The Brotherhood 8 Under Hill and Over the Bar Page 10

  Malice chuckled, a dark, low sound. “Approximately one thousand hundred coins. Silver.”

  Laurence exchanged a glance with Keelan. Keelan nodded. “It will make things so much easier,” he whispered. “If you have the courage.”

  “I teach elementary school,” Laurence snapped. “You think a hag is going to scare me? Believe me, after you’ve seen what’s left after a public spelling bee, there is nothing more frightening.”

  Malice laughed. “Very well, then. If both of you are ready?” Her hands hovered on her hood. “Ready or not, here I come ...”

  For all his brave words, Laurence swallowed hard, and heard a hoarse gulp from Keelan. The cowl peeled back from Malice’s head, and --

  -- she was beautiful.

  Laurence sat bolt upright in shock, staring. The hands of a wizened old hag, and the face of a fallen angel. Hair that looked literally made out of silver, it was so white-blond, and the heart-shaped face of an old-fashioned pin-up. Her red lips were perfectly made for a moue or a pout, and her wide, bright eyes were blue as a summer sky. When she laughed at the pair of them, it sounded like silver bells chiming.

  “God,” Laurence said in disgust. “Stereotypical, right down to the pointy ears. Heap big fake, Malice. You get a hell of a lot of jollies out of your disguise, don’t you?”

  “More than you could possibly imagine,” Malice replied jauntily, waving her wizened hands. “These, unfortunately, are real. I scarred them by dipping into a pool of pleasure before I came into my powers. And make no mistake, mortal -- Laurence -- my powers are very real. I am Malice, and I earned my name.” She paused. “This amuses me, and rest assured that only because it amuses me and new entertainment is a rare commodity, for tonight, we will say that you have defeated me. Lo! Your good will and benevolence have defeated me. Not to mention, lest we forget,” she added waspishly, “your pure stubbornness of will.”

  “Cover your face, Malice,” Keelan said. “I prefer the creature I know better than this face you show us.”

  “Surprising,” she said, sounding completely unshocked. All the same, she drew her cowl back over her head. Her voice changed again into the shadowy, raspy whisper they’d first heard. “You’ll have your box, Laurence.”

  “When?”

  “Now.” Malice reached into a hidden pocket of her robes and drew out a small, glimmering square. She tossed it to Laurence, who caught the thing as easily as he would a flung paper airplane in class. “Keep that safe, mortal. You won’t find another, or win one, either.”

  “Won’t need to.” Laurence folded his fist around the object and grinned. “Keelan? Get our clothes together. I feel like having a drink to celebrate.”

  * * * * *

  When Keelan stepped back into Rocco’s bar, dressed once again in his vest and slacks, he caught the bartender’s gimlet eye before Laurence did. Rocco had good reason to dislike Keelan: a little something to do with hexed spirits a few decades past. “Stop your worrying, big man,” he said jovially enough to Rocco and gave Laurence a slap between his shoulder blades. “I’ve returned with the mortal safely in hand.” At the dark look he got, he amended, “Laurence. Here we both are, unharmed.”

  Laurence glanced around. “Looks like the crowd cleared out,” he remarked. “Things always like that in here? Busy as a bee, then quiet as a tomb?”

  “Not always.” Rocco flicked a towel off his shoulder and balled it up in one fist, then stretched it from one massive hand to another, pulling at the terrycloth. “He treat you right? The elf, I mean. He give you a hard time?”

  Keelan and Laurence both burst into laughter. “I think you can safely say we gave each other a very, very hard time, in all senses of the word,” Keelan replied amiably. “Moreover, we have come to an amicable arrangement. I have sworn to be true to Laurence, and he has procured the means to summon me whenever he desires.”

  Rocco raised one eyebrow. “This is ‘amicable’ to you, elf? Last I heard, you liked your freedom, your fun and games, a little too well.”

  “Can a leopard not change its spots?” Keelan shrugged easily, sliding onto a bar stool, happy to see Laurence join him at his side. “What about two pints of your best home brewery’s beer for two thirsty customers? Your only customers, might I add.”

