Planeswalker

by Chloe Adler

  My eyes mist and I blink. “I’m already living with you and indebted to your kindness. I would feel even worse about myself if I didn’t do something.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

  Whatever I want. Whatever I want? I want to show these men I can stand on my own two feet, without their handouts, so they’ll keep me. So they’ll respect me. No, so I’ll respect myself. I want to be their planeswalker. Of course, a good planeswalker would probably not strand their king in the wrong plane. And then there’s the little detail about being the one who is supposed to help them get their powers back. No biggie.

  But how can I help them get their powers back when I have none of my own?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’ve mulled it over for a few hours and I want to try and get a job on my own. Of course, my options for actual work are thin. But if I’m working, at least the men—and my parents—will see I’m responsible and not a leech. And while I’m giving back, I’ll spend my free time getting them to Tara and helping them get their magic back.

  I wait until the early evening to call a cab. There are so many reasons I don’t want to ask the men to drive me to the V. They may try and talk me out of it. It is a vampire strip club, after all. Or, even worse, they’ll want to come with me, and the idea of them watching a bunch of hot women strip ties my stomach in knots.

  Making my way toward the front doors of the mansion, I run into Arch and Forrest, who look like they’re coming back from riding.

  “Where are you going?” Arch asks.

  “You’re not staying for dinner?” Forrest tosses his long white hair behind one shoulder.

  “Sorry, I . . . want to hang out with you guys, but I need to do something for myself first. I know you’re offering me the world here and I appreciate it but . . .” I take Arch’s hand.

  “We want you to be happy,” says Forrest. “Whatever that entails.”

  Arch doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t pull away either.

  “Can we give you a ride?” Forrest asks.

  “Thank you, but I called a cab.” I reshoulder my purse and shift from foot to foot. “I’ll be back before you know it.” I force a smile.

  “Amaya.” Arch’s voice is deep, his green eyes boring into mine. The sun gleams through the glass ceiling, lighting up his red hair like a blazing fire. “If you need anything, call or text us.”

  “Day or night,” Forrest adds.

  They’re so sweet. I’d really rather stay, but I need to do this, for my self-esteem and for my parents.

  Arch leans down to kiss me. On the cheek.

  Forrest looks like he wants to say something or to kiss me but he steers Arch through the door to the living room. Looking back at me, he mouths, Be careful.

  I slip out of the front door, hoping to avoid Bodhi and Cedar. I don’t want to answer more questions. The cab is waiting and I slide into the back.

  On my way to the club I text Jules. We’re in a weird place right now. Am I hiding behind pretext as an excuse for connection? There are too many irreparable things in my life right now. I’d like to pretend that Jules isn’t one of them.

  What’s the name of the V Club owner again?

  Benedict, why?

  I’m on my way there to ask for a job.

  WTF, really dude? What about the agent who said she can find you a singing gig? You’d really rather work at the V? No judgment, but bitch, if you hated working at Ichor . . .

  You know I can’t sing in public. Plus that woman was prob just being nice since I did smash into her. I checked online, she represents real talent.

  Your choice. Lemme know what happens.

  The cabbie pulls up in front of the club and smirks at me. “Going to work?” His voice drips with condescension.

  This is already proving a hell of a lot more difficult than I’d imagined and I haven’t even gotten inside yet. “None of your business. Do you want to get paid for this ride or do you want me to report you for asking inappropriate questions?”

  He narrows his eyes at me in the rearview mirror. “Ten bucks.”

  I get out of the car, walk over to his window and hand him a ten-dollar bill. No tip. I spin around and walk toward the front entrance.

  “Bitch,” he growls.

  Right, I’m the bitch here.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The doors to the club are thick and black, swallowing all outside light. I’ve never been here before and assumed the festivities didn’t start until sundown. I was wrong. Once inside, I don’t know where to look first. There’s a stage to my right with a woman and a man gyrating in time to a throbbing bass beat, both in stages of undress. The center of the room holds high-tops and short, round four-tops. The lighting is subdued, which makes perfect sense for the venue, but I can’t help wondering if it’s to hide stains, spills and maybe even leakage. Best not to think of such things, Amaya. The walls are brick, painted black, an interesting choice and apropos for a vampire strip club. The vibe is speakeasy-meets-industrial and it works.

