“Demons,” she spat, turning to Ivy. “I warned him never to call me darling.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, which, in fact, I had. The crossbow bolt burned, evidently having been doused in holy water, but I’d survive the wound. I was not, however, sure how I could endure Jinx’s disdain.
She didn’t remember our kiss.
I stood there pole-axed. She’d suffered a blow to the head and no longer remembered our kiss, that precious moment that had filled the last three days with such meaning. Jinx’s loss of memory hit me with a crushing might worse than the moment Puck’s blade flashed in the club’s basement. An armed opponent was something I’d prepared for over the course of my long life. But how does one take up the gauntlet against something that is already lost?
Having Jinx’s feelings for me ripped away was like undergoing surgery without the anesthesia. But I held onto the pain, because it was all that was left of the moment we’d shared. I wasn’t willing to let her go.
I turned to Ivy, who grimaced, but met my gaze.
“Why did you keep the truth from her?” I asked. My body felt cold, but I resisted a shiver. “How could you?”
“How could I not?” she whispered. She’d spoken too softly for human ears, but now raised her voice for Jinx’s benefit. “I told her all she needed to know of that night. She was attacked by Puck, but Torn and I got there in time to save her life.”
Ivy had seen me transform in the basement into something out of nightmare. Fueled by Hellfire, I’d grown horns, wings, and cloven hoofs. It should not have changed anything. Jinx had known I was a demon when she’d kissed me. But Ivy apparently thought she was protecting her friend by concealing the truth.
“I will not give her up,” I whispered. “And I will never forget this.”
I spun on my heel, hand clutched to the crossbow bolt protruding from my stomach, and limped as gracefully as I could from the office and out onto the streets of Harborsmouth.
THRILL ON JOYSEN HILL
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” Torn asked, inching away and eyeing the exits. “I’m lord of the cat sidhe, for Mab’s sake!”
I shook my head and smirked.
“Because you promised to lend me your services for a few hours as a wedding gift,” I said.
“Babysitting a demon toddler, a teenage troll, and a grouchy old brownie was not what I had in mind, Princess and you know it,” he said.
Ceff strode into the kitchen, and I smiled, showing too many teeth. Barely restrained energies trailed along my skin and sucked the air from the already cramped apartment. Our loft had seemed spacious when it was just Jinx and me living here, but it was currently overrun with squealing kids and two overanxious soon-to-be bridegrooms. That was the problem.
When Jinx insisted on a bachelorette party, I’d surprised everyone by wholeheartedly agreeing. We were meeting Arachne at Club Nexus for a night of dancing and letting off steam. Considering that Club Nexus was a bar that attracted the denizens of Harborsmouth’s supernatural underworld, chances were good I’d get a chance to try out my new wisp powers before the night was through.
At least, a girl could hope.
“So, what did you mean, Torn?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Yes, what did you mean, Cat?” Ceff asked, narrowing his eyes.
Torn held up his hands, claws sheathed. Wise man.
“I was only giving Ivy a chance to be with a real man before she chained herself to you for all eternity, Fish Breath,” he said.
Okay, not so wise. Damn Torn and his relentless flirtations. If we didn’t all get a night away from each other, all hell was going to break loose and we couldn’t afford any more damage to our apartment. Not with all the new mouths we had to feed.
“It’s already settled,” I said, raising a gloved hand. “Torn takes the kids for a few hours, Jinx and me get our bachelorette party, and Ceff and Forneus take care of the overdue loft repairs.”
“I be no kid,” Hob muttered from the couch, arms folded across his chest.
I winced, but turned my attention back to Torn.
“There must be something else you want for your wedding gift,” he said, slit-pupil eyes pleading. “A trip to Mag Mell, untold secrets, a nice set of carving knives?”
“No, Torn,” I said. “Go. Take the kids. Who knows, you might have fun.”
Torn’s scarred lip lifted in a lopsided grin.
“Fine, Princess, have it your way,” he said, clapping his hands. “Come on kids! Let’s go have some fun with Uncle Torn.”
“You bring them home in one piece, Torn,” I said, jabbing a gloved finger in his direction.
