Enoch quickened his step, but Travis seemed rooted to the spot at the top of the stair.
“This place is amazing,” Travis breathed. “I had no idea something like this even existed.”
“Yeah, it’s something,” Enoch grumbled. He set his jaw and steeled his nerves. “Let’s go. I need to get you to Ophidia before it gets any later.”
Enoch started down the stairs and Travis followed close behind, ogling his sumptuous surroundings. A few members, darkly glamorous in silks and pearls, lounged on the railing and eyed the young man intently. Enoch recognized the look. The creatures of the Verge could smell fresh meat a mile away. He shot them warning glances, brushing off their venomous stares with studied nonchalance.
They reached the floor and wove among the densely packed revelers. A few more pale bacchantes, their languid postures belying a savagery stirring just below their immaculate countenances, set their sights on Travis as he moved past. One even reached out to caress his cheek. Intrigued, Travis stopped and the whole group closed slowly in around him.
With his thoughts set on Ophidia’s carapace just ahead, Enoch was distracted for a few moments before realizing that the young artist was no longer close by. He turned just in time to see the predatory looks, the nails lengthening into claws, pupils expanding to fill the entire eye with the pitiless void of the hunter.
“Oh, Travis dear,” Enoch said, having quickly retraced his steps in order to intervene before Travis found himself with the sharp point of a lamia talon down his throat.
“Pardon me, ladies.” Enoch elbowed his way through the ring of demons to rescue his clueless guest. “This one’s not for you,” he said with a wink and wry smile. The lamia closest to him growled, but the rules of the Vestiges Club prevented her from trying to make Enoch a plat du jour. While members could engage in all sorts of carnal pleasures, grievous harm of fellow members was not among them. The fact that he was a steward made it that much more taboo. They’d respect the rule, Enoch knew, or the temporary pleasure of rending his flesh would soon be outweighed by the brutal penalties they’d have to pay later. The laws of the Vestiges Club were few but they were sacred.
The group of lamia reluctantly released their prey and returned to their cocktails, although not without a few choice curses in their native tongue flung at Enoch’s back.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay close?” Enoch hissed at Travis once they’d put a safe distance between themselves and the demonesses.
“But did you see them? They were so damn hot, and I think one of them was into me.” Travis looked smug and a little annoyed. “And then you stepped in and ruined it.”
Enoch resisted the urge to slap him. “Look,” he said instead. “The people here aren’t really the kind you want to mess with, okay? And we have a meeting to keep. So stay by me and keep your hands to yourself. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Travis said, but it was clear he was still irritated by Enoch’s intervention.
Enoch sighed ruefully and then continued on to the carapace where he knew Ophidia was waiting. A few more moments of dodging revelers and he saw her sitting there smugly, framed by the luxurious strait of the carapace entrance. She was tiger-like in the gloom, sublimely beautiful, resplendent in her capacity to kill. He saw her, ready to feast on the soul of this young fool. She was awesome in the old-fashioned sense of the word, inspiring because of the fear and desire she awakened in the darkest parts of the mind.
“There she is.” Travis’s statement had an air of wonder to it tinged with a heavy dose of fear.
They reached the entrance to Ophidia’s private table, and Enoch escorted Travis through the passage. Ophidia stood. She was dressed in a classic black strapless gown encrusted with sparkling sequins. The fine material hugged her body, revealing rather than concealing the formidable curves and taut muscles of her figure. It was the body of a great cat, mesmerizing in its beauty and the promise of death that seemed to animate her lithe arms and luminous skin.
She wore her long, dark hair down and to one side like a screen siren from the golden age of film. The soft curls played against her high cheekbones and sharp chin, moderating the predatory hardness of her features and drawing attention to her bright red lips. Enoch stared at her vermillion mouth. He knew what it could do, what it would do in only a few moments, and he was filled with a base excitement. It wasn’t every day that he got to see the Morrigan in action.
“Enoch, my dear, you look positively giddy,” Ophidia said to the steward.
“It’s just that you look stunning tonight. Positively breathtaking,” Enoch breathed.
