She rummaged in the cedar chest until she found the purified water and candles. She performed a cleansing ritual and strengthened the wards with a protection spell.
Gracious Goddess, hear my plea; Take from this room his energy; Hold fast the barriers, lock the key; Deny his presence, so mote it be.
Ari frowned as the candles flickered. It was easy to blame the dreams on Andreas. In truth, she was more worried about the family legend. If the dreams were connected to the old stories, Ari was in trouble. She knew she should visit Rosalina, the family seer. Ask the questions. Find the answers. But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear them.
Ari sighed and blew out the last ceremonial taper. If the protection charm failed, if he found a way into her dreams again, then she would consult Rosalina.
* * *
By the time Ari reached her office, she had shaken off most of the uneasiness left by the dream. She’d forced herself into a lengthy morning run. Something about stretching and pushing weary muscles recharged her energy. With the addition of two strong cups of coffee from a new office pot, she was ready to show the rest of the day at least a neutral face. She settled in her office chair to review files before her first client arrived.
It was Monday, the day she reserved for what her bosses loosely termed “counseling.” She thought of it as trouble-shooting. Her primary duty as a Guardian was to keep the peace and act as a liaison with the human community, but the Magic Council had a rather broad interpretation of that duty. In her role of liaison she had become a screening and referral service—and part-time counselor—for all kinds of Otherworld problems, from where to find certain types of exotic foods, including rare blood types for vampires and fresh eels for the gnomes, to domestic disputes. When Yana, her deceased mentor, had retired and Ari was first appointed Guardian of Olde Town, her cell phone rang non-stop at all hours of the day and night. She’d finally arranged to route many of the calls through the Cultural Center and had established an appointment schedule.
As an offshoot of this routine, the office Ari once thought she had no use for had become a second home. Even when she had no appointments, she often stopped in to write reports, make private phone calls, or have a quiet cup of coffee. Her prized coffee pot sat on top of a file cabinet, and whenever present, she kept it constantly on and filling the air with a tempting aroma.
Her assigned office, situated in the modern Otherworld Cultural Center, attached to the gothic-looking Magic Hall, was an unpretentious rectangular room. A conference table stood under the double windows to the east, the gray metal desk and file cabinet sat against the opposite wall, and a worn wooden bookcase on the south. To Ari’s satisfaction, she had begun to fill the bookshelves with works on witchcraft and reference materials on the seven major magic races—sorcerers, elves, lycanthropes, vampires, fairies, dwarves, and demons. Since there were no treaties with the demons, only the first six belonged to the Magic Council.
This morning’s schedule was busy. At 9:00, a weretiger father brought in his troublesome teenage son for staying out all night, not following family rules. Sounded pretty normal to Ari, but definitely not her area of expertise. She referred him to an Otherworld runaway center. At 10:00, a mid-forties human woman sought a support group for parents of newly infected lycanthropes. Tomorrow night her son would face his first full moon since being bitten by a werewolf. Although most werewolves were natural born and infection much rarer than humans thought, it was a nervous time. Ari made a few calls, including one to Steffan. Since he was not a natural born, she trusted him to ease the way. The 10:30 domestic dispute between two elves failed to appear, and Ari hoped they’d worked things out. The 11:00 and 11:30 appointments wanted Otherworld appropriate housing, and Ari kept a referral sheet of willing landlords.
By noon she was hungry, restless, and glad to be done with the warm, fuzzy stuff. She grabbed a sandwich from the deli down the street and returned to make a phone call from the privacy of her office. In between appointments, she’d been thinking about the call all morning. She couldn’t put it off any longer, but the simple act of making contact would bring back a whole host of memories she didn’t want to face.
“Security office.”
Ari recognized the voice. She was in luck. Lilith, the female werelion on Prince Daron’s security team, answered the phone. Of the four lycanthropes, Lilith would probably be the easiest to talk with. At least Lilith would understand the issues. Ari had worked with the team for two weeks, almost a year ago. The parting had been abrupt, and not the team’s fault. They’d been too closely associated with Andreas.
“It’s me. Ari.”
“It’s been a while.” Lilith sounded cautious. “Thought we might hear from you when you got back from rehab.”
Ari suffered a moment of guilt. She should have tried to explain long before now, or at least called to let them know her injuries had healed. She pictured the woman on the other end—frowning, her lengthy, well-endowed frame would be lounging against a desk, a wall, or sprawled on a chair, her short dark hair slightly tousled, her expression intense. Somewhere close by would be two semi-automatic pistols.
