Reliquary (Reliquary Series Book 1) (5 page)

“I’m all ears.”

His face was ashen as he spit into a cloth and set it at his bedside. “I had a rough night, Mattie. Tomorrow? In the morning, maybe? Always a little sharper in the morning.” His voice had faded to a wheeze.

“Sure thing.” I was dying to know more, but I could hear his nurse bustling through the front door, and it looked like he needed her. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” Hopefully with a few leads he could help me understand. I kissed him on the forehead and headed home, more determined than ever. There was a little black dress in my closet, and we were going on a mission.

I sat in my car, holding on to the steering wheel like it could save me. The Phan Club was in a warehouse in Granville, a gritty neighborhood on the northwest side of the city. Judging from the cars lining the blocks in all directions, it was a popular place. I looked down at the card Bart had given me. On the back it just said
Nestor
, and I was hoping that he was a person, not a password.

“Go, Mattie,” I whispered. “Do this for Ben.” All I needed was a good lead, one that would get the police department to take his disappearance seriously and investigate, which meant connecting Ben to this place somehow. I threw my car door open and skittered down a delivery lane alongside the building the club was in. There was one truck parked right next to the building. In front of it a tan minivan had backed in next to a service entrance that was up a half flight of cement steps. I slowed down, wondering if the side entrance was unlocked, and nearly collided with someone stepping out from behind the minivan.

“Sorry!” I said, stumbling back before we hit. But when I recognized the guy on whose chest I’d nearly face-planted, I groaned. “Great. It’s you.”

The jerk from the night before gave me an aggrieved look. He was wearing the same outfit—boots, cargo pants, and a black T-shirt that showed off his lean physique. The light over our heads illuminated his features, revealing coppery glints in his close-cropped dark-brown hair. And those eyes . . .

He looked me up and down, from my strappy high-heeled sandals to my black minidress, which I’d bought to really wow Ben on Valentine’s Day a few months ago. It was a tad edgier than what I usually wore, sleeveless with a high neckline, but the shoulders and midriff were lace cutouts. I’d thought I looked tough and sexy, but as the jerk’s gaze reached my eyes, I knew he’d reached a different verdict. “You’re not fooling anyone,” he said quietly. “Leave now before you get into something you can’t possibly understand.”

“How about you explain it to me?”

He shook his head and walked around the back of the minivan again. “I’ve got better things to do.”

I followed and nearly collided with him again because he’d stopped right behind the vehicle, which bore a bumper sticker that said, “My pit bull ate your honor student.”

“Please,” I said. “I’m trying to find someone, and I think he might have . . . known some people here.”

The guy twirled a set of keys on his long fingers and glanced at the rear window of the minivan. It was tinted and I couldn’t see inside. “Do I look like a detective to you?”

“No, but you obviously know about magic and the people who use it.”

“Let’s try again: Do I look like someone who has even the slightest desire to help you?”

I stomped my foot, unable to contain the frustration. “Come on! I just want to know if you’ve seen this guy.” Before he could walk away from me, I pulled out my phone and brought up a picture of Ben. It was a selfie of the two of us from the night of the engagement party, our faces pressed close. “Does he look familiar?”

He went still as the light from my phone turned his tan skin a pale blue. I could see Ben’s face reflected in his eyes. “Yeah.”

My heart rose into my throat. “You’ve seen him? Oh, thank God. Where?”

“On TV. That’s the veterinarian who went missing last week.”

“Oh.” I swiped away the picture before the sight of it broke me. “He’s my fiancé. His name’s Ben. Benjamin Ward.” I put the phone back in my clutch.

“I know what his name is.” He said it slowly. Deliberately.

My hope was like those trick birthday candles my parents loved to put on my cake each year. Every time I blew one out, it sparked back to life again. “Do you know of anyone who might have seen him?”

“Go home, Mattie. You’re not going to find Ben here. You’re not even going to make it past the bouncers.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I didn’t recognize you last night, but I should have. You were on TV, too, remember?”

