I paused by the door to peer into the dusty mirror hung upon the wall. With a grunt of disgust at my disheveled appearance, I tried to comb my fingers through my tangled hair. I looked myself up and down. My jeans and t-shirt weren’t doing me any favors, but I had looked worse. The clothing hid my form from view and given the curves I was endowed with, something more form fitting would have been flattering, but I wasn’t about to change to search for Vicky. My brown curls looked like a weed whacker had been at them, but there wasn’t anything to do about that. They looked like that more often than not. Unable to get my fingers through my hair, I gave up.
I grabbed my battered leather jacket and used both hands to grab the front door knob. The paint-peeling portal was encased in a frame that had warped from moisture and stuck abysmally. It was but one of the numerous home repairs I always intended to see done. In the interim, I tried to convince myself that it provided a sort of older charm to the townhouse.
After a heave and a satisfying slam of the door, I hopped down the steps leading to the street. The sharp tattoo of the wooden heels of my clogs beat time against the chipped sidewalk. To my ears it sounded like it was calling out, “Trouble. Trouble.” And the words echoed in my mind.
Laura wouldn’t be much help, but the bar at the corner of their block might. I’d at least be able to find out who Vicky was spending her time with these days. Trouble. By human standards, Vicky had always been just that: trouble. She took after our mother in looks, our father in attitude. I considered it just my luck that I drew the short straw in our mutual genetic pool. I was all responsibility and better built for a sturdy fight than anything else. Vicky had inherited all the willowy charm that had enticed a creature of the Mistlands to dally with our mother for a few years. And responsibility, well, let’s just say that she had inherited all the personality traits of the fey. Vicky lived for today and rarely thought of anyone beyond herself.
Still, she was rarely without companions. It was hard not to admire that style of living, even if most of us discover our consciences won’t allow our attempts at imitation. Vicky’s inability to recognize consequence and the bookend trait of self-indulgence ensured that her companions were as variable as the weather. But if I could just pin down one of them, I’d have a better idea of where she might have disappeared.
Trouble. Trouble. Assuming she went willingly. I squelched that thought as quickly as it rose, but something about this just felt wrong in a way I didn’t dare communicate to our mother. If I tried to explain this nagging feeling, she wouldn’t understand. Even if I tried and she did, it would only cause her more worry and she didn’t need that.
As I determinedly strode my way the three blocks to where my battered and ancient VW Rabbit stood, I noticed a blond, spiky-haired youth loitering outside a cramped corner convenience store. More precisely, I noted him watching me. His gaze latched on and then he quickly turned his head, affecting the manner of someone taking excessive interest in the cigarette butts littering the sidewalk.
I quickly surveyed him. He was thin to the point of flirting with emaciation and of moderate height. Like many teens, he was gangly at the wrist and ankle, although his clothing seemed to fit him adequately. Really, the kid wasn’t bad looking, with a snub nose and eyebrows slashing at angles that might appear angry. That emotion was denied by the natural curve of his lips, however, leaving him with a more mischievous air.
A faint tingle formed along my spine, like the hint of an electrical charge sometimes felt before a storm strikes. It was a distant and vague hum and I frowned. To some extent, this kid had fey blood, although probably diluted to give me such a light reaction. Unless someone else was near.
I glanced over my shoulder only to find no one else around. I hurried on and filed away thoughts of this kid, since the combination of his somewhat familiar features and his probably bloodline bore further consideration. But for the moment, far more important things required my attention.
Like getting the car to start. I cursed, hitting the wheel with the heel of my hand as if that would help. Piece of junk. I’d held off buying a new car for what had to be eons. In the meantime, I had probably dumped more than a new car’s worth of money into repairs on this hunk of wasted metal. But my current job didn’t pay well enough to spring for a new one all at once. My sister would have no qualms at using other methods to get what she needed, but I hated to do so. It just felt wrong to me.
I turned the key, pleading aloud with the car to work, just this once. I really didn’t want to cope with alternative means of transportation right now. Luck was on my side, fortunately, and I let out a triumphant shout as the engine ignited. The moment the harsh rattling turned over to the rapid hum of life, I made a mental note to treat the old heap to a car wash in the near future.
