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We slipped into the club entrance, where muffled reggaeton pounded through the walls as the night closed in. I almost laughed when the man at the door asked me for ID to prove my age. Something told me he probably wouldn’t believe me if I told him I was almost as old as the stone fort outside. I ushered Katrina on through the door. “Go on in,” I said, “I’ll get in.”
Katrina’s eyes lit up with confidence as she spun around to the doorman and leaned closer to his ear than I liked. “El esta conmigo,” She whispered, her eyes flashing bright blue for a fraction of a second.
“Smart girl,” I said just low enough for her to hear, looking away to divert the doorman’s attention. We passed through together, disappearing into the crowd. Fog filled the air as lights danced to the rhythmic beat of reggaeton. The smell of alcohol and smoke was almost enough to tempt me to stay for a while. I’d be lying if I said Serena and I hadn’t snuck out for a night of fun in places like this a few times.
“I thought you didn’t like controlling people,” I teased with a nudge to Katrina’s side.
“Sometimes I make exceptions,” she muttered with a grin I could tell she was trying to hold back. “Okay, what are we looking for exactly?”
We stared out into the ever-growing crowd taking over the floor. “Tall fellow with longish brown hair, freaky golden eyes, and a face stuck like he’s always looking down on the rest of the world. But the last time I saw him was in 1725, so it’s possible some things may have changed...”
Katrina wrinkled her nose. She was uncomfortable here.
“What, you don’t like the smell of sweat and tequila?” I joked.
“It’s just so loud and crowded,” she squealed as people closed in around us. “I can’t see anything.”
“Come on, let’s get through these people and we’ll have a better view.”
“I can’t move...” Katrina complained as bodies began pressing against us, their energetic bobbing tossing her about like a boat in a storm.
“Dance through it,” I told her. She didn’t seem to think I was serious, until I pulled her to me and helped guide her body to the pulsing music. Ignoring her shocked expression, I encouraged her with my own movement, helping her to loosen enough to begin merging with the suffocating crowd of people at our backs. We weaseled our way through the dance floor, walking when we could, but dancing our way through most of it. When a guy began grinding against Katrina despite her discomfort, I didn’t hesitate to shove him off with a few poetic words thrown in. He came back to lunge at me, and I grabbed the collar of his shirt, spinning as I swung his weight around. A gasping startled crowd parted the way as I forced him backwards into the bar counter.
“Back off her,” I gritted my teeth, boring my eyes into him as he drunkenly attempted to push me away.
“Cuidate, cabrón,” the bartender said firmly, calmly mixing a drink as he shifted to our spot at the counter. Katrina came rushing over, pushing her way through everyone, shooting me a stern look of warning. I remembered we couldn’t get kicked out of here. I had to cool it.
I released the guy in my grasp, showing my open hands in a feigned sign of truce before pushing him back into the crowd. I stood beside Katrina, watching. He eyed me like a snake unsure whether to strike. Finally, he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth getting removed from the club, and I held my eyes on him until he disappeared back into the color-lit mob.
Voices behind me at the bar caught my attention. The bartender was explaining to someone that their shipment of some certain rums hadn’t come in yet and they were running low tonight. What a pity. But the reply froze my nerves.
“I’ve told you not to bother me with these details. That’s what Hector is for. Wait till he comes in. I’m needed elsewhere, for far more important things.” That strange, smooth curl in the man’s voice only belonged to one very distinct person. Bastian Drake.
“Bueno, Señor. Sorry,” the bartender ducked away like an injured dog, and I slowly turned my head to confirm what I was thinking. It was him.
“Katrina!” I called hoarsely, keeping my back to him, “There he is.” I gestured with a tilt of my head. She glanced his way, and then looked away.
“He’s walking off!” she gasped.
“Then we follow.” I snuck forward, keeping Katrina close as the pounding music kept us undetected. He passed through the edge of the crowd, but it was easy to keep track of his movements thanks to his shimmering mustard suit shining like the last chest of gold I’d laid eyes on.
He headed toward the back of the building, toward a thick red velvet curtain separating the club from some type of private section. Before entering, he took a quick look over his shoulder and pushed the curtain aside.
Katrina and I hid behind the curtain, observing carefully as he stood at a blank wall. But with some invisible cue from him, a section of the wall retracted into the floor revealing a set of decorative double doors as he produced a set of keys from his suit jacket. A set of keys that certainly didn’t belong in this century. On a brass ring, he counted out the rusted set before settling on a key with a golden skull for a handle, its eye the ringlet through which it hung.
He unlocked the doors, which opened to a carpeted stairway leading down. I really thought he’d be a bit more conspicuous. But I couldn’t be too surprised. This was the same man who sailed in a ship inlaid with gold and sails stitched with silk for the hell of it.
I motioned for Katrina to follow. We left the blaring music and wild crowd behind, darting past the curtain and following Bastian down the steps as the doors closed automatically behind us. I could feel Katrina’s nervous breaths and she trailed close behind me down the dark steps underground that finally became a wide cobblestone path. It was a short hallway, a stone tunnel with modern lighting lining the arches. At last, we reached a large, dimly lit room with expensive furniture and a wall displaying a vast collection of relics from the sea. I stood in wonder trying to figure out how all this managed to fit beneath a club. Katrina dragged her eyes over it all, just as curious as me as she took in the scene. A polished desk flanked by wine-colored leather chairs was the room’s centerpiece, with nothing on it but a large glass jar containing a glimmering siren heart. I couldn’t believe he’d just leave it out in the open like that. On the stone walls, portraits of Bastian hung, seemingly each of him in a different era. I rolled my eyes.
“A little obsessed with himself, isn’t he?” Katrina whispered.
“You have no idea.”
Finally, Bastian’s footsteps slowed, and he stood silent in the middle of the room.
“You think I don’t know you’re here?” The question rolled from his voice slowly, echoing against the stone. I reached beneath my shirt, wrapping my fingers around the handle of the gun at my side. Bastian wouldn’t hesitate to fight unfairly. And neither would I.
“Easy now. I didn’t say you weren’t welcome,” he chimed, his back still to us, though his head was turned just enough that I could see the unmistakable profile of the man who’d double-crossed my father for a siren heart. “I’m always in the mood for a business proposition. And anyone willing to follow me down here either must have one, or they’re a reckless fool unaware they won’t make it back out alive without one.”