“Why, thank you,” Ophidia said through a too-sharp smile.
“And I have brought you the boy you requested. The young artist.”
“Yes,” Ophida purred. “You truly are a gem, Enoch, you know that? Your recent promotion to steward is well deserved.”
Enoch beamed. He stepped back and elbowed Travis forward. He wondered briefly if she might save the meaty parts for him. His mouth began to water.
“Greetings, Travis,” Ophidia said, turning her attention to the barista from Parnassus. “So nice to see you again.”
The words were warm but Ophidia’s look was cool, the detached regard of a practiced hunter.
Travis said nothing. He stood there, his mouth slightly agape, staring stupidly at Ophidia.
“Please, come sit down and tell me more about yourself.” Ophidia lowered herself onto the velvet bench and beckoned invitingly for Travis to take a seat nearby. “Enoch tells me you show a lot of promise.”
Travis only nodded as he perched himself next to Ophidia.
“Right, well, now that you’re all settled, I think I’ll be going,” Enoch said noting Travis’s laser focus on Ophidia’s prominently displayed breasts. At least he would have a good view during his last moments on this planet.
“Oh no, Enoch you simply must stay,” Ophidia simpered.
“If you insist,” Enoch replied, a wolfish grin on his face.
Ophidia cocked a coy eyebrow at him and gestured toward the plush seats of the carapace.
“Is everything okay?” Travis asked. He sounded confused, and his voice was muted as though it was making its way through a thick fog clogging his brain.
“Yes, of course, my dear,” Ophidia purred. “You just relax now while we get to know each other.”
She settled herself back on the cushioned bench, this time so near to Travis that their thighs touched. Travis’s eyes, momentarily lucid, clouded over. He was lost in the haze of Ophidia’s raw sexuality. Enoch watched, a lecher’s leer on his face, as Ophidia leaned over to stroke Travis’s cheek, while her breasts, pushed high by the tightness of her dress, pressed into his chest.
Enoch thought it would take longer. He thought she’d play along with the ruse for a while, maybe tell him he was talented, that he’d be a big art star someday. But no, without a moment’s hesitation Ophidia grasped both of Travis’s wrists. Her razor-sharp nails dug into his flesh and ten small pools of blood mixed with her ruby red nail polish.
The light went completely out of Travis’s eyes and a blue miasma, like the milky cataract of a desiccated old man, filled each of his pupils. His body slumped, muscles completely slack. The dim light created tantalizing shadows across the hollows of his neck.
Enoch licked his lips and locked eyes with Ophidia as she breathed in deeply and then leaned in even closer to her prey. A long red tongue, muscular and veined, stretched from her livid mouth to slowly outline Travis’s ear. She turned his head toward hers with elegant fingers and the gesture was almost gentle for a moment. Then her immaculate nails grew into the talons of a raptor grasping hold of his scalp with a ferocity that made Enoch shudder with excitement.
Deep dark blood from Travis’s head ran down Ophidia’s white arms and dripped onto the velvet bench below. Ophidia breathed heavily. Her eyes were two black holes on a face contorted with a kind of mad ecstasy. She moaned, as though reaching climax and her jaw u
nhinged, growing to a startling width. Her gaping mouth was crisscrossed with purple veins and florid suture-like scars. Vivid white fangs like tiny needles stood out against the hemorrhage of mouth and tongue.
And then it happened. Ophidia lunged forward and latched onto Travis’s slack face, the rows of spiny teeth piercing his cheeks. Her body, all muscles taut, pressed ferociously into Travis’s limp side like some kind of voracious jungle snake. Ophidia’s black eyes sparkled and she inhaled deeply, the great rattling gasp of a junkie with an aerosol can. Her fingers dug themselves so deeply into Travis’s head that her knuckles turned white.
Ophidia took another shuddering draught and then turned her shiny black inhuman eyes toward Enoch. Her ghastly jaw loosed its grip on Travis’s mouth and stretched itself into an unholy grin, a travesty of joy. And then she was gone.
