Ghost Light

I took a deep, calming breath and closed my eyes.  I remembered what Kaye had said about how the club sat on a magical nexus point where lines of power intersected.  I opened my eyes and gasped.  Threads of neon light ran out from the location of the club in every direction.

I picked a single pink ley line and followed.  My skin prickled and the hair on my arms stood on end.  I continued on toward the intersection of threads, feeling energized for the first time in days.  Walking along the ley line was like knocking back a shot of espresso.  It was no wonder fae had chosen this place to gather.

When the club was within sight, I stopped to examine the surrounding street.  The only source of light was the glow of power coming from the skein of ley lines running through the building which housed the club.  There were no streetlamps in this part of town and the windows of nearby buildings stood dark.  The street was empty except for the fae bouncer working the door.

A huge ogre stood outside the club, eyeing me with obvious scrutiny.  The bulge in his suit jacket told me he was carrying, not that he needed a weapon.  The guy had muscles the size of tree trunks.  He had to be club security.

I swallowed hard, wishing I could have called Jenna for backup.  But she was busy working an official cleanup job out in the burbs.  Then again, maybe bringing a Hunter along would have been foolhardy.  I was here to talk, not wage a war.

The ogre sniffed at the air as I started across the street.  At our approach, he raised an arm which effectively blocked the door.

“Name?” he asked.

“Ivy Granger,” I said.

“Court?” he asked.

“Unseelie,” I said.

“Title?” he asked.

It was now or never—time to come out of the fae closet.  I took a breath and lifted my chin.

“Wisp princess, daughter of Will-o’-the-Wisp, king of the wisps,” I said.

The ogre raised an eyebrow and checked something off on a list that magically appeared in one hand.

“You may enter,” he said.

I stepped to one side and crossed my arms, fingers brushing my throwing knives.

“I’ll wait for my friends, if you don’t mind,” I said.

The ogre rolled his eyes, gave me a suit-yourself shrug, and turned to Ceff.

“Name?” he asked.

“Ceffyl Dŵr,” Ceff said.

“Court?” he asked.

“Unseelie,” Ceff said.

“Title?” he asked.

“King of the kelpies,” Ceff said.

“You may enter,” he said.

Ceff stepped up next to me and waited.  The ogre leaned toward Jinx and sniffed.  I held my breath, ready to launch myself between the two if needed.

“Human?” he asked.

“She’s with me,” I said.

“Food or vassal?” he asked.

“Partner,” I said, voice hard.

“Vassal,” Ceff said.

“You may enter,” he said.

The ogre stepped away from Jinx and opened the door.  As we passed through the entrance he sniffed Jinx’s hair and drooled.

“Too bad,” he muttered.

Jinx tensed.  Jinx is not food, my mind screamed.  The grips of my throwing knives hit my palms, but weapons were unnecessary.  Jinx kept walking, following us into the faerie den.  The ogre sighed and returned to his post beside the door.  My best friend may have looked and smelled like a harmless human, but she had balls of steel.

We descended a spiral staircase that was both beautiful to look at and practical in terms of defense.  If any unauthorized guests ever made it past the door, the tight curves of the staircase would slow an assault.  It also gave the entire room an ample view of Jinx’s legs as we entered the club.

The stairs cut through the ceiling of the club, giving us a bird’s eye view.  The space below was cavernous.

Music thumped over an invisible sound system, the stairs beneath my feet vibrating with each beat.  The sensation at this height was nauseating, but I was relieved that the haunting notes of faerie compulsion were absent.  The music was unusual, but decidedly human—a mix of techno, industrial, and EBM with threads of sitar and djembe drums woven throughout.

My heartbeat started to match the pulse of the music and I shifted my focus.  The music may not carry a compulsion, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t powerful, or a dangerous distraction.

I turned my attention to the supernatural club goers.  Fae of every size, shape, and court affiliation crowded the room.  Nymphs, sylphs, kappa, draugr, and henkies filled the dance floor.  One group of tall, slender fae dressed in old fashioned clothing moved through the steps of a waltz, dancing to their own inner music.

But not every faerie was dancing.  Fae lined the walls, lounged on couches, or perched at the bar.  Strobe lights from the dance floor illuminated spiral horns, beautiful eyes, perfect teeth, curled tusks, pale feathers, dripping fangs, and sharp talons—capturing bizarre Kodak moments interrupted by darkness.