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For some reason I’ve gained a major aversion to a few names including Rae or Mab, and others. It is tough to write a story where your heroine’s name reminds you of a creature you’d rather erase from existence. Once I changed the name, the story started to flow… Figure that. Its all about that subconscious I guess. Or about the power.

New name for our heroine is Adara. The meaning of the name is the same, and I think fits our gal better. More to come soon.

And there is Malakai. Mal thinks I’m portraying him rather harshly and is objecting my vilifying him. So, he is trying to reason his way out of the story. Pesky imaginary characters. He in particular. This aggravating, tyrannical freak of nature actually is stalling my progress so that I concentrate on him more. He thinks I need to add some background material on him. He thinks that without his history, he looks like a major ass. Personally, I think he is an ass. History and life experiences may have made him so, but that does mean he is in the right. I just write him how I see him. Then again, maybe I’m biased?

So, why not, I will indulge him. As long as he leaves my dreams and lets me sleep at night. Before moving forward I will go back a bit. Depending that is on what comes first. Hell, you never know, Rae or Demarion might get jealous next and start hounding me about future rewrites. Frikin imaginary characters. They always complicate everything…. Then again, these days, I think a distraction or two could be healthy.

BTW, thanks for your patience and for keeping in touch. I’m impressed so many are interested in the next installment. I promise, it is coming…

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“I don’t believe I extended an invitation for you to sit down. So, aveatque vale, please.” I don’t know why I ended the sentence in Latin, but considering the surroundings, I was pretty sure that the words were not lost on him. The unwelcome guest only made himself more comfortable, leaning his back on the wall behind him. I felt his eyes studying me in the darkness, surveying and weighing me. Then he pointed at Jessica.

“I hear your friend has man trouble. Anyone I can off? I’m offering my services.” He had an accent that I could not place. It certainly wasn’t French, German or Slavic, but definitely European. Hungarian perhaps? From his chiseled features I gathered that he was one hell of a looker. I groaned inwardly. I was not in the state of mind to entertain smug, presumptive, studs, but then, I did not want to seem out right rude either.

“If you showed up a few hours ago, you probably would have gotten the job. But the more I think about it, I don’t think he is worth the trouble.”

‘Isn’t that up to Jessica?”

Like I expected, in these circles everyone knew who Jess was. I looked over at my drunk friend sprawled on the table, snoring lightly. Her father will put her through torture when he hears about her recent lack of propriety, I thought.

Jessica always attracted men to her aid. They all wanted to fight her battles. No one ever thought of me as the damsel in distress; seems I never gave off such a vibe. By all accounts my best friend was a full package: gorgeous, intelligent, fun with captivating personality and power most could only imagine. Though I’ve learned years ago how not to be jealous of the affect she had on everyone, especially men, his comment aggravated me. “Actually no. I’m the offended party.” I think I noticed him raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Jessica is just taking it harder than I am. You see, my best friend here and I have found fi…ex – fiancé in bed with another woman earlier today.”

I thought I sensed a sliver of pity cross his features, but I could not be sure. Recent events proved how bad I was in judging people. Silence fell between us as he continued simply to look at me. Eventually he settled on “I am sorry.”

I shrugged and looked at the ring again. It was a pretty gold bubble set with diamonds and garnets, two of my favorite stones. It was still sitting on the appropriate finger, feeling heavier by the moment. I was trying to figure out if I should give it back to Malcom. This was a first piece of jewelry he ever gave me and I preferred it so much more to the big engagement rock he presented me with a few months ago. It was the only piece of jewelry that wasn’t purchased under a pretext of trying to make things right between us.

We’ve been on this relationship roll coaster for some eight years and this wasn’t his first transgression. Frankly the whole ordeal, our whole relationship history made me numb. Four years ago, when I came home early from a business trip and found him in bed with another woman. I did dump him then and managed to keep our relationship professional for the next two years, but eventually we found ourselves in bed again and then engaged. For some reason I was drawn to him like a moth is drawn to fire, no matter the consequences. I could never stay completely angry at him and eventually I always forgave him and his transgressions. Perhaps it was the fact that I did not date often. My life revolved around my work and hobbies. My circle of friends was slim. It did not help that I did not have a very trusting or forgiving nature and I could alienate people like no other. Except for Malcom. Lover or not, he was my best friend, after Jessica. He helped me get through the fear of the mundane world after I lost my powers, helped me establish my business, helped me mend my heart only then to capture it and show me love. And yet, through his actions he proved that he wasn’t in love with me, didn’t he? Something happened today. It felt like a spell shattered and for the first time ever I saw him for a cad he truly was. I did not understand it… Mal did not know magic… did he? And what was wrong with me to let him treat me like that?

