Don't Drink and Jinx {Si}

[Sephora Forrest]

Four weeks, six days.

Four weeks, six days since her boss had disappeared. Four weeks, six days of torture from that bitch of an accountant. Three weeks, six days since the ancient vampire who called himself Samuel had cornered and interrogated her. Three weeks, six days of absolutely no news whatsoever.

Really, there was a certain point where Sephora had given up any hope of her boss returning to the club – why she was still hanging around now was a mystery to even her. She had a few, well one, friend that she kept in contact with on a semi-regular basis, and sure Vivian was an excellent minion, but really there was nothing really magnetic keeping her here anymore. She was drifting of her own accord again, and had been investigating real estate in London. Way overdue to move out of that dingy hotel and get herself her own place, preferably with a walk in wardrobe.

As much as she hated working for the dragon lady upstairs, Sephora had to admit the pay was decent. The shifts suited her as well, at least they had until Jacaranda had started fucking with her hours. Thank god tonight was a night shift – she didn’t know how much more torture her poor skin could take. Going through two bottles of moisturizer and whole handfuls of UV resistant make up each day was seriously inconvenient and time consuming. Not to mention the daytime tips weren’t as good. That meant less shoes. And shoes were unsurprisingly the main focus of Sephora’s current thoughts.

Stalking through the quiet halls, she was beginning to get frustrated. Wait, scratch that. She was well past pissed off already. Normally four in the morning was her favorite time of the day: no nosy co-workers to glare at, no noisy patrons and no sunlight. Most importantly four am was the end of her shift when the casino locked up. But today someone thought it would be funny to run off with the latest editions to her shoe collection. Something which Sephora did not find funny in the slightest.

Immediately, she assumed Rickie had summoned them or something, and then hidden them somewhere. Of course he didn’t know she couldn’t just summon them back: fuck, the number of uses for magic was endless. All Sephora knew was that if he had gotten rid of them in any permanent way, she would make him front the 500 pound price tag, then she’d kill him.

Having practically dismantled the staff area, and then having to reassemble it again, Sephora had to concede that her beloved shoes were not just misplaced. As if she would misplace her shoes anyway. Storming down from checking the restaurant, Sephora ducked behind the bar to retrieve one of the keycards for the VIP lounges: they were her next target. Though how Rickie might have managed to get access considering he was stationed up in the restaurant was beyond her, she would not rest until her shoes were safe again.

The main lounge was spotless – not a hint of dirt or shoe to be found. Restraining herself from slamming the door, she locked the room again and moved onto the private rooms. Once again, completely bare. Fuck this was beginning to get on her nerves. Swiping the card and shoving the third door simultaneously, the temptation was growing to leave and do something incredibly violent. That still wasn’t off the cards at this point, but she really wanted her shoes back first.

Light flooded from the room, and Sephora was momentarily blinded. Shielding her eyes, she quickly glanced around the room. As far as she had been aware, it was just her and some cleaning staff left. And in her current mood, trespassers had better beware.

“Silas?”

Shoes forgotten, Sephora’s face was incredulous as she studied the man sprawled out on the couch. It was Silas alright… but Jesus, did he look beaten up. Still, there was no mistaking that facial hair and perpetually present source of alcohol. The lack of suit was disconcerting too… although jeans were far from the most casual clothing she’d seen him wearing. Heck, he’d turned up to play pest control for Dacian without any shoes on in the middle of winter.

Stepping a little closer, she studied his features in disbelief. Ugly scars laced his jaw line, and it looked as if he hadn’t been fed properly in… well ages. He’d been gone for a month - surely he couldn’t have been without food the entire time?

“What happened to you Sila-”

Sephora’s gaze drifted to his throat and she froze. If the scarring along his jaw had been bad, this was worse. Freshly healed skin could not covered the fact that it had been ripped to shreds by something. Two guesses what the cause was. Her expression turned deadpan – never a good sign. Fucking Dacian. How DARE he! Now it made sense why Samuel had been questioning her about the vampire – he’d taken Silas for himself. That selfish, loathsome son of a bitch. Silas was hers, at least she reserved rights whenever he finally agreed to pay up. Dacian couldn’t just waltz in there like it was an open buffet! She’d been working for months to try and keep Silas’s blood all to herself, and if she couldn’t have it, nobody could!

“What has he done to you?” she demanded, voice startlingly lower and tinged with anger than before. That fucking vampire would pay for this if it was the last thing she did.

[Silas Rosier]

  After Silas had been released from prison hospital, he’d been given two very clear, very specific instructions:

  1) He was NOT allowed to take himself off his withdrawal medication, and
  2) Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES was he allowed alcohol.

  Silas had nodded sincerely and agreed that it was in his best interest, before going home, chucking the pills in the bin and rooting through his liquor cabinet. These idiots were daft if they expected him to survive the next few months without a boatload of liquor to ease everything.

  One glass turned into two. Then four. And at some point after that he lost count as the minutes ticked by.

  Fuck. He’d been looking forward to getting home for weeks, but now he was here he wasn't what sure what to do with himself. It felt strange being back. Too much had happened.

  Six shots. Seven.

  Hmm. … There was always Scores, he thought blearily. It was nearly closing time, but he might as well double check the place hadn’t blown up in his absence. Better than staying here.

  He moved to stand, but such a simple gesture was apparently easier in theory. His body didn’t seem to want to cooperate and he nearly spilled back onto his couch again. His knee crunched in protest, but the sensation was oddly blurred. Crap. He wasn’t that drunk already was he? Fuckin’ vampires. This was clearly their fucking fault.

