Firebug by Lish McBride Page B

where the inside of my cheek met teeth. I didn’t pass out, but I fell to my knees, my hand cupping my cheek as my vision tunneled. Venus leaned over me, her ward swinging. I had a flash of memory, an image of her ward in my blood. Even though it dangled in my face, I couldn’t reach out and tear it off her neck. The pact forbade it.
    Constructed by Coterie lawyers, signed in my blood, and sealed by a blood witch—there was no way I was wiggling out of the pact safely. Unless Venus died, or—much more likely—I died, I wasn’t getting out. Oh, and the incredibly likely option of her letting me free was always there. Yeah, right. I could always track down the blood witch and ask her to undo it, but since that would result in a quick and messy execution for both of us, it wasn’t really an option. I had to face it. I was bound to Venus. It was the only way she allowed me to live. Let Cade live. The platinum of the swinging charm taunted me, and I couldn’t so much as reach out to it. Stuck , it said. You’re stuck with the rest of us .
    Hmm. If I thought the necklace was talking to me, maybe she’d hit me harder than I thought.
    My head complained about me standing so soon, but I didn’t want to stay on the floor. She handed me the file again. I used it to wipe off the blood that had dribbled from the corner of my mouth. Then I handed it back to her with a tight-lipped smile. It felt like the temperature in the room dipped about ten degrees, and I heard a few audible gasps from our audience. Venus could kill me right now and be within her rights granted by the pact. I had blatantly disobeyed her, and I’d done it openly and flagrantly. I was banking my continued health on the fact that she needed me—that I was worth too much. If the bet had Vegas odds, I wouldn’t have staked money on it. Even with my worth, the outcome did not look good. Would Cade be safe with me gone? Or would Venus track him down out of some perverse sense of vengeance? I could only hope that Duncan would take care of him.
    She stared at me for a few breaths while we all waited to see which way she would swing. A sudden image of her as a Roman emperor filled my mind. Venus in the Colosseum, watching gladiators battle for her, waiting for her to give a sign as to whether they lived or died. Would it be thumbs up or down? Cheery. She finally shooed me away with one hand. “Go, rejoin your friends, then.”
    A light dip of the head—as close to a bow as she was going to get from me—and I was out the door. Even though I walked at a normal pace, I couldn’t get out of Hell fast enough.

5
    A IN’T N O P ARTY L IKE A C OTERIE P ARTY, ’ C AUSE A C OTERIE P ARTY H AS A B ODY C OUNT
    THERE ARE SEVERAL bars in the Inferno, but the Purgatory bar is the smallest and has only one or two bartenders working. The bar, like the restaurant, is dimly lit, mostly by candles and chandeliers made to look like they’re full of candles. There’s some red backlighting that reflects off the burnished copper set into the wall.
    I went to check on my two favorite bartenders—and despite their earlier behavior, they still were my favorites—behind the Purgatory bar. I slid onto the stool behind Lock, winking at Ezra as I did so. He solemnly held up one finger in a shushing fashion, then went back to wiping down a pint glass.
    Lock’s spiked, bleached hair appeared magenta in the bar’s light. He wore his black Purgatory T-shirt and black pants well, judging from the way the women seated at the bar were staring, and by the amount of drool Brittany had produced at the table earlier. Not that I was sizing up one of my best friends. That would be weird.
    I leaned forward and pinched him on the ass. I thought he’d leap or startle, as most people would when receiving an unexpected goose, but Lock simply spun around, grabbing my hand.
    â€œLet go,” I said.
    He shook his