LITMIR.BIZ

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across the inhabitants and dancers, who also wore mostly black.

      Tuesday was dressed for the part, right down to her matte black nail polish and eye shadow. Yet she felt naked without some lip gloss; a deep violet would be perfect for this Gothic milieu. As it was, she felt virtually exposed without any magical accoutrements to hand, and bound to a freaking vampire. Yet she wasn’t powerless. Her simple mastery over the bouncer had proven that. And she did have the alicorn stuck in her waistband. She felt it tremble. This was not a place for such a thing. The demon hadn’t wanted to possess innocence? Interesting.

      She wouldn’t test the alicorn’s power here. The place was owned by the Devil Himself, and the sign on the door had clearly stated no funny stuff. The bouncer should have frisked her for weapons. Idiot.

      On the other hand, a place like this probably thrived on the illicit use of weapons and how much damage could be done before a person was kicked out. If that would even happen. Again, the sign mentioned taking one’s own chances.

      “You see him?” Ethan shouted next to her ear.

      Tuesday leaned away from him. “I can hear well enough over the noise, vampire. And I just got here. Let me look around, will you? You want to dance?”

      “I’m not a dancer. And I’m on a job.”

      “Right, all work and no play. Should I call you Jack?”

      “Just keep your mind on business.”

      “Can I at least have a drink? We should try to blend in. Look like we’re here to party and not jack up some asshole demon, yeah?”

      Ethan sighed then reluctantly nodded. “What do you want?”

      “Anything that doesn’t contain a live entity. I suspect that’s on the menu here. And I prefer vodka.”

      “Live entities,” he muttered. With a frown, he headed toward the long, black quartz bar that was edged with a cut-in of red crystals that seemed to glow like LEDs.

      Tuesday allowed her body to inhale the beat. Despite the fact this club was owned by the rather dour Dark Prince, the music wasn’t too terribly dirge-like. The Goth singer with a string of spikes embedded down the sides of each bare arm sang about his friends being heathens and suggested she should take it slow. All righty, then.

      Tuesday swayed to the beat as a crimson-haired faery with violet eyes matched her with a smile and a shimmy. If she was going to be forced to work for some rogue organization to capture a pompous, yet also vicious demon she had no wish to ever see again, at the very least, she could enjoy herself. Lifting her arms, she spun onto the dance floor.

      Below her, the Plexiglas floor flashed red and black and then segued into flames. It was a realistic effect, and she almost fancied to feel the heat. A brush of fur tickled her right hand, and with a spin she eyed the tattooed back of a thin person who moved a little too jerkily not to be demon.

      A guitar solo screamed and coaxed the crowd to pump their fists and jump in a pounding stomp of fraternity to whatever dark gods were the current rage. Tuesday preferred Loki. The one portrayed in the movies by the handsome dark-haired actor, most specifically. As she spun, arms swaying above her head and hips shifting, she spied Ethan standing at the edge of the dance floor, holding a red glowing drink. His grim look spoke much louder than the music.

      “Spoilsport.” She wandered over and took the drink, then tilted back a healthy swallow. Instead of the expected burn, she felt a distinct icy grab at the back of her throat, which then melted into a blaze of heat down her esophagus. And it tasted of cinnamon and chocolate. “Whew! That is some good stuff.”

      “I thought it would be the drink for you. It’s called The Devil’s Bitch.”

      “Oh, Ethan, you can hate me all you need to.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “I’m not going to crack under all that loathing. You know your emotions only reflect back onto you? Also makes it easy for a witch to use against you. That is, if the witch could drop some magic on your vampire ass. Ditch the frowny face and let’s agree to disagree, and then get on with things, shall we?”

      “So you’ve decided to stop pouting and work with me?”

      Yeah, she was being as much of a problem child as he was. And if she didn’t get to work now, she’d never be free of the man and his brooding grey eyes. And could his teeth be any whiter? She wanted to see his fangs. To touch them and feel them pierce her neck...but no. She would not bone up this task by falling all puppy-eyed over the vamp. She was better than that. Because she had no choice.

      “We’re partners.” She held out a hand and he shook it, holding it for a few seconds longer than was proper. She could feel his heartbeats in that hold, and they were sure and confident. Powerful. And, yes, controlling. The man would not relent. “Good then. I’ll take a look around. You probably wouldn’t recognize the demon if he was choking you, so you just...”

      His eyes took in their surroundings. He put off a very militant, I’m-ready vibe. “I’ll stay close to you.”

      “Sure, keep close. I’ll protect the big bad vampire from a suggestive side glance or a dance-off. Ha!”

      She strolled off into the clove-scented shadows that edged the dance floor, knowing the man would follow. It wasn’t as if she could get any farther away from him than fifty yards. Nothing like having a puppy dog on her tail. Of course, she liked puppies. Had once owned one, until the local troll had stolen it and—She tried never to imagine what had become of her sweet Nugget after that. Long time ago. Always avoid trolls, had been the lesson.

      Noting every face she passed, Tuesday pulled on her Sherlock cloak. It was easy to tell the demons, as their eyes were generally red, although some demon-possessed humans’ eyes gave off a dull blue glow. Most natural demons who did not require a human meat suit could disguise their irises, but when out at the club they apparently let their freak flags fly. Red irises everywhere!

      Thinking of freaks...

      She strolled toward a tall sliver of a demon who looked like a walking skeleton, yet he wore thin, clear muscle over those bones. A wraith? They were usually dangerous and she was surprised one would put himself in a social situation. But when the creature turned to cast her a violet gaze she realized it was faery. And faeries could be even more vicious than demons.

      Propping her palm over the alicorn at her waist, Tuesday detoured from her approach, wisely dismissing the oddity. With a flick of her fingers she could reduce them all to gibbering sycophants. But she would not because she didn’t want to call attention to herself.

      Finishing off the drink, which still cooled then burned, she set the empty goblet on a table and eyed the flashing red-and-silver staircase leading up to the balcony. She skipped up the steps, edging past a couple who made out carefully, for the woman’s spiked bra looked quite deadly. Blood tinted the air. Hmm... Perhaps the bra served the exact purpose its wearer desired.

      Tuesday glanced back to see Ethan following and noticed his expression when he neared the couple. He winced and shook his head. The man was discerning. Points for him.

      Stepping up into the dark and smoky balcony, Tuesday was immediately surrounded by three tall men, all of them demons. The one before her flashed a silver-toothed grin, punctuated by curved fangs, and his nostrils flared and put out little wisps of black smoke. It wasn’t cigarettes or weed producing the smoke, but rather the thickness of demons here above the crowd. “A tasty witch has dared to broach our private balcony?”

      “I wasn’t aware it was private.” She lifted her hand, prepared to repel the demon, when suddenly Ethan gripped her wrist and eased himself around to stand before her.

      “She didn’t know, gentlemen,” he offered. “Demons only up here?”

      “You got it, vampire. But if she wants to stay—” Silver Tooth let his gaze creep over Tuesday’s skin “—we want to play.”

      “Oh, yeah?” Tuesday reached around Ethan with her free hand and he turned to clasp both her wrists.

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