Authors: Emma Faragher
Tags: #magic, #future, #witches, #shape shifter, #multiple worlds
The House
By Emma
Faragher
Smashwords
Edition
Text copyright
©
2013 Emma Faragher
All rights
reserved
This book may
not be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in whole or in part, in
any way and by any means, electronic or mechanical without the
express written permission of the author, except where permitted by
law.
This is a
re-edited version
All characters
and events in this book are a work of fiction and any resemblance
to real persons or events is coincidental.
Trix SinClara
series
The House
The
Solstice*
The Fae*
The Gate*
The Ether
Queen*
*not yet
released, please see blog at: [email protected] for
further details
To fatty and
fatty who never allowed me to even think of not finishing this
book.
Contents
Chapter 1
Jen’s was
crowded wall to wall with bodies. A line was starting to form
outside as well. The bouncer, whose name I vaguely recalled as Sid,
was trying to persuade the people waiting outside to move somewhere
else. The aim was to keep officials from asking questions. It had
happened before and a lot of money had changed hands before the
club opened back up. I’d missed it while it was gone. There just
weren’t that many places we could go out.
I walked past
the main entrance and smiled at Sid; it wasn’t his real name but so
far I’d been unable to entice it out of him. People like Sid valued
their privacy, but they were living in the wrong century. We had
cameras on nearly every street corner and shop front except for
places like Jen’s. Which was the draw for practically everyone
here.
The door just
beyond the main entrance was painted a vibrant aqua blue and it
always managed to lift my spirits, or maybe it was just the thought
of going into the club that made my heart lift. I heard a few of
the other people waiting in line groan as I slipped through the
secondary door to the club. It was almost a VIP door, sort of an ‘I
know the manager’ door.
Incidentally,
the manager was sitting in the first booth just inside the door.
She was the last person you’d have expected to be running a club.
Small, conservative and shy, she practically screamed librarian.
Tonight she was dressed in a navy blue skirt-suit with a white silk
blouse that hung loose around her tiny frame. Her shoes were hidden
under the table but I knew what they were. She hadn’t not worn the
black pumps to work since she started.
“Hey Stripes,”
I said as I sat sprawled across the entirety of the sofa bench
opposite her. “You nearly finished?”
“I’m not
finished until three Trix.” That was Stripes, all business. I
dumped the bag I was carrying on the table between us. I saw
Stripes glance at it before going back to her coms pad. I had no
idea what she did on it most of the time, but I presumed she was
somehow keeping track of the club. She spent enough time on the
thing.
“Give it a rest Stripes, when was the last time you actually
went
into
the
club? Come have some fun.” I was trying to bait her into joining me
in the main club. Not that I couldn’t go in alone. She just really
needed to take a break. “You haven’t had a day off in ten days.” It
was a fact, and one she apparently didn’t know I knew. I was trying
to look after her. Honestly, I was.
“I have to
work. I have to make a living. We can’t all be like you.”
“You think I
don’t work? God, Stripes! When was the last time you came to The
House? When was the last time you came to see me? In case you’ve
forgotten, I’m still responsible for you.” I was about to play my
trump card. “Marie sent me Stripes. She’s worried about you.”
I saw her eyes
narrow and her fingers clutch her coms pad just a little too
tightly. I could hear it groan under the pressure. Her calm
business façade faltered for a second before she could recover
herself. She could never say no to Marie. Me, she could ignore
until the cows came home, but Marie held more than just her
respect. Marie had practically saved her, even though I’d done most
of the work.
“I’m not her
concern anymore Trix, she has other people to worry about. So
should you.” But I could already tell I was going to win. “I can
handle it, she must know that. Damn it, Trix … why’d you have to
bring Marie into this?”
I smiled in
spite of myself. “Because you don’t get paid to work this many
hours, you have to talk to us some time. We want to see you more
than once a month Stripes,” I sighed. “Your clothes are in the bag,
it’s not like you’re doing anything in the main club.”
Stripes took
the bag shaking her head, but she trudged over to the bathroom to
change anyway. I was just hoping that she wouldn’t decide to kill
me when she saw what was in the bag. Our fashion sense differed
considerably. She dressed very conservatively, even on a night out,
and I dressed to impress.
My outfit today
consisted of a dark purple micro-mini dress that came down just far
enough to cover the social essentials. It looked great with my dark
hair and pale skin. It had a plunging neckline but managed to
remain mostly unslutty. Only, of course, by the virtue of the black
lace netting-type material that came up to my actual neck and
formed sleeves that reached my elbows. The dress was skin-tight and
showed off my body to perfection. I’d teamed it with four-inch
stilettos in a matching purple and I was good to go.
“You look good
Stripes,” I said as she came out of the loo. She did; the silver
shift dress hung perfectly on her tiny frame. The slight shimmer
making the dress appear to move. Stripes had the kind of body
models prayed for. That slender look without actually looking
starved, although I wouldn’t have coped with being so small.
