A Wolf at the Door

by Stewart, K. A.

  Only a few short yards separated the car from the door, and still I was tight and on edge by the time we got through the gauntlet. I wasn’t worried so much about the demons making a try for her in a crowded club, but what about these crazed fans the guys kept talking about? Any of these people could be armed, and I don’t know that we would have known. The very thought made me want to crawl out of my skin. How Bobby and Tai did this on a daily basis, I would never know.

  Gretchen walked through it like the crowd wasn’t even there. She wore her short, slinky dress like it was a royal robe, and she held her head regally high, waving to the crowd at large, but careful never to stop and pay too much attention to one person. I was willing to bet, if I could see her face, that she was meticulously avoiding eye contact with the rabid throng. Wouldn’t do to encourage the crazies.

  The bouncers at the door didn’t look at us twice, just sweeping us through and into relative safety. Tai paused behind us for a moment, having a brief talk with the head bouncer. No doubt the club’s security staff was accustomed to things like this, but I could appreciate Tai taking a moment to make sure things were up to snuff.

  I couldn’t say much for the décor of the place. Metal grates and bare steel beams seemed to dominate, punctuated now and then by a splash of black-light paint, glowing coolly against the brick walls. Oddly, it reminded me a lot of my workplace back home, and as I looked around, I realized I could pick out at least seven outfits that had been purchased from my store. I also realized I was a teeny bit homesick. My teenybopper, punk coworkers would have loved it here. Kristyn, my boss in the loosest sense of the word, would have fit right in with her multicolored hair and flamboyant fashion sense.

  There were dancers in hanging cages flanking both sides of the stage, dominated at the moment by a DJ and his rig. The girls had on glittery devil horns, and not a whole lot else, writhing inside their faux-steel prisons. I spotted one of the bartenders across the room passing one of the devil horn hair bands to another girl who had earned his favor somehow. No doubt I’d be seeing her up in one of the cages later.

  The music was loud enough to be completely incomprehensible, distinguished only by the low thud I could feel through the thick soles of my boots. Strobe lights and disco balls cast rainbow streamers across the seething, writhing dance floor, and I was more than a little grateful when Gretchen and her boys steered us around that mess and into some private tables toward the back.

  Walking in front of me, I could see Gretchen’s back, bared almost indecently low, and in the black light, the iridescent tattoos glowed softly. They rippled under my gaze in a way that had nothing to do with how she moved, and part of me squirmed. It was like watching ghosts moving under her skin, the remains of living people glowing like cave worms. It struck me as eerie and sad all at once.

  The starlet claimed a large round booth, big enough for at least a dozen people, and slid across the black leather seat to the very center, while Bobby and Tai took seats at each end of the bench, obviously there to deter…everyone, really. After a moment, I grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over so I’d have a seat too. Tai gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, man, not used to there being three of us.”

  “It’s all good, don’t worry about it.” I straddled the frail little chair and rested my arms across the back. It would be easier to get out of this fast, if I had to. Better than being all caught up between the table and the leather booth.

  Out of nowhere, a man appeared, oozing charm and champagne. “Gretchen, darling! Oh honey, I wanted to meet you at the door! Sly girl, sneaking in like that!” He too wore one of the devil horn headbands. He looked ridiculous.

  I will say that Gretchen’s smile never faded, but behind her eyes was something that said this man was barely on her tolerance list. He wasn’t a friend. “It’s all right, Leo, I know my way in.” They did that air kissy thing that makes no sense to me, especially since he had to lean way over the table to do it. “Is there anything in particular you have on the agenda tonight?”

  “Not at all, my lovely. You sit right here and have anything your heart desires. I’ll send a server over.” With that, he was gone again in the blink of an eye. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a normal human move so fast.

  Gretchen settled against the seat with a terminally bored sigh, examining her nails.

  “So…what exactly do you do at these places?” I had to ask twice, raising my voice to shouting, before she could hear me.

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “They just pay me to show up. It makes the club look good to have celebrities here. Leo’s business will triple tonight, just because people hear that I’m hanging out.”

  Seriously? I am so in the wrong line of work. “So we just sit here, and you drink champagne or whatever, and then…we go home?”

  “That sums it up.”

  The server showed up and the guys ordered soda, while Gretchen asked for a spring water with lime. Not what I expected, but hey, go with it. I passed, not really wanting anything in my hands.

