Free Hurricane (Last Call #2) by Moira Rogers

HURRICANE
    Contents under magical pressure. Experience
required.

    Fiona took one last look at the printed menu
in her hand and grimaced at her friend.  “I don’t need a
drink.  I need help.”
    “ Honey, this place is chock
full of hot wizards.”  Jenn snatched the menu out of Fiona’s
hands and studied the back of it.  “And this menu’s the key.
We just have to decode it.  Maybe they have a drink for, ‘My
castrated jackass of an ex cursed me to a life free of orgasms,
contents under pressure.’  Like… oh shit , you can get in on a
vampire/werewolf threesome? Hot.”
    Leave it to Jenn to focus
on the more salacious aspects of Last Call’s offerings.  “I
like my blood where it is, werewolves are notoriously possessive,
and a supernatural hookup is not on the agenda.  Remember what happened when I
kissed that councilman at your gallery opening last fall?” Fiona
shuddered at the memory.  “That poor cater-waiter lost his
eyebrows, and the sprinklers destroyed your
mixed-media.”
    “ Yeah, well, that’s why you
need a supernatural hookup.  Maybe there’s someone in here powerful enough to
survive the curse.  Hell, maybe there’s someone who can break it.”  Jenn
clutched the menu in one hand and grabbed Fiona’s arm in the
other.  “Come on, let’s go ask the bartender.”
    She knew who could break it.  Someone
who could lay wards so powerful they’d keep garden-variety humans
off of a property without any question or concern. Someone who
could maintain peace and order when vampires and witches were
partying with demons and faeries.
    She needed the owner of Last Call.
    Fiona grabbed the menu from Jenn and scanned
the back, then slammed the paper down on the bar.  One way or
another, the curse ended tonight.
    The bartender walked over, his movements
easy in spite of the churning energy in the club, one eyebrow
raised and a grin on his dark, handsome face.  “Can I help you
ladies?”
    Fiona took a deep breath.  “I need to
speak to Benito D’Cruze.”
    “ No, she doesn’t!” 
Jenn reclaimed the menu and held it up.  “She needs… a
hurricane.”
    “ A hurricane?”  The
bartender glanced at Jenn before bringing his gaze back to
Fiona.  “Hurricane’s for inexperienced witches and
wizards.  People who are liable to blow the place up without
proper handling.”  Unspoken was the implication that she
didn’t look particularly inexperienced.
    Fiona gritted her teeth.  “Can I see
Mr. D’Cruze or not?”
    “ Sorry, miss.  The
owner’s not available.  You could call his office and arrange
an appointment during business hours, though.”
    “ Okay.”  She drew in
another breath and nodded.  “Then I’ll need that hurricane,
please.”
    One dark eyebrow curved up into a perfect
arch.  “You sure?”
    Jenn, who had already indulged in a number
of the bar’s more mundane drinks, leaned forward in a
conspiratorial manner.  “She’s got a big bad curse on her.
Things blow up when she gets turned on.  She may not be an
inexperienced witch, but she still needs proper handling.”
    “ Uh-huh.” Fiona grinned.
She could just make out with the ones who thought they could handle the
curse.  Sooner or later, doddering old Benny D’Cruze would
make his way down from his lavish office to inspect the damage.
“Hope the property insurance is paid up.  Rum makes me
horny.”

    Ben knew there was
something wrong in his club long before the bartender called his
office.  The spells he’d wrapped around Last Call were some of
the finest magic in New York City -- hell, in the state -- and very little
happened in his bar without him finding out about it, sooner or
later.
    His wards had alerted him the minute she’d
crossed the threshold, of course.  Black magic wasn’t allowed
in the building, but people who were cursed weren’t necessarily
practitioners of the darker magics.  So he watched them and
made sure they didn’t cause trouble.
    A row of video screens