Chapter 1

 

 

 

Life-threatening moments often befall us when we least expect them. Once we’ve lowered our guard, thinking naively that everything is fine, the world is the safe, predictable place we’re used to from our childhood, and somehow, we’re going to pull through it all. Then the shit hits the fan and all you can think about is survival.

To me, it was another typical Tuesday night—a boring one at that. I was doing the last hours of my shift at McManus’ Pub and Grill, supposedly the best supernatural hangout in our small town of Santa Lucia on the west coast of California.

The big clock on the wall showed 11 p.m. I couldn’t fathom how time had flown since my shift started at 6 p.m., but then work for me was like a type of meditation. It helped me relax and kept my mind in check, banishing any negative thoughts. I very much enjoyed my job as a bartender. Of course, I needed the money, too.

I took the orders of a big group of young werewolves and shifters, not older than their mid-20s, judging from their youthful faces and optimistic demeanor. Shifters had remarkable aging and regenerative abilities often times a shifter in his 80s would look as young as a 30-year-old, so it was difficult to determine their actual age unless you used your magical sense or, best, if you were a clairvoyant. I took the alcohol and syrup bottles from the icy well, poured the required quantity into highball and lowball glasses, and finally decorated the cocktails with the garnishes. The drinks were ready: Cheers! Or as the Irish would say, Slainte!

“Here you are, guys. Two Whiskey Smashes, four Tom Collinses, two Stingers, one Rob Roy, two Negronis, and one Mojito,” I said, placing the drinks on the counter.

“Thanks. Keep the change.” The tallest and burliest of the werewolf gang shifters grinned at me, tossing a 50-dollar bill on the wooden counter. His eyes glided over my tank top, lingering on my displayed cleavage for a few more seconds than I liked. Tonight, I’d made myself sexier than usual, with a bright tank top, red knee-length skirt and freshly dyed reddish-amber hair flowing down my shoulders. It made for better tips.

The shifter grabbed the glasses, and I couldn’t help but notice his large, paw-like hand. It was hairy and rough and didn’t leave much to the imagination as to what he’d look like when he turned into a wolf. He was nearly six and a half feet tall in his human form; as a werewolf he’d look more like a hellhound. The thought barely crossed my mind when his eyes gleamed, a strange yellow-green light flashing in them. It happened for a split second, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The last touch to his super-hero vibes was on his shirt: The Batman logo. Subtle, I thought and chuckled.

I muttered an automatic thank you and threw the money in the tip jar, which stood pressed at the windowsill’s corner of my station. At the end of each shift, we divided the tips among all the pub workers—me, the two cooks, and the waitresses. The on-shift waitress had gone for a quick smoke, but she worked her ass off like all of us.

Before the magical plague had broken out, we had three waitresses, but since the number of customers and the revenue had fallen so drastically, my boss had laid one off. In the good old times, before the magical plague hit our town and establishment, it was difficult for only one person to manage both the bartender and waitress job, but not anymore.

We also had a third cook, but he was discharged from his job, too. It was no secret the global economy took a hard hit, and since some supernaturals worked with humans or human companies, it resulted in diminishing our finances as well. Just a year earlier, McManus’ Pub and Grill brimmed with customers. At times, we had to refuse entry to new customers because we didn’t have vacant tables and our current patrons had priority. Now, I recalled those times with fondness.

This year proved to be unprecedented—a magical plague had broken out not only in our country, but all over the world, turning humans into rage-fueled monsters. Some supernaturals would joke and call it “the zombie apocalypse.” The affected humans turned extremely violent. Some engaged in fights. Others protested in the streets, wreaking more chaos and havoc, and others turned to wild and beastly riots, looting individual property and houses as if the gates of Hell had cracked open, unleashing a magical apocalypse.

The supernatural governing bodies were busy keeping the situation under control and had convinced the human governments to blame this plague on a contagious virus. We didn’t want anyone to blow away the well-kept secret of our existence, least of all in the middle of a global magical plague. The only silver lining on the horizon—thank the fates for small favors!—was that we magical beings couldn’t get infected by this mysterious plague that turned humans insane: our powers and supernatural genes protected us.

Or at least our governing body, the Magic Council, claimed this as fact. Yet, no one from our community leaders dared to come out with an official explanation or statement as to how the magical plague had broken out. Rumors swirled that a drunk-on-dark-magic shifter had bitten a human, infecting them. That human, apparently, infected his family and friends, and the contagion spread like wildfire.

