Chapter 28 Carwynn #2
Breena, at least, had taken mercy on us by summoning one to take us into the city, rather than a blister-filled walk.
She’d shoved me into these ridiculous, glittery-gold heels.
I warned her they’d end up in some dumpster at the first sign of torn skin.
Her only response was a whispered incantation over them, assuring me they wouldn’t.
Doubtful.
Aine exited the carriage first, scrunching her face in disgust.
“The Graveyard?” she asked, personally offended. “That’s where we’re going? Ugh. Why do I get the feeling this is the kind of place only sad lonely men patron.”
My eyes tracked her line of sight.
The bar was made of black stone, standing out like the decrepit haunted house on the block. It seemed almost gimmicky, like an over-the-top discount version of a Halloween funhouse, complete with a cheesy tombstone-shaped sign dangling over the doorway.
THE GRAVEYARD
“Come Bury a Bone”
I blinked.
“How . . . charming.” I involuntarily cringed.
There was an inebriated, withered-faced man leaning against the wall that may have been holding up his life. Mouth agape, he gawked at Aine, slowly readjusting his crotch with one hand.
Aine dramatically dry-heaved.
“Wowwww.” Aine’s sarcasm was as dark as the building. “Is this a brothel? Did they really mean to say, ‘Cum bury your bone?’”
I found the situation appalling, yet hysterical. It was hard to hold back the nervous laughing fit that was swelling behind my ribs.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but I asked anyway, “Breena, seriously though . . . is it? A brothel?”
Breena giggled and linked her arm through mine. She opened her mouth to answer but a voice cut her off.
“Pffft. A brothel? Nahhhh.” A drunk disheveled man popped up behind us, slurring. “Technically, they call it selective companionship.” He stumbled away, flailing a hand. “Enjoy, lasses!”
“K, bye.” My wave was a dying fish’s last flap, more to shoo the man away than bid him farewell.
Aine’s head dramatically whipped towards Breena, horrified.
“My gods! That’s worse! This is all so much worse than I expected!”
“Oh, stop!” Breena rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fun! Look, we’ll go somewhere else if it sucks after two drinks.”
“What did you expect, Aine?” My eyes shuddered as I witnessed the crotch-tugger wink in her direction.
Aine frowned. “At the bare minimum, I expected dignity. And yet, here we are.”
“So . . .” I nodded my head toward winky-man. “Is the potion making you feel anything when you look at him?” I held the laugh in as hard as I could, but it came out a snort.
Breena howled, dark hair tousling as she keeled over.
“I hate ya. I hate all of ya.” Aine let out a slow suffering breath. “If I don’t drink something in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to commit murder.”
The city was bustling with lively evening chatter and had the prickle of magic stirring in the air. A club just down the street already had a huge line of people out the door. Every time the bass in the music dropped, it rattled the cobblestone beneath my feet.
Tight. God, the dress was so goddamn tight. Breena’s choice, of course. The black lace pixie dress was dishonorably short. The second these gold heels betrayed me, I’d be exposed. My legs and hips were not built for this.
Aine eyed me. “Do you have to readjust your dress every three seconds?”
“Easy for you to say, you didn’t have Breena personally dress you for a brothel!” I glared at Breena. “If my boobs fall out, I’ll find a spirit to haunt you.”
She laughed, pulling me toward the door. “Your tits look phenomenal! Now let’s go get a drink. The sooner you two get drunk, the sooner the complaining stops.”
Aine huffed. “Breena buys first round.”
When the thick wooden door opened, static shot through me like the charge of a storm mixed with the creepy-crawling feeling of walking through cobwebs. I smacked the back of my neck and checked my arms. I loathed spiders.
Something was off.
It really was a cheap funhouse. The hallway was dark, too dark, as if it were a blackhole sucking up the light. At the end of it, an ominous hulking figure stood unmoving through the shadows.
I steeled myself, letting Breena lead the way. Her personality alone would be a torch in the dark.