I’d done a few interviews, pleading with whoever had taken Ben to bring him home to me. “I have to find him,” I murmured. “I think this Nestor guy was his supplier, and I was hoping—”

“Get out of here!” he snapped. “You’re such an idiot. You’re walking blind into a cave full of people who can see in the dark. It took Bart five seconds to read how desperate you were last night, and he’s small-time on his best day. Here, they’ll know immediately. And—”

“Know what?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The door’s going to slam shut so fast that you’ll be lucky if your nose doesn’t end up looking like mine.”

He turned away from me and pressed up against the van, his palms spreading across the glass of the tinted window. His knuckles were heavily scarred.

“Thanks for nothing.” I moved to step around him, heading for the club.

“What the fuck?” He blocked my way. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sure. I won’t make it past the front door. Let’s see about that.”

I sidestepped him, and he cursed and turned toward the back of the van again. He yanked open the hatch, and I heard a low growl. “Shh, girl, it’s me,” he said.

“Wait, this is
your
minivan?”

He winged something at me, and I barely managed to catch it. It was a small cardboard box with
XXX
written in black marker across the side. “To ease the pain. Take it and go.”

I looked down at the box, and then at his minivan, the back of which was filled with neatly stacked toolboxes and cases, one opened to reveal several rows of small boxes with similar markings. “Is this . . . ?”

“Fuck stick. Just like the one you had last night.”

Heat spread across my chest and up my neck. “I tell you I’m searching for my kidnapped fiancé, and you give me a-a-a—”

“Fuck stick?” He annunciated each word while wearing a nasty, knowing smile. “Seemed like you enjoyed it before.”

He reached into the van, and I heard a collar jingling as he patted the creature inside—the honor-student eater, I presumed. I leaned to the side to see that it was a gray pit bull with light eyes and ears cut woefully short. Its muzzle was covered in ugly scars.

“I’ll be back soon, Gracie,” he said to it, receiving a plaintive whine in response. Then he pulled two cases from the back, set them on the asphalt, and slammed the rear door of the minivan shut. When he straightened, he looked surprised to see I was still standing there. “Oh. There’s no charge.”

“My fiancé is
missing
. Someone took him and left his bloody pacemaker in our mailbox! He might be suffering. He could be dead.”

“Bummer,” he admitted, “but I have an appointment to keep, so run along now.”

“‘Run along now’?”

He glanced around. “Is there an echo in here?”

“You are such a-a—”

“Need some help? How about—”

“Asshole!” I shrieked.

He chuckled. And then his smile fell away suddenly as he moved toward me, leaning into my space in a way that made me stumble back instinctively. But he just kept coming, backing me up until my butt hit the rear of the delivery truck. He smelled like soap and dog and . . . mangoes? He placed his hands on either side of my head, trapping me, leaving me staring at the curve of his mouth. “You did not know the real Ben.”

“Did you?” I whispered.

He stared down at me. “No. I don’t think I ever did.”

“But you obviously think you know me.”

“Let me see . . . You were a popular girl in high school, maybe a cheerleader. My guess is that your life to this point has been pretty damn painless. You like Taylor Swift, and your parents are lifelong Republicans.” His smile went flat. “And you clearly don’t think things all the way through before diving in headlong. I’ll bet you think that’s cute, when in actuality it’s dangerous as fuck and annoying as hell.”

I flinched at his anger, and he glanced down at my hands, still clutching the box. “You were living for that ring on your finger long before Ben got down on one knee,” he said, more quietly this time. “You still wonder why on earth he chose you, and I’ll bet you held back when you guys fought, because you were afraid he’d walk out and take your whole future with him. And that was terrifying to you, because you couldn’t imagine anything outside of the safe little cardboard life you were raised to want. So basically, you’re a small-town girl with small-town tastes and dreams, and a small-town life ahead of you.” He tilted his head. “How’d I do?”

“‘Asshole’ was definitely the right word,” I managed to say, my voice breaking.

