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MORGAN
Yells and screams rose around me as I entered the dark sewer that housed the Black Hole.
The narrow passageways were painted black, with narrow slits randomly breaking through to allow some light in. Although the sewer use ceased years ago and was overran with magic, the faint smell of urine clung to the air.
A handful of people walked toward the central cavern ahead of me. The woman leading the group of five guys wore a short, skin-tight leather skirt, and platform heels that looked particularly uncomfortable. Even with the heels, she only reached her friends’ shoulders, but it was clear that she was in control.
The guys looked very similar to one another—their jeans were torn and black, their shirts hung loosely, and two of them wore beanies that almost covered their eyes. They looked like a ragged group, but the occasional glint under their sleeves or by their necks showed the expensive jewelry hanging there.
They must have come to place bets or spend their money on illegal and elusive substances.
I pulled the hood of my cloak tighter around my face, careful not to be seen. The black ankle-length cloak tickled my heels as I walked, but I kept moving. It was a medieval-looking accessory, but it made me feel safe and hidden. My combat boots clattered against the pavement as I walked, and I twisted a sharp knife between my fingers, hidden from sight.
Better safe than sorry. Magic alone wouldn’t keep me safe in a place like this.
The clamoring of footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. Leather Girl’s excessive giggle joined the sounds every few minutes, and I rolled my eyes at her back. She was clearly trying to get as much attention as she could, as if her outfit alone wouldn’t draw enough from passersby.
From this distance, I couldn’t make out what she was, and it was too dark to see her skin or eyes, but I had the feeling that she was a fae. The way she ran her fingers down the guys’ arms seemed more like she was trying to pull their emotions from their skin and influence them, rather than be a flirt.
That was one of the most horrible abilities of the fae; there were many, but that was the worst. The ability to change another person’s emotions and feed off of their own at the same time was… parasitic.
Enchanting noises of excitement, fear, and panic came from the direction of the Cavern—an area inside the Hole where the fights were held. The fights would take place soon, and then most of the inhabitants of the Black Hole would gather there.
The raucous grew louder as I approached the door. The little group ahead of me fell still, and Leather Girl bobbed up and down in excitement as she clapped her black, clawed hands. Then, they disappeared through a shimmering veil, and I took a deep breath to steady myself before following them in.
The Cavern would be completely dark if it weren’t for the hovering blue orbs against the walls and on the tables.
Every person that came close had their face partially illuminated by a blue glow. And considering the worst of the worst gathered in the Black Hole, the glow lit up their canines, sharpened teeth, and eerie smiles in a terrifyingly beautiful way.
The room was huge, spanning about three blocks, and was separated into different parts. The center held a bar that ran the length of the structure.
Black, barely-clad fae women danced up and down the length with their colorful hair tied into high ponytails and their expressions deceptively sweet as they served patrons drinks. Every now and then, they would lash out at anyone who got too handsy, severing the perpetrator’s hand right off with their razor-sharp claws.
The brutality hardly gained any attention though, the next person would just push the now handless guy out of the way and yell their order.
Behind the bar on the far side of the Cavern was the fighting pit, a frightfully huge circular space with a high caged wall. The fighters would try to kill each other on the inside while spectators would watch from outside the cage and place their bets.
I think the cage was more for the fighters’ protection because whenever someone lost, the crowd would go insane, especially the ones who lost their bets. The riots that occurred outside of the cage were almost as interesting as the fight itself.
In the darkest space of the Cavern stood a concrete wall, shielding the market. A small opening in the center of the wall held a pulsing black curtain, marking the entrance. You could buy anything in there: from body parts to illegal herbs for potions, and even spells that were forbidden by generations of the High Council. It housed stalls that remained hidden from view unless the salespeople decided that you were worthy to look at their goods. The really bad and dangerous items were kept locked up in tightly sealed metal boxes. Those that were alive featured various runes on the lids of their containers.
There was another room on the opposite corner of the market that acted like a strip club of sorts. No one spoke about what went on in there, and no one dared to ask.
The last room on the left gave off an intoxicating invitation—the power-sharing area. The outside walls were accented with a shimmering red mist and delicate black vines crawling over the surface. She’d heard that there were apparently numerous smaller rooms inside, almost like a hospital, but more extravagant and comfortable. Faint moans and laughter drifted out through the entrance.
Several hulking men took their stance in front of the entrance. Their arms were coated in tattoo-like scars, muscles bulging underneath their short-sleeved shirts—resembling ogres more than any other species, with their bottom jaws jutted out, and tusks pushed into the skin.
The Black Hole has been home to more species than I had ever encountered in either the real or supernatural world combined. The rules consisted of not using the power-shared magic on one another in the establishment, not sharing for too long, and no fighting unless you were willing to go into the pit. Those who lost limbs or fought outside of the pit were thrown out and forbidden entry again.
My mother used to be a regular here. I’d found out about it when I followed her into the Black Hole once when I was around eight years old.
The first trip had been terrifying for me as a young child, but I managed to get through unscathed and unseen. I’d made friends with a little boy around my age who was hiding under a table. His father was a dealer, and he was forced to come to the market whenever his father had business to do. After that, I’d follow her every time she came here. I’d sit with my new friend and fellow warlock, Lucas, and we’d talk for hours or play with whatever was around to keep us busy. We hid under the table until I spotted my mother leaving or until his father yanked him from our dark hideout where we could watch everything happening.
When my mother died, I stopped visiting and lost most of the contact I had with Lucas. Until a year or two ago, when I drifted back into the Black Hole to get supplies that would help heal Griffin quicker after an intense battle. Lucas’s father’s stand was still there at that time, but now—today—Lucas stood in his place.
He’d grown into an intimidating man—his bottom lip featured two piercings on each side, his dirty blonde hair hung over his black eyes, and his arms and neck were covered in tattoos of nearly every supernatural species out there.
I’d stared at him in shock for a long while, his attention on the spindly-legged woman in front of him while she pointed at different vials.