  I make my way through the empty lounge to the long dark bar on the left-hand side. Sliding onto a black stool, I look around, trying to get my bearings.

  “Hi,” the bartender says, flashing me a smile. “I’m Alec. What would you like to drink?”

  “Hi, Alec, I’m Amaya but I’m . . .” I wring my hands. “I’m looking for Benedict. Is he here?”

  Alec’s eyes travel to the ceiling over my head. “He’s in his office.” He looks back at me. “Is he expecting you?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m . . . I’m looking for a job.”

  “Oh,” his smile broadens, “great. Dancer or bartender?”

  “Bartender,” I laugh. “I’m definitely not a dancer.”

  “You don’t have to be. It’s a really fun job to learn if you’re interested. I know Benedict will offer. You’re stunning.”

  I blush, looking away. “Thank you, I have a boyfriend.”

  “So do I.” Alec slides a drink toward me and I look down at a highball of club soda with a twist of lime, hiding the flush in my cheeks. I hate myself for assuming not only that he was straight but that he was hitting on me. I should know better. Perhaps my men’s interest in me has falsely inflated my ego. Yup, that feels right.

  “Thanks. Sorry, I’m nervous.”

  “I can tell. First time here?”

  I take a sip of the fizzy water and nod.

  “It seems daunting but it’s really not. Most everyone here is nice. Benedict is very strict about employees feeling comfortable so there are lots of rules to protect us.”

  “Rules.”

  “Mostly for Signum. No shifting inside the club. No drinking or sex from an unwilling partner. Sex only in the back rooms. Anyone who makes you uncomfortable gets kicked out. That sort of thing.”

  I swallow and give him a tiny head bob.

  “Let me call up for you.” He pulls out a cell and presses in a number, then walks away to talk.

  I swivel my stool around and look at the stage again. The tables are practically empty, just two couples, but the performers are putting on a show anyway. Are they practicing? More likely it’s in their contract. At the Harbor House Café, we had to keep the tables clean and the condiments stocked. It’s probably the same here, except with strippers instead of ketchup bottles. Got to be ready for the customers.

  I eye the guy gyrating against a pole in a sparkly thong and the woman prancing around the stage in nothing but a black feathered boa. The music thrums but it’s not unbearable and I even find myself swaying a little to the beat. Surprisingly, their show barely registers. Either I’m getting used to overt displays of sexuality or, more likely, it’s easy to dismiss here since it’s not the job I’m applying for.

  “Amaya?”

  I jump a little at Alec’s voice behind me and have to grab on to the bar to keep from falling off the stool.

  When I swivel back he’s pointing a finger to the far end of the club, near the entra
nce. “Benedict will see you.”

  There’s a floating metal staircase I missed when I came in, near the front door. The way this place is built, it doesn’t even look like there’s another story but obviously there is.

  “Thanks, Alec.” I flash him a grin, fish in the pocket of my jeans and pull out two crumpled dollar bills.

  He waves the money away. “On the house.”

  “Thank you. Wish me luck.”

  He chuckles. “You’ll do great.”

  Sliding off the barstool, I suck in some air and make my way back across the club, eyes trained on that staircase. You can do this, Amaya. So what if you’ve never bartended before? You’re a quick learner. You’re personable. You work hard and you’re not judgmental. Or at least I can fake all that.

  As I mount the stairs a man appears at the top. His hands are crossed over his chest and I take one step back, almost falling. He frowns, slicking back his already slicked-back dark hair and narrowing his dark eyes at me.

  “Benedict?” I ask.

  “Yes, I’m Benedict Volkamoff, and you must be Amaya.” His British accent is disarming but his demeanor is all professional. He waits for me to climb the rest of the stairs. Once I’m at the top I extend my hand and he shakes it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you.” I offer him a smile. Hopefully he won’t know it’s forced.

