By Melanie Jackson


Chapter One

Zayn was descended from the Gananagh, the Irish love faerie who ensnared women and kept them pining after him until they died from broken hearts. The blood had been drastically diluted over the centuries, but there was no denying that Zayn cleaned up nicely when he was inclined to make the effort—which wasn't that often, and never for Io's benefit, once he figured out that she was immune to his particular charms.

Io and Zayn had entered the city on foot just after sundown. The troll at the gate, assuming them to be human, had collected their money with his prehensile toes and had them stick their hands in the shallow basin so they could receive their twelve-hour visitors' spells.

Zayn had drawn an amazing voice that allowed him to sing anything within the human range of hearing. It also allowed him to enchant weak-willed women—as if he needed any help there.

Io, her eyes temporarily hidden under masking contacts, had drawn a more useless spell. She was able to turn things blue. Admittedly, under less serious circumstances, she might have enjoyed this talent and had some fun with it. But in their present situation, she didn't see that this was a particularly useful ability, though she supposed that it would make a convenient explanation for her eyes, if she were questioned at the club.

The spells might seem useless, but the good news was that she and Zayn would be able to keep their magic gift for however long they remained in Goblin Town. Because of their quasi-fey blood, the twelve-hour magical limit didn't apply. And all enchantment and spells were good because they could often be shaped or combined with other kinds of power to make useful tools. Io's mother had taught her the art of spell recombinance when she was young.

As per Xanthe's suggestion, she and Zayn were both wearing leather. Zayn's shirt was lower cut, but Io's heels were higher, her skirt short, and her corset more tightly laced. She knew that she looked hot; a fact that made her both pleased but also a bit queasy.

Time was short, but she was really hoping that they didn't meet up with Jack Frost right away. She needed a night to get accustomed to the idea that she was supposed to be a sexual lure for the probably fey mercenary. It was a flattering but ill deserved confidence of Xanthe's that she could play this role without any practice.

The Madhouse, a structure that was badly bent and designed to look like a prison ruin, certainly lived up to its name. It was a great place for those with a taste for architectural decay. Io didn't mind the urban gothic look, but she didn't like the appearance of the iron bars that covered the tiny windows. They seemed entirely too functional.

Io had heard that they went through fifty thousand a night in booze alone when Hille and SEXXX played. Probably as much money changed hands for the purchase of things less legal. She could easily believe that fortunes traded hands there every Saturday night, the band wasn't even on stage yet and the crowd was already flying.

Lighting was uniformly lurid inside the gothic horror and allowed everyone to look equally terrible. It was a great equalizer in the cross-species meat market. Judging the actual size of the multitude gathered there was impossible, but it was over-crowded.

Talking to Zayn was out of the question, even if he had been inclined to speak with her. But they had agreed before entering the club to split up once inside. He was going to collect gossip from the ladies, and Io spells. There was a good chance that with people so inebriated, they would not be able to hold on to their rented magic, and she might be able to acquire something more useful than her solo blue crayon act.

Her contacts were gone along with Zayn's. His fractal green eyes needed to be visible for him to work his charm. It wouldn't be a problem. His peculiarities were subtle and wouldn't be noticed in the strobing light.

The ocular masks had served their purpose in deceiving the toll-taker at the city gate, but now she was supposed to be seen and known for being something otherworldly. She was supposed to attract Jack Frost's attention. But she felt very naked, being in public without her habitual disguise. Her eyes could attract more than Jack Frost, and she didn't really trust Zayn to keep her safe if it interfered with the goals of his mission.

Time to go.

Taking a deep breath, Io used her borrowed magic to make her eyes ever brighter. She knew she had reached the right level of magic when people began to turn their heads and stare at her. The odd goblin hand even snaked out to touch her exposed arms and give her the small, sharp pinches that passed for compliments among their kind.

The crowd was multi-colored, multi-specied, and either ecstatic or terrified to lunacy about what was to come. Excitement ran through the room. But it wasn't natural. Nerves were being stimulated with drugs, some taken voluntarily, but many probably not. It was entirely possible that something was being pumped in through the ornamental iron grates that covered the air-conditioning outlets. Madness was drifting merrily through the hazy air, and it wasn't man-made.

In an odd way, though she hated addicts, Io found the notion of drugs reassuring. It would have been far worse to have walked into a room humming with magic—big magic, not the little bits and pieces left lying about by drunken revelers. That kind of raw power was dangerous in crowds. It could cause riots and other explosions.

Io pressed between the partiers who were gearing up for their two-and-half-hour orgy. Everywhere there was leather, braided, pierced and wrapped. Cokeheads, potheads, and poor souls addicted to worse things, and they'd all come to party down in Goblin Town.

Io absorbed pieces of spells as she passed: for lighting candles, for making showers of rose petals, for being able to smell like peanut butter.

She was halfway to the raised arena, with her eye on Zayn, who was rubbing up against a tall goblin female, when SEXXX finally took the stage.

