Chapter 1
Chapter One
Hunter on seeing the future and still being late
I was late for work. Again. Pinkie’s Bar didn’t open until noon, but I’d told Abraham I’d be in early to help set up. For a guy who could see a few minutes into the future, I was late more often than not. A fact my boss pointed out at every opportunity.
I’m not exactly a clairvoyant—some mystic in a turban who sees everyone’s distant future—that’s not me. I’m more of a discount off-brand clairvoyant like a street magician in Vegas or a sketchy dude playing three-card monte in New York.
I could see the futures of those near me and only the next few minutes of their lives. Not to mention my quirky gift caused frequent space outs, giving the impression that I was either high or stupid. Neither was true.
My particular brand of precognitive ability could be lucrative at the races or helpful in rush hour traffic, but it’s never helped me get out of the house on time.
I hustled through the back door into Pinkie’s, slipping by Abraham’s tiny office and into the mostly empty bar.
Even though we weren’t officially open yet, the sisters sat in their usual booth in the corner, Bloody Marys in front of them.
The three women of a certain age, hair colors ranging from silver to red to blue highlights, chatted amiably.
I gave them a quick wave on my way to stow my stuff behind the bar.
“Where you been, Hunter?” Blue asked.
The sisters were an exception to the rules.
Their unique brand of witchy magic had saved the bar and its patrons several times, so they could basically sleep here if they wanted.
Pinkies was the only arcane bar in the area and sported a portal in the basement, so it often needed all the magical help it could get.
“Hunter,” Abe called. “Get in here.”
I poked my head in, my excuse forming in my brain. “Yeah, Boss?”
“There’s a thing at the Fulbright. I gotta go. I need you to handle the bar.”
“We’re not even open.”
“Then handle the Bloody Marys.” Abraham used his name for our current customers. “They were here all night helping ward the place.”
“You got it.”
Abraham was a big man, six four, at least, with broad shoulders and a boxer’s physique.
Built more like a bouncer than an affable bartender, he was known for his generous pours and sympathetic ear.
At the moment, he was all business, and I was tempted to ask what was going on. Instead, I stood aside to let him pass.
His true form out-bullied his human intimidation factor by a mile.
When needed, or sometimes just when he felt like it, Abraham Puck shifted into a lethal creature, catlike and complete with a barbed tail and claws.
A Lyncus, an ancient rarity who could shred an enemy faster than a rotary cheese grater.
“What’s up at the Fulbright?” I found my voice as he grabbed his jacket.
“Just wolves in a tizzy. I’ll be back soon.” I heard the back door slam as he left.
I checked out the long grill area, empty at the moment.
Then opening the door to the basement, I listened at the top of the stairs.
No stirrings or ominous whoosh sounds that said the portal was active.
Relieved there wasn’t some threat coming through the green orb of death, I closed the door and made my way to the main bar area.
I’d brought freshly made Bloodies to the booth when a vision hit me. Staring at the wall without seeing it, I felt my breath grow shallow and everything went black.
Blinking the fog away, I was immersed in choking thick white dust. My surroundings changed from the bar to falling plaster and brick.
Hearing boards creak and break under my feet, I crashed to the floor.
Reaching out, I saw my hand covered in white powder—chalk or plaster dust. Except it wasn’t my pale hand, it was Abraham’s dark-skinned one.
His voice rumbled out from under the mountain of debris.
I blinked and found myself sitting on the bar floor beside the booth. Shaken, I rose and dusted myself off, though I was perfectly clean. It was Abraham who’d been covered in debris.
“Bad one, dear?” Silver asked, concern shining in her green eyes. I nodded and pulled my phone from my back pocket, pressing Abe’s contact number. I stayed at the table while it rang. Getting his voicemail, I hung up.
“I gotta go. Can you guys watch the bar for a few?” I asked them.
“Of course.” Blue nudged the redhead. “Nancy, you’re in charge of the till. I’ll man the taps.” Two of the women shuffled out of the booth seat.
The silver-haired woman stayed put, a smirk ticking at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll watch your drinks for you.” Blue gave her friend a look before sliding her newly refilled cocktail across the table. She took it with her to the bar.
I grabbed my keys from behind the bar and ran to my car, hoping I was quick enough.
I used my future seeing to navigate around the heavy traffic. I cut through an alley and parked around the corner of the hotel. I hit the front entrance at a run. Yanking on the heavy glass door, I hurled myself into the lobby.
Like Pinkie’s, the Hotel Fulbright was a haven for those beings we called others—folks with characteristics like Abraham, humanlike but definitely not. The wormhole portal at Pinkie’s was the draw for the supernatural. No one knew why the creatures flocked to the Fulbright.
In fact, most Philadelphians had no idea of the other beings who lived in the city. Those that did know kept a wary eye.
I halted midway into the musty-smelling lobby.
The small space had been updated from its original Jazz Age decor to post-World War II kitsch.
Worn velvet couches settled heavily onto the faded paisley carpeting.
Dusty wall sconces cast their feeble light upward to reveal the cracked crown molding and a stained ceiling.
The total effect was American Horror Story chic.
I pulled my attention to the clerk behind the counter. He wore a white button-up that had yellowed with age, topped by a crooked bow tie. He put his newspaper down and blinked at us expectantly.
“Welcome to the Fulbright.”
I ignored the greeting and asked, “Tall guy came in. Black, bald, scary-looking. Where did he go?”
