Cocktails at Seven, Apocalypse at Eight: The Derby Cavendish Stories Page 8

  He darted down the bar and brought back a half-full salt shaker and bowl of lime wedges. “Thoughtful,” I said, “but all I need is the salt.” I set the monkey on the counter, then took the top off the shaker and poured a small pile into my hand. “Fairy magic is tricky. It’s almost always tied to dusk, midnight, or dawn, but in different ways. Some spells break at those times. Others become permanent. It’s hard to know. So it’s safest to break the spell early. Fortunately, that’s generally not too hard.”

  I looked around to make sure no one was paying undue attention. The glamour of the otherworldly would hide what was about to happen, but there was no sense taking chances. The glamour could only be stretched so far. “Be undone!” I commanded and flicked the salt at the monkey. The animal screeched, there was a sharp flash of green light—

  —and Mitzy’s camera man was sitting on the edge of the bar, looking confused but none the worse for time spent a few rungs down the evolutionary ladder. He even still had his camera with him. Mitzy, quick to react, took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Are you okay, Jim? You were looking unsteady for a minute. All good? Let’s find the others and get backstage. It’s almost time for the big number.”

  She pushed him away into the crowd, then looked over her shoulder at me. “Find Hermione and stop her!”

  “Count on it!”

  “Can I help?” Tarik asked. “What does she look like?”

  “A tall, leggy brunette with a fake French accent,” I told him. “At least she was the last time I saw her. She could look like anyone now—fairy magic is all about charms, illusions, and transformations. Even without magic, Hermione’s costumes are impeccable. Credit where credit is due, the woman is amazing. But she is dangerous. You’re better off staying here.”

  “I can keep an eye open for her at least and call you if I see her. Give me your number.” A slow smile spread across his lips. A matching fire settled in between my navel and knees.

  Before I could say anything, however, a shout of alarm and outrage rose from within the crowd—followed a moment later by a plaintive howl and a surge of frightened bodies. The fire turned as cold as lube from the fridge. I forgot my sexy satyr bartender in an instant and went to the aid of my friend.

  ※

  In spite of my fears, I found Mitzy unharmed and untransformed on the very steps of the Lumber Yard. Her camera man was still himself as well, and even the crowd was settling down a bit. Mitzy caught my eye, however, and pointed at the source of the howl, which had now subsided to an uneasy whimpering. Surrounded by concerned dog lovers, a lovely black Labrador retriever crouched trembling on the pavement. A glance with the second sight confirmed that the animal was a man transformed. Hermione had struck again!

  I swiftly claimed the dog as my own dear pet who had gotten away from me in the chaos of the crowd and the well-meaning citizens dispersed. The instant they had their backs turned, I threw a handful of salt at the dog. Once again, there was a green flash—and the dog became a dazed man. I helped him to stand. “Easy there, you’ll feel better in a minute. Let’s get you and Mitzy inside so the show can start.”

  “Inside?” He blinked. “But all my friends are out here.”

  “Derby—” Mitzy had come down the stairs. She caught my arm and pulled me away from the confused man to whisper in my ear. “He’s not part of my crew. I don’t know who he is!”

  “What?”

  “I was going inside and I saw him transform right beside me. He’s just some random guy.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” I looked back at the man, already staggering away, who I’d saved. “Why would Hermione attack a stranger? Maybe she thought he was with you.”

  “We’ve got to stop her, Derby! Even if no one notices it, I can’t go on with a nutbar throwing magic around. Somebody could get hurt.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I told her firmly. “You get out on that stage and don’t stop, no matter what happens. Mitzy’s Big Year is just getting started.” I pushed her toward the door of the Lumber Yard. The show’s production manager was already standing there, tapping urgently at her watch. Mitzy took a deep breath, lifted her head high, and walked up the stairs like a star.

  I waited on edge, alert for another attack, until she was through the door. Unless Hermione had managed to slip inside the bar—and I was almost certain she was instead still lurking in the crowd outside—Mitzy was safe until she re-emerged on the stage for her opening number and the big countdown to midnight. That gave me a very short window to find Hermione and put an end to her mischief. And find her, I swore to myself, I would. Nobody was going to mess with my friend’s shining moment.

