Sad thing is, Hex was probably the type of place she’d be fiending to go to if she were actually in town and I took her up on her offer. Perhaps one day I’ll make room for her again in my life. Maybe once she gets her act together and things aren’t so hectic with me. She says she wants to be a singer. Hopefully she won’t be like one of those jackasses who sell their soul for a quick rise to fame. I’d hate to see her go down that road knowing the inevitable. Demons are always trying their best to add another chink in their belt.
I’ll have to watch her after all of this is over.
“Fuck you, Alfonse,” I say louder than I should.
Hmm? Did I strike a chord and upset you?
“No, I just wanted to remind you that I can’t stand you, or your kind, that’s all.”
The feeling’s mutual.
“Good to know.” I roll my eyes and shake my head as I pick up my pace, leaving my stray thoughts behind me to drift in the wind. I make the corner and follow the booming bass and the clamoring chatter of people my age further ahead of me. Suddenly the city seems to transform into a breath of fresh air. No longer does it seem like a stale portrait of the slums, but a city thriving off the abundance of youthful energy scattered about. I can’t help but people-watch as I draw closer to the club. A bunch of couples doing their thing and friends hanging out leaves a lot to long for. I dwell on it, allowing myself to indulge for some time before distancing myself from the thoughts clouding my mental space. I look up and find myself at the entrance of the club.
As with all high-in-demand spots, the line is atrocious. Before I know it, I’m sandwiched between a bunch of guys and girls who are way too deep in the punk scene. Body piercings, weird hair-do’s, and lots of leather in awkward places, seems to be the dress code for the regulars, meaning I stick out like a sore thumb. From where I stand, I feel the thump of the bass booming as it blares out an arrangement of electro discoteka. The people in front of me sway and jive rhythmically as they wait for their turn to enter beyond the baby blue corridors. I, too, find myself subtlety seduced by the beats that seem to stem from my core. I move my hips to the music as I wait impatiently in line.
You do know that bouncer is checking you out, don’t you?
I casually look in the bouncer’s direction and catch his eyes scanning my body. Eventually, his eyes meet mine, but I don’t break eye contact. Instead, I flash a smile and gaze deeper. He’s a tall guy, not older than me, if at all. Broad shoulders, hazel eyes—just like my own, a nice complexion, and definitely chiseled under his black fitted tee. He doesn’t look away as I continue to move. My heart smacks against my chest as he returns the favor and smiles back. He turns to his buddy and taps him on the chest, then signals over at me. His friend tilts his head up, and I smile back at him out of courtesy. The hot guy motions for me to step out of the line and come up to him. He smooth-talks some bullshit-line my way, and I’m uncharacteristically okay with it. I smile, I laugh, and he says that he’ll see me again before he lifts the velvet rope, granting me access to the other side.
Chapter 3: Club Hex
Upon entering the club, my senses stir and my head swivels. The music is much louder than compared to how it sounded on the outside, and I feel myself getting disoriented by the flashing sky-blue floor panels underneath me. Ignoring my feelings, I make a sweep of the room, taking note of anything strange I see, but nothing sticks out. A bunch of college couples making out, drunk kids, and questionable acts on the dance floor. The music picks up and my head pulses in synch with the booming bass. Everyone seems to be feeling it, for the most part, except me, but I keep my cool as I begin to head over to the bar.
Well, you seem to be enjoying yourself.
I plop my elbows down on the light blue bar table and cradle my head with both hands. My head feels heavy, so much so that every time I move my head to a different extreme, it feels as if my brain tips my skull over to the opposite side. My vision momentarily blurs as my headache worsens. I massage both temples and close my eyes, thinking it will help, but I can still feel my head spinning.
Hello?
“I picked the wrong day to be sick.”
“You okay, sweetie?”
I look up and there’s another insanely attractive man, the bartender. This one has blond hair and blue eyes. He reaches out, touches me on the shoulder, and looks into my eyes curiously as he waits for my response.
“Yeah, I’m good…just a little headache, that’s all. I probably shouldn’t have come out here while I was sick.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. This place is pretty cool. Your friends made the right move by bringing you over here.”
He briefly turns around, grabs a glass from the rack, and begins to shine it in front of me. Giving me a painstakingly obvious view of his biceps.
“Oh, yeah, them. Ha. I came alone.”
“Seems like you’ve been having a rough time with your lady friends, or is it a guy in particular?”
“No comment,” I say as I catch myself raising my buried head from my hands.
“Well, in that case, I got something for you, pretty lady.” He turns back to the bar and begins to fix me a drink. I can’t help but stare at his back muscles, shrink wrapped in his tiny black shirt, until he turns around to face me once again.
“Here you go. It’s on the house.”
I shuffle my fingers through my hair, flattered by his kind gesture but also midway in thought of how to politely refuse whatever he has to offer. The drink thumps down on the table, guided by his hand, directly in front of me. Low and behold, the mystery concoction has the properties of a normal drink but glows blue. My nostrils flare and my eyes widen as I analyze the glass in front of me. For a moment, I find myself free of the slump I had somehow fallen into and my senses are restored.
