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“Eh, he’s learned his lesson. Next time, he’ll ask first,” I said, trying to be helpful. Chase could be stupid at times, but he learned from his mistakes.
We followed the maze of cubicles to the back wall that sported three doors and an opening to a hallway. One of the doors had Chase’s name stenciled on it. Blinds covered the half window, but they were open. We trailed in on Delilah’s heels.
Chase was taking notes as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He waved his pencil in the air, motioning for us to sit. After a moment, he grunted something to the caller and then hung up.
“Shit. I wanted to talk to you about those bodies, but we’ve got another problem. Come on—we’ve got an emergency on our hands.” He grabbed his suit jacket, swinging it over the neatly pressed powder blue shirt he was wearing. I noticed a picture on his desk of a golden tabby, prominently displayed. Delilah. For some reason it made me smile that he kept a picture of her in Were form.
“What’s up?” Delilah said.
He checked his gun in his shoulder holster and then hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Who’s driving?”
“I am,” Camille said.
He tossed her the note. “There’s the address. Come on, we don’t have all day,” he added, hustling out of the room. We followed. “We’re headed to the Avalon Dance Club. Heard of it?” Without waiting for an answer, he raced on. “Some monster is attacking the dancers. The caller said it looked like a bizarre squid, of all things.”
“Squid? You have to be kidding. In a nightclub?” I snorted, but the serious look on Chase’s face stopped me. I could smell the stress and sweat rolling off of him. He’d had beef tacos for lunch again, that much I could tell, and he was worried. Hints of fear lingered in the droplets of perspiration.
“That’s what she said. Meet me there. Don’t screw around—it sounded like a brawl going on in the background. People are getting hurt.”
He stopped at Yugi’s desk. “Send a squad car and an ambulance to the Avalon Dance Club. Tell them to wait for us before they head in. We don’t know what we’re up against, and I don’t want the men falling into a trap.”
We jogged toward the door and slammed out into the balmy night. Chase veered for his squad car, Delilah running with him.
Camille and I raced to her Lexus. She revved the engine and floored it, screeching out of the parking lot behind Chase. I opened the passenger window. Chase had given each of us a flashing light, and I slapped it atop the speeding Lexus. As it caught hold, we sped through the night, the stoplights shifting to let us through at our approach.
The Avalon Dance Club was run by a group of Earthside Fae. A typical nightclub, it catered mainly to Fae, though the Faerie Maids were ever present, hoping to get laid and loved by one of their obsessions. The club was in the heart of the Belles-Faire District, and the station wasn’t all that far away from it.
Chase made a sharp turn into the parking lot. The club had been a restaurant at one time, probably some franchise from one of the bigger chains that had gone belly-up, and parking was plentiful.
Camille gave the wheel a smooth turn and followed him in. As we jumped out of the car, she glanced at me. “Is it wrong that I’m actually happy to be heading into a fight again?”
I returned her smile. “You run with the Hunt. How can you help but love the chase? We’re all predators, Camille. You, Delilah, me. Even Chase. Smoky hunts for his dinner. Morio’s a demon child. Vanzir’s a demon who hunts in people’s dreams. Rozurial chases passion. Everything alive—and sometimes even the dead—hunts in one respect or another. The quest gives us a reason to live. You know that.”
She nodded, patting her pocket. “I brought the horn, just in case.”
“Let’s go. There they are.” I pointed to Chase and Delilah, who were motioning for us to hurry. We swung in beside them. Chase took a deep breath as the backup prowl car pulled into the lot.
“Nice to see they’re on the ball,” Chase muttered under his breath, opening the door to the club. He flipped open his walkie-talkie. “Car eighty-two, stay where you are in the parking lot until I call for you. Copy?”
The intercom crackled out with, “Copy, Chief.”
As we entered the club, a volley of screams and shouts erupted from the room beyond the foyer. The coat-check girl had vanished, and we rushed into the main dance hall.
The Avalon was an old building. Its low, dark ceilings had been retrofitted with a long series of mirrors reflecting the dancers below. The colors du jour were royal purple and silver, and an updated disco ball twirled from the central ceiling. The music had stopped. The stage was now the scene of a massacre. As far as I could count, six members of the band were down. I couldn’t see blood, but they didn’t look very healthy.
Everywhere I looked, patrons were shoving and pushing to get out the side exits. But something appeared to be barring the doors, though in the semidarkness it was difficult to make out what the creatures were. They didn’t seem to emanate body heat. Undead, maybe? Oh shit, that’s just what we needed.
A woman near the front was clawing at something near one of the tables. I headed in her direction while Delilah and Camille took on whatever was barring the exits. What the hell were we up against?
As I raced toward the woman, I saw she was grappling with some creature—and damn it to hell, the thing did look like a squid. It writhed around her, tentacles encircling her waist and throat.
She beat at it, trying to get it off, but as I approached, the thing let out a hiss and lifted her up, tossing her across the room like I might toss a rock. She sailed through the air to land with a deadly thump on the floor near the stage.
Mr. Tentacles—who was still no more than a sooty silhouette—whirled around, one giant eye glimmering with white-hot fire. The closer I got, the more I realized that this was no ocean dweller. The tentacles seemed to work just fine on the floor, and they shrouded a razor-sharp beak. The spiked protrusion seemed more apt for drilling rather than eating.
“Okay, you bastard. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got,” I said, moving into position. Holding out two fingers, I motioned to it. “Come on, you butt-ugly bastard. Come to Mama.”
The monster moved forward, propelling itself with its tentacles, reminding me of the cartoons where the octopus ran on tiptoe. But this was no cartoon, and these things were deadly.
