Chapter 23
Bad Witches’ Club
Eloise
Ishould have asked Maeve for her key to Bad Witches’ Club before she and Ren left on their honeymoon.
I’ve never been here without a supernatural chaperone—and never when I wasn’t human.
I don’t even know how Damien and Maeve got their keys.
Do you pay a membership fee? Are you issued one by your coven?
In any case, I realize the key is important as I arrive in the unlit parking lot of the club that, to me, looks like a nondescript warehouse from the outside.
The door to the place is locked, and unlike Damien, I don’t have enough control to shadow my way through it.
I resort to pounding on the door and screaming Morpheus’s name.
It doesn’t take long for a scrawny redheaded man to open it for me.
The foyer beyond him is just as I remember, an empty room with a single bare bulb swinging from the ceiling.
The man adjusts his round glasses on his freckled nose, looking every bit the part of an irritated librarian.
His shoulders hunch, as if he’s spent too much time over a book today.
“Shh.” He places a finger over his lips. “Can I help you with something?”
“I need to see Morpheus.”
The man’s eyes shift left then right, his nostrils flaring. A brief look of confusion tightens the corners of his eyes. “There’s no one here by that name, miss. This warehouse isn’t even in use yet. You have the wrong place.”
“Look, just tell Morpheus that Diana Harcourt’s daughter is here to see him.”
The man scowls. “I said, you have the wrong address. Move along.”
He begins to close the door, but my hand shoots out and stops it. His nostrils flare again, his notice of my speed and strength causing those brown eyes of his to squint. “Do you have a key?” he murmurs, so low that a human would never be able to hear it.
“No.”
“Send in your application with payment, and your key will be mailed to you if you’re approved.”
“No time for that, unfortunately.” I shove past him and dart through the fake back wall before he can utter another syllable.
The steady thump of reggaeton reaches my ears, and then my mother’s mural of the dark queen, her head tipped back in a dramatic laugh, comes into view.
The mural is surrounded by purple smoke, just as I remember.
I intend to head for the dance floor and Morpheus’s office beyond, but I find my coat cutting painfully under my arms and my feet bicycling through the open air before I can take another step.
Peeking over my shoulder, I see the redhead has caught up with me.
He’s no scrawny librarian anymore. This man, while sharing the freckles and glasses of the one who greeted me, is an ogre of a beast, at least three feet taller than I am, and holding me off the floor by the back of my jacket.
I struggle and kick, but neither his grip nor his muscled hold gives. “Put me down! I need to speak to Morpheus. Goddess, damn it!”
He plods back toward the wall. He’s going to throw me out! Unacceptable.
Smack. I hit the floor as if he’s dropped me, but by his growl, I suspect I shadowed through his fingers.
Shit! Why is it I can always do it when I need to, but not when I want to?
The cool slither of the shadows inside me remains, and I try to hold them, try with all my intention to shadoweave to Morpheus’s office, but the sensation proves fleeting.
All I manage is to scramble to my feet and dodge his lumbering grasp.
By this time, my screams have invited spectators. A half ring of vampires has formed in the entrance to Bad Witches’ Club, and their murmurs and laughter seem to enrage the ogre. He charges toward me again.
“Never mind, Grog. I’m here,” Morpheus says, the scar on his face more pronounced with his scowl. Then again, the shade is almost always scowling.
I smooth the wrinkles from my jacket. “It’s about time. Goddess, did you ever consider a receptionist? An intercom system?”
He sighs. “My office, Eloise. Now.”
“Gladly.” I stride to his side.
His nostrils flare the moment I’m within smelling distance. “You’re a shade,” he says, although it sounds as much like a question as a statement.
“We have a lot to catch up on.”
He glances at the audience we’ve attracted, and his frown grows more pronounced. “Mind your own business, or I’ll strip you all of your keys.”
The crowd disperses as if he dropped a stink bomb.
A moment later, I’m sinking into one of two chairs across the desk from him in his office.
I’m again struck by how much the decor in here reminds me of a local bank.
I feel like I’m about to ask for a personal loan rather than an army of men.
It throws me off, and I try to remember the speech I’d prepared to win him to our side.
“Rumor has it you were made vampire during your confrontation with Valeska. Can you explain to me how it is you are now a shade? I didn’t think it was possible.”
“I descended to the Darklands and faced off with Thanesia. She granted me a beating heart as a reward for successfully walking the shadowpath to her door.”
