by Renee Rose
Fay balked when I had a movie projector bought in at the turn of the twentieth century. She wouldn’t go near the television box I set up fifty years ago. And she petitioned the queen about not allowing the internet inside the palace. So, I had to hoof it out into the desert with a satellite to catch up on reality TV each week.
“You look at this trip as an adventure, Sanai. When what it truly is, is business. We are here to do our duty to our Queen and the queendom,” Fay says.
I’m still gazing out the window, so Fay doesn’t see my eye roll. She’s old school, as in five hundred years old. This place, these people, their innovations, are insignificant in her mind. It all was dust when she was reborn, and it will be but dust again when she takes her last breath. If it’s not gold or the Egyptian engineering of her pharaonic ancestors, Fayola pays it little mind.
“The Queen Mother is here for diplomatic relations with King Lucius,” Fay continues.
“Really?” I turn from the awakening nightlife out the window with a grin. “Because I hear that there is a party going on at his club for the next two nights.”
“That is not our way; mixing with males, and humans.”
By males, Fay means any males, be they vampire or, worse, human. There are very few males inside the queendom of Orun. Any who enter the palace are required to leave their most treasured appendage behind. Only eunuchs live and work in Queen Malika’s sanctuary.
The queendom of Orun is comprised of the Queen Mother and her three princesses. Princess Fayola, a descendant of Princess Hatshepsut who became King of Egypt. Princess Eshe, a descendant of the Warrior Queen Njinga of the southern African nation of what is present-day Angola. And me, a descendant of Queen Amina in what is known in the present day as Nigeria.
The people of our nation came from the East when the Arabs raided villages as far back as the seventh century, as well as from the West when Europeans landed on our shores centuries later. Queen Malika slew all the slave traders she could get her claws on. She freed as many of the captured as she could. Now, she provides a safe harbor in Orun to any woman and child. Men she looks on with utter suspicion, unless they are willing to pay her the ultimate tribute.
“Fornication and coitus are for animals and humans,” Fay continues.
I’ve seen that for myself. Animals spend all day rutting in the fields. Humans make a lot of films and videos that feature screwing. They make as many home improvement videos featuring nails and hammers as they make of people getting nailed and hammered.
“We are called for a higher purpose in this life.”
I know she’s right. But sometimes, I simply want to get in touch with my lower, base needs. Like, perhaps see a male vampire for the first time. See a real, live penis. Not a human one, of course. I’d never lower myself to sleep with one of those hairless apes.
But a virile, male vampire? With a throbbing cock? And a live vein that I could tap? Just the thought makes both my fangs and my loins ache.
“I’m off for my dinner,” says Fay. “Are you joining me?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say as I lick my fangs.
Fay heads out to slake her thirst. My stomach waits until she’s gone before it growls with need. I’m not hungry for any of the limp dick eunuchs we brought along on this transcontinental journey. They avert their gazes when I feed from them, even when I wear low tops and my breasts swell over the fabric. They have no zest for life, and so they taste bland. For the first time in my life, I want to know what a real man tastes like.
If I can just find a way to get to Lucius Frangelico’s party, I could find a thriving vampire male to slake my lust and maybe even my thirst with. But first, I’d need to find a way to slip past goody-two-shoes Fay’s notice. And I’d also have to get past the queen, who notices everything.
As if she heard my thoughts, the doors to my suite open. I turn to see the queen entering with two of her attendants, young males who are large, with muscles. Their eyes are glazed over as most males who have had their manhood taken are.
“Sanai, hartlam, you should be resting.”
Unlike Fayola, Queen Malika doesn’t glide. She stalks into any space she occupies, like a lioness looking down on the bounty of animals she’s considering taking a bite out of. She calls her three daughters hartlams, an amalgamation of heart and lamb. We were each given to her by our families, lambs to the slaughter, to whom she fed her heart’s blood to turn us into vampire princesses to rule at her feet.
I bow my head as I address her. “I’m eager to begin the work we’ve come here for.”
As the youngest of my sisters, I am only here to observe. Eshe has the reign of the queendom while we’re away. It is Fayola who is being groomed for these diplomatic talks, though Fay has no taste for small talk, traveling, or anyone other than her queen and sisters.
As I’m two hundred, the Queen Mother doesn’t think I have enough experience of the world to handle our affairs on my own. I am hoping to prove her wrong on this trip. Which is going to be difficult if I get caught sneaking out tonight. But, priorities. As long as I can tag along to her meeting tonight with the vampire king, I’m certain I can sneak away for a second during the talks, to get the sneak peek of real life outside the dry desert that I crave.
“That will have to wait until tomorrow,” says the queen. “The journey has made me tired.”
I raise my lowered head and gape at the queen. She isn’t looking at me. She’s gazing at one of her guards with a hungry glint in her dark eyes.
“I’d prefer to have a nice dinner and then rest,” she says. “I’ve sent a message to the Serranos, but I was unable to get one to King Lucius. The telephonic at his den only rings and rings. I came looking for Fayola to deliver the message personally.”
“I can do it.”
I swallow down the eagerness in my voice, but it is too late. I’m sure she heard it. She doesn’t miss anything. But to my surprise, Queen Malika nods.
