No Holes Barred: A Familiar Face Read online

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Marie Harte

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  NO HOLDS BARRED:

  A FAMILIAR FACE

  By

  Marie Harte

  © copyright April 2007, Marie Harte

  Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright April 2007

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's

  imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Trotting down Newtown's crowded sidewalk on four padded feet, her tail flat with irritation, trade witch Mallory West had sunk to an all new low. Acting as her own familiar, she wrinkled her nose and tried her best to focus on the rank smell of her quarry, rather than the seafood market so tantalizingly near.

  Frank, that rat, would have to flee before she'd been able to fix dinner, and after a hellish Friday at that. Two more skipped claims, three more orders for restraint spells she couldn't possibly finish without wasting away her weekend, and the little shifter just had to decide he couldn't possibly do his time in Takori prison, not for a ‘whole ‘nother four months.’ Sob sob, yadda yadda.

  Pansy-ass. She sighed, a rumbled purr that irritated her whiskers, and followed him past the crowded markets, across the street and into a seedy-looking alley. Hecate's cauldron, but the magically-minded criminals in town weren't even criminals anymore. The clear-cut evil that used to comprise the baddies had denigrated into whining, sniveling scum that took too much effort to catch and afforded little in the way of reward. Serving the greater good seemed to be no more than an unappreciated headache lately.

  Her energy bill was past due, her wax lien perilously close to being called—and what witch could perform without wax, thank you—and her super promised to evict her if she didn't pay her late rent by Monday. As it was she'd managed to eek this past week out of him by promising to acquire and return his precious ‘videotape', an ancient relic her quarry had stolen for leverage. Leverage against what, she didn't know, and frankly, didn't care. Her super could have screwed the entire police force, disgusting as the thought was. She wanted to continue living in her rent-controlled apartment. And if catching Frank ‘the rat’ was her only way out, so be it.

  She sighed again and skirted a rotting door into an abandoned building. Trash and dead roaches littered the cement floor. Graffiti and hexes covered the walls, and she itched to leave, her feline senses tingling with displeasure. Soon, she promised herself, waiting until ‘Ratman’ Frank transformed back into his wiry, slovenly self.

  A hazy rush settled over his body, and with a quickness she admired, he regained his human feet. She tried not to stare at the natty man still quivering like a rodent. Instead, she mentally prepared her spell and rubbed the silver charm around her left front paw against her scratchy tongue. Narrowing her eyes, and with no help for it, she meowed the verbal command. In the seconds it took her to resume her natural form, she'd teleported Frank to Takori. Whipping out her cell phone, she autodialed Sherman Jakes, her best friend.

  "Yo, Sherm. Another one coming your way. Yeah, Frank Norton, wanted on extortion and assault charges. He skipped last week. Oh, and do me a favor. The videotape he has on him? Shoot it back to my place, would you?” She paused, shaking her head at his comments. “No, sorry. I'm really not in the mood for The Palace tonight. What? Sheila's coming? Oh hell, okay. I'll see you there at nine."

  Hanging up, she muttered to herself and refrained from licking her arm to smooth down her hair. Drop the familiar. She swiped at a descending spider and quickly exited the building, kicking through the decayed door. Well, at least tonight hadn't been a total waste. She hadn't had to expend but the one charm on the capture. And she'd have a check coming—

  "Well, well, well. What do we have here? An actual witch on ghoul territory. Where's your sugar daddy, baby?” Ace MacNafee grinned, his blackened teeth on par with his odious breath. Terrific. He had what passed for his friends with him, four snotty teenagers with more brawn than brain. All undead and rotting from within. Smelly, obnoxious, and unbelievably stupid. She grimaced at the skin and sinew hanging off the tallest man-child. Did his parents have no concept of trimming excess flesh?

  "Not now, Ace. I'm leaving. I'll come back to play on Monday.” Like hell I will.

