I kept quiet although I called his bluff. War didn’t take me as the type that liked to share, even if it was something or someone he didn’t care much for, as long as it was his, it was his.
We quietly walked down the stairs and out the front door. At the end of the sidewalk, a street sign read “W. Baltimore St.” It was a quiet neighborhood, despite the sound of sirens coming from the next block. We descended the steps, and War hit the unlock button on a black truck parked at the curb.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to use enchanted doors? Baltimore traffic can be bad, especially downtown.”
“Do you ever be quiet? Goddamn, sit back and ride. You ask too many questions. And it would be stupid to step out of a portal in front of a club, wouldn’t it?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes at him and then climbed into the Escalade. I could sense he was annoyed from the argument with Grim.
It was my first time being in a truck that size. He got into the driver’s seat and started it up. So many lights lit up inside. Escaping crossed my mind; all I had to do was burst out the window and head back to Charmden, but my will wouldn’t let me. It’s like I had the thought, but my heart wouldn’t let me act on it.
War pulled away from the curb, he looked so good driving with his black baseball hat pulled down over his eyes. His side profile and the markings on the side of his face brought out his jawline.
“How old are you? You said you were the youngest wizard, but young in your world or in the human’s realm?”
“I swear your head is like cement. I keep telling you to stop asking me questions that has nothing to do with you. Damn, I’m trying to let my mind wander,” he responded.
“I’ll stop asking. Just tell me, and I’ll stay quiet the rest of the ride.”
He looked over at me. “You do know I can easily get rid of your mouth to shut you up,” he replied.
“I know you can, but you can’t have me looking like that around your friends.”
“I’m twenty-three,” he answered.
“Wow, you’re only a year older than me. I thought you were in your hundreds because of your persona. I guess that’s what comes with being a wizard. Do you have parents?”
“They’re dead just like yours,” he answered.
“Did they die from the people of Charmden?”
“Hoax’s right-hand man killed my father when I was ten. My father killed my mother when I was five,” he said and I gasped.
“Why?”
“She fought with him when he came to take me back to our world. She hadn’t seen him in five years, and then he just shows up and tells her he’ll be raising me. He used his powers on her, and the force killed her. In our society, we’re bred for war—we impregnate human women to produce soldiers. To ensure our sons can thrive in the immortal world, we have to sever all attachments to their human lives. That means killing theirmothers when we take them—it’s a necessary sacrifice. My father tried to do things differently, but in the end, he still had to take her life,” he replied.
“Does that bother you?”
“Humans are born to die. At least she died for a cause and I’ll always honor her for that,” he said.
“No wonder y’all objectify women. You only use them to breed with.”
“We don’t have females in our clan. It’s not our fault we have to come to this realm to get pussy. I told you our history, I told you how we were born to protect Charmden! We are killers, Eboenia. Highly trained killers. That’s our DNA,” he replied.
“I understand.”
“Good, so now you can stop trying to get into my head and ask me questions like we’re going to be husband and wife. I gave you a history lesson and now all you have to do is not piss me off enough to take your head off,” he threatened.
War turned the knob on his truck’s radio system, turning up the rap music he was listening to by an artist named, Roddy Ricch.
Fifteen minutes later, we were stepping into a club called Norma Jeans. The heavy bass thumped through my chest, making my heart race. “Wowwww,” I exclaimed, eyes wide as the beat vibrated through my body. The DJ was blasting "Said Sum," and I couldn’t help but let my hips sway, moving in sync with the rhythm. It was my first time in a strip club, and I was instantly captivated by the dancers on stage—barely dressed, wild and free, their asses and titties twinkling under the neon lights.
War grabbed my hand, his grip firm as he guided me through the crowd toward a VIP section, where at least six people lounged. I strutted across the floor, still rolling my hips, feeling the eyes on me.
“I see you like this type of atmosphere,” War said, sounding annoyed.
“I do like to dance my pain away,” I replied.