“I haven’t been here before. What is this exactly? My mom told me to never accept drinks from strangers, no matter how cute they are.”
He smiles and leans in, folding his elbows on top of the bar as he comes in closer. Five seconds ago, I found him strangely attractive. I guess now knowing that he intends to serve me an occult-flavored cocktail, my views have changed. No, that’s not it. Something’s—
“That is a new drink called ‘The Hieratic.’ I added a little something to it to take the edge off, but it’s a pretty wicked drink.”
I frown as I look at the glass, then back up at him. Not that I planned on drinking on the job or anything, but he did just spike my drink with Sphinx and failed to mention it to me. The only thing that is stopping me from beating him to a pulp is the fact that I don’t know if he is a demon trying to get a junkie or just a plain ole’ douche bag trying to dope me up and score. What. The. Fuck. I pick up the drink and look underneath it to see the murky blue substance spread to the edges of the drink, and then look back up at him, again, heavily disappointed on multiple levels.
“And what exactly did you add to this?” I say as I swirl the glass in my hand.
I wouldn’t press the situation, not knowing what you’re up against. As you know, demons are a force to be reckoned with, as are misguided men.
“I’m pissed,” I say out loud, replying to Alfonse and showing my apparent distaste to whatever it is that is in front of me. A risky move, I admit, but if it were something I would be afraid of, it wouldn’t act out in public unless the whole club was in on it. Yeah. I didn’t think this one through.
“W-well, I thought that you were the type of girl that—”
“That what? Likes unknown substances casually mixed in with her drink? Where’s your manager? No. Fuck that, I’m calling the cops.” I get up from the table despite his pleading and storm towards the door. As I walk, I reach into my purse to arm myself with my gun in case I am in fact dealing with a demon. Things would be a lot easier if Alfonse had his radar on, but according to him, he’s too weak for that. Knowing him, he probably just wants to see a good show. Well, as much as I value my life, a good show never hurt anyone.
As I near
the dance floor, I can’t help but notice the plethora of stares coming my way. They hone in on me like laser sights. I can virtually feel their eyes on my skin. A cold chill streams down my body as I feel the pressure growing in the room. The music, which I had tuned out only seconds ago, is back to full blast in my head. The beat races through my system, causing my heart to stir. Demons. I know it’s them. I spot a set of peculiar eyes owned by a punk rocker staring me down as I move through the crowd. I pretend to not notice, even as the others scattered around the room light up to me like beacons.
“Why are they all looking at me, Alfonse?” I mumble to myself as I continue my hurried departure.
Most likely because they sense something on you. Perhaps it’s me. I am a demon, after all. Even though you are in a crowd, your essence is quite peculiar when compared to a standard demon’s. It was naïve to think they wouldn’t be able to recognize you in these conditions. Do show more caution next time.
“Are you freaking kidding me? You could have at least warned me.”
You never asked. Common knowledge, really. You ask me if my radar is working, implying you know such a thing exists, yet you’re baffled that they have one as well. Just because I can’t use mine at the moment doesn’t mean they can’t sense me… A demon’s essence is a unique as a human’s fingerprint. Encountering an individual such as yourself is bound to turn heads for obvious reasons. Especially in such close quarters.
“Enough with the lecture. Get to the point, if there is one.” I bump into a couple dancing in my frantic pace. The guy shifts forward and looks at me with a threatening glare but nothing more. From inside my jacket, I release my finger from the trigger. He was human. “Sorry about that.” He shrugs as he continues dancing with his lady friend while I brush by.
If I am correct, they sense a presence emitting from you but they see a human. You are an unfamiliar who is of peculiar descent. To them, you give off the presence of a lesser demon or spirit while seeming like a normal human being. The effect of their music seems to have an adverse effect on you due to me, as well.
“The music? What the fuck, Alfonse? You knew?”
The music was engineered to a particular frequency to lower inhibitions and promote certain behaviors, hence your sultry actions. It’s used to manipulate humans, of course, in the convenience of a club setting. Simple undertones subliminally force fed en-mass via the DJ. It’s quite annoying, mainly because I can hear it. Perhaps a part of me registered it within you, thus affecting you like so. Consciousness of the situation and of your behavior should be enough of a remedy.
“So they blare techno in the club, mindfuck you, give you some Sphinx, and possess you. Good to know, asshole. I could have been a goner.”
You were in no real danger. Even in my weakened state I could tell that boy was human. I would have alerted you if he were something else.
“Right. Thank you for considering a spiked drink passable. I’ll keep that in mind,” I mutter as I weave through the endless throngs of people, keeping an eye on the stares that follow me without me being obvious. The exit seems to get further and further away as more people begin to flood onto the sky-blue tiles. My head pounds as the bass grows louder, momentarily causing me to lose my footing as I press forward. I start to feel sick again but push the bile back into the pit of my stomach as I gaze upon the exit in sight.