“You are a growing girl. I should give you more responsibilities.”
She hands me a card. On it are gold embossed letters with red trim. It reads Club Toxic, along with an address.
“This is the location of Lucius’s den. I believe he has a private room reserved for our use. Cancel it, and make sure we are not charged.”
“As you wish, my queen.”
I bow low, as low as I can go, so that she can’t see the hungry gleam in my eye. When I rise, I go straight to my suitcase to find something to wear. I’m about to get up-up in da club.
Chapter 3
The masked goblins and superheroes have all gone inside for the night to gorge on their bounties in the safety of their homes. But the streets of downtown Tucson still teem with creatures of the night. Outside, the adult versions of superheroes with bare chests and barely covered nipples are all up to no good. But inside Club Toxic, the costumes are black and white and from a time long past.
I take a moment to admire the Venetian theme of the party. It’s like something the upper crust of Tucson would put on. The men are in dark suits, some with a hint of white lace and frills. The women are in ballgowns and corsets, though most dresses are either form-fitting or barely there.
It was easy to throw together an outfit for this party. I simply had to go into my everyday closet. Black suits and ties are my mainstays. What I am missing is the mask.
“Councilman Durand.”
I grimace at the sound of my name, then wince at the sight of the man who said it. Jared Johnson stands at what I now know is the hidden entrance to the underbelly of Club Toxic.
“Thought you learned your lesson the first time,” says the beefy bouncer with tattoos like a sleeve down one arm.
“Times must be hard in the warehouse district if you’re bouncing here instead of in the ring of your own club.”
I had a hand in shutting down the fighting ring Jared and his buddies had set up. But they’d figured out how to make the operation legal, something I’m sure Frangelico was involved in. That
must be why the man is here tonight protecting the Vampire King’s assets. Jared isn’t a vampire. I’ve seen him in the light of day. But he might be something else. Not only have I witnessed women with fangs and men who can wipe memories, I’ve seen people shift into jaguars.
Jared lets out a low growl as he eyes me. But his features shift from a menacing frown into an amused smirk. “I guess you’re the Serranos’ pet, with those brothers tapping both your sisters’… veins.”
I clench my fist. I didn’t come here to get into a fight. I have an agenda, as any good follower of Robert’s Rules of Order should.
Before coming in, I reviewed the minutes of my last meeting. It had been difficult before a week ago, because I’d had my memory wiped. But now I remember everything. I can’t get the image of Domitia sinking her fangs into my neck out of my mind. When I try, my vision clouds with my blood running down her chin, and then her carting my sister away.
I give my head a shake and focus on the mountain in front of me. The next item on my agenda is the roll call, the taking of attendance. “Where’s Frangelico?”
“He’s not available at the moment.”
But he is here somewhere. I need to find him to tick off the next item on my agenda: the unfinished business between us.
“You can wait in the Serranos’ private room, seeing as you’re part of their family now.”
That grates. I would never claim those bloodsuckers as family. As soon as I have proof of this world, I’ll get them away from my sisters. But I have to get the evidence first.
I pat the breast pocket of my shirt. The pin containing the spy camera is in place. It’s online, feeding both sounds and images to a server back in my office.
Thanks to that news article, my word has been muddied. But the public can’t argue with live video. I just need to get down to the floor below.
The last time I was here, I tried to do things by the book. Now, I am stooping to another level. It is all that’s left to me to protect my family—hell, to protect the world. Mankind needs to know that these creatures—vampires, animal shifters, and who knows what else—walk amongst us, feeding off of us, stealing our livelihoods. I will out the scourge, and be labeled a hero. But first, I need to get inside.
Jared steps aside. He waves his thick arm, allowing me passage. I take a step towards the dark hall, but before I descend, something bright tugs at my attention.
I turn to look over my shoulder. Bodies are gyrating on the dance floor. The faces of the humans above ground are contorted in grins of pleasure. They think they’ve found heaven on the dance floor. They don’t realize hell is beneath their feet.
My gaze slides past the crowd at the center of the room, to the door. Coming into the entryway is an angel. She is light personified in the dark club. Her brown skin shines like this morning’s sun rays did as they warmed the Catalina Mountains.
With each step she takes, she casts the club in shadows. The room pales into muted black and white, while she is a rainbow of color. She wears a ballgown just like the others on this night of Venetian revelry. There is a corseted bodice with ropes crossing over her chest. My fingers itch to play with the knots there, but my gaze dips to her flaring skirt where I’m sure a treasure is hidden. Her gown is an intricate pattern of oranges and reds and blues. It reminds me of the parades on Juneteenth, the African American celebration of emancipation.
She stops in the entryway. Her bright gaze looks from the floor to the ceiling as she takes in the club. Her elegant head pans on her swan-like neck as she takes in the crowd of dancers. I can see her chest inflate as she breathes in the excitement, desire, and alcohol in the air. If possible, her eyes go brighter, her grin splits wider.
I want to make a motion for the world to stop spinning. Inside my pants, my penis rises to second the motion. My head forgoes any need for debate. My heart thumps as hard as a gavel to bang the motion into law.
