The lights flicker in the club signalling that this will be the final song. Ed and Frank reappear, moving towards Rose like a couple of cockroaches, their hands outstretched.
‘Come on,’ Rose urges me. ‘Last dance?’
I shake my head, as she levers herself up and stumbles. Ed catches her, and she giggles, leaning into him. The smirk on his face makes my blood run cold.
I rise to push myself out of the booth, but my legs feel weightless and I wobble. I grab hold of the table to steady myself, but I can’t seem to stand up, and sink back onto the seat. I see Rob’s mouth moving but can’t work out what he’s saying. My ears are buzzing and I’m hot all over. Too hot, burning up from the inside. And as I look around, everything’s getting fuzzier. I’m thirsty again. How can I be thirsty again, even after all that water? The music is pounding, the lights flashing, and yet it feels like it’s all at a distance.
I glance at Rob, but his back is to me and he’s waving to the others. Ed seems to be fully supporting Rose’s weight now. Oh god… The drinks. The barman’s apologetic look.
I need to do something. And soon.
I check that Rob’s still not looking at me then slide my hand into the bag on my hip until my fingers close around my phone. I’m not sure if the three guys we’re with are in on this or not, but I’m not going to take any chances.
I pray that it looks like I’m unconscious as I keep my phone under the table while I type in my password and find my messaging app. There’s only one contact in my phone that can help me, or at least, help Rose. Cillian. He put his number in my phone the night my parents died, in case I ever needed him.
Well, I need him now.
With Rose at Sussurri. Drugged. Help.
Chapter4
Cillian
If I’d hoped I’d get shot of Vittoria once the meal was over, I was mistaken. And now I need another plan. Reluctantly, we leave Vincenzo and the other Kennards drinking together at The Angel’s Share, which I hope doesn’t result in disaster. I want to go and drag my sister and Niamh out of Sussurri, but I can’t as long as I’m with Vittoria, and she seems determined not to let me out of her sight.
‘We’re not going to your house?’ She pouts when we pull into the private car park outside the former mansion where my club is located.
I capture her hand and draw her towards me, kissing her hard on the mouth before letting her go. ‘No, I have something far more special planned here.’
I’m gratified at the hitch in her breath and the slow smile that slides across her face. There are so many possibilities open to us in the exclusive Underworld area of this club, and while I’d prefer to bring someone far more submissive here, the fact that Vittoria will fight me at every turn might provide the distraction I need from Niamh tonight. Plus, I’m going to make her pay for killing that man earlier– the Huntsman inside me is still desperate for blood.
The Three Graces lies on Grace Street– the name a sly dig at the pretentiousness of the clientele who frequent it. They choose to associate it with ancient Greek myths and legends when, in fact, it’s merely a statement about the number of levels the club has– only two of which exist in the human world.
Rose has suggested several times that we tailor the branding to catch all the New Agers who are obsessed with anything that can loosely be described as pagan, druidic, or even Celtic. And if they happened to witness any of the actual supernatural aspects of the club, they would likely just accept them and come back more often. Three is a magical number, appearing as the maid, the mother and the crone, the Celtic triple goddess, and the three faces of the Morrigan, to name only a few. Even amongst the Kinfolk so many stories have been lost to time. Particularly the stories of powerful women– other religions may have a lot to answer for there.
There’s a queue at the door– always a good sign– and I notice Jamil, one of our newest bouncers, checking the ID of a group of smartly dressed and painfully young-looking girls. I see the flash of fear that crosses his features when he notices me just as the last of the young women disappears inside the building. He’s a large man, a good four inches taller than me and with a lot more bulk, but he’s human and wise to look nervous– especially if he has something to hide.
‘They all had driving licences, Mr Hunter. I checked carefully,’ he says as we reach him.
I nod at him, my suspicions evaporating as I realise he’s just concerned that I might be there to see if he’s doing his job properly.
‘Good job,’ I say. Given some of what goes on in the lower levels of this club, I’m insistent that the city’s laws are observed carefully on the upper two. The last thing I need is for the polis to have a reason to poke around with a warrant– I could use theGuth Dorchato make them forget, but it’s easier just to avoid the situation arising in the first place. Jamil nods back and turns to open the VIP door that’s next to the main one. He holds it as I usher Vittoria in ahead of me.
‘You know that paying your staff is more than enough. You don’t have to pretend to be nice to them, too,’ Vittoria says as I key in the security code and allow her to precede me into a private staff corridor.
‘Staff loyalty is an important business practice, darling. The Rialis should try it some time.’
‘The threat of a hideously painful death if they fuck up or betray us works just well, Cillian, and requires a lot less effort,’ Vittoria says. ‘And how many human staff are you relying on now? You should keep the jobs for Kinfolk. It involves far fewer explanations– not to mention bloodshed, if someone sees something they shouldn’t.’
‘There are ways to make sure no one sees anything they’re not supposed to, Vittoria,’ I say. ‘Or do you find Glamour and theGuth Dorchaa challenge?’
Kin make use of our different powers to control the humans we come into contact with, as well as the lesser Kinfolk. Glamour is the most frequently used– the ability to make something look like something else. Levels of ability vary, from straightforward alterations in appearance that last only a short while and are easily broken, to more complex spells that even other skilled practitioners would find it difficult to undo– that is if they even realise that they’re there. TheGuth Dorchais the voice of darkness– or forgetting. It works best when combined with physical contact, but it’s not always necessary.
I push open a door that takes us back out into the main area of the club and out onto the mezzanine, from where we can observe the upper bar. There’s a small dancefloor downstairs, which is currently packed.
‘Another busy night.’
‘Yes,’ I agree. There’s a hen night in– a group of about ten women wearing pink sashes and enough bling to rival the disco ball. One of them, presumably the bride, is wearing an extravagant tiara and currently dancing with four men, two of whom are grinding against her while a friend tries unsuccessfully to pull them off. I swallow, a chill spreading through my bones. If that was my future wife, I’d be wading through the other dancers and those two would be lucky to ever find their balls again. Vittoria presses herself against my side and moves her hand over my chest.