I continue to fight through the crowd, but before I can break free a foreign entity pulls on my arm, preventing me from traveling any further.
Chapter 4: Caught
“Hey. I heard there was a complaint over at the bar involving you. Everything fine?” It’s the guy who let me in earlier. He flashes the same smile as before, but knowing his game, it gives the opposite effect. The same perfectly squared chin and tan face that I admired before, repulses me. Behind his smile I feel something sinister, something I can’t shake.
“I’m fine. I just want to go home.” I try to pull my arm away, but he stops me from moving without much effort, bearing the strength that a man of his stature couldn’t possess. “Your bartender guy tried to put something in my drink. You should do something about that.” His gaze doesn’t break from mine as I subtly try to wrestle free, hoping that my gut feeling is wrong. “I’m not going to call the cops or anything. I just want him fired, and for me to go home. What ya’ll do with him after I’m gone is up to ya’ll. I’m over this.” I struggle again but his grip on my arm tightens just enough that I know he means business. Either he knows that I’m playing dumb, or he wants to ‘x’ me out at a different location. Either way, it would be in my best interest not to act out here. If I were to shoot him in the head in the middle of the club, nothing good would come of it, no matter how tempting it may be.
“That’s fine and all, but our protocol requires us to speak to you alone before pressing the issue any further. If you would, right this way please,” he says as he drags me by the arm, pulling me deeper into the sea of dancers that cover the floor. The eyes that were on us break off as we fade into the rest of the crowd, losing our relevancy to the ravers entranced by the music’s spell. Eventually, his hand guides me to a remote area behind the DJ’s booth where two bodyguards are standing watch. He nods at them both, and they part like two rigid pillars guarding a sacred treasure.
Be careful.
Together we walk through the door with his hand firmly attached to my bicep. The room is dimly lit with a single light bulb loosely swaying like a pendulum, slowly counting down to my demise. He releases my arm and insists that I take a seat. I stand adamantly as I wait for him to sit first on the other side. With a smug look, he sits and folds his hands across the plain white table. Compared to the rest of the club, the room is silent. Probably soundproof, not that it matters. No doubt about it, they’re demons, or at the very least, have demons among their ranks. The room they set up for my interrogation is teetering on the side of impromptu rather than the standard for their operations.
“Go on, sit. I’m not going to hurt you.” I pull out the cold, grey, metal chair and sit carefully. Slowly. Still maintaining eye contact on the way down. The smile he wears grows sinister as my rear gently hits the icy bottom. “So tell me exactly what happened, dear.”
“I-I went to chill out at the bar and one of your bartenders tried to drug me.” I end my sentence and stare into his eyes to gauge his reaction. With the faint light, his delicate features seem to have melted away.
His face is now clammy and hard, like stone.
He’s angry. Possibly afraid…possibly intrigued. I know he can sense Alfonse resonating from my being, so my misguided college girl act is a lost cause.
He doesn’t seem to know if you know what he thinks you may be.
I take a mental note of Alfonse’s speculation as I mentally prepare for what’s to come. I want to hear more, but true to form, Alfonse only tells me enough to pique my interest.
A cold sweat runs from behind my head and under my hair as I feel the pressure in the atmosphere change. Something is wrong. He’s too quiet. I reach for my gun in my coat.
Before I can register his movement, he grabs me by the hairs of my head and smashes my face into the table. Amidst the stars, I go for another grab at my gun with my only able hand, but he restrains me from doing so.
“Look, I know you know what I am, but the real question is, what are you?” He raises my head and slams it into the table before I have a chance to respond. The stars come again and a crimson pool of blood begins to seep from my nose onto the table. He asks me again, but this time he gives me a chance to respond. I take my moment of salvation to catch my breath and refocus, but the bluntness of reality breaks my euphoria. The grip he has on my hair tightens as he yanks my head back. I keep silent, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing me scream. He asks again, but instead of answering him, I reach for the blessed knife in my coat pocket and stab him in the thigh. He screams a blood-curdling scream that isn’t in the voice of his vessel, but of his true form. He throws me to the
other side of the room, slamming me against the wall, dislodging the knife from my hand in the process.
“So you’re a hunter, eh?” he says as he struggles to maintain his balance on his wounded leg.
“That’s right,” I say as I stand to my feet, reveal the gun I had tucked away in my jacket, and point it at his head. Using my free arm, I wipe away the blood from my nose and make my way to my knife that is on the floor beside me. As I inch closer to the blade, I make it top priority to keep my sights locked-in ahead of me. Slowly, I stoop down, reach for the blade riddled with his blood, and firmly grip it in the palm of my hand. “Don’t try any stupid shit or I’ll blow your head off. As you probably know, these bullets aren’t your run of the mill, a dime a dozen, lead. This shit is made to kill bastards like you.”
Sailor Ray and the Darkest Night (The Pact Book 1) Page 2