by D. S. Ritter
“You’d think there was an orgy going on in there,” said Heather, eyeing the number of men waiting to be judged by the bouncers, who didn’t seem to say much, but either scowled and shook their heads or smiled and released the rope. The club piped the music from inside at a level that required they practically yell to each other to be heard, despite standing close together.
After about twenty minutes of waiting in the line, Sam’s adrenaline was threatening to drive her crazy. She fidgeted with her tiny, useless purse. She’d been so hyped to get in and spy, but now she was shuffling a couple of inches every five minutes or so. Plus, the vampire saliva was taking effect. Her vision was sharpening, along with her hearing and unfortunately, her sense of smell.
“I swear, like eighty percent of what I’m breathing right now is cheap cologne,” complained Heather, shifting foot to foot, staring at Franklin.
He looked sheepish. “Yeah, I was not aware of how much this stuff reeked a few hours ago,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Women are supposed to like it, though.”
“If they do, it’s probably not when it’s cranked up to eleven,” said Yolanda, bored.
The bouncers inspected a small group of young men in black, shook their heads and sent them packing. The entire line shuffled forward again.
The club had not bothered to shovel the walk before the line had formed, so the snow had turned to melted, dirty, slippery slush. Sam felt a little bad for the other women in line; they were wearing short dresses, some of them strapless. One of them wasn’t wearing any stockings and had chosen a pair of stiletto heals. She was shaking with cold, waiting to get into the club with a young man talking to his friends. “Hey, Baby,” she said, addressing the guy Sam assumed was her date, “are you cold?”
He looked at her and smiled, answering, “No, Baby, I’m fine,” and went back to his conversation. While he was looking at her, she smiled, but as soon as he turned away, her face fell back to frigid misery.
“He’s lucky I’m busy,” said Yolanda, “or I’d go over there and give him something to think about.”
“Hey man,” said Franklin, “she didn’t have to dress like that, I mean...”
“You don’t think she’s dressed like that for him?” demanded Yolanda. “She’s wearing that scrap of fabric, and those heels, which I can guarantee you are hurting already, so she would look hot for her man. The least that asshole could do is lend her his damn jacket. And I bet, if she’d bothered to care about her own comfort, he’s the type who would complain she’s ‘letting herself go,’ or something.
“Damn,” she said, in a foul, fighting mood now, “Just... damn.”
“We better get in there soon so she can kick some ass.”
“Don’t you start with me, I’ll whoop you like your abuelita. The chancla’s gonna come off, Jesus.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Jesus, grinning a little.
As the line shuffled forward once again, Sam thought she spotted a familiar face. A guy behind them slipped and almost fell in the slush, jostling the other guys nearby. None of them seemed to wait with him.
It was Matt, the manager from Empire.
“Oh shit,” said Sam, ducking out of his view. “Don’t turn around, but that new manager is here.”
“The one obsessed with that blender?” asked Heather, looking, despite Sam’s warning.
The group snickered as Sam tried to stay out of his line of sight.
“Who cares if this guy sees you?” asked John, not bothering to hide he was looking at Matt.
“Well, some of us called off sick,” said Yolanda, also not bothering to hide. “We’re not sick. I wouldn’t put it past him to rat on us to the rest of management.”
“We don’t have bigger problems?”
“If our last adventure proved anything, it’s that you can save the world, but chances are, nobody will really know what happened. Saving the world doesn’t exactly pay the bills or keep you from going hungry.
“Unless you’ve got some cushy inter-dimensional jobs you could offer us, it’s probably best if nobody gets fired.”
They shuffled forward again, and this time Matt spotted Sam. “Oh,” he said, his face lighting up. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Sam’s face reddened. “Um, good, Matt,” she said. It was awkward talking across ten other people, some of whom now stared.
“Isn’t this place great?”
“Um, we haven’t gotten in yet, so I can’t tell you.”
