Page 43 of Hex and the City
“Why the hurry?” I asked. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me we have someplace else to infiltrate.”
“Not tonight. I thought I’d take you out for some drinks. I know a place. Don’t worry, it’s not anywhere too noisy. Just a chance to relax for a bit.” He craned his neck, tilting his head up toward the sky. “Yep. There’s Big Gwen, and she says it’s beer o’clock.”
I glanced at the clocktower’s enormous, glowing face and chuckled. Like he didn’t have that big, honking watch to tell the time with already. “A bar? Some drinks? It’s like you’re doing this all out of order. You taking me out on a date, Mr. Drake?”
“Get over yourself.” He crumpled up his burger wrapper and tossed it in the paper bag. “And thiswasthe date.”
I knew he was joking, but it still took me aback. “I should be offended. This is so cheap.”
He turned over his engine, shooting me a triumphant smile. “It was all I could afford after buying this watch.”
“Ugh. Very funny, Max.”
“And handsome.” He checked his rearview mirror, winked at his reflection, then winked at me. “I’m the full package. Plus the package.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a worthy comeback. I mean, he was right about all of that. The confidence was intoxicating.
“Put on your seatbelt. You can finish that on the way. You’ll need it to soak up the booze.”
I clicked my seatbelt into place, eyeing him warily. “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
He scoffed. “Please. I’m not. Just showing you some of the local haunts. If you want to drop anchor in Dos Lunas, you may as well get acquainted, especially with the places that are friendly to people like us.”
I tried not to stare too hard, but I snuck glances at Max’s face as he drove, illuminated in slashes of streetlight. His teeth almost glowed when he smiled, his grins coming so easily now that we were possibly fuck buddies, now that we were almost,maybefriends.
Tiamat had persuaded me to stop running for entirely different reasons, and here was Maximilian Drake convincing me with his own. I didn’t yet know if this was just some boyish dalliance, him being intrigued by someone who’d just rolled into town. Hah. Maybe he’d been bewitched by the Witch Boy.
But the more I gave it thought, the more appealing it sounded. Staying meant no more running, no more tired soles and a tired soul. Staying meant that I might get to spend more time with this grim-faced leather jacket and his weirdly soft and squishy heart. Oh, and his very hard cock.
I took another huge bite of my burger, chewing on the beef as I chewed on my thoughts. Would staying in Dos Lunas really be so bad?
What if?
20
MAX
The thump and beat of electronic dance music escaped through the open doors of Unholy Grounds. This was more to Roscoe’s taste. Johnny liked to throw in some metal on busy nights. A while back, they found a fusion of the genres that appealed to both them and their clientele. Metalectronica, or something like that. Good stuff.
Leon lingered at the threshold and blinked, gaping at the crowd of people, at the clinking of beer bottles and cocktail glasses. He nudged me in the ribs. “Dude, what happened? I thought this was a coffee shop.”
“Oh, yeah. Did I not mention that?” I scratched the side of my head. “They turn it into a bar at night. Hell to get the right licenses, but worth it in the end. I mean, look at all these people.”
Business was always brisk come nighttime at Unholy Grounds. The coffee crowd fluctuated during the day, especially since Dos Lunas had no shortage of both artisanal and chain cafés to pick from. But a kick-ass bar? A kick-ass bar that served incredible cocktails? And one run by a pair of savvy mages, too?
Like catnip for those who dwelled in the arcane underground. Businesses like Unholy Grounds served as a refuge for those who lived on the fringes of human reality. It’d take a trained eye to pick out all the many supernatural species rubbing elbows in the bar that night.
That table with the alarmingly gorgeous Black woman, surrounded by a gaggle of men all wearing scarves or turtlenecks? A vampire and her thralls, each gentleman consensually contracted to donate a regular tithe of blood in exchange for the allegedly very erotic sensation of a vampire’s kiss.
And over there, the man wearing a trench coat, with bandages around his face and hands? The memo pad hanging from a chain around his neck helpfully explained that he was recovering from cosmetic surgery. In truth? An actual embalmed member of the undead population. A mummy enjoying a yummy cocktail, preferably one with a tiny umbrella and a fun curly straw.
Hollywood movie monsters, one and all. Except they weren’t monsters, just different. Still people, many of them human at some point in their existence. Just blending in, hiding in plain sight, walking among the regular folk of Dos Lunas, California, the world. This was the safest of safe spaces for the misfits and outcasts of the arcane underground, made even safer by the resident security officer, one Roscoe Stone.
His cheery smiles and laidback nature worked wonders in getting others to underestimate his talents. The man was an expert in his craft, laying down magicked sigils and traps around the bar to ward away troublemakers, even punish the ones who insisted on being difficult. The proverbial shotgun behind the counter, except in the form of a grinning man with floppy hair.
Said grinning man’s enormous smile was visible from across the bar. Roscoe had changed into a short-sleeved black polo that appeared to be embellished with a sprinkling of stars across the chest. Much sleeker and much more form-fitting than his daytime jeans and hoodies. Pretty sexy.
Johnny Slivers was sitting at the same table. He pointed at us, turned his hands into finger guns, then waved us over to join them. He’d shucked his tailored dress shirt, stripping down to a white tank that showed off both his impressive ink work as well as his impressive muscles.