  “Not only,” Rocco rumbled. He jerked his head toward the far end of the bar. “Still got one guy in here.” He peered sharply at Laurence. “He’s been waiting on you. Says he knows you.”

  Keelan swiveled around with curiosity, then blinked. Shocked twice in one night! Sitting by himself a few seats down, previously unnoticed -- probably because he had not wanted to be -- was the incubus himself, Liam, cheerfully drinking a glass of something that looked like malty heaven. He waved at Keelan and Laurence, then tilted his glass in a toast.

  “Liam,” Laurence said, sounding startled. “How did you ...?”

  “I know a few things,” Liam said, sounding delighted. “I have a finger in every pie, as they say. Malice performed well for you, did she not? Tell me, did she keep the tarot cards for her own use?”

  “The tarot cards?” Laurence asked, sounding puzzled. Keelan, on the other hand, smacked the bar.

  “You old trickster!” he exploded. “You set this up! You and Malice both!”

  “I am guilty.” Liam twinkled at them. “I knew Laurence required special circumstances, and where better to find what he needed than a secret place where he could go until he was ready to face the world as what he is? An elf would be the perfect match for him, and Malice said she knew of the very one.”

  “And just how do you know Malice?” Laurence asked suspiciously. Keelan could see him fingering the small box that rode in the hip pocket of his jeans. “You two old buddies?”

  “Something of the sort. Malice is thousands of years old, as are some other creatures who walk the earth or run beneath it.” Liam winked. “One does tend to run into a familiar face from time to time.”

  “So you are a ...?” Laurence asked.

  Liam tapped his nose, and then grinned. “You, you were easy, Laurence. I’ve had a most restful time sitting here talking to Rocco about the best drafts to be found in Amour Magique. He may be one of the most knowledgeable of tenders in this establishment, and I am counting all of them, even those who serve the elite.”

  Laurence snorted. “You aren’t the elite?”

  “For one night, I am.” Liam lifted the crystal necklace he wore around his neck and gave the blue pendant a twirl. “But then, we are all special at this moment. It is an evening to live, love, and celebrate!”

  He turned to Rocco. “Give them their beers, if you please,” he said. “Let us drink to arrangements between new lovers, and to the success of plans carefully laid out.”

  As Rocco pulled the beers from their tap -- the Na’am Thuul -- Keelan peeked at Laurence and found him laughing silently, his sides shaking.

  “Leave it to Liam,” he whispered in answer to Keelan’s unspoken question. “I guess all the rumors about him are true, huh?”

  The beers came sliding over the bar to them. “To new acquaintances,” Laurence said, raising his glass with its heavy head of foam. “And to life over the bar and under the hill.”

  Keelan couldn’t help but grin. He’d never expected his night to go this way, but he couldn’t regret a minute of it. “Cheers,” he said with all good humor and clinked his glass against Laurence’s.

  Life had suddenly turned into one big adventure, and for an elf, there could be nothing better.

  Unless, of course, they could sneak in another round of sex before they hit the dance floor ...

  Willa Okati

  Although a relative newcomer to the field of e-publishing, Willa Okati has been writing since before she was old enough to pick up a pen. She thinks she knows where those dictated stories are hidden, but she'll never tell.

  Willa is also very interested in the paranormal: magery, Wicca, New Age philosophy, transgender studies, and of course, writing. You can dr
ag her away from the computer if you really fight, but you'd better be prepared for a battle.

  Just so she doesn't sound entirely dull, Willa has her fun: she is a practicing member of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and is involved in her community. She is owned by far too many cats, all of which have serious attitudes, and addicted to anything made out of chocolate or involving coffee. She is quiet, but has a very wicked sense of humor that springs out when you least expect it.

  A secretary for eight years, she now writes full-time -- and wouldn't trade it for the world.

  She loves to hear from readers, and always responds. You can contact her at willshenillshe@gmail.com or visit her website to check out her work at www.willaokati.com.