Chapter One

In Which a Man Gets What He Deserves

“ T hese men SUCK ASS tonight!” Marti hollers as she bursts through the door of the dressing room, still topless with a loud, dramatic sigh. Her heels click angrily across the floor as she counts the few bills in her hands. The gorgeous Gobelin’s charcoal black eyes flick around the room until they land on me. “Steely, you’re up after Cara,” she says, motioning toward the door with her head. “There’s a bunch of assholes out there tonight for some dude’s bachelor party.”

“On a fucking Wednesday night?” Ginger, our house mom, asks, shaking her head as she wipes down a dressing table.

Marti flings herself into a chair dramatically and lets her long forest green legs hang off the arm. “They tip like shit, too. Be careful of the groom. You’d think he has tentacles the way he manages to get hands on you before the wolves can step in. I almost fell off stage when he grabbed my ankle.”

“What the fuck. Randy didn’t kick them out?” I ask.

Marti shakes her head. “He’s not here tonight. None of the Lamars are. They have some stupid second cousins twice removed here managing tonight. Those idiots have no idea what the fuck they’re doing. It’s the full moon–Zach’s having his engagement party with the pack, remember?”

I sigh. “Thanks for the heads up.”

I hadn’t remembered, but now I wish I hadn’t picked up the shift. I don’t usually work on Wednesday nights. The girl I usually share a dressing table with, Ashley, asked if I could take her shift so she could go meet her boyfriend’s parents. I figured I’d do what I could for her by removing one stressor from an already painful situation.

I mean, after all, what stripper wants to miss one of their few paid shifts of the week to meet her significant other’s parents at a fancy restaurant in the city? She and her man have been keeping her choice of employment a secret from his parents, so she’s probably spending the evening trying not to let it slip that she dances topless four nights a week out here in the sticks.

It couldn’t be me, that’s for sure, which is why I’m happily single and child-free. I’ve had a few brief relationships, and one ill-fated engagement but there are far too many guys out there who can’t handle their woman being in this line of work. It’s just not worth it to date at all.

For now, it’s fine. I’ve got way too much going on.

I’ve danced at the Wild Hare Ranch Gentlemen’s Club since I moved to Black Raven County to be closer to my big brother, Lugh, and his rapidly growing family. His wife, Jacqueline, is currently well into their third pregnancy. It’s not my circus, but I love those little monkeys so much I haven’t done much else other than work and be “Titi Sarah”, as my niece, Wendy, likes to call me.

I check my makeup in the mirror as the song winds down. It’s September, it should be cooler by now, but it’s incredibly hot in our dressing room. I haven’t even been out on stage yet, but my face already looks more sweaty than dewy, so I pat it dry with a few tissues and work on repairing my makeup while I wait for my stage name to be called.

Around here, everyone only calls you by your stage name. Letting the customers know your real name is a recipe for trouble. It’s just easier not to slip up if everyone calls you the same thing.

In this building, I’m Steely.

To the rest of the world, I’m just Sarah, a boring lady who likes to play Stardew Valley and hang out with her tiny niblings on her days off. Sarah can crochet and sew but is the worst cook in the world. She also doesn’t really have any big plans for the future, much to her big brother’s dismay.

The DJ calls me to the stage as the song changes. I drop the tissues and hurry out the door just as Cara walks in.

“Watch that guy in the gray suit. He’s taking the whole ‘last night of freedom’ bullshit a little too seriously. Darla just walked in. Stick close to her.”

The DJ has already got a fast song going for me as I step on the stage and start to move. There are three poles on the newly renovated stage, so I start at the pole furthest from the largest group of men in the room. Right away, I spot the guy that’s been pissing off all the girls.

His hair line suggests he’s a lot closer to forty than thirty. He’s incredibly tan in the leisurely I-play-a-lot-of-golf-and-boat sort of way. Even in the half dark, I can see the tan lines his glasses have left on his face. His suit is nice, but not expensive. He’s probably in insurance or sales. Generally, those types aren’t a bad sort, but there’s something off about this guy. I can feel it before I even make it over to the center pole.

