Chapter 29
Rylee
“Remember when Kal told you that you may not always like what you see?” Jax asks me an hour later as we linger on the darkened road outside the southern portion of the Obsidian City.
“Yes,” I say. “And you all made me a Legend anyway.”
“We’re not just being Legends tonight,” he counters.
“This is something I’d normally do on my own.
Even the guys understood that.” He stares down the road.
“The person I am in these establishments . . .” He places a hand on the seat of the velomage we stand next to, returning focus to me. “The Legend I am.”
“The Nightmare,” I say in understanding.
“You’ve only heard stories.”
“I’ve seen you in action a time or two,” I counter. “I’m not afraid of the Nightmare,” I say, stepping closer. “Or you. I love every part of you, Jax. The sharp pieces, the dark ones, the ones you never show anyone but me.”
“And if I have to treat you as the Nightmare would?”
“You know how much I love to play games,” I say, smiling up at him. “Do you think something like that could sway me from you?” I focus inward, on his power, on the way it’s free and circling around our bond. Content. I push my unflinching love down the bond, and he trembles when he feels it.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says under his breath.
And I hate how much he believes that.
“We deserve each other,” I say. “I’m not perfect, either. I’ve done things I’m not proud of . . .” My voice trails off, the image of destroyed Faders, bloody bits along royal roads, flashing in my eyes. Guilt threatens to swallow me whole. And the fear that follows chills my bones.
That was a mistake. A slipup. An instinctive reaction to a threat to my mates. I had no control. They were a threat, sure, but what if they hadn’t been? What if someone innocent had been caught in the fire? What if—
“You need to follow my lead in there,” he says, drawing my attention.
“I understand.”
“The way I have to act.” He struggles again. “I might have to speak to you like I did before. The people who frequent these kinds of places, the contacts here, they only know one version of me. They only respond and offer information to one version of me.”
“I got it,” I say with a shrug. “I can be your little liar again.” Can be the subject of such contempt from him again. Only this time, I know what’s on the other side of it. Know where it comes from.
He smooths his hand gently over my throat, his thumb stroking the center. “Okay,” he says. “Are you ready?”
I nod, and we remount the velomage, driving the short distance to the club. He pauses outside the entrance of the nondescript building, waiting for me to hop off. I do, examining the exterior as he heads off to park.
The building is smashed between two others, this one sitting lower, only two stories, where the others are at least five higher.
It looks lopsided despite being made of the slick black rock that dominates the Obsidian City.
There are small, faded carvings all along the solid exteriors—patterns of shapes and swirls that are almost completely worn away.
I check for a sign, for a name for the place, but there’s only a small symbol over the lone steel door: thick lines creating what looks like a jagged R with two lines striking off the back of it.
Jax explained before we came that there are a few of these in every city, even the lower ones.
Drogueden is the common name, a place where royal law is ignored, experimentation is encouraged, and enhancements flow as freely as whiskey in the legal nightclubs like Lust.
I’ve heard of them before but never dared venture into one. I’d seen the consequences of some of the stronger enhancements too many times to take such a risk.
A guard sits atop a stool near the door, his eyes focused on a book illuminated by a lone sconce over his shoulder.
“You’re lost,” he says without looking up from his book. “Lust is on the north end.”
I tilt my head. “What makes you think I want to go to Lust?”
The guard draws his gaze from his book, looking me up and down. His eyes linger over my black attire—tight black pants shoved into sturdy black boots, a sheer black top revealing the dark-green lace covering me beneath. “You look like a Lust girl.”
I laugh. He’s not wrong.
“I’m the Lust girl,” I say, stepping closer to him. He’s twice my size and intimidating enough, but his primary emotion is boredom. “But I’m not lost.”
“The only way you can come in here is if you accept the terms.”
“And those are?”
He pulls a card from a shirt pocket and hands it to me.
I read it aloud. “‘By accepting this card and passing through these doors, you’re agreeing that this establishment can’t be held responsible for any visions, hallucinations, or lost time you may experience while present, including but not limited to any losses or injuries experienced herein.’”
The terms remind me of another magically binding contract I accepted not long ago.
“It’s no joke,” the guard says. “It’s Occuli bound.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I didn’t realize Occuli could be contracted for this sort of magic.”