“No argument there. Go home and take a bubble bath, Mattie. Paint your nails. Drink a glass of merlot. Call one of your girlfriends and tell her all about the asshole you met today. Then crawl into your little bed and make yourself come to take the edge off.” He jerked his chin at the box in my hand. “That’ll last at least a week, depending on how hard you go at it.”

I glared up at him, my cheeks on fire, knowing my eyes were probably shining with tears, and hating him for it. “Well, thanks,” I said. “I guess I’m all taken care of.”

He pushed himself away from the truck and took a few lazy steps backward. “Excellent. I live to serve.” He turned on his heel and picked up his cases, the muscles of his arms standing out in sharp relief as he hefted them. “Drive safe, now. You’re a long way from Sheboygan.”

He marched up the steps and kicked the side door a few times, and it quickly opened. He didn’t look back before he headed inside, and the door slammed shut a second later.

Stiffly, I walked slowly toward my car, ignoring the low growl that came from the pit bull inside the minivan. But then I paused and turned toward the vehicle. The minivan was bigger than a normal car. Like SUV big. Could
this
be what had left the skid marks outside my house? Could the jerk have been involved in Ben’s kidnapping?

Why else would he be so eager to steer me away from this place?

I patted the side of the minivan and was rewarded by a round of vicious barking. “I might be a Taylor fan, Gracie, but there are a lot of things your owner doesn’t know about me.” I stalked back to my car, a plan already forming in my head.

CHAPTER FOUR

Still seething, I slid into the driver’s seat and flipped down the visor to peer at myself in the mirror. A fresh face, pink lips, hair bouncing around my face. Really, no wonder the jerk didn’t think I belonged here. I looked like I was barely old enough to drink, let alone meet up with a drug dealer.

I gritted my teeth. Now I wanted to get into the Phan Club for two reasons. I was more certain than ever that the clue to finding Ben was inside. But also, if I was honest with myself, I was desperate to show that jerk how wrong he was and to uncover whatever he was hiding. Digging deep into my purse, I found a lipstick in a dark shade I’d worn only once before deciding it looked too dramatic. I wiped my mouth with my arm and put it on, going heavy. Then I fished out some eyeliner and gothed myself up. Knowing there was little I could do for my hair—it is basically impossible to make curls look badass—I twisted it into a messy updo.

And then I sat and thought about what I was about to do. The jerk had said that the bouncer last night could feel my desperation. Bart
had
seemed to know how I was feeling. If the jerk had been right, though, the bouncers at the Phan Club doors would be more like the jerk himself, and like Sandro, all doubting that I was looking for a high, assuming that I couldn’t handle it, or maybe thinking that I was a snitch, and any of those suspicions might cause them to turn me away.

If I was going to get inside, I needed to lose the desperation. I looked down at the triple-X box and then peeked around to make sure I wasn’t being observed. “Well, here we go,” I muttered, and pulled open the lid.

Ten minutes later, I forced myself to let go of the thing. It fell onto my lap, and I had to wrap it in a piece of tissue to get it back in its box without touching it with my bare hands. The slightest stroke was enough to make me come again. My heart racing and my cheeks burning, I tucked the box under my seat and got out of my car. Gracie let out a muffled bark but quieted as I walked down the delivery lane toward the club entrance around the corner. I concentrated not on Ben, but on what I could get if I made it through the doors—more magic, more pleasure. My limbs were loose, and the beat from the pounding music was already vibrating inside me. I reminded myself that no one knew me here. No name, no shame. Smiling faintly, I slid into the line amid a group of twentysomethings wearing vinyl and chain belts. They smelled like shampoo and upscale perfume, telling me this was a thrill for them, not a lifestyle. To tell the truth, they didn’t look so different from me. It made me even more suspicious as to why the jerk had wanted me to stay away.