Clothes were normally a nightmare for her. It wasn’t her fault; our
condition means that we have to eat almost twice as much as a
normal person just to stay alive. Forget about putting on
weight.
It also meant
that we had to work very hard to maintain even a buzz from alcohol,
but by golly tonight I was going to try. We have incredible
metabolisms. We need to eat enough for someone much larger than
ourselves. Which, with me, made sense. My little condition means
that I have two forms; my current one and a 130kg lioness. Stripes’
other form was a 4kg tabby cat with gorgeous pale brown and
chocolate markings, but she still had to eat almost as much as I
did. Go figure.
Of course my
little quirk with the drinking hadn’t escaped the notice of our
illustrious bar tender. Normally we’d have to be more careful as
you don’t want the general population realising you can shift into
a very efficient killer. It tends to make people nervous. It also
tends to attract hunters. But we were fine with this particular bar
tender because he was, like us, a shifter. He shifts into a big
eagle, like … human-size big. His wingspan is about 10 metres
long.
The bar itself
was crowded to capacity as I knew it would be from the line
outside. Hunter, the aforementioned bartender, managed to smile at
us through the crowd as we slipped up to the shiny, black counter.
He was big in human form too; over six and a half feet tall and
built like a tank. He had the cheekiest smile I’ve ever seen - on
anyone. Hunter was also a very hard worker. The son of the owners,
he was there to keep an eye on things.
“Hunter.”
“Trix.” Our
exchanges were never deep or meaningful but the grin plastered to
his face never failed to inspire my own, even at my darkest
moments. I sometimes came to Jen’s to forget. Just not with
alcohol. “Got something new for you two.” The grin grew even wider,
which I hadn’t believed possible. Hunter, aka Mark Devont, was
reasonably good-looking with a well-toned body and generic
features. The one thing nobody would ever forget was his bright,
white teeth. Possibly because you could always see them. People
always mentioned the smile first.
The shot glass
he put down in front of me was filled with a brilliant green
liquid. I frowned at it then shook my head. He’d been trying to get
me drunk (for innocent purposes) ever since I downed an entire
bottle of vodka in two minutes and didn’t even wobble in my heels.
Not where he saw me anyway. I’d only ever been truly smashed once.
I was fifteen and it had been an interesting experience I wasn’t
interested in repeating.
Glancing to
Stripes, who toasted me with her margarita, I picked up the glass
and upended the whole lot into my mouth in one go. It burned like
hell going down my throat but made no other obvious difference.
Before I’d even put my first down there was another sat demurely on
the counter in front of me. Hunter was still grinning from ear to
ear as he left to help another customer. Hunter put his beers on a
tray and sent him off onto the dance floor. I rated the guy’s
chanced of getting the drinks to his mates at about nil; he was
already wobbling.
The second shot
burnt just as much as the first and I felt it hit my stomach. What
was that stuff? But I knew better than to ask. Hunter always gave
me something different and always in weird and wonderful colours
and he never told me what it was. It was also always on the house.
I appreciated that more than I could say due to my lack of a steady
job, and therefore income, beyond the odd jobs I did for people
here and there. Not that I was ever short on money; I just liked to
save it whenever I could.
By the fifth
shot I downed Hunter was starting to look disappointed. I cocked my
head to the dance floor and saw Stripes nod once. She followed me
casually after draining her second drink of the night; her
metabolism wasn’t quite as good as mine. Of course she would also
point out that she was still at work.
The dance floor
consisted of any space not taken up by the bar and the four small
tables nobody ever actually sat down at. Although there were always
a large number of people, mostly guys, crowded around the tables.
The space for dancing looked quite cavernous when there was nobody
in it. A great high ceiling, courtesy of the dance floor being half
a floor lower, made it seem even bigger. Not that you would be able
to tell in the semi-dark with so many bodies crammed in
together.
I didn’t
recognise the music but then again I didn’t expect to; I don’t care
much what something’s called or who sings it. That, and I didn’t
have the patience to listen to the radio when I only ever liked
half the songs playing. The song being blasted through the speakers
at that moment had a driving beat that I could feel in my chest,
like it wanted to make my heart beat faster.
I couldn’t even
move without bumping into somebody so I didn’t try to avoid the
tangle of bodies moving feverishly to the music. The club was at
capacity, which meant that you had to get friendly with the people
around you. Not that anyone seemed to mind. Or if they did,
everyone ignored them anyway. You couldn’t start a fight in that
crowd. There wasn’t room to swing a punch. There also wasn’t room
to avoid all the elbows, making me glad I healed bruises quickly.
Not that it meant I didn’t feel the impact. Every time I got jabbed
it sent a stab of pain through me. I just wouldn’t wake up black
and blue like half the other people here.