“Big crowd for a new club,” Ridley said.
“When you’re hot you’re on fire,” Necro yelled.
“How would you know?” Ridley shouted back. Necro made a face and disappeared into the crowd, Floyd ducking after her.
“Come on, Rid. We gotta keep up.” Now that they were actually at the club, Link started getting nervous again.
“I think they went in there.” Rid nodded. “That way.”
Above the crowd, the word SIRENE was spray-painted, graffiti-style, against the crumbling walls of the Tunnels.
The crowd parted, and all Link could see was the black velvet rope as Lucille Ball strutted right past it.
As far as Link could tell, Sirene was no place for Mortals. Sure, there were always a few strays who found their way to the Dark Caster clubs in the Tunnels—Link and Ethan had, not long ago. But as a general rule, Casters and Incubuses preferred to keep to their own. Dark to Dark, Light to Light. Especially when they were doing things like blowing off steam, drinking blood, and flexing their powers.
No, Casters didn’t want Mortals here, and Mortals wouldn’t make it for long. The Underground belonged to the Casters, and down here, the rules were different. Moderation was something only Mortals cared about, right along with respect for Mortal life. Rid used to tell Link that you didn’t want to be a fly on the wall of any Underground club when some Supernatural decided to go Hershey’s Special Dark and get out their swatter.
Not that many Mortals ever got to the point of risking it.
The idea of a place without Mortal judgments, not to mention a place where Darkness belonged as much as if not more than Light, was terrifying to most Mortals. Before he was bitten, Link’s whole idea of good and bad—or as Mrs. Lincoln liked to call it, bad to worse—was based on sneaking out of Sunday school (bad) and into the girls’ locker room (worse). Now it was based on making deals with Dark Casters (bad), drinking human blood (worse), or, say, stabbing your friend’s great-great-uncle in the chest with gardening shears (the very worst).
Tonight, Link doubted Sirene would be an exception to the rule.
“Hey.” Ridley nodded at the bouncer standing behind the black velvet rope at the entrance to the club itself. He was about the size of three Summerville football players, the kind who were never in good enough shape to play any other sport. “You have to let us in. We’re with the band. They just came through this way, and—”
Before she could finish, the bouncer grunted and held up his hand. He rose to his feet, pulling back the black velvet rope, and a group of Incubuses instantly Ripped inside, materializing out of the air almost exactly where he stood. He nodded to them respectfully. “Your usual table is waiting, gentlemen.”
Link swallowed, automatically stepping backward into the shadows.
Blood Incubuses. Here. A whole lot of them. Smelling like they just ate. This place is as bad as that other Caster club, Exile. Maybe worse.
Now the bouncer looked back at Ridley.
“Like I said, we’re with the band,” Ridley said.
“And that cat,” Link added.
“They’re expecting us.” Ridley held up the flyer scrawled with the word Sirene.
“And what are they expecting, Blondie?” The bouncer leered at her. “Can I expect something, too?” His bald, sweating head was so heavily inked that you almost couldn’t see his gold-lit snake eyes. When he smiled, he let his forked tongue slither in and out of his mouth. Each side was pierced.
Classy, Link thought.
The forks curled and uncurled almost to Ridley’s cheek, getting closer, until Link realized they weren’t tongues at all, but some kind of strange snakes that lived in the guy’s mouth.
Link grabbed them and yanked, as hard as he could. “Yeah. They’re expectin’ you to show the lady some respect. Now step aside, Snake Eyes.”
Three feet of hissing snakes fell out of their warm habitat and down to the ground in front of the bouncer. Six feet of Link joined them there, seconds later, knocked on his butt. Hybrid Incubus. Right. Superstrength. Shoulda seen that one comin’. Seein’ as he’s the bouncer and all.
“So, tough guy.” The bouncer leaned over Link. “You think this is your big break? For you and your cat? Think again.”
Link felt his cheeks getting hot, and he was pretty sure he’d snapped a drumstick beneath him. “That’s not cool, Pool Cue.”
The bald guy turned even redder beneath his tats. “No? How about this? Here’s your big break. Only it’s for your head. I know because I’ll be the one doing the breaking.”
“You talkin’ about my melon, Rapunzel? Is that it?” Link sat up and the guy pushed him back down. “You feelin’ a little jealous?”
If I can get back on my feet, I can take him.
The bouncer flexed his horse-sized muscles.
Maybe.
“Boys.” Rid shook out her pink-striped hair. “This is getting boring.”
Link tackled the bouncer and the two of them went flying into the crowd, beating the crap out of each other.
Ridley rolled her eyes. A second later, the cherry lollipop hit her tongue and the velvet rope hit the floor. She was that good. Just like always.
As he wiped the blood off the corner of his bruised mouth, Link wondered if she’d done it to him since they’d started going out—and if she had, how would he know?
“Your table is waiting,” the bouncer said, helping Link up after him. Then he offered his arm to Ridley, as if he’d forgotten about the whole beatdown thing. She let him guide her up the steps to the doorway.