“Whatever, sure,” he said, sauntering out the door and waving over his shoulder. “They’ll be safe as houses.”
I frowned, watching my kids leave the safety of our home. I’d won the argument, so why did I feel like I’d lost?
“Come on, Ivy,” Jinx said, tossing me my leather jacket. “You agreed to take the night off. Torn’s an immortal faerie lord with an army of cats at his beck and call. What could possibly go wrong?”
What, indeed.
*****
TORN
I hissed, muttering a curse. Every damn time I took that demon kid’s hand, he zapped me, burning my skin. I was a cat sidhe lord, not a submissive underling, and these kids were overdue for a reminder of who I was. I narrowed my eyes, glaring at each of my unruly companions.
“If I find out one of you put the brat up to this, I’ll flay you alive,” I said, lifting my hand to show the freshly scorched flesh.
The wounds were minor. I’d suffered worse, much worse, just for the fun of it, but that wasn’t the point. I had a nagging suspicion that the troll kid and the nasty little brownie were encouraging the demon child.
Hob batted his eyelashes and gave me a mocking bow.
“Never dream of it, me lord,” he said with a wink.
Cheeky buggar. Faeries can’t lie, but we can stretch the truth. I should know.
“Leave Sparky alone,” Marvin said, lifting the demon child onto his massive shoulders. “You want trust, you earn it. Right, kiddo?”
“Baaaaaaaad man,” Sparky said, pointing a sparking finger at me. “Giddy up horsey!”
I narrowed my eyes, but the troll was already galloping up the sidewalk like a buffoon. To any human passerby, Marvin appeared to be a sullen teenager in an oversized army surplus jacket and a bad haircut that hid a heavy simian brow. Sparky looked like a toddler wearing a hat with long, floppy bunny ears. That illusion might not pass scrutiny if people got concerned that the kids were being harassed by some adult predator. Shouting “bad man” seemed a fine way to get the wrong kind of attention.
“Cut that out,” I hissed. “We’re here to have fun, not attract attention. I might have a blithe disregard for rules, but you break the One True Law and we’ll be on the Moordenaar’s hit list. That, kids, is the opposite of fun. Just ask Ivy.”
“Ivyyyyy!” Sparky squealed.
The kid looked around, but Ivy, of course, was nowhere in sight. The demon’s lip started to quiver and tears poured down his face.
“Now ye made the wee bairn cry,” Hob said. “Ye happy?”
“Oh, for the love of Mab,” I muttered.
I ran a hand through my hair and looked up and down the rows of shabby market stalls and glaring neon signs. I’d brought our ragtag group to the main shopping street on Joysen Hill. The Hill was where all of the city’s action was. You want girls, weapons, mind-bending potions, and magical portents? This was the place to be.
Harborsmouth’s chamber of commerce had even hung banners across the street, promising visitors that they could find their thrill on Joysen Hill. The Hill was where tourists came to lose their wallets. Sometimes, they also lost their minds or their lives, but true entertainment always comes with a cost—all the good things in life do.
Joysen Hill had been a no-brainer.
Not so long ago, the demon kid had
experienced an unfortunate incident with my cats, so the court of cats, for all its fun, wasn’t an option. I’d toyed with the idea of going further up the hill to Sacred Heart Church to see Ivy’s pal Galliel—what kid doesn’t love a unicorn?—but realized Sparky wouldn’t be able to enter holy ground.
Hob was another conundrum. The hearth brownie had recently lost his home and his place of employment when Madam Kaye’s Magic Emporium was reduced to rubble. The Emporium’s central location in Harborsmouth’s Old Port Quarter meant no pub crawls through the cobblestones streets of the Quarter. The hearth brownie was grouchy enough without the looming reminder of all he’d recently lost.
Heading uptown was also out of the question. The troll kid’s emo grunge look would never pass in the glitz and glitter of the city’s business district, and Harborsmouth’s parks were boring. Plus, the Cailleach Hag lived in Founders Park and that witch gave me the creeps.
“Fix this,” Marvin said, stepping forward to loom over me.
