Dangerous Creatures (Dangerous Creatures 1)

Even the thought was exhausting. It was all Rid could do to find the energy to finish her meal, a disappointing piece of Marilyn’s Coconut Dream Pie with an even more disappointing piece of Marilyn’s Apple of My Pye. Still, they were just sweet enough to do the trick. It was a Siren’s version of morning coffee.

Rid pushed away the plate. “The only good thing about Gat-dung was the pie.”

“I don’t know. Pecan fried chicken.”

Ridley’s eyes almost glassed over at the thought. “And Amma’s Tunnel of Fudge cake. The one she only made Ethan. Warm.”

“How about hot corn and a zombie flick at the Summerville Cineplex?” Link grinned.

“You mean making out in the back row,” Ridley said with a smile.

“I mean, makin’ out by the lake with a picnic basket full a biscuits.” His eyes met hers.

She leaned toward him. “You and your biscuits.”

He leaned toward her. “I used to wait outside Ethan’s kitchen window on the days Amma was makin’ hers.”

Link’s lips locked onto hers, and he slid his hand up around her neck. Ridley kissed away the memories, just like the old days and sweet as strawberry jam, until she felt an elbow in her side.

She opened her eyes as Necro slid into the booth.

“Adorable.” Necro grinned. “Or should I say Adorkable?”

“Great timing,” said Link, grouchy.

Ridley dotted at her lipstick with a paper napkin. Timing aside, she was relieved to see Necro, even if the faux-hawker looked like a hot mess of red leather (jacket), black vinyl (pants), and blue (hair) today. It was nice to see an almost friendly face. They had practically gotten along yesterday, the two of them.

“Pie?” Ridley slid the plate in Necro’s direction. “Or is that not an approved Goth dessert?”

Necro flipped open her switchblade and slid it vertically through the quivering piece of deep-dish apple pie, as if that was some kind of answer. “We gotta get moving.”

“Classy,” Rid said.

“I take it that’s a no?” Link ran his hand through his spiky hair with a sigh.

Sampson, the Darkborn, dropped into the seat beside Ridley. Every time she saw him, he seemed even better-looking than she remembered from the game at Suffer. He was hot, if you were into abnormally tall, leather-clad rock gods, with hands the size of dinner plates. Link had thought Sampson was full of himself, “and a whole lotta other things,” he said after their first few encounters. “Besides, there’s only room for one rock god in this apartment.” Ridley had just rolled her eyes.

“You guys ready?” Sampson asked. Link didn’t look too happy to see him, but then, Ridley didn’t know why anyone would be happy to see a Darkborn.

She took the opportunity to inch away from Sampson on the pleather booth seat. His disturbing gray eyes matched the gray T-shirt he was wearing over his tight leather jeans. With tattooed arms and a bike chain around his neck, he looked like the kind of guy you didn’t want to mess with. From what little Ridley had learned about him during the epic failure of a game at Suffer, it was true.

If he’s immune to my powers, Ridley thought, what else is he immune to?

Rid had searched Uncle Macon’s archives, and the Lunae Libri, trying to find out anything she could about Darkborns this summer after Liar’s Trade went south. But these new Supernaturals were a result of the New Order, so there weren’t any ancient scrolls detailing their history.

All she had learned since her game with Sampson was that a new race of Supernatural had evolved, radically and permanently, as a consequence of Lena more or less breaking the universe. They were born from the Dark Fire, from which all magic derived—complete and whole, as if they’d stepped out of cryogenically engineered pods. Magic had created them, and yet somehow they defied its laws.

Casters had no effect on a Darkborn. Beyond that, no one knew much of anything about them, except that they made Incubuses look like kittens.

Ridley had learned that firsthand. Sampson had caused her more than his share of trouble, that night at Suffer. He smiled at her now, and she resisted the impulse to claw his eyes out the old-fashioned way. I’d like to see if he’s immune to that.

“You got enough eyeliner on, Maybelline?” Link said, looking at Sampson. “Because we can wait, if you have to, you know”—he gestured to his face—“freshen up.” You put an Incubus and a Darkborn in the room together and they started to go at it within the first five minutes. That much everyone had learned this week.

“Jealous?” Sampson stretched his arms along the top of the booth. “Not everyone can pull it off.”

