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Not much I can do about my actual scent, but I made a point of learning to fake normalcy when I want to make people at ease. In high school, I made use of that skill often. Now, I can’t say I have many fucks left to give about what people think of me, at least outside of work.
I love Night Hall for one simple reason. I don’t need to fake anything. I can be myself, because in this sensual, dark club? The other guests are also monsters.
I down a shot of something fruity that makes my blood buzz, dying for more, and I twirl with Rain, moving my hips to the sound of the low, sexy beats, unapologetic.
Free.
Guys slide their hands over our limbs, probing. I laugh and swat them away, for my part, but soon enough, Rain’s walking away with a blond, bearded hottie—too rough to look like a hippie, too well dressed to seem wild. Probably a feline shifter. There’s a distinct smell to their kind; not unpleasant at all, but different. Like untamed woods and ashes.
I let her go; it’s only against the girl code when your friend can’t take care of herself. Rain will set his balls on fire if he oversteps.
I head to the bar for another drink, though I’m a little buzzed already.
I’m not what one would call careful. My sister Rachel says if there’s trouble within thirty miles, I find it—or it finds me. I’m not sure which way it goes. Maybe we find each other.
In my younger days, I was the kid who skated over stair ramps, the girl who smoked weed on the bad boy’s lap. I’m not dumb. What I am isreckless. I’ve always gravitated toward dangerous paths and the very thought of toeing the line, doing what I’m supposed to, is unbearably distressing to me. The notion of living a safe, straitlaced life makes me want to retch.
By contrast, Rachel has been dating the same guy since high school, studied economics, and became an accountant like our father. And I’m happy for her, because she’s content. I truly am. But I don’t understand her. I suppose she doesn’t understand me either, so that’s fair.
I like to enjoy myself, hence why Rain and I hang out at Night Hall every weekend.
The club was converted from an opulent mansion in Pacific Heights. As a music teacher’s assistant and a librarian, the two of us ought to be too poor to be regulars in the trendy place, but I scored an invitation almost a year ago, and the owners took a liking to us. Well, Eochan and Cissa take a liking to many twenty-something girls with firm tits. They’re shrewd businessmen, and appreciate that clubs need women like us: pretty, young ones who dance like there’s no tomorrow for hours on end and come back every week. We attract the big wallets.
The delicious cocktails—which are free to us—the hot clientele, and unbelievably sexy atmosphere have made Night Hall my regular haunt for the last few months. Plus, I can’t exactly afford to let loose in common venues and risk running into one of my students while I’m climbing over a stranger to the rhythm of the DJ’s beat.
I love this place. It calls to my blood like nowhere else. My weeks meld together, day after day blending in dull monotony, until I get to come here.
I dragged Rachel to the club once, when Mr. Boring was visiting his parents out of state. Just as I can’t see any appeal about her life, she doesn’t get mine either. My sister and I are fire and water, yet another reminder that though I bear her name and somehow resemble her, one of us was adopted.
So I come here with Rain, who’s working her stuff against the surfer-shifter, in a way that’s already made him cross-eyed. She’s running her ass along his cock through their clothing. All subtlety is left at the door for witches on Samhain. Good thing shifters areneversubtle.
She’s here to get laid tonight, and I can’t blame her, but I opt not to join her, staying at a distance. If I dance too close, the rest of the guy’s pack will zero in on me, too. It’s not that I’m against a little tumble. On the contrary. I’ve just grown tired of average sex—the only kind I seem to get. Rachel says it’s because I stick to one-night stands; I kept a boyfriend around for a whole year to prove her wrong.
I like to be right.
And it so happens, the sex only got more tedious with time, so I certainly needed the satisfaction of being able to say to my perfect sister a well-deserved“I told you so.”
Still, maybe Rachel had the right idea, hanging on to the quarterback who popped her cherry. At least she won’t end up alone with thirteen cats—and that seems to be where my path is leading. But as it so happens, I like cats more than men, so it’s not the worst prospect.
Men aren’t worth the effort as a general rule. I occasionally give in out of boredom, but after the spectacle in the alley, I don’t want average. I want toburn.
I’m sipping a delicious, fruity purple drink when I spy a girl strutting from the staircase leading down to the basement, and I bite back a grin.
She looks weak. So weak she’s holding on to the railing for dear life, her legs shaking more than a newborn fawn’s.
And no wonder.
I might be inquisitive by nature, but even I know better than to venture into the basement.
I don’t miss the faraway look in her eyes, like she’s half dreaming—or very high. Her skin seems clammy, and her red dress is askew, as though she put it back on in a rush.
I hide a grin behind my pink glass. She wasverywell fucked.
When they walk down those flights of stairs, they’re always completely sober, but everyone I’ve ever seen coming back up from the basement looks exactly like her.
Iamcurious, of course, but I’m not stupid enough to ask—or seek to find out for myself—what goes on under the club. For one, I don’t do hard drugs. I might often smoke weed, but it’s prescribed to me to help with my many chronic aches, and I honestly don’t think I get much of a buzz from it. And if what happens down there is clean, my name is Madonna.
Also, the majority of the clientele of Night Hall is filthy rich, judging by their clothing, their jewelry, their simplepresence. But the men and women exiting the basement? All of them look, well, like me. If they shop at Nordstrom, it’s in the bargain section. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the deal is, and I’m no prostitute. When I fuck, it’s because I want to.