He’s got a chair pushed right up to center stage–that’s a move Randy and the rest of the Lamar wolves usually keep from happening. The Lamar pack owns this place, and they are typically protective of their dancers. I do a quick scan of the crowd as I slowly spin around the pole. Zach’s full moon pack engagement party pulled all the regular wolves out of the club. I don’t recognize any of the shifters in here tonight.

Unfortunately, it seems I’m Mr. ‘Last Night of Freedom’s’ type: breathing. He stands up and starts hollering as I spin around the furthest pole. He’s got a napkin in his hand and he’s waving it in the air like an idiot. His crew is a sad lot. Some of them are drunkenly egging him on, while a few others sit back awkwardly and look anywhere but the stage.

Regular bachelor parties aren’t usually all that bad. We even go out and do private shows occasionally. Normally, I’d play it up for a groom, but there’s just something about this guy. The way his eyes stare hungrily as he follows my movements makes me feel like a prey animal being hunted. You get lots of weirdos in here, but it’s rare that you feel less than human. Reluctantly, I move toward the main pole at the front of the stage.

At that same moment, movement from the bar catches my eye. It’s pretty empty. All the regulars are gone for the night, but one familiar face stands out. Lights from the stage catch the sequins on a dress and a figure lights up like a golden fire. Just as Cara promised, Darla is there, dressed up in a gorgeous, flowy gown covered in dark gold beads, sipping on a bottle of water. She’s obviously not here to work. She’s probably on her way to or from Zach’s party.

Darla’s one of those people that’s hard to pin down. She is tall and beautiful. She keeps her black hair long and wears a maxi dress every season of the year. By day, she works for the animal clinic across the road, but, on weekend nights, she picks up extra hours here as the only female bouncer on staff. I’ve never seen her rough anyone up, but that’s the thing with Darla. It’s as if people just behave around her.

She’s standing at the closest edge of the bar to the stage and nods in my direction when I catch her eye. I nod back and the groom manages to get one hand on my ankle and drunkenly pulls just a little too hard.

I reach for the pole, and it’s the only thing that keeps me from falling into the group of men like a crowd surfer. I fall with an undignified “oof” on the shiny stage, landing hard on my ass. The man leans toward me, pulling me by the ankle, then pawing my thigh with his sweaty palm. He reaches for the waistband of my bottoms before I can even kick him with the leg he hasn’t trapped.

For a moment, all my idiot mind can worry about is if I’m leaving a butt print on the stage. It takes far too long for my panicking mind to focus on fighting off the guy in front of me.

The idiotic replacement bouncers here for the night finally decide to move as I yell for help, but Darla’s ahead of them, shoving men out of her way left and right like a Valkyrie moving across a battlefield to get to me. I kick at the man with my other foot, but he just laughs and starts shoving his hand down the back of my bottoms.

White hot rage boils within me and just before I can kick him again, something explodes inside of me. I take a deep breath and, suddenly, I can smell smoke. Not just smell, but heat seems to emanate from the man. I kick out hard against him as he starts to scream.

“FIRE! FIRE! I’M ON FIRE!” he’s screaming, as I scoot my ass back away from him. There’s nothing on him–no fire, no smoke–but it definitely smells like it. The putrid scent of burning hair and flesh fills the air. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs as his friends abandon him, backing away quickly as he rolls and writhes on the floor. Darla gets to him before any of the bouncers do. She puts a hand out to grab his arm, but then pulls back quickly in surprise.

She straightens up and meets my eyes, a smile lighting up her face. It’s the weirdest reaction I’ve ever seen to dudes being gross. She turns and heads back to the bar, grabs her bottle of water, then says a few words before pouring a few drops on the man. The screaming stops as the horrible man’s voice dissolves into blubbering cries.

She lifts him up to standing as if he weighs nothing and turns back to the nearest man in his party. “Get him out of here and never come back.”