“Or not anyone,” said Link. “Just sayin’.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you.” Necro shook her head at Link. “You know that whole Incubus superstrength thing?” She motioned to Sampson. “Yeah. You can’t hurt him. He’s immune.”

Link swallowed. “How can you be immune to superstrength?”

Sampson smiled. “By being stronger.”

Link held up a spoon. “Bend this fork with your mind.”

“It’s a spoon.”

“Trick question.”

Sampson grabbed it and crushed it in his hand.

Link swallowed. “So you think with your fists? Good to know.”

“Let’s get out of here. We’re gonna be late.” Floyd appeared behind Sampson, pounding on the diner table nervously with drumsticks that morphed into her fingers. Floyd looked like a long-lost member of a speed metal band. It wasn’t clear which was more of a relic, her tattered black tour T-shirt—this one was from Judas Priest—or her battered black pants. Either way, Ridley was beginning to think Floyd shopped at some special thrift shop for retired rockers.

“Late for what? Where are you guys going?” If it meant she could avoid going back to her job for a few more hours, Rid was all in.

“The big audition.” Floyd picked at the crust of Rid’s pie. “Well, not yours. His. You don’t even have to come.”

“Wait. Audition?” Link turned to glare at Ridley. “How about that?”

“Nobody told me he had to audition,” Ridley interrupted. “Just to be clear.” She looked at them. “What are you going to do, not have a drummer? I mean, he has to be better than nothing, right?”

“Hey,” Link said, trying to figure out if she was insulting him or not.

“Come on. What did you think would happen? We’d just show up with your boyfriend and start rocking the house, business as usual? Nox isn’t like that,” Necro said, shaking her head. “Anyway, it’s not like a real audition—it’s just one gig, in front of his house crowd. We haven’t even played there yet, so in a way, he’s auditioning all of us. They like us, he likes us, it’s all good.”

“And if he doesn’t like us?” Link frowned.

“Let’s just say the last guy Lennox Gates didn’t like isn’t around anymore.” Floyd looked over at Necro.

“Where is he?” Link leaned forward in the booth.

“Some say it was a fire. Some say it was a Mortem Cast.” Necro sounded ominous. “Either way, nobody ever saw him again.”

“Lennox Gates sounds like a swell guy.” Link shook his head. “This day is just gettin’ better and better.”

“Sirene’s a cool club. I’ve checked it out. At least, it’s a step up from Suffer,” Floyd said.

“Sirene?

That’s the name of the club?” Ridley looked incredulous.

“Why, you know it?” Necro shrugged. “It just opened.” She yanked a flyer out of her pocket. At first, it looked like a blank piece of black paper.

Slowly, shimmering burgundy letters began to appear, one at a time, as if they were ascending from a great depth.

SIRENE

There was nothing else—just the word.

But it was strangely evocative, especially to a Siren.

Is it a coincidence? Or is Lennox Gates messing with me? Why would he suddenly need my help at a club basically named after me?

Being a regular person suddenly seemed like the least of Ridley’s problems. There was no way she was letting Link go anywhere near that club without her. Work would have to wait.

“Enough talk. Let’s blow.” Sampson stood up, and everyone followed.

Bandmate or not, you didn’t mess with a Darkborn.

Out on the sidewalk, Rid caught up with Link, a few paces behind the others. “I didn’t know you had to audition.”

Link looked at her. “Nah, it’s cool. It’s one gig.” He called up to Floyd. “Hey, Floyd. I was meanin’ to ask. What happened to your last drummer?”

“I heard he sucked,” Ridley said carefully.

The three Supernaturals stopped in their tracks. “Wait a minute. He doesn’t know?” Necro looked amused, while Floyd looked amazed. Sampson seemed only mildly interested.

“Know what?” Link looked at Rid. She glared at the others. All three of them were there, the night she lost everything at Suffer. They knew what a mess she was in, and worse, how she’d gotten herself into it. She just had to keep them from telling Link all the gory details, until she fixed things. And until she figured out what the hell was going to happen with her second marker. She couldn’t tell Link about that. It was too humiliating, she was too scared, and he might get too angry. At her, or at Nox, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to find out.

But what are the odds of that?

Floyd clapped her hand on Link’s back. “You realize this is all a scam. Your Siren’s scamming you, bro.”