The clerk’s tie bobbed, his brow furrowing in confusion. “How may I be of service?”
“Where?” I growled at him. Was this guy for real? Blinking his pale watery eyes, the clerk pointed to the elevator.
“Third floor.”
Forgoing the ancient elevator, I ran up the wide central staircase, yelling Abraham’s name. On the third floor, the big man appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning at me. “What are you doing here?”
An explosion rocked the building before I could answer.
My vision came to reality. Dust, plaster, and Lyncus tumbled down the stairs.
Abraham rolled, grabbing onto me to keep from falling the rest of the way down.
We both fell but not far. Abraham’s tail curled around a banister to help right himself, his eyes glinting with his particular golden hue.
“Vision?” he asked.
I nodded. After assuring me that he was okay, Abraham shifted to his human form and dusted himself off. He led me back up to the third floor.
The dust clogged the air and stung my eyes. I stumbled on the ripped carpeting until Abraham grasped my elbow. The hallway was mostly intact, with two gaping holes where room doors had been.
Scrambling out of the nearest hole in the wall, two dust-covered young men half fell toward us. They righted themselves rather gleefully, coughing and sputtering.
“Holy shit, that was lit.” The taller one croaked, turning to his friend. “We shouldn’t have put the pie in the microwave. But awesome fireworks.”
I frowned at them. “This was a microwave mishap?” That didn’t sound right. My eyes narrowed as I waved away the plaster dust. “Are you high? You could have killed someone.”
“Sorry.” The second kid, looking no older than twenty, tripped into his friend as they stumbled away, both of them laughing as they picked their way through the rubble.
I suddenly felt like an old man, cursing at young whippersnappers. I was thirty-two. I shouldn’t even know what a whippersnapper was. Truthfully, I didn’t, but the grandpa in me had heard the term.
Abe and I stepped over debris to peer through the smoke at an opening where a door once was.
Inside, the adjoining wall between rooms was gone, its open studs jutting up from the floor like teeth.
Water hissed from a busted sink faucet in the gaping bathroom.
Wind whistled through the missing window frame, pulling the flaming drapes into the room.
I ripped them down and stamped out the fire.
The bed was askew and loaded with insulation and plaster.
Abraham rushed to the spewing sink and shut the valve off under it.
A moan sounded from a pile of debris in the corner. Abraham lifted some of the bigger pieces of plaster while I pulled an elderly man out from underneath.
Old and frail, the man’s face was covered in plaster dust and scratches, his thin shoulders hunched over as he sat up, coughing violently. Finally settling, he looked up at us and muttered something unintelligible.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
In between coughing fits, he spoke a language I was unfamiliar with.
Not that I’m a linguist or anything, but I could tell Spanish from French or Chinese.
This was none of those. He was okay but moved slowly, working his knees one at a time.
Bald except for a few strands of chalk-covered hair, he had bushy white eyebrows overlooking unusually alert eyes.
The guy’s complexion had the lines and color of an ancient treasure map, and his lips caved inward in his toothless mouth.
Abraham answered him, speaking hesitantly but speeding up as the guy seemed to understand. I supposed when you lived as long as Abe did, you learned a few ancient languages. The old guy allowed us to help him out of the wrecked room.
I had called 911, and the paramedics met us at the top of the stairs with a gurney.
Leaving the man in expert hands, we checked the rest of the floor.
The damage was contained to the two rooms and hallway.
This being the middle of the day, there were only a few folks who’d come out to investigate the noise.
With nothing else on fire and no one else in danger, we regrouped back down in the lobby.
Seeing the fire and police had arrived, the long-term unusual residents scattered quickly, and it was just us and the cops.
Abraham settled on one ratty couch. I took a club chair across from him.
After assuring the cops we were all okay, I gave descriptions of the two idiots who caused the explosion.
After getting our contact information, the police moved upstairs to have a look around.
I’d found a small bar tucked off to the side of the lobby and they had an ancient coffee machine. More investigators arrived. Each time, the stupid desk clerk called out his welcome as though they were guests.
We sat quietly in the lobby, letting EMS do their thing. After wiping his face and hands of plaster dust, Abraham sipped his coffee.
“What about the two yahoos who started this?” he asked.
“Whippersnappers,” I said. And then at Abe’s look. “Never mind. I think the clerk had their names and copies of their IDs for the cops.” I tilted my head at Abraham. “What language was the old guy speaking?”
His shoulders rose. “Aramaic, I think. I answered him in Greek, and he seemed to understand.”
“And why were you here?”
“An errand for the gatekeeper. He said something was here that needed protection.”
I sat back onto the scratchy material of a club chair.
The gatekeeper was only slightly friendlier than Attila the Hun, so I avoided him as much as possible, but he knew his shit. If he was concerned, then there was definitely something going on here.
“I got halfway down the hall when I heard you hollering,” Abraham explained. “So I backtracked to the stairs.” He turned to me. “Could have called.”
“I did. It went to voicemail.”
Abraham pulled out his phone and frowned at it.
“Huh. That’s weird. The signal must be iffy here. By the way, who is watching my bar?”
I swallowed. “Uh. The day drinkers.”
“God help me. The sisters? I’ll have to buy more top-shelf vodka and whiskey now. Thanks, Hunter.”
“You didn’t answer your phone!”
“Well, the old guy’s at the at the hospital. He’s their problem now. Let’s head back before Silver drinks me out of business.”