Priestess Dreaming (An Otherworld Novel) (37 page)

Turn the page to read an excerpt from the next book in the Otherworld series

Panther Prowling

Coming February 2015 from Jove Books

“Do you think she knows what we’re up to?” Menolly fretted. She hiked herself up onto the counter of the newly renovated Wayfarer Bar & Grill and began swinging her legs. It had been rebuilt, revamped, and revitalized, and tonight we were going to rock the block with a grand reopening party, welcoming back—we hoped—all the regulars who had made the Wayfarer their local watering hole. The doors opened in twenty minutes and we were just killing time as the staff finished last-minute touches, which included a massive number of balloons for Camille’s birthday, which also happened to be today.

I sat on one of barstools, absently flipping through a book I’d picked up at the pet store:
How To Take Care of Your Mouse
. I had no plans on getting pet mice any time soon—that idea could too easily turn into a disaster. No, my friend Misha, a mouse who had helped me out in a sticky situation, had just died. I wanted to look after her children . . . and her children’s children. The micelings were still frightened of me, but I’d managed to keep my promise to her and never once had chased after her extended family when I shifted into cat form.

“Probably. Camille makes it her business to know everything about everybody. She can’t help it. It’s the control freak in her. You know that by now.”

Hunger pangs hit my stomach and I ran my tongue over my teeth. I’d just had them polished and the dentist had been a nervous wreck the entire time. Even though he was Supe-friendly, my fangs were sharp, and while not overly large, they didn’t retract. Slicing a finger open would be all too easy, and I could feel him tense up the entire time he was checking through my mouth.

Occasionally I cut my tongue on them, but I figured that was all part of being a werecat. What was really dicey were blow jobs. Shade and I had managed to work out a system so I didn’t hurt him most of the time, but in the end, it was easier to focus our attentions on other forms of love play, given the risks.

“I’m hungry, you have any snacks in this joint?”

Menolly leaned over and flicked my nose. “Doofus. I’m surprised you aren’t packing a candy bar. Go check near the birthday cake in the kitchen—we have plenty of cupcakes and one or two won’t be missed. We won’t be firing up the grill till its officially opening time, so if you want, grab yourself one . . . or some nuts from the bar.” She smiled and let out a satisfied laugh. “Kitten, I can’t tell you what a relief it is to actually
have
a decent grill to go with the name.”

Before an arsonist had torched it, the Wayfarer Bar & Grill’s kitchen was barely passable. The cook had managed a few simple things like fries and burgers, or grilled cheese, or cold sandwiches—standard dive food. It had been filling but nothing to write home about.

But during renovations, Menolly had consulted with the architect and they’d redesigned the entire joint. She had commandeered the upper floor and ditched her attempts to turn into a bed-and-breakfast. Instead, they’d relocated the kitchen upstairs, added an elevator, and revamped the staircase to make it user-friendly. A dumbwaiter and intercom system completed the cooking arrangements. They’d gutted two of the bedrooms in order to create a large private meeting room, to be rented out as needed.

“Are you going to miss having a bed-and-breakfast?” I glanced around. While the outside of the building looked the same—red brick, old, and historic—inside, the Wayfarer had a far different feel than when we’d first came Earthside and Menolly had started working as a bartender for her cover job.

“No, I don’t think so. I barely had one, anyway. The bar had its charms, but now it’s
my
vision, through and through.” She glanced around, a satisfied look on her face. “As painful as the fire was, at least I was able to rebuild and put my own stamp on it.”

She bit her lip, drawing a drop of blood with her fangs. That they were showing told me she was stressed. Unlike me, vampires had retractable fangs. I knew she was thinking about the people who had been lost during the fire but I said nothing, no use scraping an open wound.

The walls were covered with postcards and wine labels, the bar was polished to a high sheen, as were the barstools. Two large tables that seated up to ten people each took center stage. The booths had been rebuilt, their upholstery now a supple black leather. All the tables on the floor were new, the wood was a deep mahogany, rich and warm.