  "You're leaving when I say you can leave. Now come here and gimme a kiss. We don't get many aristocrats in the alleys, Mal-or-ee. And we sure don't get superfreak ass like yours.” He licked his lips, his gaze lingering over her breasts before opening his mouth wide. He blew out a noxious red gas—dreaded ghoul toxin that could paralyze if ingested in sufficient quantity.

  Mal rolled her eyes and twisted the charm bracelet on her wrist. As her fingers closed over a miniature iron dagger, she lamented the expense of another charm, but knew, without it, she wouldn't be leaving the alley intact, let alone meeting Sherm and Sheila in a few hours.

  As a mystic dagger suddenly appeared in her palm, she aimed and threw, chanting under her breath. Though pleased at a ghoul's shrill cry, a bit of the toxin entered her bloodstream, making her slightly dizzy. And in her ensuing weakness, she felt rough hands grabbing her forearms.

  "Ace,” she said through gritted teeth, wishing the chief of police would rein in his worthless kid. “I'm not playing. Keep it up and I'll remove those fingers, regardless of your dad's status."

  "Oooh,” he mocked. “I'm so scared."

  Tired of dealing with the literal scum of the earth, she stared hard at his left hand and released the holds on her ‘illegal’ magic. Within moments he was screaming, his friends were screaming, and a squad of police had entered the alley with their guns drawn.

  * * * *

  Sherm sipped his beer. “I don't know, Mal. I think you may be the unluckiest witch I've ever met. Your familiar left you. You're nearly flat broke, the only witch I know without a trust fund, and you just maimed the chief's only son."

  Sheila, his fiancée, giggled. “You go girl! You're on fire!"

  Several nearby patrons, regulars at The Python Palace, saluted her with drinks. Though she'd only brought more trouble upon herself by roughing up Ace and his goons, she'd actually done the city a real service. Everyone hated the ghoul gangs that paraded around the wharf. And Chief MacNafee should have retired years ago.

  "You know, Sherm,” Mal said, sipping her wine. “You have an amazing tendency to make my life seem even more dour than it is."

  He grinned, white teeth flashing against dark brown skin. “I do have skills, you know."

  "Especially in bed,” Sheila muttered, sliding him a wink. He gave her a thorough kiss, what looked like a rousing game of tonsil hockey, and Mal sighed.

  "Not more of this lovey-dovey crap. Can't you two contain yourselves for a night, get a room or something?"

  Sherm eyed the Palace's second floor, the one off-limits to seemingly everyone.

  "What? Don't tell my you're not on ‘the list'?” Mallory blinked. “But Sherm, you're so big and handsome, so strong.” When Sheila l
aughed at the chagrined expression on his face, Mal added, “Couldn't bribe Rattler either, eh?"

  "No. I swear, I've never met a bartender so close-mouthed. Hell, I'm law enforcement. You'd think he'd accept the bribe, a favor for a favor or some shit. But not Rattler. ‘Mr. Python’ will not budge.” He glared when she would have spoken. “And don't give me any crap about you being special. We both know the only reason you've been allowed to even walk upstairs is because of your ‘under the table’ part-time status here."

  Mal shrugged. “A witch has to eat."

  "I still don't understand why you haven't married.” Sheila motioned to a waitress for another round. “Even though your parents are total assho—ah, oddballs, they still don't have the authority to prevent you from marrying up."

  "Sheila, you and Sherm are in love. Why should I settle for less?"

  "Yes, but I can afford to eat, with or without Sherman."

  "Good point. But I don't want to marry. I don't want a man telling me what to do all the time. And you know how arrogant warlocks are. You two are different from any couple I know. You're actually in love.” She groaned. “I won't marry an asshole like my parents, but I admit I'm tired of living claim to claim, of being considered the lowest of the low because I'm forced to earn a living.” She rubbed at her aching ribs, having suffered several unnecessary ‘pat-downs’ from the chief's men before the news cameras had arrived. “My rent is due, my energy bill is overdrawn, and I never seem to have time for me anymore."

