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Maybe it does, though, because the doorman stumbles back, almost falling over his little podium, and turns to flee. Cor looks down to calmly examine the wide trail of blood he leaves as he runs off. Then he lifts his hand and starts sucking the blood off his fingers, licking it off the backs of his hands, casually as if this was an everyday occurrence. My stomach churns warningly, but I’ll be damned if I get sick in front of everyone. Bad enough I did it at home.

The people in line behind him scoot back a few feet, watching both him and me wide-eyed. At least they’re not running off screaming, but that’s supernaturals for you. It takes more than temporary limb removal to scare them off. They will have a story to tell later tonight, though. So much for keeping a low profile. It was nice while it lasted.

A very short while later another doorman appears from inside the club, this one glaring at Cor as if to warn him not to try to disassemble him as well. And as if to prove that he won’t give my vampire a reason to, he waves me over. I carefully move closer, rubbing my chest where I will most likely sport a mighty bruise tomorrow, eying the new guy warily. I am still armed, but since shooting anyone here would basically end the investigation, it doesn’t really help me.

The new doorman glares me down as I reach him. I somehow manage not to hide behind Cor, although the urge is unusually strong. ‟I know the rules about Hunters and active jobs, so don’t shit on my brain. You hunting?” the doorman asks with about the same level of respect as he would have used for ‘are you whoring?’.

I shake my head empathetically. ‟Nope, just trying to find some info, absolutely no hunting planned,” I assure him. Cor looks unhappy, but says nothing.

‟Vampires?”

That is direct enough to know what he’s all about. ‟No, I’m looking for a cultist that was here a month or so ago, being all shady-like and suicidal. Probably gonna have to ask vampires about them though,” I explain.

Something in his face brightens, and he nods slightly. ‟That clown. Yeah, you’ll find enough people willing to talk about her, I reckon. But if you start any shit—,” he points at both of us, albeit making sure not to touch me, ‟—we’ll find out how many security people it takes to kick the shit out of you. Understand?”

Seems like Mr. Suicide-by-Vampire left an impression on everyone, and additionally, wasn’t very popular. Excellent. Nobody will have any qualms telling us about what happened then. I give the doorman my most sincere nod. ‟No trouble, no shit-kicking. Understood.”

Not that my answer seems to pacify the guard. He grumbles and mumbles all the way to the side, glaring us down unhappily as we shuffle past him. Cor doesn’t seem subdued at all, though. He watches the man as we walk by until I’m out of reach, then strolls into the nightclub as if he’s been here multiple times. I wish I was that comfortable in my own skin. Or that arrogant. I also wish I wouldn’t feel this warm rush of… something at the sight of him protecting me like this.

We step into the glittering, spice-laden darkness and are swept away immediately. Heavy, sharply thumping music swallows us and washes us into flashing purple lights and a milling crowd of sinuously writhing dancers. For a moment I wonder how supes with their heightened senses can stand this sensory overload, then I feel Cor’s hand grasp my upper arm tightly, as if he’s afraid of being dragged away. I glance back at his wide-eyed, shocked face and pull him closer. Seems like they can’t stand it either. Makes me wonder if I should have left Cor outside where he’s safe from… all this.

But he would have never stayed there, knowing I’d be going in here alone, without protection. No, he would have moved heaven and hell to follow me, sensory overload be damned. For the first time I’m in somewhat of a superior position. Surprisingly uncomfortable.

The partygoers around us keep writhing and dancing as we shuffle across the dance floor, for once not paying any mind to the meager human in their midst. No pointing and yelling, ‟There’s the Hunter,” which is a pleasurable change of pace. Lucky for us, at this time of the evening the party scene has not yet gotten thick enough to cover the whole floor; we float out on the other side of the crowd like splinters ejected from healing flesh, and I blink at the sudden change of sound and body contact.

We’ve made it into the eight-foot wide gap of no-man’s-land between dance floor and the bar, or at least to one of them. This bar covers most of the back wall and divides off a part of the side, where half a handful of rickety brown tables and chairs offer a chance to sit down.

It’s also less noisy close to the bar. I don’t know how the physics of sound work, but someone did when they planned the layout of this place. It’s by no means quiet, the bass is still thumping, and the high tones are still blaring, but if I yell, people will understand me.

Cor eases up on his grip on my arm, his bulky form still like a phantom touch against my back as he looks around, scenting. Then he nods his chin towards one table in the better-lit corner.

Three teenagers—or very young adults—are staring at us from the corners of their eyes, trying their best not to be caught doing it. Unfortunately for them, they aren’t good at it. Fortunately for us, we don’t look like police, and Cor definitely doesn’t look like a Hunter, so they don’t bolt instantly. One of the boys does make moves to get up until the girl slaps his arm and hisses something at him. He sits back down, frowning at her.

‟Good catch,” I whisper-yell at Cor as he follows closely behind me through the scattered bar customers. We make our way towards the table, where three teenagers—or very young adults—are staring at us openly now. I can’t tell if they are just fascinated by the dark, threatening vampire behind me, or if they have something to say to a Hunter. Either way, I will find out.

As we approach their table, Cor moves to stand beside me, his presence looming over the group. The girl looks up at him nervously while the two boys try to avoid making eye contact and instead glare at me, the safer target for their youthful ire. Up close, they actually don’t look much younger than me, maybe a year or two, but they make me feel old. Everything about this job does by now.

‟Can we help you?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

The girl speaks up first, her voice a rough contralto that does not match her surprisingly pretty face, or the shock of red hair buzzed into an artsy faux-hawk. ‟We were just wondering...are you the one looking for info about the cray-cray-lady from a while ago?”

Well wouldn’t you know, rumors fly at light speed in this place. At least it speeds things up. I nod, keeping my gaze on all of them. ‟Yes.”

The boys both look relieved and slightly disappointed simultaneously.

Before anyone can say anything else, Cor leans down and speaks in a low voice that only I can hear in this noise. ‟Wolves,” he says.

I nod faintly. Werwolves are pretty common, and they can’t help being social as a baseline, but usually not towards a Hunter. So why should they be so obvious about their interest in our presence, let alone be chatty? My memory of the werewolf alpha Todd and his ‘helpful’ visit in the parking garage flashes in front of my eyes unbidden. It could be his doing, but I can hardly ask the kids straight away. And in the end, it only matters marginally, as long as I get what I need.

All I know right now is that these guys know what I am looking for, and that they wouldn’t have been staring at us like that if they didn’t have some connection to this case. But before I can question them further, one boy speaks up nervously. “We saw her outside. The doorman wouldn’t let her in because she was a cultist.”

The other boy gives him an epic eye-roll. “Nah that had nothing to do with it. She was just butt-ugly and high as fuck.”

Boy number one shakes his head, his expression somewhere between outraged and angry. “We don’t call people ugly, that ain’t right. She was just… old and unwashed and didn’t play to her strengths.”

“You and your white knight P.C. bullshit, you can just go—”

“Shuddup idiots,” the girl barks at them. And they actually fall silent, albeit crossing their arms in a silent show of protest. The girl takes a deep breath and looks at us, leaning her elbows on the table. “We saw her. She was kinda hard to miss, what with the show she was making out of herself. Everybody who was out and about saw her.”