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To say nothing of what it’s like for any potential partners to live with one.
But whatever Jekylls are still out there are scattered around the world. We don’t have meetups or annual conventions, and for our own safety, we never mention what we are on the internet, not even in code. The Government-Sanctioned Slayers have eyes everywhere, and even in the supernatural world, bigotry is real. But that much distance and silence doesn’t leave a lot of opportunity for dating among my kind—or even knowing each other exists.
Meaning I’ve never laid eyes on a Jekyll guy, much less had the chance to date one.
“Well, whatever, right?” Tamira rallies. “His loss. See you at Final Toast in twenty?”
Creepy does a little dance in my head. She loves that bar. The owner really leaned into the whole “death” vibe with dark walls, flickering lights, and eerie decor reminiscent of a gothic horror aesthetic from the Victorian age. The bar is located in an old mortuary not far from one of New Orleans’ many cemeteries, and even if it’s technically a human establishment, it’s still a favorite hangout for a number of the supernaturals in the area. I hear the vampires even have a tourism guidebook that suggests it.
“Yup.”
I hang up and glance around the kitchen, checking for anything left to do, but there’s nothing.
Nobody cleans like a Jekyll.
My eyes land on the drawer in the kitchen island where I hid the trader’s keychain, and my skin crawls. I called my contacts while I was cleaning, warning them about what Creepy and I found. They’re going to keep an eye out, same as ever, and everyone will do their best to spot any of the traders’ potential secret markets that might crop up. But there’s every possibility he wasn’t here on “business” this weekend—at least, not the capturing supernaturals kind—and without a trail to follow or evidence of other traders in the area, there isn’t much more to be done.
The whole situation means Tamira isn’t the only one who could use a drink right now.
Nineteen minutes later, I’ve changed into a short emerald dress that goes well with the pink streaks in my hair; I’ve got on my strappy black sandals that I’ve worn enough times to know they won’t give me blisters, and I’m walking through the door of Final Toast.
“Oh my God, Mabel.” Tamira comes rushing up to me. She’s wearing a sleek gold dress that ends at mid-thigh and tall black boots that hug her calves tightly. Her dark hair is pulled up in a collection of intricate braids tonight, fastened by a glistening hair clip I’m pretty sure I lent her ages ago, and her amber skin is dusted with gold powder on her sharp cheekbones. She looks every bit the gorgeous hyena shifter she is, underneath the human disguise.
Hyena shifters are like Jekylls in their way. Misunderstood. Assumed to be one thing when really, they’re quite another. Yes, the hyena side can be vicious, same as a Hyde. Yes, there are stories of people who’ve lost control, who’ve become monsters in more than just title. There’s always a danger when you live with a predator inside you that someday it will snap.
But in reality, that’s an issue for any species, even humans. They may not have the same force inside them that we do, but it’s still a risk. And regardless, we’re more than that. Hyena shifters and Jekylls can be loyal and protective of friends and strangers alike, and we know more than many people do about seeing the world from the outside. I think it’s part of why Tamira and I have been friends ever since her parents came to New Orleans looking for mine because they needed a magical specialist to help their daughter balance out those sides.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, but she just grins.
“You have to come see these guys.”
My brow climbs. “That’s fast, even for you.”
She throws me a half-heartedly dirty look, but it’s ruined by the grin hovering around her lips. “Trust me.”
Taking my hand, she pulls me with her through the crowds that are already gathering inside Final Toast. There’s a local band playing here later tonight, and from the looks of it, they’re getting popular enough to draw more than just the locals.
Creepy stirs in my mind, making my heart pick up speed. She just got done with a kill. She should have been placated, at least for a time.
But right now, she just feels… eager.
“Chill,” I murmur.
“Did you say something?” Tamira asks, glancing back.
I shake my head.
She returns to leading me through the crowd.
I exhale, annoyed at Creepy. I know she likes the bar, but this feels different.
She’s suddenly really awake and she’s not giving me the slightest clue as to why.
“Okay, so…” Tamira slows in front of a table near the far wall. “Guys, this is Mabel, the one I was telling you about.”
She steps aside and pulls me up next to her, and suddenly, it’s all I can do to keep Creepy from shoving her way to the forefront and shifting us in front of all these humans and the three drop-dead hotties at the table.
“Mabel.” Tamira flashes me a grin. “Meet Huck, Phineas, and… Zeb, was it?”