Instead of checking IDs, the bouncer—a guy with long brown hair and a nose ring—was touching each person who entered the club, on the arm, the neck, the cheek; any exposed skin seemed to do. He sported a relaxed smile, though his eyes were sharp and assessing. He went through a couple of people and seemed to approve them. A blond woman sitting next to him stamped the back of people’s hands and sent them inside. Then he got to a muscular guy with a military haircut, wearing a leather vest and pants. When the bouncer touched him, I could tell there was going to be a problem. “Not sure this is the place for you,” the bouncer said, glancing at the stamp woman.

Buzz Cut stepped away from them. “Are you kidding? Come on. My money’s as good as anyone else’s.”

The woman hopped off her stool to intercept him. She was clad in a vinyl catsuit that hugged her lithe body, and she had big, solemn blue eyes. Next to Buzz Cut, she was tiny, but she approached him without any apparent fear. As he tried to sidestep her, she took him by the hand. “You don’t want to be here anyway,” she said softly.

“Fuck this,” said Buzz Cut. “I don’t want to be here anyway.” He turned and stomped away, and the woman calmly moved back to her stool.

I watched him go, eerily reminded of my brief conversation with Detective Logan this afternoon when I’d removed Ben’s anchor pendant from the evidence bag.

I just needed to hold it for a second,
I’d said.

You needed to hold it for a second,
she’d echoed.

What the hell was going on?

No time to figure it out now—I was up, and I knew I had to play it cool. Focusing on the lingering ache between my legs, I smiled at the bouncer when he reached for me. His fingers slid down my shoulder, and the touch was enough to strum the already-taut strings of my desire. He grinned. “Someone’s already warmed up. Go ahead. Have fun tonight.”

“I plan to,” I said, holding my hand out for the blonde to stamp. Our eyes met, and she tilted her head, giving me a curious look. My stomach tightened, but then I heard the bouncer reject another hopeful behind me, and she had to slide off her stool and have another weirdly hypnotic exchange.

I pushed through a revolving door and got my first glimpse inside of the Phan Club. It didn’t look so different from the clubs I’d been to in college. A bar occupied one side of the room, but drinks weren’t the only thing for sale. Instead of chipped mugs and spoons, there were rows of glowing sticks and necklaces laid out on the counter. On the packed dance floor, people writhed to the pounding music. Some were wearing the necklaces, others simply clutching them with their hands. A few people were teasing their partners, running the sticks along their bodies. It reminded me of the magic den the night before, only for the younger crowd.

I scanned the room and was relieved that the jerk was nowhere in sight.

I moved along the wall, narrowly avoiding a few grasping dancers trying to pull me into their clothed orgy. My body trembling with the temptation even as I stared in shock at some of the stuff taking place in plain view, I managed to reach the bar without losing myself again. To one side, people were stumbling along and ducking into different rooms down a long hallway. They seemed more stoned than the people on the dance floor.

“What can I get you?” asked the bartender, an Asian woman with short, spiky hair and intricately patterned tattoos down the sides of her neck.

I pulled out the card Bart had given me. “I was actually hoping I could talk to Nestor. I have a referral from Sandro.”

She glanced down at the card and nodded. I wanted to lean over the bar and kiss her, simply for being the first person who didn’t tell me I wasn’t the right type or that I was in over my head. “I think he’s in the back. I’ll let him know he’s got a customer.”

She headed toward the hallway, but stopped as another guy walked out carrying a box of glow sticks. “Is Nestor back there?” she hollered over the music.

“Yeah,” the guy said in a loud voice. “He’s helping Asa get settled with his clients. He’ll be out in a minute.”

Asa?
My stomach dropped as the bartender came back over to deliver the good news. “Oh, hey,” I chirped. “I went to school with a guy named Asa!”

Her eyebrow arched. “Probably not this guy.”

“It’s a pretty unusual name.” I took a step back when her eyes narrowed. “But you’re right. That Asa was very straitlaced. Very conservative, that one! Not the kind of person to hang out in a place like this. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong. With this place, I mean.”