The troll kid didn’t scare me, but the sobbing demon on his shoulders had my eyes darting every which way, looking for any conceivable entertainment to distract Sparky. Ivy never said anything about crying kids.
I expanded my search, reaching out with my enhanced senses, considering various possibilities for mischief and mayhem. That was when I noticed the dancing slice of pizza. I tilted my head, scarred ears swiveling to catch the bizarre huckster’s promises of food and fun.
“Come one, come all!” the dancing pizza shouted. “Eat, play, win fabulous prizes!”
Fabulous prizes, eh? That sounded promising. It didn’t hurt that the diminutive demon’s love for pizza was near legendary. The little tyke could put away an entire pie in seconds.
“Buck up, Sparky,” I said, thrusting my shoulders back and tilting my head to smile at the demon. “I see pizza in your near future.”
Sparky tugged at one of his long, floppy ears, his thumb in his mouth as he peeked past the safety of Marvin’s large head. The troll raised an eyebrow, and I pasted a smile on my face. Who knows, this might actually be tolerable. In addition to pizza to eat, there was the promise of prizes to win. I always have been unnaturally good at games of chance.
I’m not just a pretty face.
I hastened my step, ignoring the less salubrious residents of the Hill as I swaggered toward the neon wonder that was Ratfink’s Family Fun Palace.
“Pizzzaaa!” Sparky squealed and clapped his hands, catching sight of the dancing pizza slice.
The unusual tightness in my chest uncoiled. The kid was happy, and I’d found the perfect place to entertain my charges. The smug smile forming on my lips ended in a hiss as a scrawny, tattooed arm lunged out, barring my way into the gaming establishment.
I looked down at the small clawed hand on my chest and growled. The hand was attached to a six-foot-tall rat with a protruding belly, chipped yellowed teeth, and a patch over one eye. I glared at the wererat’s beady good eye, extending my claws.
“Remove your hand, rat, or I’ll remove it for you—permanently,” I said.
I licked my lips and smiled.
“I’d grow it back, ye stupid cat,” he said. The rat lifted his hand from my chest, and wiggled his claw-tipped fingers. “And the name’s Roz. Ye want to make a complaint, take it up with the boss man.”
He hooked a thumb over his sloping shoulder to the dark alcove where I assume his boss was hiding.
“I’m not here to eat you, not today and not if you play nice,” I said. “We’re here for the pizza and prizes. Unless you want to anger the lord of the cat sidhe?”
“You’re the local cat sidhe lord?” he asked.
“Does anyone else look this good in leather pants?” I asked.
A multitude of painful, high-pitched squeaks came from the shadows behind the doorman, and he sighed.
“Guess tonight’s your lucky night, cat lord,” Roz said. “Boss man says you can come in, but you still gotta pay.”
“And what kind of payment is Ratfink demanding?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Never trust a wererat, especially one who’s survived long on Joysen Hill.
“Normal kind, for now,” he said. “Two hundred in cash for four play passes. Ye get fifty back if you don’t break anything. Consider it a safety deposit.”
“Two hundred to enter this hovel?” I asked, sputtering in outrage.
I stepped forward, forcing the rat back a step. A rune-covered switchblade appeared in his hand. He used it to scratch at the bristly grey fur along the edge of his eye patch, and the threat was clear.
“Ye gotta pay to play,” he said.
Any other time, I’d have gutted the man and made balloon animals with his intestines, but I had a bargain with Ivy Granger to keep her kids safe. Sparky started to sniffle, and I took a deep breath. I’d promised the kids a fun night on the town, and I always delivered on my promises.
I’d make this a night to remember.
I tossed over a bag of coins, and a smaller rat came waddling out of the shadows.
“Ah, very good, very good,” he mumbled, eyes on the gold. “Welcome to Ratfink’s Family Fun Palace.”
“Ratfink, I presume?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s me, Ratfink’s the name,” he said, pumping my hand in his slippery, sweaty grasp.
I pulled away, wiping my hand on one of the threadbare velvet curtains that lined the doorway. The curtain’s fleas probably had fleas, but anything was better than Ratfink’s wormlike fingers and soft, sweaty palms.