Enoch blinked once, twice, and then she reappeared, only to disappear again a second later. She seemed to be flickering in and out of existence like the picture on an old television screen. When he saw her again she looked vacant, as though her consciousness had remained wherever her body had traveled in that strange instant. She was motionless for a moment and then she lost her purchase on the velvet bench and slid to the floor. Immediately her eyes dulled and she crumpled into an inelegant heap, her distorted features regaining the cold beauty of her human guise.
The steward stood rooted to the spot, uncertain of what he should do next. He could see where Travis lay slumped on the bench, his eyes distant and staring but no longer clouded. An angry red ring of bloody pinholes marred his youthful face and his skin was a bluish purple bruise around his mouth where the suction of the succubus’s violent inhalations had broken blood vessels. The steward’s heightened senses were such that even from across the floor he could just make out the improbable flutter of a pulse. Damage had been done but Travis was still alive.
Ophidia lay prone on the floor. He approached her side and made to gently shake her shoulder when her hand shot up and wrapped around his throat, pressing him down against the bench. He gasped for air but the pressure of her fingers against his windpipe made it almost impossible to breathe.
Her dark eyes were dull, and she seemed far away. He grabbed at her hands, panicking as he fought the vice-like grip of her fingers. Suddenly she let go of his neck and he gasped for air before she delivered a brutal kick to his ribs, knocking the breath from him again. Enoch doubled over in pain, his mouth agape, desperately searching for oxygen. Ophidia stood over him, her gaze still blank, her face expressionless.
Enoch writhed in agony on the floor. His vision started to dim and he thought he might pass out as he fought for consciousness. Suddenly he was rocketed back to reality as Ophidia raised her hand and smashed the back of it across his face. He saw stars and tasted blood. Then Ophidia was directly over him, the point of her stiletto jammed painfully into his chest just above his heart.
She pressed down on the heel of her shoe so hard Enoch thought she might actually impale him there on the marble floor. He screamed out in pain, and she increased the pressure while Enoch writhed in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Then just as suddenly as Ophidia’s brutal assault began, the light snapped back on in her eyes and the deathly pressure she exerted on her heel eased. She looked confused at first, then angry.
“She’s found out how to control it,” Ophidia whispered, as much to herself as to Enoch.
“Wh—what are you talking about?” Enoch managed to gasp as he rolled away from the murderous heel of her Louboutin and braced himself against the wall of the carapace.
“Nothing,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It’s nothing,” she repeated with greater conviction. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Enoch looked at her, unsure of how to respond. Of course she had hurt him. He had a bloody face and broken ribs to prove it.
“Can you stand?” Ophidia asked.
“I think so,” Enoch replied.
Ophidia still had a hold of his hand and she pulled him up to his feet. Enoch grimaced but remained upright. He found himself looking at Travis’s prone form on the velvet bench. He appeared to be slowly coming to.
“I need to get out of here,” Ophidia said. “An urgent matter has come to my attention. Can I rely on your absolute discretion regarding what’s happened here tonight?”
Enoch nodded. She might have almost killed him, but he was a steward of the club. They were known for keeping the secrets of their VIP members. And based on what had just happened, he didn’t want to find out what Ophidia would do to him if he didn’t do as she asked.
“What about him?” Enoch said, gesturing toward the half-dead barista.
“What about him?” Ophidia said, dismissively.
“What do you want me to do with him?”
“Finish him off for me. Consider it a little sweetener to make your promise of confidentiality a bit more palatable.”
She approached Enoch and sidled past him, giving him a knowing smile as she slipped through the walls of the carapace and strode across the dance floor, cutting through the assembled revelers like the prow of a grand ship.
Enoch made quick work of Ophidia’s abandoned artist. It wasn’t often that he got to enjoy fresh meat. As a steward he was usually offered whatever remained of his clients’ meals, but it was usually carrion at that point. Travis’s warm blood and ripe muscles melted in his mouth. But he was troubled by what he had seen, by what he had experienced at the hands of Ophidia, their demon queen.