The next few weeks were going to be the hell. With the competition, the media blitz I needed to play the perfect girlfriend. Some reporters already honed in on our relationship and spread the story that we were on our “pre–nuptial honeymoon.” How was I going to stomach acting like there was nothing wrong between us? And for that matter, why haven’t I blown up already? I shuddered.

The stranger cleared his throat and finally looked in his direction. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Demarion Virent. You’re Adara, right?”
I nodded, but my eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath then continued. “Jess’ brothers asked me to find you two. Sebastian got worried when neither of you picked up your phones. He mentioned that he sensed his sister’s pain and fury, but could not figure out what was wrong. I tracked you down here. When the bartenders reported on Jess’ behavior earlier tonight, I thought she was the injured party.”
The explanation made sense, but did not make me feel any better. “Sorry, I have never heard of you.”
“Yes, well, I’m not someone one would discuss at the table during dinner.”
“That’s not really reassuring, is it.”
He grinned. “No, I guess it isn’t. How should we resole this impasse then?”
“Do we need to resolve it?”
“If I am to get you two home, yes.”
“You’re in luck. I don’t have any intention of going anywhere for a very long while. And neither does Jess. So, if you could be so kind and let Sebastian know that we’re fine and will see him in the morning, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Ah. That could have worked any other night, but not tonight.” I raised my eyebrow and gave him a questioning look. “The club will be closing in half an hour for a druid ritual. Club members only.”

Ok, that was unexpected. I looked past him to the rest of the club. Sure enough I felt the ambiance deaden and the air thicken with anticipation. The music too was gone now and a number of dancers were heading for the door. Those who stayed were shooting nervous glances in our direction, but none approached. I did not expect this turn of events.

I started to panic. I was not interested in going anywhere with this man. But where the hell could I drag Jess’ dead weight at this hour? Hotel was not an option the stable would draw too much unwarranted attention. I could rent another place somewhere, but I did not have any idea of where I was. And sure enough, like Demarion noted neither of us had our phones on. I actually threw mine at Mal when he managed to tear his face away from the woman he was banging towards me; I missed the jerk and the phone shattered as it hit the wall behind him. Jessica on the other hand dropped her handbag in shock of what she saw. We bolted after that, trying to escape the pursuing naked Mal and a litany of apologies. I did not remember any numbers in the cell phone either. Technology… sometimes it makes you brainless.

“Freakn’ great.” Pinned to the corner I thoughtlessly raised the glass to my lips and downed the rest of the liquid.

“You have no idea what it is you are drinking, do you?” I raised my eyebrow at his question. As if on que an uncontrollable pain surged through my insides. My esophagus and stomach were on fire. Go away I thought hoping to hide my quickly growing discomfort. I was going to be sick. But he didn’t move. He just continued to watch me. Then, almost in a whisper, he added. “When the bartender told me you went through half of the bottle of “Incendia” already, I was surprised to see you still sitting here, alive.”

All right, that did it. I’m not sure whether it was the words or the prolonged burning in my throat and lack of breath, but what followed was an unstoppable cough and choking sensation and terror that I was truly going to die. My hands latched around my throat as I started gasping for breath. Anguish, confusion, pain filled my senses and red tears filled my eyes. I pierced him with a horrified glare and a plea for help.

In seconds he was next to me. I felt his chest pressed firmly to me. One of his hands wrapped firmly around my shoulders while the other settled on my forehead and pulled my head upwards. “Breathe, you need to breathe through this,” he whispered urgently. I fought hard for the control of my body and finally managed a tiny gasp. He pulled out a small box from his pocket, thumbed it open, placed it under my nose and made me take a whiff of its contents. With difficulty I managed to take in the vapor. The cooling sensation of something resembling vanilla filled my nostrils then spread through my insights and almost immediately my throat started relaxing. Just as it did, he smeared a tiny portion of the salve on my lips. I licked at it as he instructed. His soothing voice guided me through breathing as the ointment melted and coated my burned mouth and insights. He waived towards the bartender who immediately brought a bottle of sparkling water to our table. He diluted some of the ointment in the glass and guided it to my lips. Without a protest I downed it. I don’t think I ever tasted anything so wonderful.

