Shadow's Claim
Page 112
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For jewelry, she wore her crown, a collar, two armlets, a thighlet, and an anklet-all doubling as weapons.
This was her first return to the mortal realm, and she was prepared for anything, her heart-stopping power at the ready. . . .
Like a fool, Bettina also wore that necklace with Daciano's wedding ring tucked down in her top. But, alas, her summoning medallion had gone the way of Salem's copper bell, melted down, its control over her ending forever.
Chin raised imperiously, Sabine said, "You look passable-though not nearly as good as me." Bettina's great patroness wore a black miniskirt that matched her thigh-high boots and her mask. Atop her fiery red locks sat a blue-gold crown studded with gems, a present from Rydstrom. Sabine's solid-gold bustier was engraved to look like dragon scales.
Chapter 50
Not bad work, if I say so myself. Well, except for a minor nip slip or two. Or four.
Sabine narrowed her eyes. "Though I am the fairest, you really are wearing the better jewels. Is it wise to outshine your patroness, Queen of Hearts?" Shimmying, she tugged up her bustier. "And you two price-gouged me with this piece."
"None doin', Trixie." Salem took his partnership in the biz very seriously. "We gave you a bang-up deal."
"I suppose. If you like nip slips." Sabine sighed, "And, let's face it, I do."
Salem said, "While you birds are arguing over who's the fairest of them all, just know this: I am. Me and me swingin' dick would put you two to shame. So if you ladies are done tarting yourselves up . . . ?"
"You're fortunate that I like you," Sabine began solemnly, "you price-gouging, foul-mouthed, sylphic man-slut. Ah, yes, I like these things about you indeed." With that, she opened the door.
As they entered, all eyes turned to them: two former Pravus sympathizers in full Sorceri regalia and an invisible sylph.
Conversations halted midsentence. Even the old-fashioned jukebox ran out of quarters at that moment.
Crickets.
Haughty Sabine traipsed deeper inside; Bettina put her shoulders back and followed.
Once conversations and the music resumed, Bettina said, "Do you always get this reaction here?"
"Of course, it's one of the reasons I continue to return," Sabine said over one shoulder. "I think of it this way: they stare because fear; they fear because they respect."
Bettina gazed around the place, supposing Erol's had a certain charm. Other Loreans seemed to be enjoying themselves. In the back, a foursome of fey threw darts from a good thirty feet away, aiming for a board the diameter of a tankard.
At the bar, several twenty-something Lykae chugged whiskey. Their clothes were stained with mud and blood, and they tossed around a dirty rugby ball. A handsome, slightly older Lykae broke up any roughhousing with a threatening growl.
That jukebox didn't play the music Bettina normally enjoyed, but at least she was out of the castle for a spell-away from things that reminded her of Daciano.
Such as, oh, everything.
When they passed a table full of nymphs, Salem took notice; Bettina's collar started to thrum. "Been so long since I got laid, I'm goin' to be revirginized," he muttered.
She'd been trying to glean more about his predicament from the secretive sylph. From his offhanded comments, she'd begun to suspect that the phantom had either gotten caught stealing something very valuable-or that he'd scorned a very powerful female.
Still vibrating for the nymphs, he said, "If I didn't have business to tend to, I'd just pop off for a spot of thigh diving and cle**age nesting. But then, that would be wrong. Wrong. Depraved, even. Immoral . . ."
Stifling a grin, Bettina scouted for the raven-haired Valkyrie. "I don't see Nix."
"We can at least get a lead on her whereabouts," Sabine answered, her eyes alight with purpose. She was desperate to save her sister Melanthe from the Vrekeners. To that end, the sorceress was determined to find the soothsayer, so she could find . . . Daciano.
Gossip had spread among the Sorceri about the Prince of Shadow, the "Forbearer" who hunted Vrekeners "for fun" and jaunted to Skye Hall "at his leisure." When Sabine plotted rescue scenarios, they always included Trehan.
Bettina sought the Valkyrie for more selfish reasons. If that pointy-eared creature had already been meddling in her life, and Abaddon's affairs, then Bettina wanted to know why she'd . . . stopped.
I'd been so close to a life with Daciano.
"Someone here must know where Nix got to," Sabine said. "If they're reluctant to share, we can field-test our weapons." She flashed the last one Bettina had made: a collapsible wand infused with a jolt of heart-stopping power.
"Oh, no, no. You need to be on your best behavior. If your husband finds out you're here . . ." Bettina reminded her, adjusting her mask.
Sabine wasn't listening. She'd stopped in front of a table with her brows raised, telling its demon occupants, "I'm curious as to why you're sitting at my table."
If Morgana was like a mesmerizing serpent, a giant king cobra of unfathomable power, then Sabine was like a sleek jungle cat, entrancing but deadly. And she'd just swished her tail.
The demons were burly, each wearing a black jacket embossed with NOLA GHOUL DISPOSAL-obviously a tough and hazardous job; still they fought each other in a beer-tossed wrangle to get away from Sabine.