Menolly had asked the contractor to build a dance floor and, to replace the antique jukebox, she’d installed satellite radio. Two large-screen televisions were mounted on the side wall of the bar itself for the sports freaks who occasionally came in—she kept the sound off, but they were continually running two different games.

But despite all of the Earthside trappings everywhere I looked, I could see touches from Otherworld, giving the Wayfarer an exotic feel. Star crystals from the mines of the Nebulveori Mountains. Woven lattice tapestries from the shores of Terial, the Eastern Port on the Mirami Ocean. And sandcast urns holding dried flowers, potted from the dunes of the Sandwhistle Desert. The Wayfarer Bar & Grill had become a beautiful hybrid between the two worlds.

“Well, I approve of the kitchen. I approve of anything to do with food.” I reached out and ran my hand along the red brick of the wall. There was a lot of red brick in this building and together with the warm wood and muted lighting, it gave the bar a cave-like feeling, but in a cozy, protected manner.

Menolly sobered. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think that I could rebuild as a bed-and-breakfast, given the fire was set in one of the bedrooms. No matter how much people say the deaths weren’t my fault, I’ll never be able to forget.” She gave a quick nod toward the new waitress. “I just hope she works out.”

I followed her gaze. Jenny, an FBH—full-blooded human. Camille had met her at Broom Stix, a magic shop, and Jenny had taken Chrysandra’s place as head waitress. She was a good worker, eager to learn, and just as eager to be out of her stepmother’s store.

“She’ll do a good job. She’s sincere. But I’m surprised you hired another FBH, given Chrysandra . . .” I stopped at the stricken look on my sister’s face. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t think.” Great, I was just making things worse. I had a knack for opening mouth, inserting foot.

After a moment, Menolly shrugged. “What can I say? Her death will always weigh heavy on my shoulders. Especially, the end.” She flinched. Chrysandra’s end had been rough and Menolly had played a part in releasing her the only way she knew how. “But you’re right, Jenny will do a good job. She’s smart, personable, and sassy enough to handle the customers we get. The vamp crowd will love her.” She glanced at the clock. “So when does the birthday girl arrive?”

“Camille and Smoky are supposed to be here in about ten minutes. Smoky said he’d have her here right before the opening. They’ll come in the back, so the crowd out front doesn’t swarm in behind them.” I grinned. “You have a fan club waiting, you know.” I jerked my finger toward the front of the building.

“I’m surprised anybody’s showing up, considering how many people died during the fire. Final count . . . twenty-five deaths, including vampires.” Again, the haunted look.

I wanted to wipe away the memory, wipe away the guilt I knew Menolly felt, but there was nothing I could do. Only time would help her sort out everything that happened.

So, instead, I forced a bright smile. “
I’m
not surprised in the least. People love this place. And they love you.” I reached out, patted her hand. The coldness of her skin had ceased to bother me. She was just my sister now, even if she was a vampire.

I wasn’t lying. There
was
a crowd out front. A number of vamps—I assumed they were vampires by their pallor—had shown up to show their support for the Wayfarer and my sister. There were also a number of Weres and Fae out there. All in all, there must have been fifty people outside, waiting in the rain-soaked January evening.

But tonight was more than the reopening. Tonight, we’d planned a special surprise. It was also Camille’s birthday. Smoky had volunteered to keep her occupied until we were ready for her, while the rest of us decked out the bar for both the reopening and her party.

“I’m not so sure about this, Delilah. You know Camille isn’t much on surprises. You think we can pull this off without a hitch, given our track record?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I know our parties kind of suck, but at least this time nobody’s hired a stripper.”

It was sadly true. We seldom had people begging us to throw another shindig. But it was also true that, at least this time, there was no stripper in a fringed G-string for me to attack as my fluffy-butt tabby self. Although the balloons were mesmerizing, I could keep a handle on myself unless the ribbons were left dangling. Then all bets were off. Candy in front of the baby time.

Shade sidled up to me and slid one arm around my waist. He nuzzled my neck and I planted a kiss on his cheek. We were officially beyond the honeymoon stage, and had been together almost a year and a half by this point. But as I leaned my head against his side, the warmth of his musky scent quickened my pulse. I’d rapidly fallen in love with him—and it was the kind of love I’d never experienced before we met. He was loving and funny, and sexy in that easy, comfortable way.