But the Magic Council neither confirmed nor denied these rumors. Everyone was speculating or guessing, and the confusion mounted with each passing day. As a result, some factions of our community, like witches, mages and fae, worked themselves up against shifters, blaming them for everything. An invisible threat hung in the air, and everyone, even humans, could intuitively feel the danger.

On top of everything else, persistent rumors circulated that a supernatural war was brewing. Again, neither the Magic Council nor any of the courts, The Black Court or the White, had addressed this hearsay. But whenever I thought about this possibility, the pit of my stomach would ache, and an uneasy dread would settle in my heart. My magical sense told me something was afoul. Dark clouds had nestled on the horizon, and the future looked foreboding. The ancestry line of my grandmother being a psychic was speaking to me!

I wiped the counters, scrubbing the polished wood, from one end of the bar to the other. Once the surface sparkled, I was satisfied. I turned to face the pub to oversee our patrons and customers. The stools at the bar stood vacant; almost everyone perched, instead, on the chairs at the tables farther in the pub. The big werewolf had grabbed four glasses in each of his enormous hands, eight altogether. Another shifter from his clique—my magic sense told me he was an owl—came to take the remaining four drinks on the counter.

“Everything all right, Aiya?” Kellie, the waitress, called, rushing in from the back where our kitchen was. She swung the saloon doors open with her plump shoulders, her straw-blond hair falling in waves upon them and marched toward me.

“I’m managing,” I said casually and looked with yearning at the shifter gang. They were currently our biggest group in the bar and gave me the biggest tips. Either the Magic Council or the Alpha Council, the governing body of shifters, probably employed most of them. Not having anything else to do—I’d already cleaned the counter up to perfection, and the well was full of ice—I took a good look at our clients. My eyes slid over the handful of other customers, scattered around.

Our establishment was a medium size Irish pub: our sitting tables numbered fifty, a pool table stood proudly in the center of the main room, and several big plasma TV screens were mounted on the walls, displaying sports events, mainly rugby and baseball. There was also a smaller room where smoking was permitted. Guys would play darts and foosball there. The most extraordinary thing, however, which drew customers to our bar, infusing ancient and occult magic into the air, was the multitude of masks, some Voodoo, some from other cultures and parts of the world, proudly hanging on the walls. The one thing common between them was that they all had otherworldly, magical powers embedded inside them. My boss had made the effort to ensure the masks were all benign.

“I don’t want some crazy African or Oceanic spirits to push away my clientele,” he said to me when I asked him about the masks. He quickly added with a smirk on his face. “I’ve made sure these fellows attract customers and money.”

Well, they used to, in all honesty, but not so much these days, I thought, my gaze still lingering on the supernaturals. Most of the remaining customers were old patrons. Like Danny—an older, well-mannered, dark-haired vampire. He was my first ever customer when I began working in the pub three and a half years ago. Another patron was the absentminded muscular blond incubus who hung around at the pool table, looking for potential prey, or the young blue-haired green witch with a funny accent.

The witch came from one of the Scandinavian countries. Perched on her chair, her back flat against the seat back, she intently listened to her friend in what seemed to be an intimate conversation. Her friend’s attire was no less eccentric: pink hair, dyed with bright green spray, leather boots, a denim jacket and ripped jeans. As I tilted my head, I was able to read the inscription on the jacket: The Future is Female. Amused, I recalled the days when a woman dressed in a Hello Kitty shirt drew my attention.

McManus’ Pub and Grill was invisible to the human eye and populace but accessible for us magic users. The place was built on the intersection of two powerful ley lines that ran from the river west of town up to the hills extending to the north. Naturally, stronger supernaturals were drawn to our relatively small town like moths to the flame. Jeff, my boss, had put a protective spell that prevented any lost humans or high-level, dangerous demons from entering our pub to possibly wreak havoc. “Better safe than sorry” was Jeff’s mantra.

“How much is the turnover?” Kellie suddenly asked me, drawing closer to me. I could feel her breath against my cheek. This took me from my reverie. Her gaze lingered on the tip jar and the place below the counter where we kept the money.

“A little over three grand,” I replied, suppressing a yawn.