“I meant to call,” Ari said, “really. But, well, it just never happened. How is Russell? And Mike? And Benny?” Lilith’s husband Russell and their friend, Benny, were werelions; Mike was a werewolf. They were ex-mercenaries and experts in various weapons and martial arts. Ari had missed them all. Something about fighting together inevitably formed a unique bond.
“Everyone’s doing good. How’s the arm? Did they get you fixed up?”
“Yeah, it’s good as new.” A bullet wound to the arm was one of the injuries Ari had received during last year’s battle with a pack of werewolves. Just part of her job. “I was hoping you could help me with some information.” Ari forged ahead. “I need to locate a vampire named Rayden. Any idea where I should start?”
Lilith hesitated a second. “Is this about Jules’s murder?”
Ari was taken aback until she realized she should have expected it. News of the vampire’s murder would have spread like flood waters throughout the magic community. Not only was a vamp murder rare, especially with a human as the prime suspect, but his death was a rude reminder that supernatural beings weren’t really immortal. “Yep, I’m looking for answers. I understand Rayden was an ex-girlfriend.”
Lilith snorted. “Not ex, if you listen to her. She and Jules have been shagging for decades. What do you want with her? Didn’t some human confess?”
“Still have to talk to her.”
A short pause. “What are you not saying? You think she’d hire some human to do her dirty work?”
“No, not that. But I’m not sure the confession’s legit. I need to look at other possibilities.”
“Really. It won’t be Rayden. She’d have taken out the girlfriend.” When Ari didn’t comment, Lilith added, “If you still want to find her, that’s easy. Try the Second Chance Saloon. She’s there most evenings. But I wouldn’t go alone. Even for you, it’s a rough place.”
“Rough place” was a mild term for the Second Chance. Ari had been to the Olde Town vampire bar before, but only with the police or Andreas. The vampires who hung out there were the least civilized, the worst of the worst. It was kind of a biker bar for vamps. Large numbers of them. Not a safe place for humans and potentially dicey for a Guardian witch.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Lilith. Thanks for the tip.”
Ari had almost hung up, when Lilith spoke again. “You’re going anyway, aren’t you?”
“It’s my job,” she said. “Rayden might be able to tell me something helpful.”
“Can’t you take someone with you? Like Andreas?”
Ari tapped a finger on the desk. Lilith was prying for information. “No, I haven’t seen him in months,” she said curtly. She hoped Lilith got the point this was an unwelcome topic.
“Um, still like that, is it? Kind of hoped you’d worked it out, but I guess the rumors are true.”
Ari almost asked, what rumors, but caught herself in time. Lilith never had been shy about saying what was on her mind, no matter how intrusive, and she was waiting for Ari to encourage the personal conversation. When she didn’t, Lilith let it drop. Of course, Ari would now continue to wonder what Lilith had heard. After all, there wasn’t much to know. Their split had been a very public affair. She had ordered Andreas to stay away from her in front of several witnesses.
Lilith sighed. “Guess I better meet you somewhere. Can’t let you go into that place without backup.”
The offer caught Ari by surprise. She and Lilith hadn’t been that chummy, and Ari hadn’t called in all these months. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”
“No, I don’t,” the lioness agreed. “But we were a team, and someone has to watch your witchy back. Say seven o’clock, outside the bar?”
* * *
Lilith lounged near the front entrance, her body illuminated by the bright, neon lights. “Ready for this?” she asked.
Ari shrugged and strode toward the door. Once inside, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. The Second Chance Saloon fit into a large, cavernous room with a bar counter on the left wall and upwards of thirty round tables sprawled over the remaining area. It swarmed with vampires. Ari spotted a dozen or two lycanthropes and two halfling demons scattered in the crowd. The tables were packed, and clusters of Otherworld patrons stood in the aisles. Black leather and chains were standard attire. Ari’s witch senses reeled with information: cigarette and cigar smoke—no bans in the Otherworld—spilled beer, the rancid smell of animal, the pungent odor of over-stimulated sex glands, and the almost overpowering presence of Otherworld energy. Sometimes sensitivity was a handicap, and Ari hurried to shut down much of her alert system.
Lilith and Ari were dressed in simple jeans and shirts to blend with the bar crowd. Not that they would go unnoticed. Lilith’s size D’s always drew plenty of male attention. And management had been watching them from the moment Ari flashed her Guardian ID at the door. It had been the only alternative to giving up her weapons. A silver knife was concealed in her waist sheath, protective charms on a bracelet tucked inside her sleeve, and a derringer loaded with two silver bullets in an ankle holster. She liked to be prepared. The witch fire was reserved for only critical situations, and she never willingly surrendered her weapons.