Лори Девоти - Unbound

A muttered curse rewarded her efforts. She snapped open her eyes to see the bartender turn a slightly singed paper in his hand. A deadly expression on his face, he strode toward her.

As threatening as he looked, Kara’s gaze was frozen to the paper in his hand. A wispy trail of smoke snaked from a hole the size of a quarter. That was it? That was all the power she could muster? What happened to exploding bar glasses?

“How’d you do that?” Leaning across the wood, the bartender shoved the paper under her nose. “This place is off-limits. Only protective—” He glanced over her shoulder to the man in the booth, then turned back and fixed a glare at her. “None of this.” The paper in his hand twitched. “How the hell did you…?” He muttered then, seeming to collect himself, he lowered the paper, and placing both hands flat on the bar, got right in her space.

“Go home. I don’t know what your hellhound’s thinking letting you wander around like this — but tell him the guardian said to keep you away. Bull-headed little witches have a habit of disappearing around here.”

Then without another word, he flipped up a hinged section of the counter, strode through the doorway next to the bar and disappeared in the dark hall.

Kara stared after him, her eyes wide. Bull-headed little witches have a habit of disappearing. Was he threatening her? Had he taken Kelly? Swallowing the bile that had collected in the back of her throat, she pushed away from the bar and forced herself to follow him.

The air in front of the door was still — unnaturally still. Stuffy without being hot, like an old attic no one had stepped into for a hundred years. Her mouth dry, she sniffed, halfway expecting the smell of mothballs and dust to greet her.

Nothing, not even the stench of cigarettes and old beer that drenched the rest of the room.

The doorway looked normal enough. No obvious signs of danger, death or mayhem, but something didn’t feel right. Her heart sped and her hands shook. There was something just wrong here.

Wrong. Like Kelly being missing. That was wrong. Giving herself a mental shake, she held out her hand toward the open doorway. Nothing happened.

She laughed. God, she was being so silly. It was just a door — probably led to the restrooms. Running her hand over her forehead, she stepped through the doorway and right back into the room she had left.

What the hell. She looked around. The door was now behind her. How did that happen? Mumbling to herself, she turned around and rapped her fist on the door frame. The solid sound of her knuckles knocking against wood assured her she wasn’t completely losing it. Or was she?

She stepped back to analyze the doorway again. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up, accompanied by the crawling feeling of someone watching her. As casually as she could, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Studying her from behind a half-smoked cigarette was the creepy little man in the stained hoodie.

Kara resisted the embarrassed laugh that tickled the back of her throat.

So some vagrant, probably lit up on heavens knew what, saw her talking to herself, walking through a door that led nowhere. No reason to be embarrassed. Probably an hourly occurrence for him. Still, she was feeling a little uncomfortable in the Guardian’s Keep right now. Not that it was ever welcoming.

And she had learned some things. The bartender definitely knew something about witches and their disappearances. Then there was his odd comment about a hellhound. That certainly warranted at least an Internet search — and chatting with Risk.

And she didn’t think the bartender was coming back anytime soon. She peered past the doorway into the darkness. No sign of anything — just a murky blackness. She should check again, though, right? She should. She really should.

Balling up her fists and screwing up what courage she had, she took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway again. This time she landed on the front step of the bar.

Damn. She glanced up, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The blue-gray sign of the Guardian’s Keep swung above her head suspended by two chains. The creak of the metal links against each other and the damp feel of air laden with unshed snow assured her she was truly back outside.

She spun, her hand on the cold metal doorknob before her rational mind caught up with her. That doorway beside the bar was taking her nowhere. Or worse, it might take her anywhere.

A sudden gust hit the sign above; the chain let off a squealing complaint. Kara jumped, falling forward and knocking against the closed front door. She leaned there for a second, her breath escaping in quick huffs.

That door could take her anywhere. The thought seeped into her brain. She pressed her forehead against the cold wood. Believing these things wasn’t easy. But she had to — if she blithely walked through that doorway again, she might land anywhere — northern Siberia, Mars, hell…She rapped her head against the door softly. Point was, it could most certainly be someplace she couldn’t easily escape.

Right now, her Honda was parked a short walk away, waiting to be coaxed into life. A lot smarter choice than tempting whatever had control of that doorway. Even knowing the logic of leaving, she hesitated. Leaving felt like failure. She was fed up with failure.

She curled her fingers into her palm and shook her head. Time to pack it in and go find Risk. Standing out here would get her nowhere. There was no shame in getting help to sort it all out.

Her arms wrapped around her for warmth, she gazed across the parking lot where she’d encountered the dogs before. The sun blared down on her providing little heat, but plenty of cheerful light.

No sign of any dogs today, she assured herself. Just a few empty feet of asphalt and snow, then she’d get in her Honda, say a few mantras and cajole the machine into taking her home.

Nothing bad could happen in the face of such glorious sunshine. After one last glance around, she trekked toward her car.

Risk fell to the ground with a grunt, Venge’s arms wrapped around his waist. Lusse, still on the dais above them, waved the bloody bandage like a hanky.

The bitch.

Risk muttered an oath and shoved his hands onto Venge’s shoulders, trying to push him away. The boy wouldn’t budge.

His heels dug into the mud, Risk fought for leverage. Venge held tight. Without changing, Risk doubted he could break his son’s hold. And he wouldn’t change — too much was riding on him now. Kara, her sister, and his son, whether Venge realized it or not.

Muscles straining to keep Venge from shifting his grip from Risk’s waist to his neck, Risk addressed his son. “This is what she wants. You. Me. All of us fighting. It only strengthens her control. She feeds off it. Steals our energy to use against us later.”

Venge wedged his legs back underneath himself and burrowed his head into Risk’s rib cage, pushed them forward through the mud. The oily, bloody gunk caked into Risk’s hair, and chunked over his shoulders onto his stomach. But Venge’s change in posture also gave Risk a new opening.

Forcing the back of his head deeper into the gunk, Risk curled his feet toward his body, catching Venge in the gut and sending his son flying over his head to land with a splat in the mud.

Shaking the goo from his body, Risk stood up. Venge lay on his back for only seconds before flipping himself upright — into a crouch. Rage poured out of him.

Risk’s own anger peaked in response. Clenching his fists, he tamped down the emotion and looked around for the other males. All five stood behind the power grid that separated spectators from participants. For the first time, Risk noticed the viewing area was full. All of Lusse’s hounds had turned out for today’s little event.