  Sherm looked sympathetic. Sheila captured her hand and squeezed.

  "I'm sorry guys. I'm just feeling sorry for myself tonight. I told you I shouldn't have come."

  A sudden presence behind her made her still, but the familiar sensation of sheer power pressing against her back told her who neared. “Rattler, what can I do you for?"

  "I'm sorry to bother you three, but Mal, I could really use a hand tonight.” He nodded to the thickening crowd spilling toward the throbbing dance floor a split-level below. “Festival always perks sales, and Becky called in sick. You mind filling in? Double your wages...."

  Hell, her night was shot anyway. Why not make some much-needed money? Besides, in here, she didn't have to worry about being shot or cursed. No one screwed around in Rattler's Python Palace, not if they wanted to live. The police skirted the place, and Rattler's mysterious otherworldly connections made him a powerful man indeed.

  Hairless but for his thin black eyebrows and wicked goatee, covered with multiple piercings and an intricate snake tattoo, which covered him from the back of his neck and around his shirtless, muscular torso and presumably further beneath his jeans, Rattler should have looked too freakish to be attractive. But something about the large male had always made her feel comfortable, protected. And the grayish tint to his flesh made him almost as unique in the community as Mallory. A snake man running a dance club who answered to no one. A witch without means or a familiar. Two peas in a pod, except Rattler was a success, and Mal simply aspired to be one.

  "Okay, you're on. Sorry guys, I'll stop by later to chat."

  Sherm and Sheila took her departure easily, sinking back into that couple's connection that made her both envious and a little sad. She'd been close to that once, or at least, close the that picture. Her relationship with Aaron Floyd Crowe III had been anything but loving, and all about appearances.

  "Mal,” Rattler prodded. “I need you now."

  * * * *

  Four hours later, Mal reminded herself how fortunate she'd been that Rattler needed help. The bills, remember the bills. Maybe with tonight's take she could give herself tomorrow off and focus Sunday on the restraint spells. She carried out another order and, subtly glancing toward Rattler, mumbled a curse under her breath at a nearby customer with grabby hands. He'd feel it tomorrow and hopefully wouldn't associate it with The Palace. She'd tried, she'd really tried to resist using her magic, but enough was enough. The human octopus didn't seem to understand no.

  "Everything okay?” Rattler asked from behind the bar. His fathomless black eyes were narrowed on her and she did her best to appear innocent of any wrongdoing. God forbid he caught her doing magic in his place. She couldn't afford to alienate Rattler—literally.

  Sighing and trying to appear pathetic, she didn't have to fake her yawn. “Sorry, but it's been a long day. And I wasn't prepared for tonight.” She glanced down at her stained jeans, cropped t-shirt and beer-covered flats. Normally when she waited, she wore her snakeskin boots, waterproofed and comfort-lined.

  "Damn. I hadn't though beyond replacing Becky. I'm sorry, Mal. Your feet are probably killing you. Why don't you head upstairs and rest a few minutes?"

  Her eyes widened and she automatically looked at the imposing, guarded entrance to the Lounge's stairwell. She'd only once before served drinks in the open, modern loft area, accompanied by Palace security. No one knew what was up there except Rattler and a few select guests. From what little she'd seen, the Lounge sat between the low wall visible to the downstairs and three black doors spaced evenly against the inner wall.

  A black floor, hot pink walls, neon lights and a disco ball made the place garishly attractive when active, a rare occurrence in itself. And the lights and hot pink paint made the three ominous looking black doors even more arresting.

  She'd been dying of curiosity about those mysterious doors, but damned if she'd ever had a chance to investigate. Exposed to the familiar within her, her feline senses ached to see, to know. But she'd have to use magic to work around Rattler, and she respected him too much to violate his trust. A harmless spell here or there hurt no one. But she'd never violate his one rule to working at The Python Palace—never, ever go upstairs without Rattler's express permission.