“Me neither! Hey, is it okay if I pass? That’s my friend over there...” he said, inching his way past the other people in line. Sam just hoped her face didn’t show how weird she found this situation. Jesus couldn’t seem to stop cracking up while Yolanda had her perfect eyebrow arched as high as it could go.
“Oh, hey,” said Matt, spotting all the Empire employees. “Hey guys! How’s it going?”
“Great,” said Franklin, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“And who is this guy?” asked Matt, nodding to John.
“He’s my uh...”
“Boyfriend, huh?”
“No, no!” they said together, both looking embarrassed.
“Right, right,” said Matt, nodding knowingly, “that’s not what the kids are doing these days, eh?”
Is this really happening to me? Sam tried to smile, not bothering to point out she was older than him by a year. “I’m surprised it’s so busy, since it’s the middle of the week...”
“It’s always busy,” said Matt. “Every time I’ve tried to get in, the place has been packed. I’ve never seen so many limos pulling up though. Must be some special event.”
“Seems that way,” agreed John, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You hear any strange rumors about this place?”
Matt shrugged, that inexhaustible golden retriever-like enthusiasm refusing to let him see the surrounding darkness. They watched as the bouncers admitted the cold girl, her boyfriend and his friends. It wouldn’t be much longer.
When they got up to the bouncers, Sam tingled with anticipation. Would they let them in? And if they didn’t, what the heck would she do?
The bouncer nearest them, the one with the clipboard said, “Club’s full. You’ll have to wait.”
“Okay,” said Yolanda, crossing her arms. “Then, we’ll wait.”
And wait they did, feeling like they were stuck at the top of a tall roller coaster, ready to go over that first big drop, but just teetering at the point of equilibrium. This only lasted for about five minutes before a group of glamorous young people came out and stumbled toward the limousines.
Meanwhile, the bouncer made his decision. He opened his mouth, with an expression that said to Sam that they probably weren’t getting in, when his face changed. He held up a finger for quiet as he listened to the voice in his earpiece. “Yes sir,” he said. “Yes, of course, sir.”
He turned to Sam’s little group. “You can go in. And, here,” he unclipped a little tag from his board and handed it to Sam. “Here’s your pass for the VIP section. And if there’s anything you need, ma’am, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Oh, um,” said Sam, looking at the tag like it was an alien artifact, “thanks?”
And with that, she, her friends and Matt, who tagged along, were ushered through the big industrial doors and into the club.
Chapter Seventeen
Those doors opened onto a dark, narrow hall, paneled in what looked like rusty, corrugated iron sheeting with shapes and squiggles cut out, showing the wiring and structural elements within. Honey-colored cement, poured into intricate patterns and then sealed with a shiny coating made up the floor. Aside from the dim, tiny spot lights in the high, naked ceiling above, the only light came from the coat check window, where a gorgeous, bored young woman sat. Her face brightened when she noticed them, but then her eyes glazed over once they’d handed her their coats. She looked at Sam’s parka with a particular distaste.
Unburdened, the group continue
d farther in. Another pair of doors stood around a sharp corner, these made of polished steel and frosted glass which reflected the pink and blue neon flashing inside, the club-goers casting mysterious shadows across the white, smooth surface. The closer they got, the louder the music became. It throbbed in her ears and teeth.
When John opened the door for Sam, a wall of sound hit her. The bass was so deep; it shook her guts, and she flinched for a second before she got used to the level of noise.
A bar jutted out from the wall like a savior peninsula, catching them in a gentle tide before they were swept up in the sea of people. Much of the club was illuminated dramatically by stage lights strung up over the bar and a few stages in the middle of the floor, complete with stripper poles. The place was wall-to-wall bodies, all grinding against each other in rhythmic abandon. Sam couldn’t help but stare. She’d been to clubs before, but this place was in a different league.
