narrowed his eyes, his nose pinched and turning white.
“Cunt.” He let loose with another spell, and this time it hit me square in the chest, knocking me back again. And this time, it was fire and I was suddenly aflame again. I screamed as a shower of ice pellets and mist hit me, putting out the flames. Smoky was there. He yanked me to my feet, gave me a quick once-over, and, seeing that I was still in one piece, whirled around to face Van, his talons long and glistening sharp.