Lights began to strobe at a frantic number of pulses per second, and Io's optic nerves and eardrums started to vibrate under the assault of new light and sound. For a moment she felt a jolt of vertigo and realized that a wave of something unnatural had passed through the room, carried on the sound that crested through the dancing masses. If it was a drug, then it was something cooked up by a magical being. She was profoundly grateful for the hidden nose filters and her own natural resistance to unnatural forms of magic.

SEXX wasn't into auditory discretion. They were loud, offensive, and in Io's opinion, strong contenders for an award for the worst din ever created outside of the battlefield. Hille's voice seemed one long atonal shriek that was able to drown out the electrical guitars being plucked by long goblin teeth, fingers and toes.

But it had a beat, the bass and drums, something primal. They pounded like a runner's heart, and as the song progressed and listeners were drawn deeper into the veins of the music, the staccato beat became a frantic tremble of heart filled with terror, perhaps the failing organ of some giant running for his life. It plucked at the brain and tried to suck the listener in. People began to succumb, their eyes glazing over as they went into a sort of seizure dance.

Io stopped moving, unable to get any closer to the stage and the giant speakers that hurled dangerous sound her way. Whatever was moving through the room was coming directly from Hille and it was strong, probably too strong for her even with her resistance to spells.

Io looked hard at Hille Bingel, wondering for the first time who and what this creature really was.

She was tall for a goblin, very nearly human height. Her skin was pallorous green, her hair and eyes goblin black. But she was something more than just goblin—perhaps reptilian fey, and maybe swamp witch. She had power, lots of it.

Io began to back away from the stage and the increasingly violent gyrations of the frenzied SEXXX fans. She had only taken a few steps when she ran into something in the crowd—it wasn't anything that she could see, or smell or hear. But she felt him. Him! Jack Frost. And he was fey, his dark magic sparked over her skin in a way immediately recognizable and alarming. It was natural magic—the kind she was vulnerable to.

"Jack?" she asked, goose bumps spilling down her arms, but he had already pulled away.

Io turned and began to follow the magic trail, pushing for the outside door when her arms were taken in a firm two-handed grip. She spun about to look into the face of one of the club bouncers.

She didn't know the troll's name, and couldn't very well ask it with the noise whirling around them in a deafening tornado, but she managed a smile and to raise a questioning brow.

He jerked his head toward a mirrored wall, and Io saw a small door standing open with another zoot-suited bouncer with a gray fedora waiting just inside the tunnel. His double-breasted coat was open and revealed double holsters. Apparently both sets of arms were right-handed.

Uneasy, Io nodded and allowed the troll to lead her toward the mirrored door. Though she was not happy to be separated from Zayn, it was a relief when the door finally swung closed and the sound from the stage was mostly blocked.

The passageway led downhill and there were no windows for a hundred feet. Finally there were a series of doors to break up the stony monotony, but they didn't stop at any of them until the tunnel reached its end.

There Troll One rapped on the thick wood panel, and hearing a rasping grunt, pushed open the door. When she hesitated, Io was gently propelled into what appeared to be the manager's office.

The sienna leather chair behind the desk turned about slowly and a goblin she recognized from H.U.G.'s photo gallery of rogues was sitting there, black eyes gleaming with suspicion. His name was Glashtin. He was a weather goblin and had a reputation for going berserk during storms and making them worse, but was counted as relatively sane and safe the rest of the time.

Io tried to take comfort in that fact as she embraced her first speaking part and strove for an Oscar-level performance.

"You've been a bad little girl," the gruff voice said, as one of his four arms pointed. "Sit down in that chair and explain yourself."

Io thought for a one moment about resisting, but realized that it would be an extremely foolish thing to do. Trolls were stupid and rather slow, but very strong. Besides, it would be out of character for her assigned role to balk at seeing the manager of the club.

Io took the appointed seat making sure that a maximum of thigh showed as she allowed her leather skirt to creep up her legs.

"I don't know what you mean," she said in her breathiest voice and made herself pout. "I haven't been bad... yet."

Glashtin leaned back in his chair and folded one set of arms around his barreled paunch. The others trimmed and lit a cigar, which he puffed at methodically until the end glowed red. His eyes were the coldest things she'd ever seen. He might have been shaped like a bowling ball but Io wasn't even remotely tempted to laugh at him.

"You know the rules. No magic for feys when they come into the city. You lied to the gatekeeper. Someone might have to punish you." Glashtin continued to smoke as his black eyes crawled over her. Smoke dribbled out of his nostrils for a long time, suggesting that his lung capacity was enormous. Even with the nose breather, the smoke and fire made Io a little ill. "I might even do it myself. I've got a little time right now."

This was probably sexual banter, but with goblins, you just never knew.

"I'm not fey," Io answered, trying not to shudder under the goblin's scrutiny.

The two trolls snorted, and in a fit of pique she considered telling them that looked stupid wearing hats when their noses stuck out farther than the brims.

"She's not fey!" Troll One said in the rough tongue, laughing through his long nose.

"Not fey," Troll Two echoed.

Io pretended not to understand, preferring they go on thinking her a typical mono-lingual American teen with a taste for kink.