Victoriously, the Rabbit and I put-putted into traffic. The trip to my sister’s block was uneventful, if riddled with red traffic lights. Former block, I reminded myself as I made a mess of an attempt at parallel parking behind Laura’s sleek little hybrid. With one rear wheel on the curb and at an awkward angle, I figured I had done well enough to not get hit and exited.
The red sportscar of foreign design behind me had done nearly as bad of a job of parking as I had. Catching sight of the mountain of tickets piled on the interior dashboard and the two under the blade on the windshield, I sighed. Bad parking had to be something of a family trait. But that did nothing to ease my growing concerns. Clothing and car had both been left behind; this wasn’t a normal mode of departure for Vicky. I shook my head and hurried my way down the block to the tavern bustling with life and fluorescent signs advertising different beers.
Friday night. Could there have been a worse time to head into a bar? The din from outside rose to deafening proportions as I edged my way into the crowded vestibule. At least someone who knew Vicky was likely to be in residence. A muscular fellow wearing a backwards baseball cap and positively reeking of stale cigarette smoke and spilt beer looked me up and down with a dismissive sneer. He opened his mouth to make some sort of snide remark when his bloodshot eyes met my gaze. Even though I quickly looked away, his comment died unspoken.
Thankful for small blessings, I quickly elbowed my way towards the bar. The bartender had to be harried with this crowd, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. She was all efficiency; a whirlwind of economic motion.
“What’ll it be?” she asked, glancing up as she somehow managed to fill four pints from two taps without missing a beat.
“A pint of Guinness and a question answered when you have a moment to breathe,” I ordered hopefully.
Her glance sharpened and she bobbed her head curtly. “Gimme five for the question. Pint for you in the meantime.” As she spoke, she topped off what I realized was my glass with only a moderate bit of head. Impressed, I nodded my thanks and grabbed the drink, squeezing between the occupants of two barstools.
Taking a sweaty ten from my back pocket, I shoved it onto the bartop and took the time to look around. The people on either side, although claustrophobically close, were part of two larger groups leaving me to the sight of their curved backs. The roaming packs surrounding the bar were loud and young. This was definitely Vicky’s kind of place. And her friends would no doubt be the loudest and most glamorous of the crowd.
My roaming sight paused on a black-haired beauty of a woman, lithe and flawless. She was dressed in some sort of slinky black pants, probably leather and her top glittered with silver and green sequins. She was surrounded by a congregation of attractive young men and was laughing delightedly. She had potential.
The hair on the back of my neck rose and I became conscious of someone’s attention resting on me. I turned back, scanning the conversations. The impression intensified, but I couldn’t see anyone. Before I could track down my unseen viewer, the bartender returned, leaning closer to call out over the din to me.
“What’s your question? I don’t have long.”
“I’m looking for my sister. She’s a regular and I was hoping you could point me towards her friends. Assuming any are here.”
The tender’s quick brown eyes gave me the once over, her brow furrowing in perplexity. Her confusion was predictable and I quickly added, “I know, we don’t look anything alike. Vicky Petrov. Tall, thin, with pale blonde hair?”
The bartender blinked at me and then laughed. “Yeah, I know her. You’re right. You really don’t look related at all.” I smiled wryly, used to such reactions. “She’s a regular all right. Hell, she brings the party to us on our slow nights, even if she tips like crap.”
That was Vicky all over. “So, are any of her party companions here?”
The brunette paused to glance over the crowd. Unerringly, she pointed at the black-haired, sequined beauty. “Laila’s your girl, although it’s been a few days since she was in with Vicky.” In nearly the same breath she called, “Gimme a minute, I’ll be right there!” towards some young guy flinging himself onto his stomach on the bar to extend one wildly waving arm.
“Thanks. Sorry to keep you,” I said with a chuckle, motioning her back towards the impatient kid.
She rolled her eyes with an amused smirk before tacking on a more professional smile and moving away. Holding a glass close to my body so it wouldn’t get hit by an unruly elbow, I followed suit. I slid through the press of flesh, trying to make my way towards Laila and her entourage.
A tingling ran through me. The rising sensation had absolutely nothing to do with beer. I glanced around warily as I elbowed my way forward. The feeling grew stronger, becoming a vibrating hum in my bones. I wasn’t very far away from my striking target when she looked up and her emerald gaze locked onto me.
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