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Up and up, past the castle, toward the stars, before I caught his scent.
A dip of my wings had me tilting back down and heading toward the Hollywood sign.
Chapter 7
Delay in the Snake-Way
Robby
My mind buzzed. Same as my fingers and toes. Same as everything between them.
Part of me wanted to run down the palm-tree-lined street, shouting random shit until my anxiety bubbled up and out of me, relieving me of the intense and invisible pressure building up inside me. Another part wanted to curl up on one of those dark green bus benches and cry into the crook of my elbow.
The last part of me wanted to run back to the Magic Box and straight into the arms of that handsome, red-scaled man with the brooding stare and the firm muscles.
I didn’t listen to any of those parts, sticking instead to my logical side. I kept my shouts to myself, my eyes dry, and my horniness in check. Besides, I couldn’t get distracted. Not when I could potentially be jumped by a gang of vampires at any moment.
Although, I had doubts they would do anything in the crammed Marvel District, where Marvels and fae and shifters and humans alike were all gathering for evening dinner and drinks, hanging out on outdoor patios of colorful restaurants and teahouses. I walked past Santa Monica Pier, the sounds of children laughing and seagulls cawing mixed with music from a busker singing a song I didn’t recognize, his hands swirling as he worked the invisible threads of mana to create a dark blue mist around him, shifting and changing into a dancing couple, twirling around him as his song reached a crescendo.
Los Angeles was a city that welcomed all but not in all parts.
There were four main districts: the Marvel District that ran up from Santa Monica and Venice Beach toward West Hollywood, a place where Marvels and other supernaturals found the most acceptance and exerted most of their influence. It was a beautiful chaos of color and imagination mixed with only a dash of the mundane us humans loved to cling to. Striking street art bloomed on the sides of colorful, tilted buildings. An improv theater made to look like a smooth and glittering black box sat next to a brick and concrete building advertising their expertise in entertainment accounting, the streets lined with parking meters that served as sinister traps the second the money ran out. Long and shimmering waterways carved from the historic Venice Canals threaded through the district, flanked by blossoming rosebushes throwing off a sweet scent. There was a charming irregularity to the layout, with winding streets leading to eccentrically designed homes and businesses, all mostly owned by Marvels, shifters, or fae.
Then there was the Concrete District, which went from Central LA down toward the south, brushing up against Long Beach. That part of the city was one of my least favorites. A jungle of monotonous cement-and-steel buildings, full of parking lots and pissed-off humans trying to outrun each other in the rat race. The Marvel influence was nowhere to be found. There weren’t floating shop signs or storefronts displaying dancing chocolates and twirling dresses worn by invisible mannequins. Humans had kept tight control over business permits and architectural plans in that part of the city, and it clearly showed.
Above the Concrete District, wrapping down Hollywood Boulevard and going toward Los Feliz and Silverlake neighborhoods, was the Harmony District, my favorite. And not just because that’s where I lived. It was a stunning mix of both Marvel and human influence, boasting breathtaking architecture by a famous Spanish dragon named Antoni Gaudí, who lived in Los Angeles for a few years in the mid-1800s. He worked stone and glass as if it were clay, creating cathedrals and skyscrapers and theaters that looked like living things with their soft curves and unique facades. Roofs looked like sleeping dragons with a rainbow assortment of scales, windows appeared to be dripping portals into lives unknown, and a blast of colorful tiles adorned columns and balconies and sculptures of unicorns and gryphons.
Last, and certainly least, was the Obsidian District, covering the entire northern valley area, shrouded in a permanent cover of clouds and mist with streets and sidewalks paved in pure obsidian, making it seem like you were stepping on a sea of midnight at all hours of the day.
We didn’t talk about that district.
I continued my walk down the street, gas lamps flicking on as the sun disappeared from the sky. Normally, I had no problem walking around the city at night, but today wasn’t normal by any means. I hurried my walk, going toward the glowing blue circular sign that denoted an entrance down into the snake-way.
I took the steps two at a time, following a crowd of people likely finishing work and heading home. There were business-suited men and sun-dressed women and athleisure-wearing fae. Some were in robes, others in casual sports jackets, strutting as if they were walking a runway or auditioning for their next role.