  I stood on the steps to scan the crowd with both normal and second sight. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everyone was laughing, eager for the show to start. Everyone was beautiful, dressed to the sixes and nines for New Year’s Eve. I cursed and waded directly into the crowd. Hermione had to be nearby. The kind of magic she was working required the caster to be close to the victim—the closer, the better.

  “Where are you, Hermione Frisson?” I muttered to myself.

  “Why, I am here,” said a breathy voice with an accent like Gauloises and croissants. “I’m right behind you, Derby Cavendish.”

  I whirled around. She was there—or rather, he was. No wonder I hadn’t been able to spot Hermione. Dressed in a slim-fitting tuxedo and a simple white silk scarf, her breasts bound flat and her hair slicked down, she made an exquisite, if androgynous, man. I must have looked past her half a dozen times without realizing who I was seeing. Now she pursed her lips into a mocking rosebud and slid a hand down her lapel. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I realized that if that hairy crossdresser could make himself a woman, I could make myself a man.”

  “It fooled me,” I said coldly. “What are you up to, Hermione?”

  She ignored me. “I may even make it part of my act. I will call him Hermes. It would only be appropriate. Mitzy Knish stole my spotlight. Now I will steal hers—and you won’t stop me!”

  The hand on her lapel flicked like a striking snake. I caught a glimpse of green fairy dust—

  —then I was among a forest of legs and looking up, way up, at Hermione’s pretty man-face. I sat down in surprise and caught a tail beneath my hindquarters. My arms and hands had become white-furred forelegs and paws. I could see whiskers in the periphery of my vision.

  I was a cat. A white cat.

  I’d been so focused on the danger to Mitzy that I hadn’t considered my own danger. “Damn it!” I spat.

  The words came out as a hiss, but apparently Hermione had no trouble understanding me. “Oh, poor Derby. Finally outsmarted.” She reached down with hands bigger than my head and picked me up. Still a little dazed from my sudden change in perspective, I didn’t resist. Hermione held me in front of her face and considered me with narrowed eyes. “Now why did the spell work properly on you, but not on that dick in a dress?”

  It took me a second to realize who she was talking about—and another to realize what that meant. “You were trying to cast your spell on Mitzy!”

  Hermione laughed at my cat screeches. “Of course I was. You think I wanted to transform those other two nobodies? What a waste! Who would have missed them? But if Mitzy Knish suddenly couldn’t be found just minutes before her big moment, what then? The show must go on—and look, here is Hermione Frisson, a real star and a real woman, ready to perform.”

  So there was her plan. “You’re insane,” I said—or rather, meowed. “It would never work.”

  The rosebud lips pressed into a hard line. “Perhaps not, but I would at least have destroyed Mitzy, yes? And thanks to you, I still have one more chance to do that. Mitzy is going to disappear before her fans’ very eyes!”

  As if on cue, the stage lights came up. A roar of anticipation rose from the crowd. Mitzy’s show was about to begin.

 
“Get comfortable, Derby,” said Hermione. “You’re going to have a front row view.” She twisted me around and tucked me under one arm so I could see the stage.

  But if Hermione had one more chance to put her plan into action, I had one more chance to stop her. I squirmed around, trying to bring my now-sharp teeth or claws into play, but clearly Hermione was a cat person. She had me locked in a clinch tighter than two college wrestlers trying to conceal mutual erections. I couldn’t bite her. I couldn’t scratch her. In desperation, I deployed the one weapon a cat holds in reserve.

  I shed. I shed all over her.

  Suddenly white hairs were everywhere. They drifted like snow in the air; someone nearby gave a strangled cry and started to wheeze. In an instant, the pristine black of Hermione’s tailored tuxedo was speckled salt and pepper. Hermione shrieked and held me away from her.

  It was the opening I needed. In an instant, I had wriggled free and dropped to the ground. I heard Hermione curse but I didn’t look back at her. The music for Mitzy’s opening number (ironically a cover of David Bowie’s “Changes”) was starting, and I knew Hermione would choose her revenge over pursuing me. I scrambled away through the crowd, dodging feet and heading for the only ally available to me at the moment: Tarik. We may have just met, but he was about to get a crash course in what it meant to be my friend.