The club was situated somewhere in the vicinity of Palais of Justice, in the recently unearthed catacombs used to house prisoners during the French Revolution. The building housing the club resembled any other nightly establishment in this part of town: beautiful and majestic from the outside, preserving the aura of the ancient times. Two goons loomed outside the wooden double doors screening the line of clientele dressed in a variety of period-influenced attire and the like. I was impressed with some of the Victorian pieces I spied in the line and wanted to examine them closer, but Jess skipped the line all together. With my hand clasped tightly in hers she pulled me to the front doors, whispered something to one of the guards who beamed a gorgeous smile in return and moved out of the way to let us in. We stepped through the double door entrance and followed the dark corridor down a wide staircase to the dimly lit cellar hall from which the music emanated.

The dimly lit hall we entered was large, about fifty feet wide by a hundred and sixty long. A similar corridor cut the room in the center at the axis, like a cross. Private dining booths converted from prison cells lined each wall of the club. At the center was a dance floor. A large dimly-lit chandelier hung high over it, bathing the seductively moving mass of dancers in a shimmering light. Numerous wall torches finished off the ambiance of the club. Eight bartenders busied themselves behind an enormous bar stocked with an amazing selection of alcoholic beverages. By the thick smell of black lickerish in the air, I was pretty sure that Abscenth was the main choice of poison for the night. The club, even at this size, was filled to the brim.

The abundance of power that reverberated from within was riveting. The air was thick with magic. It emanated from everywhere. Witches, druids, vampires, lupins, faes of some sort and even some other creatures I did not recognize took refuge in the darkened private dining-cells from which they could watch the assembly undisturbed. They hid well in this crowd made up mostly of Goth enthusiasts who came for the atmosphere, or to catch a taste of the paranormal they should have feared. Fear crept up my spine and bile formed in my throat as I watched these unsuspecting humans; I was not a stranger to the travesty that magic in the wrong hands could cause. But magic wasn’t the only thing to fear. There were also the creatures of the night. Not every Vampire registered with the International Magistracy of Vampires or followed the proscribed rules of feeding or turning. The Ministry of the Occult did not interfere unless turning turned into an all out killing spree. Even then Vamps were pussycats if you considered the breath of evil that loomed in the night. And why stop there. Demons, were not even bound to the night! If these humans prized their lives at all they’d avoid places like this. Noirciret Blanc was like a five star restaurant with an amazing dinner menu – live, ready and willing to be served.

Jessica was one of the true minorities in the crowd – a powerful witch even at her young age. Magic was strong in her family, and she was especially gifted. I, on the other hand, could sense, taste and recognize magic, but beyond that, nada. It wasn’t always like that. I too was born with the ability to wield the power and showed much promise right from the start. But the ability evaporated the day my parents died some ten years ago. The Guardian’s Guild did try to reverse my bound state. They tried all of their tricks: powerful spells, mind probes, crap that I’d rather not think about, but nothing worked. Jess never gave up though. At every turn she drew at her bottomless bag of optimism to keep me tied to this world of magic I was born into. Thanks to her I became an encyclopedia of useless spells, wards, and rituals without the ability to bring them to life. But it is one thing to know, another to wield. Hell, I could not even raise wards! Even humans dabbling in the occult who knew nothing of the hand of power could do that. Me? Nothing. The wards never kept, they just cracked like flies caught in a fly zapper then simply fizzled away. As to salt, ever the symbol of purity or a binding agent, in my hands was only good for cooking. Even J.K. Rowling’s in her Harry Potter books had a name for what I was, a “squib.” At least they could move through portals on their own.

Eventually, reluctantly I accepted that the path of magic was closed to me and moved on with my “mundane” existence, enjoying life and the simple pleasures it offered. I had a great career, my hobbies, was surrounded by people that loved me. I even had a studly fiancé…until a few hours ago. Coming to places like this constrains my soul every time. After all, I was born with power, was filled with it, wielded it; it was a part of my nature, a part of me. When I lost it, I lost a part of myself.