I was babbling, and I knew it. “Never mind. I’ll have a glass of merl—I mean, a Bud Light. Can I have a Bud Light?”

She nodded slowly. “Coming right up.”

Good lord, I was not a subtle beast. I’d managed to get myself in the door, but I was my own worst enemy. I sat there with my beer and slowly churned through everything I’d learned. People were buying and selling objects imbued with magic, this drug that could induce phenomenal pleasure with a single touch. But there was more to it than that—the bouncer outside seemed to be able to sense stuff from people, like Bart had done to me the night before, and the stamp lady had a weird ability to influence others, which maybe I’d been able to do with the detective when I’d been holding Ben’s anchor pendant. Grandpa had hinted that some people produced magic naturally, while others used artificial forms . . . I laid my head down on the bar and closed my eyes, unable to get traction.

And then there was the Asa issue. Ben’s older brother, a known drug dealer even as a teen, this unfindable guy who had threatened to kill Ben the last time they were together. And now someone named Asa was right down the hall, and I was betting he had honey-brown eyes and a sneer that made people feel two feet tall. He was dealing magic now, and I wondered if it hadn’t been as long since the brothers had seen each other as Ben had led me to believe. I sat up straight, downed the rest of my beer, and hopped off my stool, feeling a little queasy. I needed to get Asa to spill.

I melted into the crowd near the bar and cautiously danced my way to the entrance of the hallway, where I slipped in behind a couple that was headed for a room.

“You sure you want to do this?” the woman asked her companion.

“Yeah,” said the guy. “They’ll never trace it back to me. I’ll just put it in the office where he’ll find it and pick it up, and
wham
—” He glanced over his shoulder, saw me, and clamped his mouth shut.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t judge.” I smiled.
There you go. Subtle.

Each door along the hallway had a symbol on it and a number, and the couple peeled off to go into room six, which had a rough cross carved into the door. I wondered what it meant—that guy sure wasn’t here to say his prayers. All alone now, I walked slowly, leaning in to listen for murmured conversations behind the doors. I was mostly met with silence. Some moaning, but I was familiar with that now. And then . . . I paused in front of room thirteen, which had a hexagon with three parallel horizontal lines through it. Was that the jerk’s voice?

“Everyone ready?” he asked. Then someone else said something, too muffled for me to hear. I leaned closer, straining to catch any hint of what was going on inside, what the jerk might be doing and who he was with, anything that would hint at his true identity or give me a clue I could use to find Ben. “This is going to take a few minutes.”

More muffled words. I leaned closer and pressed my ear to the door.

. . . Which wasn’t actually fully closed. The moment I put my weight on it, the thing swung open and I stumbled forward, off-balance in my strappy heels. I had the impression of shocked faces in the candlelight as my arms flailed. Then my toe caught and I went down, landing directly on top of an immense shirtless man. Panicked, I slapped my hands down to push myself up, my palms coming into contact with his bare, hairy flesh. And as soon as they did, a rush of intense sensation shot up my arms and into my chest, like my veins had been injected with liquid lightning. My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t get my lungs to draw air. My eyes were wide, but all I could see was sparks and flashing colors. My thoughts were like Niagara Falls, roaring and rushing with unstoppable speed straight over the edge, crashing onto rocks, white mist filling the space within my skull.

My head bounced off the floor as I hit the ground. Blinking and gasping, I looked up to see three faces gazing down at me.

Three very angry faces.

“What just happened?” asked the man I’d landed on. His flabby middle was sagging over his belt, and a gold chain held a pendant nestled in his abundant chest hair. “She stole it before I got to feel a thing.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal anything,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up,” a woman snapped. She had garish auburn hair that was clearly dyed and the face of a woman in her late fifties. She was looking at me as if I were a cockroach she’d love to stomp on. “Asa, I demand an explanation. Who is this? Is she a conduit?”

Asa Ward looked down at me with his deep-set honey-brown eyes. “No,” he said, his voice flat. “She’s a goddamn reliquary.”