  Gretchen’s entrance had been noticed. I could almost watch the word ripple through the crowd, see the wave as faces turned toward our table to take furtive glances. Look, but don’t let her see you looking! The noise level doubled, drowning out what was left of the music.

  I examined the crowd, trying to pick out anything odd, anything that didn’t belong, all the while wondering what I was expecting to find. They were kids, mostly. Old enough to drink, I guess, to get in here, but still kids. Most of them wearing way too much makeup and hair gel, and way too little clothing. If Anna ever tried to dress like that, I was gonna lock her in her room until she was forty-five.

  I think that means I’m officially old.

  The server came back, delivering the drinks with quiet efficiency. I suppose celebrities were nothing new to her, and she even gave Tai a smile like they’d met before. “If you need anything else, just flag me down.” She seemed nice, and fairly normal. Maybe not everybody was crazy.

  I have to say, whatever I’d thought about the profession of “bodyguard” before this, it was way more boring than I’d expected. Bobby and Tai did their duties seriously enough, one of them walking the room from time to time while the other stayed close to Gretchen. Their eyes constantly scanned and analyzed, though how they were going to pick one single dangerous face out of that hustle and bustle, I wasn’t sure.

  Bobby also watched Tai, I noticed. Whenever the former soldier was out doing his rounds around the dance floor, his eyes always came back to the table, just long enough to be sure that all was right in the world. It took me a bit to realize that it was the same watchful gaze I often directed toward Estéban. A teacher, keeping an eye on his student. It made me like the grumpy cuss just a bit more.

  But mostly we sat there while the music cycled from one identical song to the next. The crowd on the dance floor cycled too, the tired ones bowing out to be replaced by those recently refreshed with their beverage of choice. As the night went on, the dancing got dirtier and the crowd got drunker. Not totally unexpected.

  Twice, we were approached by adventurous fans looking to beg an autograph or photo from Gretchen. She allowed it, Tai moving aside after Bobby’s almost invisible nod of approval so the girls could slide into the booth with their idol. I got drafted into photographer mode, fumbling with their cell phones until they were satisfied with the results. (Though, I overheard one of them mention to her girlfriend as they scampered off “Oh my God, it was him! From that one show!” I don’t know if I should feel bad for me, for looking like him, or him, ’cause no one could remember his name.)

  “That was nice of you,” I pointed out to Gretchen after the second time. “You could have told them to piss off.”

  Gretchen shrugged her bared shoulders. “Those girls will tell everyone they know how cool I am. It’s good press.”

  “Do you ever do anything that isn’t directly beneficial to you?”

  “No.” And there were no regrets
there, that much was obvious.

  The hours dragged on slower, the later it got, and my body was adamantly reminding me that it was still on Missouri time. I folded my arms across the back of my chair and rested my chin there, just watching the swirl of colors around the enormous room. It was almost hypnotizing, a big swirling riot of noise and shiny.

  A hiccup in the general movement of the place caught my attention, and when I brought my eyes back into focus, I spotted our server across the room, at another table. Now, why did that stand out? Something in the way she stood just didn’t flow.

  I’d talked to her as the night went on. Her name was Traci-with-an-i, she was a college student, and wanted to be an actress. Her hair was dark and curly, just like Mira’s, and she reminded me a lot of my wife in younger years.

  Now, I couldn’t see her face, but there was something to the set of her shoulders that bespoke tension, and when her serving tray clattered to the floor, I was already on my feet.

  “Jesse?” I ignored Tai’s question and started working my way around the dance floor.

  From the changed angle, I could see the man at the other table, just your typical nondescript douche bag if I had to guess. His dark hair was slicked back against his head, and his suit probably cost more than my mortgage payment. His mustache looked like something had died on his upper lip. One hand was clamped around Traci’s wrist, and I was pretty sure the hand I couldn’t see was planted firmly on the girl’s behind. She was obviously not happy about the situation, trying in vain to free herself without causing a scene.

  “Hey, Traci?” Arriving at the table, I butted in like I had any right to. “Gretchen was wanting another drink, do you think you could…?”

  The guy let her go when I approached, and she gave me a grateful look, gathering up her tray quickly. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” She vanished into the crowd.

  Then I turned my gaze on Douche Bag, simply staring until he finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere. He raised a challenging brow at me. “What?”

  “Do you have children?” I could see him blink, his mind trying to process a question he’d never expected.

