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Mav shakes his head. “Sometimes I forget you were raised in a good Christian household.”
I frown. “If only my parents knew where that would lead me.” I’m nauseous but I try to ignore the churning of my gut. It’ll be fine. This time next week, I’ll be back to working an ordinary job, and with my payments from Welfare, I’m going to start saving to get out of this dump.
2. (NOT) AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL FOR PROSTITUTION
The bar is crowded and thick with Ghostshade smoke when we arrive, a combination that quickly gives me a headache. The floor vibrates with the sound of the bass as Mav leads me across the dance floor. The building is five stories tall and hollow save the galleries lining the walls, allowing you to look from the dancefloor all the way up to the glass roof. It gives the club a cathedral feel, though it certainly isn’t filled with the faithful.
I watch as a succubus strolls up the stairs to the second gallery, a handful of people in tow. Their faces are eagerly empty, eyes dull with the power of her magic. She slips through a door along the gallery, giving me a brief glimpse of the red velvet furniture and rose-print wallpaper behind it before Mav pulls me onward.
Beyond the main dance floor, we find ourselves in a quieter, more tranquil room. Its center is filled with tall bar tables, while its walls are hollowed out with little apse-like niches, each extending into a small booth. I trail nervously behind Mav as he approaches one of the tables, three men seated around it, and then hesitates.
“Maverick!” One of them, a tall, pale man with slicked-back black hair and a sly little smile waves us over. His thin face is all sharp angles.
Mav looks the group over, his head lowered a little. Two of the men, both tidy and professional-looking, get up to leave.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, Alastor,” Mav says. He seems different here. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, his voice has lost its usual lilting, jovial tone.
Alastor rises and shakes the others’ hands. He looks like a vampire to me, though it’s not always easy to tell.
“We were just done here,” he says, turning to us. His eyebrows rise. “You brought someone.”
Mav clears his throat. “This is Deni. She’s looking for work tonight.”
The man’s smile quickly becomes wolfish. He gestures for me to sit with long, spindly arms. “There’s always work for pretty faces like yours.”
Mav helps me slide into the seat but remains standing himself, looking uneasy. “Well, I thought since you’re doing that… new thing, and you’re looking for people to–”
Alastor shoots him a warning glance.
“Anyway, I thought she could maybe do something like that. You can trust her.”
The vampire leans forward, looking me up and down. His gaze comes to rest on my shaking fingers and a knowing smile crosses his lips. “I think you could make us a lot more money here.”
I lower my hands under the table. His gaze is so intense I have to look away and instead fix my eyes on someone getting up in the neighboring booth. He’s tall, his shoulders colossally broad. His dark, earthy skin shimmers in the dim light, or maybe that’s just my vision. Darkness keeps creeping into its edges and I need to blink to keep myself alert.
“I don’t know–” Mav begins, but I interrupt him.
“It’s fine. I just need work.”
Alastor smiles insidiously. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Looking around the room I notice someone watching us, a woman with long, auburn curls pinned up into an elaborate coiffure. Her eyes are piercing as they slip over me and find the man in the other booth. He stops midway through getting up and, as if having received some sort of non-verbal signal, sits back down.
Mav shoots me a pained glance, then he says to Alastor, “Do you need anything else? I have to go and meet someone.”
Themansmiles. “You go, I’ll just have a word with Deni here.”
With a brief nod, Mav turns to leave. Before he’s finished crossing the room my phone vibrates and I know he’s texted me some biting social commentary. I squirm while Alastor lets his eyes wander over my body.
“How long ago were you turned?” he asks.
I bite my lip. This is not considered a polite question and something I hate talking about. “Couple of months,” I say vaguely.
His grin widens. “Oh, you’re a real baby then!” He waves at someone across the room and makes a gesture I don’t recognize. “But you understand what kind of work you’d be doing for us?”
I nod stiffly, hands clasped together beneath the table. Not all of my shaking is caused by hunger.
“You’re lucky you’re young and pretty. Freshly turned vampires are a liability. When people pay for sex they’re not usually looking to put their lives in danger but…” he smiles, showing his teeth, “I think we can work something out.”
