He pauses a second, considering what to say next. “Don’t mention I said this, okay?” I nod and he continues, “Well I’m sure Rita’s told you all about the twelve families and how they believe you can only be a skilled magic user if you’ve got their blood. Rita denies this all the way, saying she’s a prime example of the fact that anyone can practice magic with a little study and determination. But sometimes I’ve got to wonder if that’s really the truth, because I’ve been practising almost as long as she has and I’ve never been able to even fractionally reach her level. That’s what makes me think that maybe she is related to one of the families and just doesn’t know it. I mean, she’s never met her dad, doesn’t even know his name. He could be a warlock for all we know.”
“It is possible,” I reply, and simultaneously wonder about my mother. If you’ve got to have magic in your blood to be a witch, then does that mean my mum was also related to one of these families? As well as being cursed with the stupid Ultimate Power blood? She hadn’t been a very lucky woman. Before we can continue with Alvie’s theory, Rita re-enters the room carrying a silver locket on a chain.
“You’ll need this,” she tells me, handing me the chain.
“What for?” I ask, while rubbing my thumb over the indentations of the carving on the locket.
“It’s been magically infused with salt water. You’ll need to be wearing it whenever you go to work because it will block Marcel’s magic when he tries to unlock your spell. As long as you’re wearing this, whatever he tries won’t work, which means your secret will be safe.”
I grin at her widely. “Thanks Rita, that’s really thoughtful. I promise I’ll pay you back for this, and when I get my next pay check I’ll throw you some money for your time. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
She actually blushes, and shrugs me off. “Aw, don’t worry about it, it was no trouble at all.”
At this my phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it outside to the hallway to answer it. I don’t recognise the number.
“Hello?” I say, wary of who might be calling at so late an hour.
“Tegan, it’s Delilah. I need you to come and meet me at the club,” says the dhamphir in a whispering voice.
“Excuse me? It’s a quarter past eleven, and I’m busy, so I’m sorry I can’t come.” I tell her straight out.
“You have to come, it’s urgent,” she replies, and the desperation in her voice shocks me a little. Call me a nosey cow, but my curiosity peeks, and I want to know what’s going on with her.
After a beat of silence, I reply, “Okay, but this better be quick. I’ve got work in the morning.” She talks to me for another minute before signing off. I say my goodbyes to Rita and Alvie, and make my way out, and
at the same time realise I only have enough money left for bus fair to Davis Street. No more taxis.
This better be good.
Chapter Thirteen
Women Who Look Like Men Who Look Like Women
The Ultimate Power. The Extreme Power. Whatever. If my poor, long-suffering mother’s spell is still intact, then none of the vampires, none of the warlocks, none of the slayers, and none of the dhamphirs will ever know about it. I take peace from the fact that the only way to break the spell is with my mother’s blood, and she has long since gone to her grave. And, if this locket Rita gave me really does work, then no amount of Marcel or Gabriel’s magic will ever be able to uncover the truth about me as long as I’m wearing it.
The silver chain puts my mind at ease, and if it weren’t for that then I probably wouldn’t be stepping foot in Crimson tonight. But I feel safe with this salt around my neck. Delilah’s call came as a surprise, and I can’t imagine what could be so urgent for her to want me to come to the club at this hour to meet her. Thinking about it, her whispers down the line are just a little bit ominous.
When I get to the entrance of Crimson there’s only a short queue outside since not so many people go out clubbing on a Monday night. I check my watch for the time. Eleven forty five. Fuck. I better make this quick if I want to be in any fit state to go to work in the morning. Lucas is on the door again, and after greeting me with a questioning look I explain that Delilah wants to speak with me and he waves me on through.
“Don’t bother paying at the window,” he tells me casually as I make my way in. Yeah, damn skippy I won’t be paying. The shock and conflicting emotions that Rita’s clairvoyance spell pulled out of me has me feeling slightly unstable in the head department. Story of my life. And just when I’d been making such progress.
Delilah told me expressly that I am to come to the staff common room to meet her and under no circumstances am I to go near Ethan’s office. I wonder at this. But I’m sure all will be revealed once I talk to the flame-haired dhamphir. Actually, on second thought, I’ll probably be even more clueless once that happens. I slip through the staff door without being stopped by any of the workers and make my way down the corridor.
Obviously, Delilah didn’t exactly think through the whole part about me not going near Ethan’s office, because to get to the common room I have to walk directly by it. As I near said office I notice that somebody’s standing outside the door, in a stance that suggests they’re keeping guard. Another three steps and they turn their head in my direction, clearly having heard me coming.
I feel like an idiot because I can’t help but to gawk at the guy since he’s sort of boy-pretty. You know like Leonardo Di Caprio in Romeo and Juliet or a very young Johnny Depp. He’s about a head taller than me with messy dark brown hair cut short to the neck line and hanging long over the face. He’s also wearing tight black skinny jeans, a studded belt, a sleeveless muscle T that’s showing an inch of flat, toned stomach any girl would give her right arm for. Bright hazel green eyes meet my blue ones, and I instantly redden and look away, embarrassed for having been so engrossed in sizing him up.
I’m just passing him when I look up again and go even more red in the face. But this time for a very different reason, because it isn’t a boy standing at Ethan’s office door, it’s a girl, just a very ambivalent one. We make eye contact for the briefest of seconds before I return my gaze to focusing straight ahead of me. I just about catch her smirk.
“Where d’you think you’re going, honey?” asks the girl in a deep, gravelly, rock star voice. You couldn’t blame me for thinking she was a man, she even sounds like one. I make an attempt to answer, failing miserably, because it’s hard to think past the fact that this girl is beautiful, androgynous, and charismatic without even trying.
I cough to clear my throat. “Sorry, um, I’m going to meet Delilah.”
“Oh,” says the girl, looking vaguely disappointed for some reason. “She went by like –” glances down at her phone, “ten minutes ago. That way.” She points in the direction I’d been heading.
“Right,” I answer. “Thanks. I’m Tegan by the way.” I introduce myself out of nervousness when there really wasn’t any call for it, and, of all things, put out my hand for her to shake. Idiot.
The girl smiles at me with full lips and the most mesmerising eyes, she takes my hand in a firm grip. “Nice to meet you Tegan. I’m Dru.”