Above the dance floor was another level, with tables and booths set right up against the railing to view the spectacle. Sam suspected there was another bar up there. The bar on the ground floor was the total opposite of the one at the House of the Sun; gaudy and bright and new, making Smith’s seem cozy and unpretentious. Sam saw shelves upon shelves of expensive, trendy liquors, with a bottle of Napoleon brandy crowning the top shelf display, which went for about a hundred dollars a shot. She didn’t want to think about the price of the well drinks, seeing that bottle up there. “Don’t go ordering off the top shelf here,” she said to John, “unless you’re independently wealthy or something...”
John shrugged. “There’s little money in being a terrible chaos magician,” he said. “I usually save those kinds of splurges for the apocalypse, or you know, places where I can drink for free...”
The place was gorgeous, but mostly, seemed like a normal club. Despite her heightened senses, Sam couldn’t pick any vampires out of the crowd and began to worry that maybe it was just a regular, albeit upscale, place.
“We’ll take a look around,” said Yolanda, leading Jesus toward the dance floor. Heather and Franklin stood nearby, awkwardly.
Sam continued to take it all in. “I’m not cut out for this kind of stuff,” she said to Heather. “I miss the good old days where it was enough to just smash baddies with a shovel…”
“I know, right?” she said, shifting. “I feel like I’m at a wedding where I don’t know anyone. And there’s no open bar.”
Above the gleaming bar was a wall of windows, thick wine-colored curtains partially closed behind them. Beyond, men and women milled around talking, all lavishly dressed.
“I’m guessing that’s VIP,” said John, looking grim. “They’re expecting you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Can’t exactly fit many stakes into this tiny purse,” said Sam, the tendrils of fear creeping up her spine.
“Just don’t go up there,” suggested Franklin. “I mean, they know you. That’s enough proof, right?”
John shook his head. “We need to figure out what’s going on. If this is nation-wide, taking this place down isn’t going to do shit except buy Sam some time. If this is a splinter group, though, we can fire bomb the shit out of this place and be done with it.”
“But, if she goes up there, she’s gonna die. That’s obvious,” said Yolanda, crossing her arms.
Slyly slipping his hand into his suit jacket, John flashed them a wooden stake and pulled out a canister that looked like pepper spray.
“Oh,” said Heather, “cool jacket of holding! Got a flame thrower in there or anything?”
John stared at her. “No, why would I--? No. Nothing highly explosive. I’m a magician, not suicidal...”
He handed Sam the little can which said *Spray and Pray on the label. “Holy water. Probably can’t take them all out, but you might get away.”
She looked at it for a moment, then slid it into her little black purse. “I really don’t want to go up there by myself.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said John.
She tried to ask him what he meant, but he disappeared into the crush of people around them without another word to her. Frustrated, she went up to the bar and ordered a Screwdriver, specifically requesting the cheapest vodka they had.
“That’ll be eight dollars,” said the bartender as he set a collins glass on a napkin in front of her. She rolled her eyes, downed half her drink and slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar. The bartender picked it up and walked away, having no intention of bringing her the change.
Sam sighed. “I hope we burn this place to the ground,” she grumbled, draining the last of the Screwdriver and feeling the alcohol hit her system. She put the glass back down on the bar and brushed hair away from her face. “Time to go...”
Franklin and Heather followed her to the bottom of the stairs where two more large bouncers stood like meaty statues. One held out a hand and she gave him her VIP pass. He nodded, but waved her friends away when they couldn’t present passes. “See you on the other side, I guess.”
“Good luck,” said Heather, looking worried. Franklin’s face said he still thought this was a horrible idea. Sam suspected he wasn’t wrong.
***
The VIP section was a large suite at the top of the club, with windows along three walls, shrouded with the red velvet curtains to mirror the red ropes of exclusivity outside. The people inside were left Sam awestruck. Their clothes, their makeup, their hair, was all a huge leap above those enjoying the club outside. The VIPs put her in the mind of celebrities, though important people flocking to Ypsilanti, a rather run-down city with nothing for them to do…? Plus, she didn’t recognize any of them. These weren’t movie stars, that was for sure.
