Page 31 of Hidden

Henry gave her a droll look. “He is an Undead crime boss. I suppose he knows a few tricks.”

“Including pumping you for gossip.”

Henry shrugged. “Drunks can’t keep a secret worth troll dung.”

Which is why Henry heard everything first. Acting as confessor and shrink was all part of a bartender’s role, and the werebear was excellent at his job.

“Let me guess,” she said. “The club crowd comes here to wind down after their fancy night out.”

He gave a rumbling laugh. “Slumming, you mean?”

Izetta opened her mouth to retort, but an inhuman shriek rent the air. Every head at the bar turned toward the back corner. Someone—something—had jumped onto a table. Chairs clattered to the wooden floor as customers scrambled away. The creature swung around, scanning the crowd. When the light hit its face, Izetta saw it—he—was a half-shifted wolf. The hairless snout didn’t quite contain all his fangs.

Izetta slid off her bar stool, flexing her claws. She still hurt all over, but she felt better on her feet. The air stank of fear and a subtler hint of anticipation.

“A-rooo,” the half-wolf yodeled from a throat neither beast nor man.

The crowd—mostly shifters themselves—snarled a response. One picked up a chair, ready to brawl.

Henry heaved an exasperated sigh and grabbed a wooden club from under the bar. It was an Irish shillelagh, thick enough to crush skulls. He set it on the counter with a thud. “In case anyone gets ideas.”

Izetta understood. Fights were bad for business and getting furry only made things harder if the law got involved. Monsters didn’t get a pass.

“Second one this week,” Henry muttered. “Half-in, half-out.”

“What’s that about?”

“The Magician’s been passing out party favors again.”

Quick as a snake, she caught Henry’s wrist. “Tell me.”

He flinched at what he saw in her eyes. He had to deal with the half-shifted wolf, but she was the threat just inches away. “Tell you what?”

“Do you know anything about the spell he uses?”

“Everyone thinks it’s magic. It’s not.” He stared at Izetta’s hand until she let him go.

“Then what is it?”

“Bacchante.” He rubbed his wrist. “I heard the name last night.”

“Bacchante?” she repeated. “Are you saying this is—what?”

“A party drug. And they bring the stuff here after their big night out. Bad news for me.”

Pins and needles ran down her arms as her mouth dropped open with incredulous shock. She fought a sudden urge to laugh. “A drug?”

She was parroting Henry like an imbecile, but she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “No. People like you and me, we don’t react to drugs. I can barely get drunk if I try.”

“This one works. Leaves a pile of bodies, too.”

Izetta swore again. It made sense. The Magician preyed on the young, the fast and fabulous who thought a crowded dance floor and high-priced bloodtinis made them somebody. The fae had been luring innocents forever. But she’d expected enchantment from a fae. Hypnotism. Glamour. The gorgeous and deadly. Not something so mundane.

By then, Henry had turned to the other bartender, who was built like a rugby player, but was still just a human. “Get as many customers as you can out of here.”

“What? Why?” the young man asked, eyes wide.

“Do the math,” Henry growled.

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