  The space around Tarik’s bar was crowded with people topping up their drinks before midnight. Being a cat had its advantages though, and I don’t think I’ve ever made it to the front of a bar line as quickly. Choosing a man wearing the thickest possible jeans, I scaled his legs, leaped to his shoulder, and jumped onto the bar all before he could do more than yelp. My sudden appearance brought me a flurry of attention—not least from the bar manager—but I spotted Tarik and raced for him, my paws splashing through mingled puddles of beer and cheap champagne. Tarik saw me and his eyes went wide. Most otherworldly beings have some form of the sight and I’d counted on him at least recognizing me as one of Hermione’s transformed victims. Fortunately, he did one better.

  “Derby?” he gasped.

  I slid to a stop in front of him. “You need to come with me!” I said.

  Apparently my luck only went so far, though. Tarik didn’t understand me at all. Instead, as the bar manager came charging after me with a broom, he grabbed the nearest salt and threw it at me. “Be undone!” he shouted. “Be undone!”

  It wasn’t going to work, but I could have told him that. Magic may look easy but there’s more to it than just words. Also, the salt needs to be pure. The spicy mix that bars keep for rimming drinks is not an acceptable substitute.

  Hacking a little bit from pepper and celery seed, I gave up attempting to talk. Instead, I turned to the stage and looked back over my shoulder with a wail. Tarik looked at me blankly. I had a sudden sympathy for Lassie and anyone who fell down a well on her watch. I didn’t have any more time to try and make Tarik understand, though. Mitzy, dressed in a shimmering dress so hot and red it should have come with sirens and firefighters, was already strutting her stuff on stage. Hermione might make her move at any moment. I jumped onto the nearest customer’s shoulder—fortunately she seemed to be a cat fancier—looked back at Tarik again, and wailed once more before leaping to the next shoulder.

  Something must have sunk in. “Wait, Derby!” Tarik called and I glanced back long enough to see him coming after me right over top of the bar.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded the bar manager. “Get back here!”

  “Drag queen emergency!” Tarik shouted back. He snatched me up and put me on his own shoulder. “Where to?” he asked.

  I craned my neck up, trying to see over the crowd. Now that I knew what I was looking for, Tarik’s height made it easy to spot Hermione: she was right at the front of the crowd, with only a few people between her and the long catwalk of the stage. Mitzy hadn’t gotten too close to Hermione yet—posing for the camera crew was slowing her down—but we had only moments. I sank my claws into Tarik’s neck and screeched like a demon. He got the message and barrelled through the crowd toward the stage. When we were close enough, I dove from his shoulder straight for Hermione’s head.

  Of course, even cloaked by the glamour of the otherworldly, it is difficult for a charging satyr and a screeching cat to go completely unnoticed in the midst of a crowded drag show. Hermione turned as I leaped and managed to get her arm up between us. I hit it with all four legs and hung on like polyester blend in a tumble dryer. Seconds later, Tarik was there and trying to wrestle her down. People all around us started to complain and shove back against our struggles. A look of fury crossed Hermione’s face. She gave her arm a hard snap, shaking me off, and flicked her hand. Fairy dust puffed out in a sparkling green cloud, and everyone seemed to forget all about us, returning their attention to the show. Suddenly it was as if we were fighting in our own private world, completely unnoticed by anyone.

  One person could still see us, though. On stage, Mitzy blinked, and I heard her song catch ever so briefly. She’d spotted us struggling. I’m sure she’d seen Tarik and Hermione, and I hoped that she recognized me. I also hoped that she’d remember my last words to her: “Don’t stop, no matter what happens.” I had a plan, but Mitzy had to get closer. A lot closer.

  And Mitzy, star that she is, kept on singing and making her way down the stage exactly as if nothing was wrong. I threw myself back into the fight. “Hold on to Hermione, Tarik!” I yowled. “We have to keep her back! We can’t let her get close to Mitzy!”