As the Queen of Illusions, her power was matched only by her lethal reputation.
This was her first return to the mortal realm, and she was prepared for anything, her heart-stopping power at the ready. . . .
Like a fool, Bettina also wore that necklace with Daciano's wedding ring tucked down in her top. But, alas, her summoning medallion had gone the way of Salem's copper bell, melted down, its control over her ending forever.
Chin raised imperiously, Sabine said, "You look passable-though not nearly as good as me." Bettina's great patroness wore a black miniskirt that matched her thigh-high boots and her mask. Atop her fiery red locks sat a blue-gold crown studded with gems, a present from Rydstrom. Sabine's solid-gold bustier was engraved to look like dragon scales.
Chapter 50
Not bad work, if I say so myself. Well, except for a minor nip slip or two. Or four.
Sabine narrowed her eyes. "Though I am the fairest, you really are wearing the better jewels. Is it wise to outshine your patroness, Queen of Hearts?" Shimmying, she tugged up her bustier. "And you two price-gouged me with this piece."
"None doin', Trixie." Salem took his partnership in the biz very seriously. "We gave you a bang-up deal."
"I suppose. If you like nip slips." Sabine sighed, "And, let's face it, I do."
Salem said, "While you birds are arguing over who's the fairest of them all, just know this: I am. Me and me swingin' dick would put you two to shame. So if you ladies are done tarting yourselves up . . . ?"
"You're fortunate that I like you," Sabine began solemnly, "you price-gouging, foul-mouthed, sylphic man-slut. Ah, yes, I like these things about you indeed." With that, she opened the door.
As they entered, all eyes turned to them: two former Pravus sympathizers in full Sorceri regalia and an invisible sylph.
Conversations halted midsentence. Even the old-fashioned jukebox ran out of quarters at that moment.
Crickets.
Haughty Sabine traipsed deeper inside; Bettina put her shoulders back and followed.
Once conversations and the music resumed, Bettina said, "Do you always get this reaction here?"
"Of course, it's one of the reasons I continue to return," Sabine said over one shoulder. "I think of it this way: they stare because fear; they fear because they respect."
Bettina gazed around the place, supposing Erol's had a certain charm. Other Loreans seemed to be enjoying themselves. In the back, a foursome of fey threw darts from a good thirty feet away, aiming for a board the diameter of a tankard.
At the bar, several twenty-something Lykae chugged whiskey. Their clothes were stained with mud and blood, and they tossed around a dirty rugby ball. A handsome, slightly older Lykae broke up any roughhousing with a threatening growl.
That jukebox didn't play the music Bettina normally enjoyed, but at least she was out of the castle for a spell-away from things that reminded her of Daciano.
Such as, oh, everything.
When they passed a table full of nymphs, Salem took notice; Bettina's collar started to thrum. "Been so long since I got laid, I'm goin' to be revirginized," he muttered.
She'd been trying to glean more about his predicament from the secretive sylph. From his offhanded comments, she'd begun to suspect that the phantom had either gotten caught stealing something very valuable-or that he'd scorned a very powerful female.
Still vibrating for the nymphs, he said, "If I didn't have business to tend to, I'd just pop off for a spot of thigh diving and cle**age nesting. But then, that would be wrong. Wrong. Depraved, even. Immoral . . ."
Stifling a grin, Bettina scouted for the raven-haired Valkyrie. "I don't see Nix."
"We can at least get a lead on her whereabouts," Sabine answered, her eyes alight with purpose. She was desperate to save her sister Melanthe from the Vrekeners. To that end, the sorceress was determined to find the soothsayer, so she could find . . . Daciano.
Gossip had spread among the Sorceri about the Prince of Shadow, the "Forbearer" who hunted Vrekeners "for fun" and jaunted to Skye Hall "at his leisure." When Sabine plotted rescue scenarios, they always included Trehan.
Bettina sought the Valkyrie for more selfish reasons. If that pointy-eared creature had already been meddling in her life, and Abaddon's affairs, then Bettina wanted to know why she'd . . . stopped.
I'd been so close to a life with Daciano.
"Someone here must know where Nix got to," Sabine said. "If they're reluctant to share, we can field-test our weapons." She flashed the last one Bettina had made: a collapsible wand infused with a jolt of heart-stopping power.
"Oh, no, no. You need to be on your best behavior. If your husband finds out you're here . . ." Bettina reminded her, adjusting her mask.
Sabine wasn't listening. She'd stopped in front of a table with her brows raised, telling its demon occupants, "I'm curious as to why you're sitting at my table."
If Morgana was like a mesmerizing serpent, a giant king cobra of unfathomable power, then Sabine was like a sleek jungle cat, entrancing but deadly. And she'd just swished her tail.
The demons were burly, each wearing a black jacket embossed with NOLA GHOUL DISPOSAL-obviously a tough and hazardous job; still they fought each other in a beer-tossed wrangle to get away from Sabine.
As the Queen of Illusions, her power was matched only by her lethal reputation.