Some of them turned as she entered, and her spine tingled. The looks they gave her weren’t curious, but predatory, some twinged with disgust, like she was a rodent, unwelcome and unsightly. She smiled and hoped they didn’t notice she was sweating. Her little black dress from TJ Maxx was not standing up well to the designer labels and haute couture filling the room.
She made her way toward the bar, needing another boost of liquid courage. This bartender was an attractive woman, like, catalogue model attractive, wearing a skimpy halter top and jeans that looked like they were painted on.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, flashing an impressive set of fangs. Sam smiled to hide her cringe. “I’d love a shot of whiskey. Or do you just do Bloody Marys?”
“Haha,” said the vampire bartender. “Never heard that one before. Have any more dad jokes to lay on me, there, lifie?”
Apparently, the service industry was shit no matter who you served. Sam relaxed a little. “Nope, fresh out. Can I have that whiskey now?”
“You got it, Honey.”
She poured a tall one and put in front of Sam and she knocked it back, making a face. “That was like, fifteen bucks, wasn’t it?” she asked, her throat burning.
The bartender grinned. “Try thirty. You want another one?”
“No,” said Sam, waving her hands, “that’s good for now. Thanks.”
“I’ll open a tab for you, Honey. You come back and see me.”
She turned back from the bar and scanned the room. Whoever was running things had wanted her to come up there, so she assumed they were there. But then, she realized, it could just be a trap.
Watching the crowd, it was becoming obvious that not everyone had a pulse. There was the flash of a fang here, some heavy necking there. Vampires surrounded Sam. And like cold water, the realization rolled over her she could die if things turned ugly. It was not a good thought, and one she would have never had if she’d just minded her own business a year ago. Of course, then everyone would be dead and the world ruled over by something so frightening her mind reeled to even think about it.
She felt a presence behind her. “Don’t turn around,” whispered a voice.
Sam fought the urge. “John?”
“Not so loud. And do not turn around,” he whispered. “This only w
orks if you don’t act like I’m here. Draw attention and they’ll be able to see me.”
“So you’re like, invisible?”
“More like, easy to ignore. But stop talking or you’ll blow my cover!”
“You talked to me first!” Her voice seemed to dry up in her throat as her eyes fell upon the vampire from the parking garage.
He was sitting on a couch in the corner, with others like him sitting around, like an entourage. All of them wore black t-shirts, jeans and boots. The only things that differed these uniforms were the accessories; big jewelry, a black trucker cap set on hair with heavy product in it. They were all young men with gorgeous women, some living some not, hanging on them. “That’s him,” she whispered. He was frowning and staring at her. Then he snapped at one of his boys and pointed.
Sam’s heart was in her throat as the vampire, the one wearing a black sleeveless shirt and the trucker hat, got up and slouched over. He didn’t even look up from the glow of his smart phone, on which he was rapidly texting. “Roscoe wants to talk to you,” he said.
“Um, okay?” said Sam, the sinking in her stomach getting deeper. She wanted to laugh, but held it back and tried not to shake.
The vampire’s boys shifted and let Sam have a love seat to herself, across from the vampire who’d attacked her only the day before. Roscoe. “You think I’m going to rip your throat out?” he said, flashing her his needle-like fangs. He lunged at her, and she flinched, realizing John’s presence behind the couch. Roscoe broke out into laughter, his entourage following suit seconds later.
“We’re not animals here,” he said, “plus, it’d be a huge pain in the ass to get that couch reupholstered. I mean, do you know how much that shit costs? That’s designer, you know? Expensive crap, man, expensive.”
“So, what am I doing here?” she asked, not at all assured.
“I want to make you an offer,” said the vampire, sitting back and putting his arms over the shoulders of the two beautiful women next to him. “I want you to join our little organization.”