Apparently, that’s all the time the groom needs to recover. He tries to wiggle out of Darla’s grasp as he spits. “Fucking bitch, get your hands off me!” She turns her eyes back to him.

“May that bride of yours take you for every single penny you have when you fuck up enough for her to leave.” The ways she says it makes it sound more like a curse than a prediction. She shoves him into one wolf, who shoves him towards another wolf as if the groom is a kid between two bullies at school. They shove his drunken body back and forth between them until the group finally makes it out the door.

I’m still sitting on my now-aching ass when Darla turns back to me and offers me a hand up. “You okay? That bit of magic was really impressive.”

I stare at her, blinking, not sure what she’s going on about. “Magic? I don’t–” my words are stopped by the pain shooting from my tailbone. I balance on my heels, and my ass, no longer compressed against the floor, immediately starts aching painfully in time to my heartbeat. I’m getting too old to be falling like that, even on the parts that provide the most cushion.

She tilts her head, studying my face. “You really don’t have any magic?”

I shake my head as I wobble off toward the dressing room. “No. I’m just a human.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m just a regular, boring person.”

She follows me to the dressing room, stopping me with a hand on my arm before I can open the door. “Sarah, that bit of magic you did was huge. Wars have been won by witches who can create that spell. It’s called ethereal fire. It’s the most difficult spell a fire witch can cast.”

I shake my head, unease creeping up my spine. “Darla, I’m not a witch.”

“Sarah, I think you are, and if you don’t figure out how to control it, you could end up hurting someone who doesn’t have it coming.”

I’m exhausted, my ass hurts, and I can still feel that man’s hand on my ass. The look he gave me as I tried to fight him off will be burned into my brain for a while. “Fine, Darla. Even if I am a witch, what am I supposed to do about it?”

She smiles. “Funny enough, witch apprenticeships start next week. I still have space in the first rotation.”

“You have space?” Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that Darla’s a witch. What surprises me is that she’s kept it quiet this long. “I don’t have a lot of extra money to pay for classes.”

She shakes her head. “Witches don’t pay for the internship with money. They pay for it with future acts. One day, you’ll be called upon to help other witches. It is the way of things.”

I sigh. I guess I have nothing to lose. “Fine. I don’t think I’m a witch, but if you think it will—”

“Sarah, you’re far more powerful than you realize.”

I roll my eyes. “So I’m not like the other girls?” I ask, fearing she’s going to tell me that the world’s fate is in my hands.

Darla laughs. “Sorry, you’re totally like the other girls. Witch magic isn’t like that. You aren’t the chosen one. Think of it more like me giving condoms to a teenager who just discovered sex.”

“And with that analogy, I think I’m going to hide in the dressing room for the rest of the night. My ass is killing me.”

“I’ll leave something on your porch tomorrow on my way to work to help with the soreness. Until then, if you start to feel really angry, try to force yourself down a notch or two. Hopefully, this was just a fluke, and the fear and the anger came together to create just the right conditions.”

I look at her strangely. “Why? What would have happened if you hadn’t, uh, did what you did?”

She takes a step back and grimaces. “Without the counterspell, the person with ethereal fire dies. It boils you alive from the inside.”

“Fuck.”

She turns on her heel just as a thought crosses my mind. “Darla! What if I set it off again and you’re not there?”

She looks at me for a moment, then takes a bracelet made of purple crystal off her wrist. “This is amethyst. As a fire witch, you wouldn’t normally wear stones that represent water, but if you place the stone near or on the object on fire and concentrate on controlling whatever emotion caused the fire, you should be able to stop it. Normally, you wouldn’t get to that part of your apprenticeship for a year, but you and I can start tutoring sessions on the side after we get you started with the apprenticeship.”

I take the bracelet from her and slip it on my wrist. It tightens around my wrist on its own.

“So…see you Monday?” she asks.

I nod. Like I have a choice? I can’t go around killing people with invisible fire. “I’ll be there.”