Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

The Fuck-Tons tittered and waved us off, their nails leaving trails of pink light. For a moment I wondered how their enchantments even functioned, but Sterling was already marching us up to the bar. And as arresting as the Fuck-Tons were, little could compare to the earth-shattering beauty of the person named Jonnifer.

Chapter 12

Jonnifer was a beautiful man dressed as a beautiful woman. Under the layers of makeup you could tell that he was gorgeous, but dressed in drag, she was s

tunning, the very picture of androgyny perfected. If Gil was transfixed before, this time he was practically catatonic.

“Sterling,” Jonnifer cooed, wiping her hands off on a towel. “It’s been a while. I see you’ve seen the mistresses.”

Sterling stuck his chin out, tugging down on his jacket, as if to show off muscles I was pretty sure he didn’t have. I’m not one to talk, sure, but Sterling really is something else.

“I think they missed me,” Sterling said. “And you? How’ve things been around here, Jonny?”

Jonnifer shrugged. “Same old, same old. Get you boys some drinks?”

Sterling held up three fingers. “Beers for us, please. Make ’em frosty.”

Jonnifer winked and glided off. As she moved, I got the strangest impression of familiarity. Something about her reminded me of Mammon, the demon prince of greed, who similarly straddled the line between man and woman, dressed in that stunning, closely cut suit, gifted with ethereal beauty – well, at least when it wasn’t wearing the shape of a dragon and threatening to eat me whole.

“Is Jonnifer a demon?” I asked. “Sorry, stupid question, I know. A supernatural of some type?”

“Nah,” Sterling said. “Just your regular old, beautiful drag queen bartender. She loves to play with gender. Depends on the day. Sometimes you’ll show up here and she’s basically James Dean back from the dead. At others,” he said, gesturing with a casual wave, “you see someone who’s stepped off a runway in Milan. And then sometimes, it’s something in between.”

I nodded. Pretty awesome, I thought, that people could live their true lives behind the closed doors of the Leather Glovebox, in a way that quietly reminded me of how mages needed to work behind the safety of the Veil. I realize it’s not quite the same thing, exactly, but something about the Glovebox felt so safe. We were all Others there. We could just Be.

I chucked Gil on the shoulder, laughing softly when it shook him out of his stupor. “Sterling’s right, dude. It’s not polite to stare.”

He shook his head, like he was dislodging a charm spell that had buried itself right in the center of his brain. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all so new to me, you know?”

I tilted my head. “Conservative upbringing?”

“You could say that,” Sterling said, nodding to give Gil the table.

“I guess,” Gil said, scratching the back of his head. “I was raised by my tias and my abuela – my aunts and grandma – and they’re strong women, some of the best people I know. But you know how it is. Different generation, so this is all very foreign to them, and to me.”

“It’s pretty cool that you’re so open to the idea of it,” I said.

Gil raised an eyebrow. “It’s common sense, I think. Everyone should be allowed to live the way they live, to be who they are. If you’re not hurting anyone, if you’re not pushing anyone down, you’re okay in my book.”

I smiled. When I first met Gil, I’d assumed that he’d be gruff, grumpy, and macho. I mean the man was a damn werewolf. But over time I figured he was one of the good ones – no, one of the great ones. That strong and silent type, you know, who always measures his words and his actions before doing anything.

Too bad you can’t say the same for when he goes full dog, but that’s a different story entirely.

Jonnifer returned with three bottles practically frosted over, and I licked my lips at the sight of them. That got me a small smile. We collected our bottles – I tipped mine back immediately, not realizing how thirsty I was, relishing the rush of carbonation down my throat – but Jonnifer planted her hands on the bar counter, leaning in towards Gil.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jonnifer cooed. She was the kind of person who cooed everything, never truly speaking above more than a whisper. She didn’t have to, with the way she commanded so much dripping presence.

“I’m sorry,” Gil said earnestly, wiping the beer from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Truthfully, and I don’t mean to offend, but I feel more like I’ve seen a god. A goddess? I’m sorry, I don’t know which you prefer.”

“Or a fairy, or an angel?” Jonnifer tittered, one hand over her mouth. “No offense taken at all. Anything works for me. I’m totally mortal, though. Not an entity, unfortunately.” She leaned closer over the counter, giving the club a cursory, conspiratorial glance. “But some of these people are.”

I looked around nervously. Should have figured that a club owned by battle-hardened, literally enchanting drag queens would mainly cater to the supernatural community. But I couldn’t really see anything different about anyone. Naturally, it would have been a simple matter to wear a glamour, not that they would have to someplace neutral, somewhere safe.

A finger tapped me on the back of my hand, and I jumped.

“Dustin Graves, right?” Jonnifer said, nodding towards the far end of the bar. “Someone wants to see you.”

I looked down the counter, not sure what I was expecting, to find a woman sitting there alone. She was nursing something out of a porcelain jug, drinking out of a tiny porcelain cup. Sake, I figured. Looked like the good stuff, too. The woman smiled at us, waving us over with delicate fingers.