The guard looks surprised, and once again, I feel ridiculous for how buried I kept my head for so damn long. Of course Occuli can be bought. Just like anyone in need of money.
“I hope your book isn’t as dry as this contract,” I say, lightening the exchange.
He laughs, glancing down at it. “It isn’t. Now, are you going to accept the terms or head back to Lust where you belong—”
“She’s with me.” Jax’s voice cuts over the guard’s, and it’s a marvel to watch how quickly the casual mood shifts.
“Your highness,” he says, immediately standing and bowing while placing his book on the stool behind him.
He hurries to pull the door open for us as Jax stands next to me, hands in his jacket pockets, his harness with knives on either side peeking through, looking ever the picture of the Nightmare.
“Should I tell Caro to clear out your usual booth? I saw earlier that someone had rented it.”
“No need,” Jax says, his tone icy. “I’ll be joining that person.”
“And . . . her?” The guard studies me.
Jax narrows his eyes, a predatory move. “She accepts the terms.” He looks down at me. “Don’t you?”
Shivers dance down my spine. “Yes.”
The guard bows deeply, waiting for us to head inside.
We do, and the door closes immediately behind us.
The smell hits me first—a sharp, almost medicinal scent mixed with earth, herbs, and alcohol.
It’s overwhelming and tickles the back of my throat.
Music thrums, slow and hypnotic, from a source I can’t pinpoint.
There’s no stage here, but some people are dancing near the bar.
Everything is bathed in silver from the iron candelabras with silver flames hanging from the low ceiling.
Even the small bar seems to glow with the otherworldly light.
“Occuli?” I ask Jax.
He nods. “Not all of them live to serve the kings,” he explains. “Some, like the ones who build and power our velomages, like to dabble in creation for a cost.” He motions to the silver flames, then motions to the room as a whole. “The music is demi-powered.”
I nod, doing my best to breathe as this new world I’m adjusting to keeps growing. I knew the kings forced most known demis to work for them throughout the cities, using their unique powers for any tasks or desires they required, but seeing it happening feels heavy.
“And those?” I ask, nodding to the random private rooms with leather couches and chairs lining the left side of the space.
Each one is sectioned off and framed with thick velvet curtains that offer privacy if closed.
Some are open, the people inside not a bit concerned with the fact that we can see into the room, watching them inhaling or sniffing whatever enhancement they’ve bought tonight.
“They’re for aesthetics,” Jax says, and I can’t help but huff a laugh.
Now the strange, overpowering smell makes sense.
There are any number of enhancements floating in the air here.
It’s a marvel I don’t feel the effects from simply breathing.
It makes sense that Jax would meet his contact here.
This is a semi-safe, controlled environment to buy and use the stuff.
Naturally, a new supplier would be here, or someone who knows of a new supplier, because the customer base is active and willing to pay.
But the enhancements that are legal here aren’t hurting anyone. The new one? It’s killing people.
Two men exit a booth and walk by us with metal contraptions in their hands that look like silver straws. One brings the thing to his lips, then shortly blows out a dark, blue smoke. His eyes glaze over as he passes us, and Jax guides me forward and toward the bar.
“Your highness,” the female bartender says as we reach it.
“I didn’t expect you tonight.” She effortlessly slides tumblers of whiskey or small packets with colorful powders to the other patrons while doing her best not to make eye contact with Jax.
Fear and respect ripple off her, fear being the dominant emotion.
“Caro,” he says with familiarity. “He’s already in my booth?”
Caro nods toward a private section in the corner. The number one is emblazoned in silver on the black velvet curtains, which are closed. It’s only then that I notice all the booths are numbered.
“What do the numbers mean?” I ask.
“Tracking,” Caro answers me. “I have to know who goes where and with what, or it’s chaos.” She offers me a timid smile, then dips her head to Jax. “You looking for something in particular tonight for the two of you, your highness?”
He smiles at her—the Nightmare’s smile. “I’ll take the purple tonight,” he says. “Need something to entertain us while talking to him.”
“Atlas is a real piece of work,” she says, reaching behind the bar. She slides two small packets of purple powder toward Jax.
“Caused trouble already?” Jax asks. “It’s so early.”