Cate Tiernan - The Calling

But the time for worrying was over. We were suddenly at the door and the bouncer was opening the rope for us, with a nod to Hunter.

I felt a burst of triumph. I almost blurted, I did it. I got in!

Oh God, I thought, I’m such a nerd.

“I didn’t realize you were the club type,” I said to Hunter.

“I’m not,” he assured me with a smile as we walked into an enormous room. Near the door was a bar that opened onto a vast dance floor where two DJs were spinning house music. At the far end of the room I saw an area with cozy bench seats. Hunter pointed to it. “The café serves cappuccino and pastries. Want something?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

We checked our coats. I gazed at my clothes doubtfully. Faded brown cords, one of my dad’s oversize wool sweaters, heavy, winter hiking boots. Clearly I hadn’t been thinking straight when I’d packed for this trip.

“There’s someone I need to talk with,” Hunter said in my ear. “Do you mind if I leave you on your own for a few minutes?”

“No, of course not,” I said, though I did mind. I was feeling more insecure and provincial by the second.

Hunter blended into the crowd. I tried not to feel irked by the fact that Sky went with him, no questions asked. I stood there, trying to look casual and feeling completely out of my element.

I walked back to the edge of the dance floor. In an effort to stop focusing on my insecurities, I opened up and let my senses explore.

There was a thick, throbbing feel to the air. After a moment I realized it wasn’t just the music—the club was actually pulsing with magick. I’d never felt anything like it before. There must be dozens of blood witches here, I thought. I could pinpoint a few of them even in this crowd, not so much because of what they were doing, but because power streamed out from them in a way that was almost tangible.

Most of the blood witches I knew must keep their power damped down, I realized suddenly. But not these people. Not the tall, thin African American man with the shaved head who stood on a low stage, dancing. The skinny kid in the oversize green suit. The sleek, blond woman in the low-cut, slithery dress and her dance partner, a rangy, loose-limbed guy with a beard. I frowned. Wow. There seemed to be some kind of weird psychic duel going on between the two of them. I could practically see the crackling energy that passed between them. Another woman, with long gray hair and the most extraordinary amber jewelry, danced by herself. She was surrounded by an aura of deep, vibrant green—it was so strong that I wondered if even those who weren’t blood witches could see it.

Cal came to my mind again, unbidden. He would have loved this, I thought sadly, all these beautiful witches using their magick so freely. He would have felt at home here.

Robbie came up to me, looking slightly stunned. “Is it just me, or is there something weird in the air here?” he shouted over the throbbing drums and bass.

Well, that answered my question. “It’s not you,” I told him. “It’s magick. A lot of these people are blood witches.”

“I think I’m a little out of my depth,” he murmured.

“Me too,” I admitted. Seeing the downcast look on his face, I asked, “Where’s Bree?”

Robbie gestured silently toward the café. I spotted Bree talking to a tall, handsome man with copper-colored hair. As we watched, she turned to a younger guy, maybe seventeen or so, and with a hand on his arm she drew him into the conversation, giving him a teasing smile.

Robbie groaned. “Tell me the truth, Morgan. Am I a masochist or simply out of my mind? I mean, why do I even bother?”

“I know it looks bad,” I said, trying not to get angry at Bree, “but I really don’t think it means anything.”

“Well, it feels awful,” Robbie said. “It—” He was cut off when a girl wearing body glitter, a gold sports top, and tiny little gold shorts took his hand. “Dance with me?” she asked.

Robbie gulped, nodded, and let himself be led out onto the dance floor.

My senses were wide open now, trying to process the stunning array of magick. One guy in particular caught my eye. He was probably nineteen or twenty, with a muscular body and glossy, dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He was heading toward Raven, who stood near me, and there was something reckless and confident in his eyes. He wasn’t exactly gorgeous, but he was very sexy. And I could sense his power from yards away. He was strong.

Then, to my shock, he stopped in front of me. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked with a frown.

Was that a pickup line? I wondered, slightly panicked. Or did he really know me? Come to think of it, there was something vaguely familiar about him, too….

“Um—I’ve never been here before,” I said cautiously.

“Hmmm. Well, stop looking so impressed,” he said with a grin. “These New York witches all think they’re so hot. It’s not healthy to encourage them. Besides”—his eyes raked me appraisingly—“I reckon you’re worth the lot of them.”

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, he walked past me to Raven, stopped in front of her, and said, “There you are, love. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Raven glanced at him in surprise. His grin got even wider, and he pulled her onto the dance floor.

I recognized a familiar presence behind me. Sky. There was nothing sloppy about Sky’s being or her power. Everything about her was clear, precise, and honed, like an elegant arrow.

“So, what do you think of this place?” Sky asked.

“It’s…intense.”

She looked at me and laughed. “That’s a good word for it. There are more blood witches here than you may ever see in one place again. Some of them highly eccentric.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Sky knew so much about the world I’d only recently come to be part of.

She nodded toward a woman spinning in place to the beat, one arm stretched high overhead. “That one, for instance. She’ll only cast spells that involve using nightshade. And he,” she said, gesturing toward a small, dark-haired man at the bar, “spent years living in a cave on the coast of Scotland.”

“Why?”

“Teaching himself to work with the sea. He’s remarkable at scrying with water. And he has a strong affinity for the ocean and its creatures.”

“Sky, ma chère .” A tall, elegant woman in a silver gown came up, kissed Sky on both cheeks, and began a rapid exchange in French.

I watched, slightly awed.

“That’s Mathilde,” Sky said as the Frenchwoman moved on. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you, but she was in a hurry. She’s got an amazing greenhouse on her roof. Every herb a witch could want.”

“How do you know all these people?” I asked.

“Some I know from Europe. Others I met coming here with Hunter,” she explained. “This is a good place for him to make connections.”

I glanced around but didn’t see Hunter’s blond hair anywhere.

Sky answered my unasked question. “He’s upstairs, talking to some people. Trying to get leads.”

A shout drew our attention back to the dance floor, where a space had opened around Raven and her partner. They were doing some kind of dance that involved a lot of athletic gyrating and shimmying.

I glanced at Sky. Her face was blank, neutral, but her eyes never left Raven and her partner. As if conscious of her gaze, the wild guy looked straight at her and laughed.

I felt sudden sympathy for Sky. “Don’t let them upset you.” As the words left my mouth, I was shocked at my own presumptuousness. Me, consoling Sky?

But she simply gave me a rueful half smile. “I’ll get over it. Raven has to be who she is.”

She nodded toward Robbie and the gorgeous girl dancing with him. Robbie looked mystified by the attention.