Macabre Melody_Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series by Amy Sumida

Author:Amy Sumida [Sumida, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

I entered the lounge to applause. My eyes widened at the collection of well-dressed beneathers and the smiles they wore. Slate guided me around the room once; introducing me to the Zone's most influential residents. Yes; residents. The Gargoyles weren't the only ones who preferred to live below ground with other beneathers. The Zone had whole sections that were dedicated to housing.

Frederick and Alan were among the guests. I expected their smiles to be more like leers after what they thought they'd witnessed, but the men were respectful. I suppose that was more for Slate than me. Once the initial introductions were over, I was paraded before each of them individually.

“So, you decided to ditch the blond for his boss?” Agata watched me carefully.

Agata was a gorgon; her snakes covered in a shimmering silk scarf that was patterned to look like snakes. It was an odd effect—startling even—as I'm sure it was meant to be. The silk trailed over one arm glamorously—accenting her cleavage—but it also moved restlessly. No one likes to be blindfolded, not even hair-snakes. Agata had a voluptuous body displayed in a clingy black dress and hands that kept trying to wander over Slate's shoulders.

Slate should be with her; they'd be perfect together. She could turn people to stone and then he could control them. No fight, no frustration, just a bunch of stone sycophants.

“Who? Jago?” I asked her nonchalantly.

Conversations quieted around the room, and the other guests moved closer. Everyone wanted to hear what I said next. I almost laughed. Here were these powerful, magical beneathers, and their lives were so boring that they needed to fill them with tidbits of mine.

“Jago's just a friend,” I went on. “I can't be mooning up at Slate every night; that's not good for business.”

Slate's lips twitched upward as he stared down at me. Not quite a smile but it had potential.

“Slate didn't seem to be in on the ruse,” Drago—a ryū with snow-white hair and sin-black eyes—lifted a brow at me.

By the way, Drago is a common name among dragons for obvious reasons. I've met eight over the years. There are two types of dragons; the Ryū (Asian dragons) and the Drachen (Western dragons). Drachen tended to be the more aggressive of the two. I should know, I've dated one. The Ryū settled in Japan and China, but they aren't actually Asian; they came from planet Ry, as the Drachen came from planet Drach. The distinctions were more in their dragons forms than in their human. Ryū could fly but they were wingless; using the magic in their flowing, colorful whiskers to keep them aloft. Drachen, however, had massive, leathery wings. Obviously, their original planets had caused them to evolve differently.

Despite not actually being from Asia, most Ryū had an exotic look to them, and this guy was no exception. But his features weren't Asian. Close but no opium pipe. His eyes were a touch too slanted, and his lips were too full. Alien instead of Asian.

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