“Durand? You in, or you out?”
I blink, but she is still in my vision even as I turn back to Jared. For weeks, whenever I closed my eyes, I could only see that white-haired vampire and her fangs. Not this time. The vision of light and color shines in my mind. I turn back to the exterior doors, but she is gone.
The door to the lower level of the club stands open for me. I need only to walk down there and gather my evidence. Perhaps, when I come back up, I can find that glowing soul and get her out of this den of night creatures and to safety.
I take a step into the unknown and immediately wonder: what the hell did I get myself into?
On the other side of the wall is a live porn show, and not the kind to be found on a free site. This is what would be seen behind a paywall on the dark web.
Set against the red velvet of the furnishings are men and women chained to crosses. The crystal chandeliers from above shine a light on their naked bodies. Some are bent over benches, taking a thrashing with hands, or long-tailed whips.
The problem is, none of what is happening is illegal. Even worse, there isn’t a single fang or claw in sight for my camera to capture as irrefutable proof of the supernatural being real.
“Mr. Serrano?”
A pretty woman smiles at me. She has feline features. It wouldn’t surprise me if there are cat shifters in the world.
I open my mouth to correct her on my name but decide against it, even though it grates. The Serrano name has got me this far. Hopefully, it will lead to pay dirt by the end of the night.
“Your private room is ready, if you’ll follow me.”
Chapter 4
It takes the darkness to cast the concrete city into color. Bright lights shine down onto the paved streets. Car horns roar as vehicles stampede up and down the way. Instead of the drab business suits and denim jeans I expected to see, the humans are out in spirited fashions.
Their ensembles include barely-there approximations of professional uniforms. Nurses with skirts the length of a Band-Aid. Maids with their nipples dusting over their tops. Firemen without their shirts, and police officers with their badges as the largest covering on their buff bodies.
The American celebration of Halloween has always baffled me. All over the continent of Africa, the different peoples celebrate their dead in a very different way. Of course, they dress in colorful garb and show off their tail feathers as all in the animal kingdom are wont to do. But the festivals’ main purpose is to celebrate the dead and assure them that they haven’t been forgotten. Not to offer candy to strangers dressed as skimpily as possible, and then try to get laid.
Hmmm. I think I like this way better.
“Happy Halloween, my beautiful African Queen,” a man dressed in a cowboy costume yells at me as he raises his right fist.
I suppose it would be easy to take me for a queen based on what I’m wearing tonight. The bazin I’m wearing was handmade by the women of my mother’s tribe. The strapless bodice hugs my breasts tight. The intricate knotting of the corset forces them to sit up high, but not high enough that my nipples dust over the top. The skirt flares from my hips in a cascade of oranges, reds, greens, and blues on a black background.
The patterns on the gown would bring to mind the kente cloth of West Africa. But the arrangement of the colors marks me as a princess, and not a queen. Still, I do not correct the good ole boy. Because one day, he’ll be right.
Finally, I reach my destination. Club Toxic sits in the heart of the city. There is a line of humans trailing around the corner. The males wear dark suits with masks. The women wear tight gowns from a bygone era, or strategically placed leather with collars around their necks.
Oh yes, I definitely like this way of celebrating the dead better.
A man beckons me to the front of the line. I had been headed there anyway. I’m the daughter of Queen Malika of the Orun; all lines lead to me as my right.
“Good evening, Princess Sanai. I was told your party wasn’t coming.”
“I was sent to ensure you got that message. But since I’m here…”
His smile is crooked as he regards me. My nostrils twitch as I inhale. I’ve never smelled a male vampire before, but my instinct tells me he is something different. A dangerous beast; maybe a wolf?
Whatever he is, I see that he is taken. The gold band on his finger marks him as someone else’s. So he likely won’t be amenable to my plans for the night.
He reaches over and lifts the velvet rope. “Enjoy your evening, your highness.”
I plan to do just that. I walk into the club and am hit with sensation overload. Outside the doors, the music had been a pleasant thump in my ears. Now, inside, the beat quickens my pulse. The smell of arousal and desire makes my mouth water.
We have regular dances at court where the people of our queendom gather to celebrate their savior and protector. During those performances, no man has ever gyrated against a woman in such a sexual manner. Certainly none has never put his hand there and kept his most treasured appendage.
A man walks up to me. He licks his lips as he regards me. His teeth are flat, not a fang in sight. So he doesn’t want to bite me. He’s moving his hips to the beat of the song.
Does he want me to dance? I don’t know the steps. Looking out on the dance floor, I see there doesn’t appear to be any coordination in the movements.
He must assume I’m shy or confused, so he puts his hand on my hip. I stiffen. The queen has always said that men are filthy creatures. I don’t enjoy the sweaty smell of this one. But I’m here to have an experience.
His hand slides down my hip. When it snakes around the back, my patience for diplomacy comes to a screeching halt. I hiss, flashing my fangs. A crack sounds over the music, and I hear the cry of a little girl in pain. It’s my dance partner. His arm is broken.
“Princess Sanai?”
I turn to find the large male who let me into the club looming over me. His hands are up, palms facing out towards me. It’s a show of non-aggression.
