We kept to the shadows as we followed Martel’s suggested path to reach the Brownie District. Trash littered the sidewalks, and the stench was real. Mystery gunk dribbled down walls. The street was empty of cars, but we did see a lone tire roll down the street, emitting tiny screams.
“Is that smell coming from us or the streets?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” Ryker asked. “Stink is stink.”
True, but I still wanted to smell nice, even if I looked gross.
We’d gone past five of the colored districts and were passing through the second blue, the one immediately before red. There were signs for a bookshop, trendy clothes salon, lockpick service, and shoe store. I guess they didn’t mind doing business near the seedier area of the city. Money was money. Ryker had transferred some bitcoin to Martel, and he’d supplied us with a stack of cash, the only thing that spent in the red district.
“We are so disgusting,” Carver said. “If I saw me out somewhere, I would run as far as possible in the other direction.”
“At least you don’t have open sores or pus oozing from your head,” Ryker pointed out.
“I’m covered in fungus.”
“Let’s just find the stupid bear without getting caught,” I told them. If we did, I’d kiss the clever witch with the devious mind who’d come up with these uniquely awful glamours. She’d have had to craft each one from top to bottom. That was a lot of imagination brought to life. The witch was an artist—gross but appallingly talented.
We silently wove through the throngs of otherworldly beings, the atmosphere thickened with a potent blend of allure and danger. Every step we took seemed to draw us deeper into a web of intrigue, where every dark corner held a secret and every whispered promise carried a price.
A man staggered out of a place called Potion Puffers. He acted deranged, his laughter echoing off the walls of the narrow street as he danced away. All the businesses lining the street exuded an aura of seedy seduction. They offered pleasure and pain in equal measure.
We passed Nexus Ale, a tavern near the center of the blue district. The heady aromas of exotic spices mingled with smooth notes of jasmine incense almost canceled the creature-funk emanating from our bodies. Men and women of all shapes, sizes, and supernatural races lounged in the shadows, their eyes hungry for whatever vice they would seek in the red district.
But amidst all the flash, dazzle, and depravity, there was no sign of the giant teddy bear with the yellow bow, which meant we hadn’t yet found the clue to lead us to Zev. I wouldn’t give up—not yet.
Even in their disguises, I could see the worried glances between Carver and Ryker.
“We keep going,” I insisted. My palm tingled under the bandage, and I worked hard to keep my nerves from sending me into full pyro-mode. I was certain Shay told his people to look for someone who could shoot flames from her hands, but I wasn’t sure what flames would do to the glamour spells.
Only this felt different than the two times I remember “flaming on.” A pulsing warmth emanated from the mark, and the further we walked down the street, the stronger it grew. I stopped in my tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Carver asked.
“I’m not sure. I need to turn around.”
“Why?” Ryker asked. “Did we miss something?”
“It’s not that.” I rubbed my thumb across the band. “I have this feeling, and I need to see if it pans out.”
We turned around and retraced our steps. The further we walked, the colder my palm got. “Let’s go back,” I instructed, turning again.
Once again, the further down the street we went, the warmer my marks became. It might’ve been my imagination or wishful thinking, but I believed Zev’s symbol was playing a game of hot and cold with me.
The Mythos Mysteries Theatre loomed ahead, a giant marquis advertising rare oddities never seen and a live show of dancing, singing, and stripping. A long line of customers waited at the box office to purchase tickets. As we approached, the sensation in my hand grew stronger and began to pulsate.
I swallowed the thick saliva at the back of my throat. “There,” I said, pointing to the theatre. “In there.”
“I trust your gut,” Ryker said. “It’s been pretty accurate to this point.”
“At least it’s a direction,” Carver added. “If he’s not there, we’ll keep looking.”
As we reached the entrance to The Mythos Mysteries Theatre, a surge of raw energy coursed through me, and it nearly buckled me in half. What the hell? The symbols on my palm buzzed, pulsed, and heated until the pain grew so intense that I had to stop. It was Zev. I felt him in my soul, and he was in pain. So much agony. I squeezed my eyes, and my tears were a cool balm on my fevered cheeks.
“It’s a trap,” he’d said in the dream. “We are done, you and I. This is over. Do not come.” I understood why he’d said those hurtful words. How had he hidden his pain from me until now? My chest squeezed at what I would find when I entered the theater. He was being held against his will, and I had to figure out a way to release him.
I stumbled forward. Carver took my arm and steadied me until I could regain my composure. “Zev is near.” I took a deep breath, centering my thoughts and calming my racing brain. “He’s here.”
