Chapter 33
When Mircea had told me where to find the necromancers, he hadn’t said that we needed to show up at any particular time. Vlad picked midnight for us to make our appearance, and it didn’t escape my notice that this was also known as the witching hour. Whether that was coincidence, strategy, or Vlad exercising his streak of dark humor was anyone’s guess.
Ian glamoured us to disguise our appearances and everyone but me hid all but the weakest slivers of their auras. Now, the collective power of our group was lowered until it would feel like we were simply a bunch of new vampires looking for some after-hours fun, which was the façade we were going with.
Of course, Ian having his own sense of humor, we all looked like a bunch of sexy female vampires looking for some after-hours fun. Ian said it was because women were universally underestimated and thus would arouse the least amount of suspicion. That’s why I now looked like a six-foot-tall Nubian goddess and Vlad was a five-foot-two, bouncy-haired blonde. Maximus now appeared to be a sultry Southern redhead, Marty a dusky-skinned, raven-haired beauty, and don’t get me started on Mencheres. He now looked like a barely-legal-aged Asian girl, complete with a schoolgirl’s uniform and knee-high socks.
“Real women don’t do that,” I hissed at Ian as he played with his new boobs.
“Then they should,” Ian replied, giving his ample bust another two-palmed squeeze. “I could fondle these darlings for days. Should’ve thought to do this before tonight—”
“Enough,” Mencheres said, the single word no more than a whisper, yet it thankfully stopped Ian in mid-train of thought.
I smirked at Ian for his instant, if somewhat sullen, compliance. Only Mencheres seemed able to command his respect that effectively. One day, I’d love to find out the story between the two of them, but now wasn’t the time.
Ian caught my smirk, guessed the reason behind it, and flipped me off. I returned his one-fingered salute, but dropped my hand when Vlad said, “We’re here.”
After the grandeur of the element-themed hotel and the mystique of the underground speakeasy, I was surprised by the rather drab street of buildings in front of us. I even checked the address to see if Vlad had gotten it wrong. No, this was the place.
“Do you see something we don’t?” I murmured to Ian.
He’d already dosed us with the same sparkly, eye-opening dust that had allowed us to see the hidden hotel in Savannah, but what if this place required more potent stuff? For all I knew, there could be an entire enchanted castle on top of this run-down line of warehouses.
“Don’t see anything other than a dreary warehouse, poppet,” Ian whispered. “Still, I feel vibrations, don’t you?”
I did, though I’d thought they were from the cars on the nearby highway. It might be late, but we were hardly the only people out in this section of Minsk at this hour. Now I concentrated and realized that the vibrations came from both the highway behind me and this supposedly empty strip of warehouses.
“Let’s go,” Vlad said, the cold determination in his voice completely at odds with his glamoured, wispy feminine tones.
By increasing my concentration, I realized that the vibrations weren’t random, but rhythmic. Someone was blasting music in the building ahead of us. We might not be able to hear it due to soundproofing or a muting spell, but it was there.
That was why, when we entered the building and saw two burly-looking men on either side of a door across the room, my first thought was Bouncers. As we approached them across the long, empty space, one of them spoke to us in Russian.
“Password?” Vlad repeated in English, with a feminine laugh I would never get used to. “Did you get a password, Sylvie?”
My fake name. I giggled as if it were a joke while thinking, Damn you, Mircea! You could have mentioned this part! “No, but I’m hammered, so I wasn’t really paying attention when the guy mentioned this place earlier. Did anyone else catch it?”
Ian responded by fluffing his boobs until their bulk nearly escaped the too-small bra he’d stuffed them into. Marty twirled a lock of his silky raven hair and Maximus let out a strained giggle that was at odds with his sultry Southern belle disguise. Mencheres, however, sauntered over as if he’d been born to look like a hot, naughty schoolgirl.
“This is my password,” he said, turning around in a slow, provocative circle.
The guards took in long, lustful glances. “Good enough for me,” one said in heavily accented English, and opened the door.
I gave a slight nod of acknowledgment in response to Ian’s arch look. Okay, so Ian had been right about his choice of the guys’ disguises, his subsequent boob fondling notwithstanding.
“Hope to see you two later,” Ian cooed as he passed the guards, fondling their meaty biceps with brief, teasing touches. I didn’t know if Ian was acting or being serious. With him, either was a possibility.
Music hit us like a sonic boom the moment we crossed the threshold into the next room. This place didn’t just have soundproofing, it had magic soundproofing. Otherwise, we would have heard the music as soon as the guards opened the door.
It didn’t surprise me that supernatural soundproofing wasn’t the only unusual thing about this place. I might not be an expert in dance clubs because I’d had to avoid them since I shocked anyone who came into close contact with me, but I didn’t need vast experience to know that this one was unique.
For starters, the air was filled with tiny, floating lights that settled beneath people’s skin when they were breathed in, making everyone appear as if they had stars inside of them. The interior lights were very low, emphasizing the occupants’ inner glowing orbs, until it seemed as if the people were the ones lighting the room more than any artificial illumination.