But here we were none the less. I watched the darkly attired crowd mesmerized. Noirciret Blanc was nothing like the Goth clubs I attended with Jess in San Fran. For one, I’ve not seen so many beautiful, spellbinding people in one place at one time, ever. Most women were garbed in Victorian-influenced couture, hair styles to match. Men by their side wore similar period-style garments. Most were in their twenties. A decade older and certainly not dressed to kill, I stood out like a sore thumb. The crowd on the dance floor moved sensuously to an arousing beat of primarily Goth-ish Euro techno – renaissance mix, some in Latin and other languages that I did not recognize. I recognized some Delerium and Lesiem, but most of the repertoire was too dark and loud for my taste. Where tastes were a topic again, I was in the minority. This was definitely an “in crowd”, and we most certainly were the outsiders. They all gawked at us and our little dark corner examining, probing. We invaded their sanctuary. Jess at least was somewhat accepted. Her reputation preceded her and her magic was recognized where ever she went. Those who wielded power knew she mattered, who she was and left her alone. And, she looked the part; she always looked amazing, styled in exquisite designer attire. But the crowd surveyed me with what boarded on disgust. I did not explode with magic like she did and considering I was still garbed in my equestrian attire, dirty and smelling rather strongly of my horse and manure, I was something revolting to behold.

Of all the places to pick, why did she drag me here? ‘Cause for just a second I was persuaded I wanted blood and Jess thought this would be a perfect place to get it… After all, humans are so easy to manipulate when you dangle a carrot of power in their face.

And so here we were getting plastered and disturbing the atmosphere of the French spiritual underground thinking up ways we could repay pain with pain. Except that with every drink my anger subsided; which pissed off Jessica to no end. She was totally drunk now, actually first time I’ve seen her in this condition. She never let herself lose control like this. That’s what made going out with her so fun. She knew how far to push it, but never would go beyond. This time she was gone.

She cursed loudly in French, English, or Latin the whole of male race. At least she did not cast. Her tantrums, however human, did not sit well with the establishment. It took some courage, but the manager finally did approach our table and asked us to leave. First time Jess just waved him away. The second time he approached she just pierced him with a look. She must have probed him because the red color drained from his face. Few words into his sentence he gave up all together and he left. Jess would not budge. I did not either, I couldn’t without her. We needed some time to console ourselves, to think or to wallow in our own distaste for the world and people we considered friends. Based on the clientele of Noirciret Blanc, the place wasn’t going to close up for the night, so it provided the sanctuary we sought. That is if Jessica’s prickliness did not get us kicked out.

“Men suck” Jessica yelled again and hiccupped. “Bastards, they’re all firkin’ bastards” Her mascara blackened most of her face and she looked horrible. I actually felt worse for her than myself at this moment. The silly git was taking the whole situation so much worse than I. Then again, I had practice in getting my heart broken and she, the ever fervent romantic, could not believe that shit like that happened to friends of hers, especially me. I’m a pretty private person to a large degree even a recluse so she did not realize the emotional baggage I was holding onto until she faced it herself. I smirked and shook my head. Poor gal. Welcome to my fucked up world.

Jess sat down to the table again and poured herself another glass alcohol. I wanted to put her under so bad. I needed some time to think and her loud and obnoxious attitude really was beginning to piss me off. And then of course there was this club she dragged us into. The cold daggers I felt cast in our direction were beginning to make me feel really uncomfortable. The unwanted attention was really making me cringe.

I lifted my glass taking another sip of whatever she poured. It tasted hot and spicy. Jessica brought it after her last turn with the bartender. He cut her off already but when he wasn’t looking she grabbed two bottles closest to her and smuggled them to the table. I wish I knew what she obtained before taking that first swig. I almost choked as the burning, vile liquid as it swept down my windpipe. I truly believe that my ears actually rose in temperature by about 5 degrees and some of the nerve ending in my pupils must have shriveled up and died when the hot tears filled my eyes. But, I liked spicy things and the taste improved with each following sip I took. Now I was simply drinking it because the hot liquid actually kept me awake rather than getting me drunk and staying awake was what I intended to do.

Her drink? Vodka. “Damn light weight finish your drink and pass out,” I thought, still embarrassed by her earlier outbursts. As if on command, she smiled, raised her glass, gulped down the rest of was left in her shooter and promptly hit her head on the table. I sighed in relief. “Finally.”