Page 5 of City of Love

She dipped her chin to her chest for a moment before looking back up. “No, you’re right. But I honestly don’t know anything further.”

He massaged the tension in his forehead. The fact that he couldn’t control both ends of the portal had always made him uneasy. He never trusted anyone to protect the things he loved as much as he trusted himself. But like Schubert’s Fantasy in D Minor, which required four hands playing on one piano at the same time, the portal needed Matthew McCabe on the other side.

Gideon pushed back from the chair and stood. “There are too many signs. No guests tonight, Alana. We’ll close the portal for this evening at least, and we can meet with the Portal Committee this week to discuss it further.” He took a deep breath, his hands clenching at the lost opportunity to work on the papyrus. But his decision was the correct one.

Alana stood too, glancing at the clock on the bureau behind him. “I don’t know if there’s still time to—”

He missed the rest of her sentence as a dizzying rush of images obscured his vision. Bright pink electrified lights stabbed his eyes, and the sounds of motorized automobiles and honking horns punched at his sensitive ears. Feelings of excitement tinged with a hint of anxiety washed over him, but they weren’t his own. Not my emotions. Not my world.

He clenched his eyes shut against the sensory onslaught. When he finally opened them, he found himself gripping the table.

“Gideon?” Alana crossed to his side of the desk, touching his shoulder with concern.

He shook his head to clear it. He was neither a telepath nor an empath. Telekinesis was his only psychic skill. He’d never had visions before, and they made no sense. “I don’t…”

The sound of a bell chiming three times in succession announced to everyone in the salon that it was time to be aware.

The visitors were arriving.

CHAPTER 3

“You got fired, you’re in a craptastic mood, and you’re totally down on yourself,” Margot said earlier in the day while laying out the clothes she demanded Lexi wear for their night out—a flirty sundress with a neckline as low as the hem was high, which was to say, very, and a pair of stupidly tall spike heels. “You’re in need of some serious ego boosting, and a little bit of male appreciation couldn’t hurt.”

Lexi’s visions, however, had become so frequent that her biggest goal for the night wasn’t finding a good-looking guy, but merely staying conscious on her barstool.

“Besides,” Margot had added, “You’re not going to believe what I’ve got in store for you tonight. Get ready to have your mind blown.” Her bestie knew exactly how to hook her.

An Ivy-League-educated, real-world-hardened, entrepreneur, Margot was a platinum blonde bombshell with a gregarious personality who wasn’t above wearing a low-cut blouse if she could parlay her cleavage into a better rate of interest—financially and otherwise.

“And don’t cover up your boobs with that sweater.” Margot tossed aside the lightweight cardigan Lexi had selected, and then bounded out the door to get her hair blown out for their big night.

Now several hours later, and an unusually early start at only seven o’clock, Lexi paced the sidewalk at the corner of Fourth Street and Market. The neon sign of a Mexican restaurant cast a bright pink glow about her. Apprehensive but excited, she searched for the face of her best friend among the throngs of people out for the night. Lexi could hardly rationalize spending money on an evening of fun, but her attempts at avoiding the plans had been unsuccessful. It was, as everyone knew, nearly impossible to say no to Margot.

Still feeling raw and vulnerable from the previous day’s events at the office, Lexi now tugged on the sweater as she waited in front of the bright sign advertising five-dollar chorizo taco plates. She pulled out her phone, wondering what was keeping her friend, when she heard the familiar sound of stiletto heels clacking on cobblestones.

Margot waved as she trotted up. “Hey, doll. Sorry I’m late.”

The epitome of a femme fatale, she wore six-inch spiked-heel patent leather pumps, close-fitting suit pants, and a finely tailored black blazer, worn with nothing underneath. Well, nothing except her perfect Barbie Doll double D’s that barely kept themselves from being fully revealed.

Lexi pulled her friend in for a hug. “So where are we going tonight?”

Margot pointed at the dive joint behind them, called Taco Shots. When Margot had said to meet in front of it, Lexi figured they’d grab a cab to whatever new whisky bar or private rooftop club her friend had decided was the current “mind-blowing” hot spot. As it turned out, the hot spot they were gracing was Taco Shots itself.

Lexi pulled open the door to the tiny shop. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not kidding, but it’s also not what you think.” Margot led the way as they whizzed right past the few tables, the ordering counter, the small, greasy-smelling kitchen that Lexi really didn’t want to stare too hard at, and straight toward another door that looked for all the world like the back exit.

Then they stepped through it, and…

“Holy shit. It’s like the freaking Tardis.”

The tiny diner was just a front for a spacious, elegant, and at the moment, subdued nightclub. The walls were a deep charcoal gray, though they shimmered in spots as if embedded with dark gems. Interspersed every ten feet or so, floor-to-ceiling panels looked as though they flowed with liquid gold. Lexi walked up to one and touched it. The panels were covered in gold leaf with water streaming ever so gently down them into shallow pools at the base of each one. Groupings of dark leather sofas and tiny coffee tables were gently illuminated by tea candles and wall sconces. A huge room, it nevertheless felt… cozy.

A well-stocked bar filled most of the length on the right wall, and at the back of the lounge, a space of about thirty square feet was roped off. If it were a VIP section, it was an odd one, since there were no furnishings filling the space. Like a strange little queuing area to nowhere.

Lexi glanced back at the door they’d just come through from the restaurant’s kitchen. So, this was one of those secret clubs, a speakeasy-type place that had become popular recently, where you had to be in the know to get invited.

A little too secretive perhaps.

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