"No? Then how do you explain them bright blue peepers?"

"My eyes?" Io asked, and forced herself to giggle. "That's my magic. I can make anything blue."

Glashtin blinked, the right eyelid slightly leading the left.

"Your magic? You mean your visitor spell."

"Yes. I can make things turn blue."

"Yeah... well then." He thought for a moment. Making threats against innocent guests wasn't good for business if word got around. Still, he clearly had doubts about her, and Io couldn't blame him—especially not if he was involved in Horroban's skullduggery. The goblin warlord was not known for being forgiving of those who erred in judgment. "I might believe you, little girl, if you show me that what you say is true."

"Okay," Io agreed. "What shall I turn? I think it has to be skin. I tried to make my drink blue, but it didn't work."

"Really?" he said slowly. "Toc, come here. Let the lady turn something of yours blue."

Io felt something move up to her side and turned in her chair. The nearest part of the crouching troll was his nose, a giant spade of a thing that was nearly a foot long. It practically touched her cheek. He was grinning at her with yellowed, pointy teeth.

She was very glad that she couldn't smell anything because she bet his breath could kill a buzzard at ten paces.

Io reached out with an extended finger and tapped the nose less than gently, wondering even as she did it if she had lost her mind. Trolls were known to be sensitive about the size of their noses.

Obligingly, the giant nose went blue from tip to brow bone, a lovely shade of ultramarine that nearly matched her eyes.

Glashtin grunted and the other troll sucked in his breath and muttered something beneath his foul breath before he began to chuckle.

Toc pulled back and then hurried over to the funhouse mirror mounted on the red-flocked wallpaper on the left wall.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, admiring himself.

"Can I have one too?" the other troll asked eagerly, changing his mind about the fashion when his friend decided he liked the color. Two added for good measure: "And some blue ears?"

"Sure," Io said, standing up. She moved slowly so that Glashtin would have time to object to having his bouncers turned into clowns if he wanted to.

The goblin watched her, but did nothing to interfere as she touched the other troll's nose and then each ear. She was careful to make them a little less vivid than Toc's had been. A human's magic would begin to wane with so much rapid use.

Immediately, both trolls were busy looking at themselves in the mirror, shoving one another out of the way and bickering about which one had the handsomer nose.

"Can you make my teeth blue?" Toc asked, baring rows of his jagged teeth.

"No, sorry," Io said hurriedly. "It only works on skin."

"Too bad."

Seeing the trolls entertained, Io felt safe turning her back on them and facing Glashtin. She thought about chiding him for being a bad host and failing to offer her a drink, but decided not to push her luck.

A more comprehensive glance at the room's other wall showed her something alarming. There were a series of photos matted and mounted in baroque frames, all of them showing Glashtin with famous businessmen. Io made note of the faces. If these men were not modified goblins then they were certainly goblin sympathizers. Unfortunately, there were no photos that might be Horroban.

Unless he had been altered recently and replaced one of these humans.

"So, little not-fey girl, why are you in Goblin Town?" The question was neutral, but Io suspected that the goblin was still suspicious of her. She had to admit that she had never heard of anyone receiving this sort of magical gift when entering the city. Still, that was the thing about supernatural power, it didn't always make sense or obey rules of expectation.

"I'm here to see Hille Bingels," Io said promptly, seating herself on the goblin's desk. It made her feel a little ill, but she forced herself to be flirtatious and crossed her legs exposing a lot of skin. "I was hoping to get her autograph."

"Yeah?" Glashtin's eyes seemed glued to the crescent moon on her inner thigh. "You got your souvenir book in your panties?"

"No." Io giggled again. "I thought maybe she would like to sign me."

"I see." Glashtin leaned back in his chair and began to relax. She gave him high marks for not touching when he clearly wanted to. Goblins rarely had that kind of discipline. "She might like to at that. But I think maybe I should warn you that Hille has—uh—other tastes. Sweet little girls sometimes get bitten when Hille starts to play."

"I'm counting on it," Io said, completely truthfully. She touched her thigh deliberately. "I've been saving myself for her."

Glashtin grunted again and he finally smiled, showing just a hint of pale green incisors. He was prepared to believe that she had caught some teen psychological leprosy that led to moral rot. That was how most young people ended up in Goblin Town.

"Then I think the two of you should meet. The band is taking a short break. Toc! Go fetch Miss Bingels. Tell her she has a special fan here to see her."

Toc reluctantly came away from the mirror.

"You want I should go now?"

"Yes. Bring her here," he repeated patiently. "And Lyme, too, if he wants to come. He usually loves this sort of thing."

So, she would have an audience for her meeting with the SEXXX diva.

Io's pulse leapt and started running through her veins at a gallop as though seeking an escape from what awaited her. This wasn't something she wanted to do, but it was expected of her since she had the opportunity. Tracking Hille was the best way to find out where Horroban was staying. Her instinctual repulsion would have to be subdued for a time.

If it could be.

Io swallowed and pasted on her best smile.

"Woohoo! Let's party."

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