Natural Mage (Magical Mayhem #2)(35)

I was too mystified for a rebuttal.

Smells-a-Stink pushed in farther so he could look around the divider. “I don’t know about a chick, but I know about the Rogue Natural. He’s a real cowboy. A renegade. But he works alone. He’s stronger that way. I mean, rogue? What does that mean to you? Works well in groups?” He huffed incredulously.

“Honestly, I just need a phone,” I said. “A phone and cab money.”

“I thought about going rogue,” Smells-a-Stink continued, and I wasn’t sure who he was talking to at that point. “No bosses, no one bothering you—”

“Here.” The bartended handed over a cordless phone. “By the time anything gets through their thick heads, you’ll be frozen to death.” She pointed at the back of the bar. “The bathroom’s back there if you want to freshen up.” She eyed Red. “Or some alone time.”

“I’m just trying to help her out,” Red said, taking a step back and raising his hands. “She doesn’t know anything about this life. She grew up human. She’s out here getting trained by the dual-mage pair in the Garden District, but something went wrong with last night’s training and she’s been handed over to the vamps. Now look at her. Clearly something went wrong again.”

I blinked at him for a few seconds. He certainly knew a lot about my life. And if he did, the Guild certainly would.

Time to go.

I reached for my hip and my phone, but grasped empty air for the second time that night.

The numbers were in my phone. Which meant I didn’t have them. The only person whose number I knew by heart was my mother, and I wasn’t desperate enough to call her. Yet.

“What do you mean, they handed her over to the vamps?” one of the guys at the table said, bristling. “What kind of shit is that?” He shot up and headed for the bar, although I wasn’t sure what, exactly, he planned to do. The guy was dressed like some sort of hipster lumberjack—carefully groomed beard, plaid shirt, and seriously tight jeans.

“She’s too powerful for anyone else to train,” Red said.

“What about that Rogue Natural?” one of the girls at the table asked, standing to get a better view of me. “She can’t be more powerful than him. I saw him, once. I’d take training with him any day.”

“Not cool, Gail,” the guy next to her said.

“What?” she shot back. “You don’t think I see you looking at other chicks? I see you looking. What’s good for the goose, as they say.”

“Please, can you give me Reagan’s number, Red?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Reagan?” one of the guys at the end of the bar murmured. “Did she say Reagan?”

“I knew she was bad news.” Smells-a-Stink huffed and backed out.

“Just perfect,” I said to myself. These people practically deified Emery.

“Listen, honey,” Hipster Lumberjack said, “you gotta stay away from that vamp-banger. Anyone that messes with those filthy creatures has got a screw loose.”

My smile was tight. “Red, the number, please. Now.”

“Red,” the bartender barked, leaning over the bar. “Get her that number. This is getting ridiculous.”

The others kept piping up, offering to train me themselves, telling stories about Emery, but I blanked it all out.

“What’d they do to you?” Hipster Lumberjack leaned toward me, resting his elbow on the bar. “We can protect you. I’m sure Roger can find training for you somewhere else. We got plenty of mages on the payroll. Let us handle it.”

“That’s a neat trick.” The bartender nodded at me. “That soft and vulnerable look really suits you. Don’t let them know what you really are until it’s too late.”

It felt like I’d walked into a circus and was currently stuck on a rotating stile. What in God’s goosebumps was she talking about?

“Look at her,” Hipster Lumberjack said, straightening and scowling at the bartender. “Clearly she’s had a rough night. She wouldn’t be asking for help if she could help herself.”

The bartender threw up her hands and took a step back. “Just saying. There’s more to her than you think.” She winked at me and sauntered down the bar.

“Here. You can use my phone. Her number is pulled up.” Red handed it over. The number on the screen was labeled “She-Devil.”

“That’s not very nice,” I said, taking the phone.

“You’re a lovely girl, don’t get me wrong, Penny,” Red said. “But you would change your tune if Reagan were the one beating up on you.”

“I’d rather her than vampires.”

Before I could call, someone shouted, “Hey!” outside.

Broad Face spun around. He had time to brace himself, bringing up his hands, before two arms came into view, grabbed his shirt, and yanked him through the door.

“Whoa,” we heard, and the door started to swing shut behind him.

The whole bar jumped to their feet. A loud bang had me flinching. The door swung open wildly and slapped the edge of the frame. The top hinge tore loose and the whole thing teetered.

“Oh no,” Red groaned, and tried to slink away.

She-Devil had arrived.