Morpheus tips his head skeptically. “If you didn’t want to tell me, Eloise, you could just say so.”
“Magic. It was dark magic.”
He nods as if that is an acceptable explanation. Never mind that it’s a complete lie.
“Congratulations, by the way, on vanquishing Valeska and saving your mate. I have to admit, my money was on Valeska, but it was a bet I was happy to lose.”
“That’s a favor that would be easy for you to repay,” I say, hoping this conversation goes the way of my last.
“A favor to whom?” he asks, clearly not taking the bait. “You faced those trials of your own free will and won back your mate. I owe you no favors.”
Shit. The hard way, then. “Nevertheless, I need a favor from you now. From your whole triune.”
He groans. “Why do I think I’m not going to like what you have to say? Why are you here without Damien?”
“Something terrible has happened to Stygarde,” I start.
I go on to tell him about Brahm and Nevina and about how his own mother and father, Tempest and Thane, are leading the resistance.
I make sure to point out the theft and drugging of the kingdom’s children, and end with Damien’s plans to take back the throne.
“We’re close, Morpheus, but we need more warriors.
Without more men, Brahm’s soldiers outnumber ours.
And unlike us, who value every soldier, Brahm is prepared to force his people to slaughter their own loved ones to stay in power. ”
If I thought his expression was sour before, the look he gives me now is positively infuriated. “That fucking menace. How dare he pollute the Hymir line with a dark elf whore?”
“Then will you help us? I have the magic to bring you and however many men you can spare through a portal to Tenebris to fight.”
He rubs two fingers along his temple. “I understand why you asked me, Eloise, and you must know that I long to help. It has been centuries since I’ve seen my mother and father, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to them.
If the elves have a stronghold in Stygarde, things are bad, indeed. ”
“You won’t regret helping us. You can change the outcome of this war,” I promise.
But he shakes his head. “I can’t help you.”
“What? Why? You just said—”
“When I accepted the triune bond, I agreed to put the lives of the witch and shifter I’m bound to above all others.
My triune is my family now, and as Tenebris is another world and what happens there does not directly threaten our territory or position, asking them to endanger themselves for me would be illogical and foolhardy.
Going alone and putting myself at risk threatens the triune.
I am magically bound to put them first, Eloise. Always. My answer is no.”
My blood heats. I can’t keep the tremble of fury from my voice as I say, “You’d let your parents die to spare having to ask your precious triune for a favor?”
“It’s not a favor. It’s a potential death sentence.”
“How? You’re immune to the effects of sunlight, and so are they. The dark elves are less a threat to you three than any soldier.”
He grits his teeth. “We have vulnerabilities. Our natural lives are protected, true, but we aren’t invincible. This isn’t our fight. Tenebris is no longer my world.”
I stand, knocking over my chair, and lean across the desk until I’m right in his face. “And how about Damien? Is he still your friend? You’d let him get massacred to spare your own hide?”
“Careful, Eloise. No one attacks me in my own house. You are very close to crossing a line.”
I look down and realize I’ve gripped my dagger. I slide it back into its sheath. “Ask them, Morpheus. That’s all I want from you. Just ask the triune if they’ll help us. Offer them a future favor. Surely having a pair of shades at your disposal is worth something.”
“The answer is no,” he says flatly, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Then send some of your men! That ogre guarding the door could fight.”
“I run a bar, not a kingdom. I have bouncers, not an army.” This time, his eyes do meet mine, and his expression is tired, ancient. “The answer is no. Tell Damien I’m sorry.”
I flip him my middle finger. “Tell him yourself.”
I fly through the door and back into the thumping music of the club, my heart pounding with resentment. But before I reach the exit, a hand lands on my shoulder. Morpheus. He hands me a gold key. “I can’t help you on Tenebris, but if you decide to flee, to return here, you’re welcome in this club.”
I close my fingers around the cold metal. “Wonderful, Morpheus. I’m sure Damien will want to come dancing after he watches everyone he loves get slaughtered.”
His eyelids flare, and I swear I see some real emotion pass through his expression, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Goodbye, Miss Harcourt.”
“Mrs. Hymir,” I correct. “Damien and I were wed by the witches of Dimhollow months ago. You’re speaking to your rightful queen.”
He bares his teeth in surprise and then makes a show of an exaggerated bow. I head for the door, the key biting into my palm.