Page 35 of Tracking Snow

It’s a packed and popping Friday at Poison Apple. Normally, I feed off the energy, but I keep getting distracted. By a pair of different colored eyes. By being kissed by two very different men who also happen to be the same man. I consider which personality will be the easiest to squeeze for all the super personal information.

"Snow!" a familiar voice cries out.

My head snaps up, a smile forming before I realize it. I lean across the bar to give a half-hug to Carolee. Our regular is slaying in her outfit tonight.

Dark wrap dress, heels, nails done in something deep and glossy, auburn hair down around her shoulders. The locket she wears sits at the hollow of her throat, the way it always does, every single night, no exceptions. Greenish-blue eyes already scan the bar like she's clocking the hotties in the room, of which, by her expression, there are more than a few.

"How have you been?" I ask, already grabbing the gin to make her favorite, an Enchanted Nightshade.

Blackberry puree goes into the shaker first, dark and glossy enough to look like it belongs in a spell jar. Lime next, then agave, then enough gin to make a bad decision feel good.

"Oh, you know me. Every spare minute I’m not working at the hospital, I’m over at Chapter Three accruing books for my hoard."

I shake it over ice until the tin frosts beneath my fingers, strain it into a chilled glass, and slap a sage leaf between my palms before dropping it on top. The whole thing smells like tart berries, green magic, and poor impulse control. A Lost Girl’s specialty.

She’s not kidding. I’ve caught her more than once over at Chapter Three in her scrubs, knees nearly buckling from the insanely large stack she was trying to carry around.

I’ve even heard Isabelle tell her she can leave the stack on the front desk while she shopped, but Carolee explained she has a budgetary rule that she can only keep what she can carry.

And damn, can she carry a lot.

"I’m still obsessed with Jessie," Carolee gushes, "Isabelle’s new hire? She always knows exactly what book I need. I swear she’s magic."

Great. Yet another person with a magic, or near-magic power, who isn’t me. I swallow the unexpected bitter jealousy that floods my mouth.

If I had powers, I bet The Seven would view me more like an equal. He’d probably want to spend more time with me...

Ugh, this is why they say boys make you crazy.

Even as Carolee tells me about her latest sexy read, my attention is pulled to a hooded figure who makes her way across the crowded dance floor toward Rap.

Rap’s face tightens with concern as she spots the approaching figure.

But then, Rap usually looks pretty stern. Except around the new guy.

I shoot a glance at Ryder, who is standing at the perimeter of the dance floor, arms folded, eyes sharp on the crowd, looking out for trouble.

Anticipation and suspicion swirl in my gut.

The hooded woman reaches Rap and leans in close to say something. Rap's head snaps toward the front doors right before they bang open.

Carolee's words drift off, turning to see the newcomers.

Five of them, shoulder to shoulder, matching white jackets bright as hell under the door lights.

Holy butterfly balls. HAMs. In here.

They harass people in alleys. They tag warehouses and corner kids at bus stops at two in the morning. They have never once stormed through the front doors of the busiest bar in Boston on a Friday night like they bought the building.

The five Humans Against Magic members march in like they're walking into church. Matching white jackets and judgmental expressions.

"Friends! Neighbors! Bostonians!" The one at the front with a yellow mullet shouts with his arms spread wide, boots loud on the floor just as the music stutters and dies. "Look around you. Look at what this city lets fester."

The dance floor pulls back from him in a slow ring. A girl near the stage grabs her friend's hand. Two guys by the tree pick up their drinks and edge toward the wall.

"This city was built by human hands." The pseudo-preacher keeps walking, flanked by his little entourage. Two big ones, a wiry one with a neck tattoo, and a guy in the back with a jaw like a mailbox. "Human sweat. Human blood. And now look. Magic in our schools. Magic in our hospitals. Magic pouring drinks." He swings around and points straight at me. "Infecting you, and this city."

I lift the shaker in my hand and give it a little jingle. "Want one? It's two-for-one appletinis till midnight."