She clicked with her tongue. “Bad. Even worse than last week’s.” She shook her head in disapproval and dashed to a table when the blue-haired witch and her friend with the curious jacket called to her. Judging from her aura, the lady with the jacket was also a witch. I was surely seeing her for the first time: I’d have remembered if I’d seen her before.

My mind darted to the most pressing issue—our lack of customers and the poor business revenue. I pursed my lips and tried not to think of any negative scenarios involving our establishment. Instead, I directed my thoughts to my own financial situation. The money from tips decreased with each passing month. I had a mortgage to pay off, then taxes; additionally, I wanted to buy my grandma something good for her upcoming eightieth birthday. A girl could dream. If it weren’t only this magical plague running amok among humans… Who the hell released this insanity out of Pandora’s box?

I sighed and suddenly an idea flashed into my mind, bringing hope and warming my insides. There was a way to pay off my debt and make some big cash on top of that! Lightness fluttered in my chest, but my inner voice squashed it as soon as it came over me. I shook my head: it was too risky and dangerous. I’d rather be safe and sound than wealthy but in prison or, worse, killed. Cold shivers ran up and down my spine and dread as the thought nestled at the pit of my stomach. In all honesty, my being killed was more likely than being thrown in jail. If the truth about the full nature of my magic came out….

“One order of French fries and a beef stew,” Kellie shouted coming back to my side of the bar. She pushed the saloon doors open, waltzing into the kitchen, and I heard the cook, a nice middle-aged guy named Scott, respond gruffly in confirmation.

“Hey, are you okay, darling? You look pale,” Kellie said as she returned, coming over to me.

“Nah, I’m just tired. Third day in a row.” I waved my hand dismissively and tried my best to sound nonchalant. Obviously, my inner turmoil had gotten the better of me. “I can’t wait to go home and get my well-deserved rest.” I smiled and pictured myself lying on the couch in my living room, binge-watching Netflix while eating pepperoni pizza, my fave meal. I’d sleep through the day, rising up late, and then sleeping in late the next day.

“I know, love. I so freaking want a rest, myself,” Kellie agreed and plopped herself on the vacant stool near me. “I haven’t taken more than a few days off for more than six months. I planned to relax in the summer but with the poor tips and slow business, it ain’t gonna happen soon. It sucks.” Her lips twitched in a grimace and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

I patted her on the shoulders. She gave me a reassuring smile.

For the next hour, our small number of customers gradually left the pub, and we would have closed before one in the morning if a young vampire hadn’t come in. The second he set foot in our pub, his magic lit all my senses, my magical sense included: desire exploded in my veins and a lingering seductive feeling remained in my blood. A fraction of his magic dispersed around my body, crawling like a snake on my skin, boiling my insides with its hissing, a promise for a poisonous bite.

This vampire, whoever he might be, was highly sexual. I wouldn’t exclude the possibility of his having some incubus heritage. It wasn’t a coincidence that many of the vampires in the entertainment industry got portrayed as highly seductive and sex-crazed beings: often vampires would drain incubi or succubi. Magic quickly passed through blood and vampires could acquire others’ power this way, especially the older and more powerful ones.

The vampire took a quick look around the empty hall and spotted me. His eyes were dark and muddy like contaminated waters. His gaze ran over me, lingering on my tank top, descending my body just like the shifter’s had earlier. Not again, I thought with exasperation. Good that I had my apron tied around my neck. It covered the bulk of my breasts and torso. I know the tips are always better when my cleavage shows, but I hate being objectified anyway. But better tips means I can pay the bills.

I cleared my throat and greeted him, trying my best to sound friendly, “Hi! What can I offer you?”

He grinned, showing me his straight white teeth. Physically, he was highly attractive—an easy nine out of ten. I had to give him credit. He looked like a cross between Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Chris Hemsworth: dark-haired, tall, well-built, brooding and more dangerous than an ordinary vampire. He strode confidently toward me, completely aware that he’d gotten my full attention.

“Howdy, sugar. I’d like a Jack Daniel’s,” he said and licked his lips seductively, looking me straight in the eye. Mischievous sparks shimmered in his eyes, making his aura almost demonic. The feel of his magic was an absolute turn off. In fact, I wanted to throw up but pretended I hadn’t noticed his lascivious innuendo. I grabbed a rocks glass, a bottle of whiskey from the well and poured his drink.

“Five dollars, please,” I said, returning his glare. I placed his drink on the sparkling clean counter, my great accomplishment for the evening. I’d rather have stared at that counter all night than this particular customer.