The deeper we went, the stronger the uneasy feeling grew. Like eyes watching from all angles, as if the building itself was sentient.
Was that even possible?
The bouncer didn’t speak, just subtly nodded once, pulling back a heavy plum curtain.
I exhaled and took a step through.
Aine’s eyes scanned the room with immediate judgment, expression partially bored.
“Oh look, wall-to-wall leather. Nothing says class like furniture designed for easier cleanup.”
An involuntary snort escaped me again. I was unsure if she meant blood or bodily fluids.
Although the aesthetic was deeply Hallow Land, the club was surprisingly luxurious, opulence wrapped in darkness.
Definitely not the dim candle-lit, mildewy crypt vibes I was expecting.
Velvet plum sashes cascaded down from the ceiling, draping like banners.
Onyx and silver checkerboard floor glinted beneath the shifting neon lights, mirroring the movement of bodies above.
Center stage, a massive glassy black stone bar.
Its smooth surface reflected the soft glow of the orb-lit chandeliers overhead.
What really made me pause—the coffins. They were staggered equidistant along the wall, standing upright.
The carved stone surfaces were etched with neon-green veins of glowing magic.
Green light pulsated with the bass, the rhythm of a slow heartbeat thudding.
Inside, dancers moved perfectly in sync to the music, sensually and hypnotic.
Their silhouettes bent and curved like a river current trickling over stones, but their eyes were glazed over in a sinful haze, lost to the song, or lost to something else . . .
It made me wonder how much of a presence Lochlainn and Pogue’s drugs had here. I’d heard whispers among students about Arcadia Leaf being the ultimate ecstasy enhancer. But drugs like that had consequences. Always.
My fingers brushed the gold lace on my neck absentmindedly as I studied the dead-eyed entertainers.
Breena’s voice was filled with intrigue.
“If I get murdered tonight, just bury me in one of those.” She pointed to the nearest coffin-dance-box like it was a luxury car she wanted to take a spin in.
Aine scoffed and crossed her arms. “I think I’ll just prop ya up outside with ball-scratcher so he can play necromancer for a while.”
Breena gasped, scolding her with a look. “Ya wouldn’t dare!”
Aine smirked. “Wanna bet?”
The music thrummed, vibrating through my chest. My shoulders swayed naturally to the catchy beat.
And then, a pull, so hard it stole a gasp from me.
It was far from the tug of my inkling. No, this was something deeper, hungrier, primal. It gnawed at my insides.
What the hell was that?
It felt like an invisible chain hooked around my chest, coiling, dragging me forward. The relentless ache spread to the pit of my stomach, among slightly lower places. It was a craving I needed to satisfy. Right . . . now . . .
I hadn’t even realized, but my fingers started to rub at my chest, an attempt to sooth the ache. Luckily Breena’s voice snapped me out of the daze.
“Carwynn, you all right? Ya look like you’re going to hurl.”
I staggered, slightly out of breath.
“I—I don’t know.” My heart raced. I think I was going to pass out. “Maybe I’m having a heart attack. I feel like—like my insides are stuck in a snare. Like something’s summoning me.” I hunched over slightly, a hand pressing into my belly.
Breena’s curls bounced as she did a happy dance, hands rubbing together.
“Yessss! Someone’s here that you fancy!” she squealed.
Shit. This can’t be good.
Aine whipped around, snapping, “Who?”
And just like that—understanding slammed into me like a sidewalk to a drunk face. Of course. The goddamn Liplock potion.
I groaned, rubbing my temples in frustration. “How am I supposed to know? Maybe you messed up the potion because there’s no way in hell I’d be attracted to any of these—” The words instantly died in my throat.
There across the room, in my direct line of sight, sat an unfairly handsome dark-haired man. He leaned across a table in a private booth, locked in serious conversation. Broad muscular shoulders in a dark fitted shirt, careful controlled movements, and a deeply furrowed brow. He was unmistakable.
Pogue.