It only took him a few minutes to devour every last succulent morsel. His belly full, he wrapped his arms tightly against his body in a futile attempt to stop the pain in his side every time he took a breath. He tried to move confidently, but it was difficult to mask the damage Ophidia had done. Inevitably heads turned when he walked by. The deep gash on his face was still oozing blood, and he wheezed as he walked. More importantly, however, the smell of a fresh kill was all over him and that was something many of the creatures of the Verge wouldn’t easily ignore. Like sharks in the ocean, they could smell blood from miles away and they were always hungry.
The rules of the Vestiges Club were strict: no harm could come to members on the premises. However, what happened to you as soon as you stepped off the property was entirely your responsibility. Most of the time creatures of the Verge wouldn’t risk rousing suspicions; they might be powerful but they were still subject to the law and the majority of them didn’t fare well in jails where belief in fairytale nightmares was overridden by the real nightmare of day-to-day survival. Occasionally, however, an attack did happen. Most of the time it was some kind of sexual tryst gone awry, but every now and then an over-stimulated creature would let their natural tendencies get the better of them and a member would turn up dead. It hadn’t happened in a while but Enoch was always aware of the possibility. Normally it just made the experience more intense and exciting, but there was something about the place tonight, about the sheer number of creatures of the Verge, and their more-obvious-than-usual savagery that made him feel nervous.
As he navigated the dance floor a few denizens of the club, mostly vampires from the looks of them, approached the injured steward. He snarled at them, but they seemed drawn to him regardless of club protocol. Enoch’s heart began to race. The wild-eyed one nearest to him was poised to strike when he heard a low growl behind him. It was Ophidia. They knew her, of course, and quickly understood they were out-matched and backed off, much to Enoch’s relief.
Ophidia gave Enoch a nod and he followed warily behind her, unsure of where the greater danger lay, with the Morrigan or her unruly hordes on the dance floor. They mounted the grand stair, Ophidia outpacing him as he struggled through the pain radiating from his injured ribs.
He’d been so intent on putting one foot in front of the other he hadn’t noticed when Ophidia paused on the wide landing. As the heavy bass thumped through the hot air, Enoch paused and followed Ophidia’s gaze across the seething dance floor below. The ra
pacious stares of the demon revelers stopped him in his tracks. They were all looking right at Ophidia.
She nodded, the slow, deliberate acknowledgement of someone recognizing the respect of her brethren; then she simply turned on her impossibly sharp heels and headed down the dim hallway Enoch and Travis had traversed not an hour before. Enoch waited a few moments more and watched as the revelers returned to their debauchery. By the time he finally tore his eyes away, Ophidia was already stepping out through the ironwork gate into the moonlit decrepitude of the brick courtyard. Enoch walked quickly after her. He felt light-headed and a couple of times his knees threatened to give way, but he managed to catch up halfway across the crumbling space.
“Thanks for the back-up out there,” Enoch panted when he got within earshot of Ophidia. “Those vampires looked like they didn’t really give a damn about club rules.”
“It’s getting close to All Hallows’ Eve,” Ophidia said as she traversed the cracked bricks back towards the café. “You know how it is this time of year. It gets harder to reign them in. Plus I owed you one for the beating.”
“Yes,” Enoch said, “that was…a bit unexpected.”
“Consider saving you from that horde of bloodsuckers my sincerest apology,” Ophidia said.
“Yes, of course, Mistress,” Enoch said. “Is—is everything alright?”
Ophidia stopped short and turned suddenly to face Enoch head on. She was statuesque and in her towering heels she was a good head taller than the steward. He cowered a bit despite himself. She was achingly beautiful, but he knew the beast within. He tried to meet her eye, but the intensity of her gaze frightened him and he focused instead on the half circles of light reflected in the sequins of her dress.
“Are you questioning my fortitude, servant?” she spat.
“No, no, I would never—”
“That’s good,” Ophidia snarled. “I know you haven’t been around that long, but even a neophyte should know that I am at my most powerful this time of year. Did you not see all those demon eyes on me, their queen, their Morrigan, their Mistress of Ceremonies?”
On the Verge Page 12
