Page 67 of Magic of the Damned

“It had to be done,” he assured me for the third time, but it was more than just Emoni that bothered me; it was speculation about Peter. The Dark Caster had been under our noses the entire time. Watching me, commenting about the ring that covered my markings, knowing damn well why it looked different. He had chosen me, out of all the people he had encountered, and I wanted to know why.

Dominic finally blocked my pacing, looking down at me. “What is this helping?”

“Thinking. It’s helping me think.” It wasn’t. Moving was just giving me a distraction.

“In less than an hour, we’ll meet with Emmanuel, get the magic you need, and then this will be over for you, Luna.”

“Will it?” I challenged, putting all my frustration and anger into it. “Assassins came after me. Once the prisoners are recaptured, I’ll no longer be at risk of assassination, but what's to stop you all from using magic against me—against us? From where I stand, the enforcement of the law against using magic against humans seems really lax. And the level of magic allowed to protect you all from being discovered is awfully broad. How do we stop being compelled by vampires?”

“Don’t look them in the eyes.”

Well, thanks. That was the same information Anand had given me, which simply infuriated me.

“If we don’t know they exist, we can’t even take that simple measure.”

The Awakeners had a valid argument: Supernaturals needed to be revealed. Give humans a fighting chance to protect ourselves. But they wanted to be elevated to some royal status. Not live as equals but our betters. The Conventicle and their acolytes wanted to cling to the shadows, but from what I could see, they weren’t sufficiently enforcing supernaturals’ limits of magic on humans.

“And the attack yesterday. Who are they? What’s their ideology? What are their goals? How can you enforce your rules on them when they don’t seem to have any allegiance to anyone?”

“I’m still looking into leads. I think it’s an uprising—a coup in the making.”

Once I was dead, the people attempting the coup could persuade those who wanted to maintain the supernaturals’ anonymity to switch their support to them. After all, that was the group that got things done. Would they be better or worse than the Conventicle? The assailants from the attack wanted me dead, so even if they were better at controlling the supernaturals than the Conventicle, I still couldn’t root for them. At least the Conventicle wasn’t actively trying to kill me.

“Luna, you’re out of this after today. I will work on behalf of humans’ best interest.”

I wanted to believe him. Even more when his warm hands rested on my hips, amber eyes entreating me to do so.

I couldn’t. He worked on behalf of his own interest. I needed to work on behalf of mine. It would be great if we had a common goal, but I didn’t see that happening.

Not every bar has the welcoming vibes created by music loud enough to be heard from outside but not be overwhelming and an exterior that welcomes you in to have a drink and good times. Two harsh lights that wouldn’t be out of place in an interrogation room were at each end of the single-story dingy blue stucco building. Dirt and discoloration from age obscured the signage. The inside looked dim, and if it weren’t for the number of motorcycles parked outside, I would have thought the building was vacant.

“So, this is where Emmanuel hangs out?”

Dominic nodded, apparently not sharing my concern. It wasn’t just the grim building; it was also that the bar wasn’t on the main street, it was thirty miles from the city, and the only other business establishments were several miles away. They could be as loud as they wanted here without disturbing anyone. Which meant no one could hear screams for help.

“He doesn’t have a home where we could have met?”

“Of course. He wanted to meet here.”

“That didn’t strike you as odd?”

“Doesn’t matter either way to me.”

He got out of the car and when I stayed put, still eyeing the place, he came to my side and opened the door.

Ignoring his extended hand, I hopped out of the car. I got this. Just a powerful witch I’m borrowing magic from, at a bar way off the beaten path, where screams won’t be heard. Easy-peasy.

I had to stop reading mysteries and crime novels.

The inside was just as poorly lit as I expected, and all eyes turned to us. Well, Dominic, dressed in a crimson shirt, granite-colored pants, and leather shoes, with the messy coiffed hair and rugged low beard of a man who belonged in a posher bar than this. Even with his sleeves rolled to the middle of his forearms, showing the arcane symbols and intricate designs that were understated compared to the tats of the bar patrons. Most wore short sleeves or tanks, showing off an impressive and beautiful tapestry of colors. Others were dark with portraits of predatory animals: wolves, panthers, and snakes.

All eyes remained on us, the interlopers. Dominic traipsed through the bar with airy confidence, people parting for him instead of him having to weave around them. Pulling my shoulders back, I stood taller, trying to put on the same airs. It’s easier to do when you have magic, claws, and preternaturally fast and precise movement.

Dominic slowed until I was next to him, a hand well placed on the small of my back, momentarily redirecting my attention from the crowd to the tinge of warmth that spread over my back at his touch.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “It’s fine. This is just a power move by Emmanuel, to unsettle us.”

“He succeeded. I’m unsettled.” I would’ve preferred to meet at a restaurant. Maybe an ice cream shop. Nothing menacing in a Coldstone Creamery.

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