Shade reached into his pocket for something, but at that moment, Jenny came scurrying out from the back.

“Your sister is here.” Her eyes were wide. Camille had cowed her at one point, and she still seemed to be scared of her.

“Thanks, we’ll take it from here. You go ahead and finish checking all the booths and tables to make sure everything is ready.” Menolly jumped off the bar. She glanced around. “Everybody here?”

I counted. Trillian and Morio were in the corner—Camille’s other husbands. She had three of them and they were all very happy together, if at times a little loud.

Vanzir—a dream-chaser demon—and Roz—an incubus—were playing darts together. We called them the demon twins. Hanna, our housekeeper from the Northlands, and Maggie, our baby calico gargoyle, were sitting at a table with Iris and Bruce.

Nerissa—Menolly’s wife—carried the cake down from the kitchen. She set it on one of the large tables. Everybody was here tonight, including Erin, Menolly’s middle-aged “daughter,” Roman, the son of the vampire queen, and Chase, the FBH detective who had become part of our extended family. Even Mistletoe and Feddrah-Dahns had traveled over from Otherworld for the party, though having a unicorn at any function was always problematic.

“Yep, looks like we’re good to go.” I motioned to Jenny. “Ask Smoky to bring her in.”

Whatever excuse the dragon had made for keeping our sister out of the way appeared to have worked. Menolly doused the lights and, a moment later, a rustle told us they’d entered the room. But as she flicked the lights on again and we all yelled “Surprise,” we found ourselves shouting and throwing confetti at one very nervous toadsquatter.

“Ah, hell!” Menolly’s fangs came down and she launched herself forward, but just then Camille and Smoky followed the creature through the door.

“Stop!” Camille grabbed the arm of the toadsquatter, yanking him out of the way. The squat goblin-like figure let out a shriek and hissed at her. “Shut up, you little weasel.” She swatted his nose as Smoky loomed up behind her, all six-foot-four of him.

“What the fuck?” Menolly pulled back. “What’s
that
doing in my bar?”

A whiff of the toadsquatter’s stench hit me and I grimaced. Lovely. Cross a patch of skunk cabbage with a lumberjack who’s gone a week without showering and that’s pretty much what the creature smelled like. My stomach shifted just enough to make me wish we were another three yards apart from each other.

Derrick Means, Menolly’s bartender and a werebadger, stared at the thing with a horrified look on his face. He leaned over to me and asked, “What the hell is that? It looks like a goblin that’s been squashed and deformed.”

“Toadsquatter. From Otherworld. A mutant version of goblins. Goblins use them as slaves, and the toadsquatters hate them as much as we do. The little creeps aren’t blameless though—they can be nasty-tempered, fickle, and they’re all a pack of thieves.” Which begged the question: Why was one of them standing in the bar, and why had Camille protected him from Menolly?

Derrick, whose pony tail was black streaked with white, shook his head. “Guess it’s no worse than some of the things we have over here. I bet you have no clue how many strange beasties we have running around the woods.”

“I’ll bet you’re right.” I grinned at him. Derrick was usually pretty grumpy, but he was fair, honest, and respectful. And that was more than we got from a lot of the Earthside crowd, FBHs or Supes.

Camille was trying to calm the toadsquatter, who was—by now—disturbingly close to tears. “Don’t upset him any more. He has important information for me, or so he says.”

Menolly paused. “Information?”

“We think he may know the name of the sorcerer who is tracking Camille.” Smoky glared at the toadsquatter, obviously not thrilled with this turn of events.

Camille knelt down by the creature. Toadsquatters were about four feet high, and squat. And butt-ugly. “Listen, calm down. I warned you people would react this way, so chill out. I promised you that if your info was worth it, I’d give you a reward, didn’t I?”

He nodded and, in a halting variant of the common tongue from Otherworld, said, “Yes, yes . . . You promised. You have to promise they won’t kill me, though.” He jerked his finger toward us. I’d say
thumb
, but since he had six or seven digits I wasn’t sure which stood in for what finger.