“I’ll get us some tickets,” Ryker said. “Wait here.”
“Marigold,” Carver said. “Talk to me.”
“My hand. I can feel Zev close. He’s...I feel his pain.” Tears leaked from my eyes. “What could hurt an ifrit to this degree?”
Ryker returned quickly. “I scalped some tickets off a group that had just gone through the box office,” she explained. “I paid them triple to get back in line.”
Carver nodded as he put his arm around my waist. “Let’s get inside. Whatever is happening to Zev is taking its toll on her through the mark.”
The air inside the Mythos Mysteries Theatre was thick with the scent of sweaty creatures, buzzing with anticipation for the show. Pain heightened as we made our way down the ornate corridor.
I only had a sliver of his soul, and I was near passing out. How bad did Zev feel?
The plush red carpet muffled the sound of footsteps as we entered the main auditorium. Much like the hallway at the hunter’s place, the vast, cavernous chamber seemed impossibly large. Rows upon rows of red velvet-covered seats stretched out towards the stage. Each seat and row had a number and a letter. Our tickets were for row C, seats 2, 3, and 4. It was close enough to the stage to make my guts twist, but now, the pain in my hand wasn’t as extreme.
The velvet had faded in spots, the carpet bore stains, and the place smelled musty and old. What once might have been a haven of grandeur now felt like a den of darkness, a gathering place for the foulest entities imaginable.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” an announcer called out. “Please take your seat as we present the Corruption of Adam in the Garden of Eden.”
The velvet curtains slid apart. The stage, framed with twisted beams covered in flora with gnarled branches, was lit a sickly shade of green. The twisted misshapen branches hung like skeletal fingers from above, casting long, sinister shadows across the platform.
Snake music began to weave a hypnotic spell as a troupe of half-naked dancers, both male and female, emerged onto the dimly lit stage. Their movements were fluid and sensual, synchronized to the enchanting rhythm of the airy flutes and pulsating drums. With each step, their undulating hips echoed the sinuous motion of serpents. It was mesmerizing.
Amidst the spectacle, a large wooden X was wheeled onto the stage with ominous purpose. Bound to it, a figure emerged, scantily clad and vulnerable, his dark, swarthy complexion unmistakable even in the dim light. A gasp escaped my lips as recognition dawned.
Carver’s grip tightened on my hand. “It’s Zev,” he muttered.
I nodded numbly, transfixed as a slinky woman with long golden hair, the epitome of allure and danger, began a seductive dance around the bound ifrit. Why wasn’t he escaping? He wasn’t in a container. The bindings had to be some kind of magical shackle. He couldn’t get free. My palm itched, but the pain had settled into a dull ache.
With each sinuous movement, the woman’s body undulated like a serpent, weaving a mesmerizing spell around him. She approached Zev, her movements fluid and graceful, as her hands trailed over his body with a boldness that spiked rage in my entire being. With each touch, flames from his skin licked at her fingers, dancing in a hypnotic rhythm as if eager to be tamed by her captivating presence.
With a daring smile, the woman took the flames into her hands, swirling them around her with an effortless grace. What in the ever-loving fuck was happening? This didn’t look like torture. She twirled and spun, his flames bending and swaying perfectly with her movements.
My breath caught in my throat as the woman produced an ornate ceremonial blade from thin air. Fear coursed through me as she brandished it above her head as she ran to Zev.
“No!” I screamed, but from my monstrous form’s mouth, it sounded like a croak.
With a flourish, the woman did the unexpected. She used the blade to free Zev from his bonds, and as he stepped down from the cross, his body ignited in flames like I’d never seen before. The crowd in the theater erupted into cheers and applause.
In another dramatic twist, Zev pulled the woman into his arms, kissing her passionately as she was engulfed in his fire. Their ardent display was met with gasps of delight from the audience. But just when I thought the spectacle couldn't get any worse, the flames extinguished, and the slinky femme fatale was wearing nothing but a pair of red underwear. She turned in Zev’s arms, his hand the only thing covering her breasts, and with a mischievous grin, she unleashed a torrent of fire from her mouth over the tops of the audience’s heads. As the breathtaking inferno evaporated, the audience went freaking wild.
Me? I was pissed. I didn’t believe for one moment that Zev had any choice in that little act. The man didn’t love public attention, and he definitely wouldn’t be performing for this crowd willingly. But someone was the puppet master, and I would find out who before the final curtain call.
And fire them.
Literally.