His grin deepened. “How can I refuse a hottie like you? Here, keep the change.” He winked at me as he handed me a 20-dollar bill, and to my irritation he hopped up on the stool opposite me at the bar. He snatched the glass and drank the liquid in one gulp, his eyes never leaving me. His burning gaze made me even more uncomfortable. This dude’s intense look, combined with his up-to-the-brim magic, was giving me nausea. Bile rose at the back of my throat and my stomach throbbed.

It wasn’t the first time I had customers that needed warding off. Flirtations were a common thing in a bar and when done properly ensured me a good tip. But from time to time some men needed a good lesson in manners. Soon after I started work here, I had to kick a wizard hard in the balls when he groped my ass in front of the packed pub. The story spread around our tight, small community and no one dared mess with me since. I had my fair share of other eager men, flirting with me or teasing me, but it was all fun and games: no ass or breast grabbing and no off-color jokes. I earned their respect. But this one? I doubted he was from the surrounding area. A newcomer.

I cleared my throat to soothe myself. I turned my back, about to head to the kitchen and inform the boys, the two cooks, that we’d be closing soon, but the vampire’s voice caught me by surprise, his words dancing through the air around me. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you in town.”

I could almost imagine the repulsive smirk dancing on his full lips. He was handsome, but in a deranged, demonic way. I turned back to face him, and a wave of strong, aggressive magic washed over me. Like an invisible rope it tried to wrap its seductive and dangerous thread around my center and pull me toward him. He leaned toward me, placing both his hands on the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

He likes to play games? I thought. So be it. I snapped back at his aggressive pull and raised a protective wall around me. I needed it to block him and his sinister energy. Yet his magic hissed at me and like a snake coiled around my protective wall. The air shimmered and in a heartbeat a dark gray cloud annihilated my wall, reducing it to dust. It sparkled in the air and fell down like tiny, dirty snowflakes. His eyes never left mine.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around either,” I snapped back like a rubber-band. This time I dug deeper for my magic. It came like a long-forgotten song, titillating and warming my insides. I pulled from my strange powers a few seconds longer than needed. Unleashing a small amount of it, I sprayed it around me like a mosquito net. I had to be cautious. I couldn’t risk releasing more than a safe amount; otherwise, I could expose myself. If the Magic Council caught wind of what I was, I’d be in big trouble. They had zero acceptance for an “abomination” like me. If they felt particularly righteous, they’d kill my sister, mother, and grandma too. I could never pose that danger to them.

“I’m Jason,” he said slowly. “I’m not from here, though I come every now and then. It’s a pity I haven’t seen you. I would have remembered you.” He pushed his magic farther toward me, but I caught it. The fight was quick and futile. The white-pink glow of my magic gushed out and caught his dark gray, shimmering, cloud-like magic midair, disarming and dissolving it. Magic had a flavor, and his tasted of scorching pain and torture mixed with moans from pleasure. Eww, maybe BDSM folks would enjoy it, but not me. I decided to wait, neither disarming my shield nor attacking him. I gave him one more chance to dash away.

“Yeah, it’s a pity,” I said and stepped toward the saloon doors. I had to talk to the boys. The air rustled and with one swift motion he jumped, arriving next to me on my side of the bar. His dark magic vibrated just inches from my protective shield. His action didn’t bode well for me.

“You clearly don’t take a hint, huh, Mr. Asshole?” I said, anger oozing in my voice. I’d had enough of him. It was late, I was broke and tired, and all I wanted was to go to my warm bed and take a good nap. I pushed my magic directly at his chest, slapping him. It wasn’t much but good for starters. He wanted to fight, so I planned to let him have it! My blow made him merely take a step backward. A vicious, insane smirk danced on his face, his eyes gleaming in dark hue.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, girly. We can have fun together. Why are you resisting?” He threw out his hands, his magic intensifying and growing, fighting my own. The air turned a shade darker, my ears buzzed with a strange, unfamiliar sound. He was strong, even stronger than my first estimate of him.

