Page 259 of Sigils & Spells

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be out by morning.”

Her furry left brow rose. “Yeah. Yeah. If you last that long.”

“Wh— Why wouldn’t I?”

“Sweet cheeks, it’s Saturday night. The holding cell is overflowing with …” She glanced at me up and down. “Let’s just say, people who don’t look like you.”

My throat thickened. “I don’t get my own cell?”

She barked out a laugh. “Not a chance.”

I swallowed hard at the sound of two women screaming at each other. There was enough rage in their voices to part the Pacific Ocean. One of them stopped mid-sentence to retch.

I slowed my pace.

The cop nodded. “Sounds like the regulars. You’re just lucky it’s not a full moon.”

With a flick of her key pass, the lock on the cell clicked, and she opened the creaking door.

Now, I thought, would be a good time to use my magic and do a Houdini exit. I didn’t deserve to be thrown into the loony bin. For that matter, I didn’t deserve to be held accountable for anything I did to Dakota. He deserved a tire slashing and a lot more. I clenched my teeth and wished I could just use a teensy-weensy bit of magic to get me out of this jam.

With my chin raised, I stepped into the holding cell. It was about the size of a volleyball court. Twenty or so females mingled inside. Their sweat smelled like a party gone wrong.

Some sat on a bench along the back wall, but most stood. They all stared at me, the newbie. I aimed for an empty spot on the bench. As I moved, I took in my roommates. The ladies, and I use that term loosely, ranged in age from sixteen to seventy. Every skin color and social subset was represented. The most common feature I could see was a sense of desperation.

Being a witch put me in the minority. I caught a whiff of demon blood, but otherwise, I discerned only norms. Angry, despairing, drunk, stoned, frustrated … norms.

“What are you looking at?” snarled a pencil-thin woman in a white evening dress stained with blood.

“Nothing I said.”

Before I could say more, her fist smashed into my face. I ducked, but not in time. I heard my nose crack. My skin tore apart with the impact of her punch. Blood flowed down my face and trickled into my mouth. Her ring scratched my skin as she withdrew her hand.

I lunged at her. As she deftly stepped aside laughing, I fell to the floor. I felt like a complete idiot, but a hand reached down for me. As I stood, I watched the lady in the gown hit another, and then another. The whole cell broke out in a brawl.

CHAPTER3

Three hours later,bruised, battered, and bitchy, I drove home. I figured my problems for the night were over, thanks to Eliza posting bail for me. Turning up my radio to full-blast, I sang along with every break-up song they played on my favorite Country radio station, as I careened along the windy coastal road.

I had a posh apartment in Fangsters. It’s my academy for vampire delinquents that sits on the outskirts of Mystic Keep. When the front door groaned open with its familiar Gothic-Horror melody, I felt confident the problems for the night had ended. I waved at the security cameras and slammed the door behind me.

Home! A chill skittered like a drunk spider up my spine. I froze. Everything inside felt dead. Too dead, even for a place that housed vampires. But I was too tired to give it any more thought. I headed toward the grand staircase.

With every step I climbed, an ominous, cold stillness seeped into my bones. I hesitated by the banister and gripped the raven sculpture that stood upon it. Something was definitely wrong.

Normally, it being the weekend my students would be partying. Their music would filter up through the floor from the basement, which housed their residence, the casino would be hopping, and stray vampires would be wandering about. But I couldn’t hear any music.

I shook my head. I shouldn’t be concerned. After all there is no such a thing asnormalin a school for gangsters who bite. I had to stop looking for it.

My head ached. Hex it, I told myself, I’ll worry tomorrow. My limbs felt heavy as I climbed the remaining stairs to my apartment on the top floor. My four-poster bed awaited me with deliciously soft, Egyptian-cotton sheets. When I’d lived on my own, I could never afford such luxury, but my blackmailer, the infamous Alessandro from Amsterdam, made my personal space comfortable. I stripped naked and slid between the sheets with a sigh of relief.

Settling my head on the pillow, I reminded myself that the night had not been a complete failure. I had slit three of Dakota’s tires. I smiled at the thought of his face when he looked at them, and I dozed off.

“Long night, darlin’?” asked a voice with a Texan accent.

I groaned and opened my eyes. My familiar had decided to appear. Harvey sat cross-legged in a recliner in the corner of my room.

Why do I have to have a rabbit for a familiar who asks stupid questions, I wondered.

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