  “Right this way.” He turns and I follow him down a long hallway lined with closed doors. He stops at one and opens it, ushering me in first.

  I expected him to take me to his office, but this room is so sparse. Did he just move in here or . . . ? No, I decide, it’s an interview room. There’s one heavy metal desk with chairs on either side of it and a legal pad and pen on top. That’s it. No windows, no decorations, no other furniture.

  He enters behind me and moves to one side of the desk, motioning me to sit on the other.

  “Alec says you’re looking for work?”

  “Yes, sir.” I keep my eyes trained on his dark ones. The man is the epitome of tall, dark, handsome and rich. I try to guess his age but fail.

  “We are looking for a bartender. Alec told me you’re not interested in dancing, is that correct?”

  “Right.”

  “What’s your bartending experience? Have you brought a resume?”

  “No, sir. I don’t have one. I . . . my last job was at Ichor.”

  His eyebrows hitch. “I thought I recognized you.”

  I hold my breath, wondering if that’s a good or a bad sign.

  “I take donors there sometimes.”

  He’s a vampire?

  He waves a hand next to his face. “Infrequently, when one of my regular donors is on vacation.”

  “Why don’t you just drink from someone here?” I blurt out.

  A tiny smile plays at the corner of his lips. “It’s not recommended to eat where you . . .” He winks and I look away, my face flushing.

  I forge on. “I may not have any bartending experience but I was a waitress for two years at the Harbor House Café and I’m comfortable working in food service. I’m a good study, a fast learner and . . .” I look away.

  “You can’t find another job.”

  I nod and sit on my hands before I can start gnawing on a cuticle.

  “Are you Signum, Amaya?”

  We’re really not supposed to ask people that here in the Edge, but for employment purposes it makes sense. I shake my head.

  “Are you comfortable working around us? Ninety percent of the club’s patronage is Signum.”

  “Oh yes, sir. I have no problem with Signum, my boyfriends . . .” I clear my throat, “boyfriend is Signum.”

  He nods slowly, studying me. I maintain eye contact and a neutral expression, hoping he’s not a mind reader or anything. Not that I’ve heard of Signum reading minds, but you never know.

  “I’ll tell you what.” He takes the pen in his hand and writes my name on the top of the pad with impressive penmanship, as though he’s a scholar from another century. He very well may be. Vampires, witches and warlocks live at least three times as long as humans. “I’ll hire you on a trial basis. How does that sound?”

  I nod eagerly. “Wonderful, thank you, sir.”

  “We do have a dress code. No jeans.” His lips press into a thin line.

  “No problem.” Great, that’s over half my wardrobe. Maybe I can borrow something from Jules. I snort, he looks at me. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Call me Benedict.”

  “Thank you, Benedict.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Reynolds, sir.”

  He looks up. “One of the founding human families. I know your parents.”

  Shit. “They’re currently out of the country.”

  “Wonderful. I hope they’re enjoying their time away.” He writes my last name. Then he writes a few other lines I can’t make out upside down. He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a W2, sliding it over to me. “Can you start tonight?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I take the bus back to my parents’ house to change. If I work at the V Club and save my tips for the next twenty days, I can either put a down payment on a studio for my parents or at least pay for movers and a storage space for their things. First a job, then maybe an apartment. Either way I’ll have to pack their stuff and move it. I realize a finger is in my mouth again, biting on a cuticle. Shit, I really need to kick this disgusting habit.

  I jump off the bus and practically run back to my house. The eviction notice is still up, notifying me I have a mere twelve days left and broadcasting my shame to the neighbors. Once inside I pull everything out of my closet. I’m going to have to purge and pack it all anyway in a week. Twenty minutes later my bed and floor are littered with piles and the pile for work wear that doesn’t include jeans is slim. Now I’m thankful for the costumes we had to wear at Ichor, even if they were humiliating.

  There’s absolutely nothing in my closet that’ll work at the V. I call Jules.

  “Hey,” she answers on the first ring. “How’s your harem?”