He grinned as if he’d read my mind and said, “But I like it. I prefer my women feisty.” He pushed his magic farther at me, and the air electrified in dark blue and green hues. The scent of burning electrical bulbs and wood wafted in the air, the taste of bourbon burning my insides. Small droplets of sweat broke out on my skin. I couldn’t allow the jerk to think he’d win over me. Watching his repulsive, almost insane grin and the lust gushing from his eyes, I did the unthinkable: I dug deeper in my core, untangling my magic from the harbor I’d put it in. I hid my powers in a magical well, as I liked to think of it. Alien and unfamiliar sensations warmed my body, charging me with hot and roaring magical waves. They carried the power of a horde of galloping horses and the rage of erupting volcanoes. Before I could wield control of it, a blast of yellow-white light sprung from my fingertips. My magic hit him straight in his chest, burning a hole in his white-collared shirt and leather jacket. The blast threw him backward, reeling against the wall. His tall, muscular body slammed the wall, and he collapsed on the floor. A few bricks and dust showered down on his head and torso.

Me versus the asshole vampire: 1-0.

“I guess this was your last date for tonight,” I said to myself and looked proudly at the vampire’s sprawled body on the floor. Not one limb moved. His chest and head were covered with dirt and broken bricks, so it was safe to assume he lay unconscious.

Game over! I won the fight. I almost wanted to pat myself on the back for giving him a good lesson on manners.

The saloon doors swung open, and Kellie burst in, visibly scared. “What’s going on? Aiyana, are you all right?” Scott, the cook, followed right after her.

I waved my hand in a dismissive motion. “I’m okay. This gentleman didn’t take no for an answer,” I said as I untied my apron, tossing it on the shelf inside of the counter. I went to the cash register. The shift had finally ended, and the vampire was our last customer. I started counting the cash drawer, so I could go home and tuck myself inside my warm bed.

“Ha ha, I don’t think this guy will bother a lady any time soon.” Scott chuckled, inspecting the vampire’s motionless body. From the place where I stood behind the bar, the vampire resembled a dead corpse. Only the slow rhythmic rise of his chest indicated a living force in him.

“Better off.” I shrugged, and took out the cash, counting it.

“He’ll be all right, right?” Kellie asked, a mild concern discernible in her voice. She was an empath witch and tended to care even for psychopaths. I admired her kindness and compassion, but sometimes I thought she was too kind for her own good—she could fall victim to her inherent goodness.

“Of course. I haven’t killed him. Unfortunately.” I grimaced. Kellie grumbled in protest but joined me in washing the dozen glasses in the sink. After we swept the floor, ordered the chairs, and cleaned the tables, a series of low grunts echoed in the empty space. Oh, the vampire has awakened, I thought and glanced at the floor. He slowly stood up, swaying to the side, and dusted off the dirt from his clothes and body. He looked around in confusion, his eyes blurry, his hair tousled. He had the look of a person aroused from deep sleep, trying to remember a drunken night. When his gaze fell over me, a connection ignited in him. Rage seethed in his body, and he gritted his teeth.

“Enjoyed your little nap?” I asked him innocently as if I had inquired if he liked our cocktails.

Something must have clicked in his mind because he stopped midway in his tracks, fear washing over his face, palpable like ancient magic. Did he get a better sense of my magic? Was he afraid of me? These and similar thoughts swirled in my mind as I watched him leave our pub grudgingly. He didn’t dare say another word to me nor even look me in the eye. Before he pushed the front door open, he cast a glance in my direction and disappeared into the dark night. I slumped onto a stool, sighed heavily, and contemplated the evening’s events. Mild satisfaction warmed my insides, but something darker hummed in my ears, gnawing at me—fear. Did I go too far? Did I risk my life for nothing, just to teach an impudent vampire a lesson? I protected myself, I told myself, but it wasn’t exactly true. The truth was, I let my magic escape my control and do what it wanted to do. Hell, I began to understand why they forbade my kind.

Just in case, I cast a memory-wiping spell on him. I hoped it would work. Stronger supernaturals had protection against mind-control spells and manipulations, but I gave it a try. I sincerely prayed he’d go to bed, another bar, or to a brothel and forget everything.

I am safe. I didn’t reveal my magic, I repeated to myself, running the mantra several times over in my head as we closed the pub. In the cool air outside, I let the smooth breeze clear my mind as I walked home on foot.

My house was approximately half an hour from the pub, but every now and then I preferred to walk home, especially when the weather was good. In bad or colder weather, I used my scooter.

By the time I reached my house, I had convinced myself that the vampire guy wasn’t a threat, and my existence remained a well-protected secret as it had to be.