  Apparating. He couldn’t Apparate direct into Scores. Floo. Floo could do it. Feeling more energised now that he had a goal, Silas struggled to his feet and limped towards the fireplace.

  Bad idea.

  The roar of flames rushed up around him and before he knew it he was being sucked down into oblivion. The whirl of flames was blinding, shaking him around, making his stomach whirl while hot air and ash made it hard to breathe. He seemed to be spinning out of control and the movement was making him feel dangerously nauseated. A blurred stream of shapes was rushing past, and then...

  The landing was anything but smooth. The momentum caused him to stumble and land badly on his leg, sending him careening against a table. Silas hit the side of it hard before making a choked noise of pain and leaning against it for support.

  Well, fuck. Okay. Silas took a deep breath to steady himself and sank into a chair, desperately trying to stop himself throwing up all over the floor. At least the staff room was empty, because showing up after a month without a word, beaten up and completely drunk would raise more questions than he could be arsed to answer.

  What had possessed him to come here again? It suddenly sounded stupid. But the VIP rooms had bars crammed with expensive shit, and very comfortable lounges, so perhaps it wasn’t a waste of his time after all.

  Silas started moving once his stomach settled and his leg stopped trying to mutiny. There were scarcely any people left but he still took the long way to the VIP rooms, traversing the lesser used paths and corridors with a great degree of difficulty. He didn’t run into anyone, and locked the door firmly behind him when he reached the rooms.

  All that left was booze. Silas took a moment to root behind the bar, eventually digging out a bottle of Grey Goose and sprawling out on one of the sofas.

  He wasn’t sure how long he was lying there. Probably way too long. His eyes were closed and he was starting to fall asleep when there was a click of the door being unlocked.

  Hmm, what?

  Silas looked up, a grin drawing lazily across his face when he saw who it was. “Afternoon,” he slurred, seeming oblivious to the fact it wasn’t anywhere near afternoon.

Oh well. He wasn't in the mood for company, but it was going to be forced on him it might as well be someone with nice legs.

  Seph didn’t look nearly so pleased, but Silas didn’t seem to notice. Or care. His response to her demand was just to blink slowly and slur back a dull “What?”

  He didn’t even need to explain. Seph was already coming to conclusions.

  “What has he done to you?"

  Silas wasn’t in the mood to broach the subject, so instead he pointedly ignored her, tilting up the bottle to take another mouthful. “You know, you’re really fucking hot when you’re pissed off,” he remarked offhandedly.

[Sephora Forrest]

Silas’s grin did nothing to ease her temper – quite the contrary in fact. Rapid changes in mood were probably not the best idea when you wanted to contain involuntary acts of frustration. Silas was probably beaten up enough already, so she simply raised an eyebrow at his slurred tone. Oddly, despite the amount of alcohol that was usually accompanying Silas wherever he went, Sephora couldn’t remember ever seeing her boss properly drunk. It certainly didn’t aid his haggard appearance.

He took another swig straight from the bottle he was holding, drawing attention to further scarring down his arms. It looked like he’d been tossed onto hot coals and rolled around, or something else rather horrific that had befallen him. The concept was worrying – Seph had always considered Silas as her go-to security measure. The fact he was not in fact invincible left her vulnerable in extension. Still, if her theory about Dacian held true, Sephora was almost convinced that only one of the two men would have walked out of a battle that produced injuries like that.

Frowning in response to Silas’s crude comment, she wondered exactly how drunk he had to be. He wasn’t that blunt normally. But that was besides the point. Being evasive when she wanted answers was simply unacceptable. Judging by his unintelligent answers so far, it was looking like she wouldn’t get anything useful out of him. She briefly considered leaving him there and just walking out, but then she remembered her true purpose here.

Eyeing Silas’s lazy form suspiciously, she stalked over to have a good peer around for a glimpse of red and black satin shoved roughly out of sight. Despite not seeing anything, Seph simply couldn’t trust that face to be completely innocent. Si looked far too pleased with himself for someone who was sporting more war wounds than your average bomb victim, and there had to be a reason. For all she knew they were hovering in front of her face invisible right now – fucking magic users were so annoying sometimes. Well, all the time, whenever they weren’t saving her life – then it was okay.

“Are you hiding my shoes somewhere?” she asked, tempted to wag her finger at him like a naughty child. He seemed to be displaying the intelligence of one right now – only using more than single syllable words to hit on her. Fantastic.

“Because if you are you can wipe that smug grin off your face and own up. Or else.”

Rule number one: never get between a woman and her shoes.

[Silas Rosier]

  No answer from Seph, aside from a very characteristic glare that he was all too used to ignoring. Rather than dignifying him with an answer she suddenly bustled off to search around the room, giving Silas the perfect opportunity to subtly (or unsubtly) watch her arse as she ducked around.

  He made an appreciative noise and took another mouthful, which only seemed to trigger Seph to round back on him again. He affixed her with the most innocent look he could manage.

  “Are you hiding my shoes somewhere?" she demanded.

  It took a moment for the completely random question to penetrate the foggy haze that had settled over Si's brain. “What?” he repeated confusedly, sounding a bit like a broken record. What the fuck did shoes have to do with anything?

  She opted to follow the question up with a threat, and Silas frowned back. He didn’t very much appreciate her tone. “Well fuck you, I’m glad to see yer alive too,” Silas growled. “You can piss off then if that’s all ya want.”

  Who the hell hated/lusted after Seph enough to make off with her clothes anyway? Well, one person came to mind. “Rickie’s probably jerkin’ off with ‘em; go ask ‘im,” he suggested, settling deeper into the couch to make himself comfortable.