If the corpulent wererat was offended, he didn’t let on. Instead, he stroked his belly with tiny hands, letting out a high-pitch squeak-filled laugh. Funny, I didn’t find being ripped off by a sleazeball wererat all that amusing.
“We paid your extortionate prices, Ratfink,” I said, voice sharp as the multitude of small blades strapped to my body. “Let us in.”
“Of course, of course, my dear man,” he said, rocking on his heels. “But first, an important question, most important. Is it anyone’s birthday?”
“Do the rat man be rabid, ye think?” Hob asked.
Marvin shrugged, and Sparky pointed at Roz and mouthed “pirate” much to the doorman’s evident chagrin. I might have laughed if Ratfink hadn’t let out a wheezing, sputtering gasp.
“Rabid?” he asked, tiny hands flailing. “No disease at Ratfink’s Family Fun Palace, none at all, I can assure you. Only fun, and games, and fabulous prizes.”
“And pizza?” Marvin asked.
“Yes, man, of course,” Ratfink said. He pulled back a curtain with a flourish. “That goes without saying, yes. The largest pizzas in Harborsmouth. Already in the guidebooks, we are. The best pizza on the Hill. Fast service too. Only the best, the best, my dear fellow.”
Sparky’s eyes widened, and Marvin’s mouth hung open in surprise. Beyond the curtain was an assault on the senses that only a rat, or a child, could truly enjoy. The place was a claustrophobe’s nightmare, a warren of brightly colored entertainment and gluttonous excess.
To our right hung oversized signs in every language, even the dead ones, announcing amazing, stupendous activities that seemed to include a dubious amount of climbing ropes and wading through pits of tiny balls. Down the middle, row upon row of games emitted the incessant clang of bells, claxon ring of alarms, and the strobing flash of lights. A bizarre dinner theater was located to our left, the cloying scent of oregano heavy on the air.
“Not exactly a palace,” I muttered.
“Ah, but there is a palace,” Ratfink said, waddling forward. “Earn enough tickets and you can go inside the bouncy palace.”
“Now would be a good time to remind ‘em of the rules,” Roz said, tapping his switchblade at a brightly lit sign on the wall.
“Yes, yes, the rules, most important,” Ratfink said. “Do follow the rules. And, here are your passes. Don’t lose them. These are your passports to fun.”
I wrinkled my nose, extending my claws as I reached for our pa
sses. Ratfink disappeared behind his curtain, and Roz read off the rules.
“No food in the ball pit,” he said. “No pukin’ in the bouncy palace. No heckling the happy fun time sing along heads. Absolutely positively no refunds.”
I frowned, raising an eyebrow.
“What the devil is a happy fun time sing along head?” I asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Roz said.
And with that ominous prediction, he closed the curtain, leaving me with three bug-eyed companions.
“Come on, let’s get you that pizza,” I said, sauntering to the dinner theater.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The kids were speechless and the pizza was served in a more subdued part of the establishment. I might just survive the experience.
That’s when a hundred grinning undead animals thrust their heads through the walls and began to sing.
“Oberon’s great silver balls,” I muttered, dropping into a booth and grabbing a menu to hide behind.
The undead animals had sewn on smiles and milky dead eyes, but they could sure belt out show tunes and they murdered that Ratfink’s Family Fun Palace jingle.
“They be dead,” Hob said, blinking at the ghoulish singing animals. “This be somethin’ wee ones like?”
I shook my head. I’d seen a lot in my nine lives, but nothing so strange as Ratfink’s and its tone-deaf taxidermied talent, and something told me we’d only just scratched the surface.
“Most likely a cost saving measure,” I said, warily keeping an eye on the creepy critters as Marvin and Sparky scanned the menu. The demon was bouncing to the music, legs kicking the vinyl bench in time to the beat. “Everybody want pizza?”
“Did somebody say PIZZA?”
I had to grab the table to keep from jumping. The voice came from a werepanda, on roller skates. She’d zoomed up to us and was gnawing on her pen like it was a bamboo stalk, waiting to take our order.
“Pizzzaaa!” Sparky squealed.
“Dinner or dessert?” she asked, chomping on her pen.