The rhythmic thumping emanating from the club tries to coerce my heart to follow its beat but I’m not interested in either music or companionship. My short, cinnamon curls are still tousled from the fight earlier, managing to affect that artless-messy look that the college kids in line have spent hours attempting to recreate. I let my eyes bleed out into blue-green-pink swirls and feel my teeth pushing down from my gums, smiling to the bouncer who instantly removes himself from the path into the club. I’m sure the club would have some, interesting, clever nam —if I could read the unintelligible neon scrawl flashing overhead—but that is neither here, nor there.

I step into the smoky club and take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim light. As with every club, in every city, it’s a dingy, battered collection of tables and chairs, with a bar, a dance floor, and an unintentional miasma of sex, desperation and longing. Oh—the darkness rounds the edges off shoddily constructed furniture, camouflages the scrapes dug into the floors and the walls—but even so, no one of any real importance would be caught dead within its walls.

My survey only takes a moment as I note all the obvious points of entry and exit before heading for the wrought-iron, spiral staircase in the rear. The clang, clanging of my booted feet on the steps doesn’t even threaten to rise above the din of the trance-techno pouring out of too many subwoofers and too few speakers. The hall I step up into is covered in a lush, sable-like carpet that swallows what minimal light is emitted from the shielded, industrial-gothic sconces on the wall. Mercifully, not only the sound is muffled, but the stench of too many bodies all cloaked in conflicting colognes is as well. I manage to breathe easily for only a moment before the massive bouncer devours the distance between us with only two strides.

“No admittance,” he barks—flashing too much fang as he speaks—and negligently holds one muscular arm out to stop me. Smiling slightly, I sidestep, grab his pinky, and twist to the music of his finger breaking with an audible crack. Lunging back, he snarls just as I hear the door at the end of the hall swing open and a cool, female voice calls out,

“Please come in, Solaine,” as if she’d been expecting me. Funny, since before this night I had absolutely NO intention of ever coming here. Let alone subjecting myself to the dangers within; such as the bouncer/bodyguard who follows me, growling ominously while I hear the snap, crackle of him resetting his finger. “How lovely of you to come see me,” the shadowy form behind the onyx-lacquered desk continues before detaching herself from the darkness to stare at me up and down.

Moving around from behind the desk and perching upon it the lovely little woman is of obvious Asian descent, black eyes set in a dainty face framed by an unnaturally blood-red mat more like macramé than actual hair. Her clothes aren’t any less elaborate; I would imagine the stripes encasing her body were painted on, if they weren’t so damn…fuzzy. The overall effect is of a tiny little cat-woman perching on stiletto heels with a net flung over her head. Vampire fashions are so strange.

“Why are you acting like you know me?” I growl, my voice has apparently grown hoarse with disuse and repeated attempts at strangulation. “It’s very presumptuous. Are you quite certain I won’t kill you where you sit?”

“I don’t,” she almost sings her words in a low, melodious voice. Her smile is that damn, superior smile that most vampires learn after about a century of easy living. (“Easy” in this case meaning, “living without constant threat of frying or staking”) “But you would be a fool to come to me, just for that,” her voice becomes brusque as she hops down off her desktop and moves back around it, sweeping up papers as she goes, “what can I do for you?” I’m really so sick of this cat vs. other cat B.S; as there’s only so much veiled threat and innuendo that a person can take before the desire to ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ really takes hold.

“I want to be left alone. I want to return to my boring, little, human life,” I think that’s about as direct as I can be, let’s see her misinterpret me. “Jarvis attempted to Turn me against my will and he paid for it, the end. My actions dictate what the law would have ruled, had the Congress been informed of his transgression.”

“While what you say about Vampire Master Jarvis’s actions may or may not be true; there is—after all—no one to corroborate your story,”

“Bullshit,” I say, “Archard was there the whole time,”

“Potentate Archard was reassigned to the Congress before the fire occurred,” her voice does not waver, but menace flashes in the depths of her cold, obsidian eyes.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing at, vampire?” spews from my mouth before I can even consider consulting my brain and the man behind me tenses, but the woman before me freezes.

“You’re no human,” she says, sniffing disdainfully. Sitting behind her massive desk, she crosses and uncrosses her legs several times. It’s a tactic calculated to distract men and I wonder how successful it’s been, since she’s trying it on me.

“I’m no vampire,” my even reply doesn’t betray even a trace of my knowing that—while I might not be entirely a vampire—I’m not entirely human anymore, either. I continue, “I walk in the light, I don’t drink blood, and I don’t fall into seizures if I’m cut with a silver blade. Such as this one,” I saw, dropping one, long blade down into my hand and studying it pointedly. I take a number of deep, even breaths before I manage to add, “No Beast controls me.” Both vampires hiss menacingly and I reverse the blade in my hand, so that the flat lies along my forearm and my fist is around the handle. “Please, control your baser instincts. It does me no good to kill you both.”

“How arrogant you are,” the woman spews from between elongated teeth. “How defiant! No wonder Master Jarvis wanted you so,” she starts sliding around the desk and with the bouncer behind me I know that I’ve got nowhere to go. “It’s a shame you’ll probably kill one of us,” and the beefy vampire grabs me from behind, catching my arms as I lunge toward the woman, attempting to slide my knife into her heart. Instead of continuing to attack her, I reverse the blade in my grip once more and slide it between my torso and armpit, unerringly stabbing it into his heart instead.

Even as he disintegrates I can’t quite catch the movements of the woman and I only see her flick her wrist before a blurring length of metal connects with a resounding CRACK against the back of my head, instantly dropping me to the floor.

Get up, get up, GET UP!!! Mirari screams at my unresponsive body, but to no avail. The woman stalks around me and kneels down and for the first time I realize that her eyes are swirling red, green and mocha as she whispers,

“You should have kept running, Sharama,” nuzzling her cheek against mine my eyes narrow as she adds, “to the Untamed Wastes, or the outlying Habitats. Maybe the Fey would have given you succor; or perhaps the Were-folk would have hid you from us for as long as your meager years lasted. In any event—it was foolish for you to have come—we are far better prepared for you this time.” I see the movement of her fist rearing back, but when it descends it may as well as have been Thor’s hammer as the pain chases me into the black.