  Tarik, of course, had no idea what I was saying—but Hermione did. She fought harder than ever, dragging herself step by step toward the stage. Clearly burlesque was a better workout than I thought, because she gave as good as she got. I was only struggling to keep up appearances but Tarik was making a real effort. For a moment, I worried that Hermione might turn her magic on him. Her focus was on Mitzy now, though. We were close to the edge of the stage. Mitzy was only a few feet away, shaking the outstretched hands of adoring fans. I met Mitzy’s eyes for an instant. They were frightened, but trusting. She had recognized me.

  Her song hit its crescendo. I jumped away from Hermione, thumping against Tarik’s chest and knocking him back. Seeing her opening, Hermione darted in. She thrust out her hand and brushed it against Mitzy’s. Fairy dust shimmered—

  —and Hermione vanished.

  Or rather, appeared to vanish. As I crouched on Tarik’s chest while he lay half-dazed among Mitzy’s fans, I saw a toad as green as poison sitting just under the shelter of the stage and looking very confused. The toad’s bulbous eyes focused on me. I bared needle-like teeth. The toad—Hermione, of course, her own spell turned against her—blinked, then hopped rapidly into the deeper shadows beneath the stage.

  “Derby?” Tarik scooped me up in his arm. He stood and looked around. “Where is she? What happened?”

  I wanted very much to answer him, or at least attempt to, but time still wasn’t on our side. Mitzy, looking at me from the stage with real worry in her eyes, had finished her song and carried on with her performance. “Are you ready?” she shouted to the crowd. “It’s almost midnight—count it down with me!”

  “Midnight?” Tarik looked down at me. “Derby, what’s going to happen? Are you going to be stuck as a cat? Should I try and find more salt?”

  “Ten!” called Mitzy.

  I squirmed out of Tarik’s arm—“Nine!”—and wriggled up his neck.

  “Eight!”

  I butted my head against his chin, brushing his lips with my nose and forehead.

  “Seven!”

  He didn’t get it. I did it again.

  “Six!”

  And again.

  “Five!

  Tarik’s eyes went wide. He shifted his arms, holding me steady.

  “Four!”

  He kissed me.

  “Three!”

&
nbsp; Green light flashed—

  “Two!”

  —and I was kissing Tarik with my own lips as Mitzy and the crowd shouted out “One! Happy New Year!”

  Confetti cannons went off, noisemakers trilled, and the nearly incomprehensible words of “Auld Lang Syne” filled the air, but I barely noticed. I drew out the kiss for a few seconds more before finally pulling away. “There’s more than one way to break a fairy spell,” I told Tarik.

  “You could have said so!”

  A camera light shone on us as Mitzy hopped down from the edge of the stage and pulled us both into a hug. “Happy New Year, Derby! Happy New Year, Tarik!” she said for the camera, then lowered her microphone and whispered in my ear, “What happened to Hermione?”

  “She was trying to cast her spell on you the whole time,” I whispered back. “But it was never going to work: you can’t change the shape of a shape-shifter. When she tried, her spell bounced and affected the person closest to you instead. So your camera man, that random guy.” I couldn’t hold back a smile. “Hermione herself.”

  Mitzy gave a little squeal and slapped my chest. “You’re brilliant, Derby! Help me get back on stage!”

  Grinning like idiots, Tarik and I hoisted Mitzy back up. “Alright, people,” she shouted into her microphone, “let’s keep this party going. This is going to be a big year for Mitzy Knish and I want to start it in style!” She flung up an arm and snapped her fingers. The hard opening chords of “Surrender” by Cheap Trick blasted over the sound system. From inside the Lumber Yard, four massive bodybuilders, each dressed in the loincloth and sash of the Baby New Year, emerged onto the stage. Between them, they carried a golden throne. The crowd went wild as Mitzy took her place on the throne to finish her show.

  “Damn,” said Tarik. “She’s something.”

  “She sure is.” I looked over at him. “Thanks for your help. I may have cost you your job here.”

  He laughed. “I’m a satyr. I’m the best bartender they’ve got. They’ll hire me back. And look on the bright side.” He winked at me, his eyes sparkling. “If I’m fired, I don’t have to come in for clean-up tomorrow morning.”