  "Go upstairs? Sure.” She paused, waiting for him to say more. He didn't, and the look on his face made her somewhat uneasy. “What?"

  "Nothing.” But he was smiling. “Go on up. Don't worry about it, Mallory. You need some time to regroup, even the ‘slave master’ that I am can see that."

  She flushed. “You heard that, hmm?"

  He raised a brow. “You said it loud enough to be heard three blocks down."

  "Yeah, but that was a week ago and to Becky. You have ears like a bat,” she said under her breath as she headed eagerly to the stairwell.

  "I heard that, too,” he shouted, laughing. “See you when I see you.” And with that, he turned to help another customer.

  The massive bouncers merely nodded her through and as Mallory ascended to the second floor of The Palace by herself for the first time, she wondered why she suddenly had a feeling that facing those three black doors might be a huge mistake.

  She paused at the landing and took a deep breath. Nonsense. The Lounge was empty, unless Rattler had a secret passageway through which he smuggled privileged customers. Walking through the entrance, she noted the cleanliness and order in the oversized loft. Magazines tidied, vids scrubbed free of smoke, the black lacquered floor a study in clean. But those three doors captured her eyes like magnets.

  Her nose twitched as she stared at them. What the hell was beyond those doors?

  Approaching them, she studied each one. Of average height and width, black with gold knobs, they looked standard. Normal. The same. So why did the familiar within her guide her to the middle door?

  Almost as if in a dream, she watched her hand grasp the knob, felt the cool glide of metal under her palm, and listened to the quiet click as the catch released. She entered the room and a dim light illuminated the space. Huh. A plain, average bedroom. Same lacquered floor as the lounge, white walls. A king-sized bed with black sheets and a white downy duvet. No other doors or windows, and no furniture. Hell, not even a mirror. The door closed with a soft nick, but her eyes were focused on Rattler's suggestion.

  The bed seemed like heaven at the moment, and without thought, she lay down on her back, sighing at the feel of silk under her tired and aching muscles. In seconds she'd sank deep into the comfort of sleep.r />
  Minutes or hours might have passed when a noise interrupted her rest. Shouts and moans, what sounded like fighting and, well, sex, increased in volume until she couldn't stand it. That curiosity again. But at least she felt refreshed, and mentally thanked Rattler for her small nap.

  A loud thunk rapped the wall outside the door, and she heard what she imagined to be cursing and threats in a foreign language. Opening the door, she came face to face with a man who could have been Rattler's twin. He had shoulder length black hair, gray skin, and a snake tattoo curled around his body and up his neck. What looked like a leather kilt and crossed straps across his chest that behind his back held two crossed swords—their hilts visible over his massive shoulders—made her blink.

  She had to clear her throat. Unlike his ‘brother', nothing about this guy felt comfortable or safe. He easily could have passed for security, as big as an ox and wearing a mantle of menace over those brawny shoulders. Her blood heated and her heart raced, in fear and a surprising arousal, worrying her more than she liked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even fantasized about sex.

  "Um, Rattler said it was okay to be up here."

  His eyes widened and he stared down at her—way down—his gaze first suspicious, then bolder as he roamed from her face, lingering over her lips, to her breasts and the slim expanse of abdomen showcased by her cropped shirt. She had an urge to cross her arms over her breasts, doubly so when her nipples peaked under his regard.

  "Cuwenicu,” murmured throughout the crowd, and she was momentarily distracted by the foreign word.

  Without warning he latched onto her wrists and pulled her from the room. The minute the door closed behind her, he let her go, and the Lounge fell into complete and utter silence.

  "Hey buddy, what the hell is your prob ... lem?” She trailed off as she watched his eyes turn into something she'd never before seen. As a witch, Mallory knew all about the otherworldly creatures in existence—the vampires, ghouls, shifters and mages that wandered her neighborhood. But this guy ... he didn't fit into any category she knew.