“We’re leaving.Now.” Mike glares at Beth, the vein above his eye pulsing in a way that would make me hungry if only his blood weren’t so unappetising. Rage can make humans smell like brussels sprouts. “I can’t believe you made my wife take her clothes off and grind her arse in front of the whole village.”
“It’s just a bit of fun.” Beth coos in her calming yoga voice. “We’re all adults here. Why don’t we go out to the lobby, have a mushroom shake, and I’ll explain to you—”
“You think a bunch of leering men ogling my wife isfun?” Mike glares at Gideon. “He’s the worst of them, with his jaw on the ground and his tongue out like a panting dog.”
Gideonisthe worst, but Mike is a close second with this nonsense. I will not stand for anyone hurting my friends.
“Better a panting dog laying at my goddess’ feet than a jealous arsehole who doesn’t even know hehasa goddess,” Gideon says breezily. “And I wasn’t looking at your wife. No offence, Dora.”
“None taken,” she says glumly.
“Youshould have been watching your wife, instead of watching me, because you missed the most beautiful thing in the world – raw female sexuality.” Gideon pats Mike’s shoulder affectionately, like a father advising a son. “Remember that for next time.”
“There will be no next time.” Mike’s face is as red as arterial spray. People in the crowd behind him stare at their shoes, doing the typical British thing of pretending they’re not profoundly uncomfortable. No one intervenes. “I’m getting this place shut down.”
No matter what century we’re in, there are always men afraid of the power of women.
My fangs slide down, itching to sink into Mike’s neck, despite the foul scent, and give him something to really be upset about. But one terrified look from Dora and I stop myself. She doesn’t want us to interfere, especially not in front of everyone.
As much as I yearn to introduce Mike’s testicles to the knife I keep in my boot, I don’t want to do anything that will cause Dora more hurt. But Mike should watch his back.
No one –no one– gets away with hurting my friends.
Dora tugs on his arm. “Mike, please don’t—”
“Get in the car.” Mike yanks Dora towards the door. “You’re not going to make a fool of me in front of the whole village. I don’t want you to set foot in this place or talk tothose womenever again.”
“That’s Dora’s decision, don’t you think?” Beth says sweetly.
“Please, Beth,” Dora begs. “It’s fine. I just want to go home.”
“That’s my sister you’re manhandling.” Isis steps forward, her hands clenched into fists. “If you hurt her, I will curse you so that everytwo-factor authentication you try to complete will be unnecessarily complicated—”
“I’m the man in my relationship, Isis, not you. It’s my job to handle this.” Mike laughs woodenly. “And unlike Gideon here, I’m arealman. Real men don’t need to look at strippers or hurt their wives. But they also don’t tolerate being humiliated. We’re going home, and I don’t want to see or hear from any of you. And no filling our letterbox with hex bags again, either.”
“You can’t keep me from my sister!” Isis yells.
“Watch me!” he shouts back.
Before Isis can reply, Mike drags Dora out of the studio, slamming the door behind him so hard the wall shakes.
“He’s a pleasant fellow.” Gideon’s eyes narrow at the door as the room returns to a normal level of conversation.
“One of these days, I swear I really will curse that bastard.” Isis is shaking all over.
“To do that, you’d need actual magical powers,” I remind her, although more gently than usual, because for once she and I are in agreement.
Isis cradles her head in her hands. “Thanks for bringing that up, Arabella, and reminding me that the Meriwether sister who has real magic refuses to use it to put her mean husband in his place.”
“Will he really stop us from seeing Dora?” Winnie’s lip wobbles. She hasn’t seen one of Mike’s outbursts, which are getting more frequent.
“He’ll calm down in a few days and forget about what he said. But he doesn’t like us very much.” Beth sighs. “I guess that’s only going to get worse now that I run the studio and we know Arabella used to be an erotic dancer.”
“He never used to be like this,” Isis sniffs. “He was always a grump and a killjoy, but I’ve never seen him grab Dora like that. I don’t know what’s changed him, and Dora doesn’t want us to interfere.”
Dora doesn’t need to know.
A silence settles over our group.