  “Good.” My voice is tight. I’m not ready to talk about the guys with her. “My big news is that I got a job.”

  “Bitch, what? Not the—”

  “Yup, at the V.”

  “You go, girl. Gonna strip after all?”

  I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. “As if. I do not have those moves.”

  “But you do have the booty.” I can feel her clipping me on the shoulder over the line. “And the dance moves. I’ve seen you rock the floor.”

  I can dance, that’s true. “But stripping is a whole different skill set.”

  “So bartending then?”

  “Yup.”

  “And they know you’ve never bartended and you can’t mix a drink to save your life?”

  “Hey, not fair. I’m a quick learner.”

  “That you are. Congrats, dude, that’s awesome.”

  “There’s a dress code.”

  “I’ll be over in ten.” She hangs up and ten minutes later on the dot she’s at my door. “Let’s raid your mom’s closet.” She grabs me and pulls me upstairs before I can protest.

  Jules not only helps me pick out an outfit for my first night, she also does my makeup and drives me to the club, earning the title of BBFFFEALASSCOMM—bestest best friend for fucking ever . . . as long as she stays clear of my men.

  “You want me to come inside with you?” she asks.

  I nod. “Do you mind?”

  “Hell no. I’ve been wanting to hang out in this den of debauchery for years but you’d never go with me.” She smooths her hands down the front of her little black dress and I realize she’s dressed for the occasion. “Wait a sec.” She adjusts my blouse. It’s a red sleeveless number that scoops down in the front, and Jules made sure to put me in a black lacy camisole underneath for a peek-a-boo effect. She steps back and looks me up and down.

  “Jules, there’s no way I can walk in these boots.”

/>   “Well you can’t go to work in a sexy club wearing your Converse.”

  I take a wobbly step forward and stumble. She catches me, her lips tight in a frown. “They’ll take some getting used to. You can thank me later.”

  She’s right. How am I ever going to learn to walk in heels if I don’t start now? Isn’t that a must for entry into womanhood? I wipe a hand across my upper lip. Great, I’m already sweating. It’s got to be the black leather pants Jules found hanging in the back of Mom’s closet—God only knows what they were doing there. Jules moves next to me and takes my elbow, leading me into the club. It’s packed in comparison to this afternoon. Her head swivels and I teeter across the main room to the bar, her ever-present hand at my elbow.

  Alec waves at me. “Amaya, welcome aboard.” He looks at his watch. “Nine p.m. Thank you for being perfectly prompt. Are you ready to start?”

  I nod, bringing my finger up to my mouth. Jules pushes my hand away, then sticks a hand out at Alec. “Hi, I’m Jules.”

  He nods, taking her hand in his. “Alec.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She openly gawks at him. I pinch her and she squeals, jumping back. Alec pretends not to notice.

  “Walk me to the end of the bar so I can stand behind it and support myself,” I whisper. She glares but does as I ask, walking me down the bar that I swear has gotten twice as long since this afternoon.

  “Now all the men in the Edge are yours?” she huffs.

  “He doesn’t play for our team,” I stage-whisper.

  “Oh. Okay, bitch, you’re forgiven.” She waits until I’m holding on to the end of the bar and then kisses the side of my cheek. “I’ll stay in case you need me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The first hour goes well, probably because all I do is hold on to the bar and watch Alec mix drinks and pour beer from the tap. He shows me how to tilt the pint glass so there’s not too much foam at the top of the beer. He shows me how to mix the most commonly ordered drinks. Some I’ve heard of and have even drunk, like a cosmopolitan and a Manhattan. Others I’ve never heard of, like a negroni and the Moscow mule. I take notes on cocktail napkins, which I keep out of sight on a small ledge below the bar top. And I thought bartending would be easy. After the first hour he lets me take over the beer and wine orders. Thirty minutes later he shows me how to measure by fingers and let’s me service the clients who order straight liquor. Most bars, Alec explains, use self-measuring spouts that pour an ounce at a time. But since a majority of the V’s patrons are hundreds of years old, they prefer things old-school.