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you have children? Y’know, kids? Offspring?” He was alone, I thought. There didn’t seem to be any menacing figures lurking in the background, waiting to jump to his defense. Alone and out trolling for a little piece of tail.

  “Yeah, I do actually. And what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Did you teach them about the Golden Rule?” I could tell this was getting nowhere fast. Not a rocket scientist, our Douche Bag. “Did you teach them to treat people the way they want to be treated?”

  “What the f—” He bit off his words when I leaned down right in his face. I wanted to make sure he heard what I had to say.

  “And—following the Golden Rule—since you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, I assume that you also want some random stranger slapping their hands onto intimate parts of you?”

  Ah, now he was following where I was going. His lip curled up in a snarl. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Nope. Now ask me if I care.” I smiled. It’s a smile I practice, sometimes. It says “You’re about seven seconds away from learning about the afterlife.” “Don’t touch her again. Clear?”

  I knew it was coming. I’d deliberately provoked it, after all. A guy like this, he couldn’t let some other dude come slap him down like a bad puppy. It’s hard on the reputation and even harder on the ego.

  “Listen, asshole…” He raised both hands to shove me out of his face and I caught one before it could even touch me. With a small twist, his wrist was facing the wrong way, his fingertips touching the inside of his forearm, and whatever else he was going to say was lost in the surprised cry of pain. I held him there like that, pinned to his chair by a light grip on one hand. A bit more pressure, and I could snap it. I didn’t.

  “You’re leaving now. I’ll cover your tab. Have a good night.” There were bouncers moving in on my flanks. I could see them from the corners of my vision. When they didn’t immediately jump in to break it up, I decided they were at least nominally on my side.

  Douche Bag’s face was pale under his fake tan, sweat beading on his forehead as he debated his options, but finally he nodded his acquiescence. I released the hold on his arm and he rubbed his sore wrist as he fled, glaring at me every step of the way.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Traci appeared at my elbow, wiping the table down quickly.

  “Somebody did.” I passed her Axel’s credit card. “Pay his tab. Add a good tip onto this for yourself, too.” Funny how easy money was to spend when it wasn’t mine.

  Traci shrugged and swiped the card through the reader on her belt and handed it back. “Whatever the man wants.”

  When the hand landed on my shoulder, only one thing kept me from ripping it off. Tai’s innate magic jolted me even through my T-shirt as he leaned in to speak. “Gretchen says we need to blow, before they connect you with her.”

  They? Who the hell is “they”?

  Letting the bigger man break us a path through the room, we caught up to Bobby and Gretchen near the door. The starlet gave me an irritated roll of her eyes, but Bobby grinned. At least, I think it was a grin. It could have been a snarl. It showed the same amount of teeth.

  “That dude about pissed himself. That was awesome.” I bumped the offered knuckles, but now that my righteous indignation was wearing off, I felt a bit sheepish. Starting fights in public really wasn’t cool, no matter how right I was.

  The rabid crowd was still outside, and the limo was not. “We didn’t have time to call for the car,” Bobby explained. “Leaving in a bit of a rush.”

  The look Gretchen slung my way let me know just who she was holding responsible for that inconvenience. “Just clear me a damn path.”

  The limo was parked about two blocks down, and we set out at a swift march. I had to admit, I was impressed at her ability to not fracture something in those shoes.

  Luckily, most of the teeming throng held their positions near the club, waiting for the next celebrity to pass within their line of sight. We were in the clear fairly quickly.

  “You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?” Every syllable was punctuated by the sharp click of her stilettos.

  “Which part?”

  “The part where you attacked one of the most prominent producers in the world?”

  “He was a douche.” I wasn’t going to apologize for that. It was true.

  “Yes, he’s a douche. Everyone knows that. But he’s also powerful. And over a waitress? Really?” Gretchen stopped in her tracks, almost causing a pileup, and whirled on me, her eyes flashing.

  “Just because he has money doesn’t give him the right to treat people like that. Waitress or no.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Are you really that naïve? This is Hollywood. Money gets you anything you want.”

  “Not when I’m around. No one puts their hands on a woman if she doesn’t want it. I’d have done the same for you, and I don’t even like you. Women are to be respected, not manhandled.”

  Whatever else she had to say on the subject was lost when her eyes flicked to something over my shoulder. I had a split second to see something dark moving up on my left side, and I reacted instinctively.

  One perfectly executed hip throw later, a very startled man with a camera stared up at me from the ground. He blinked twice, then the flash went off, blinding all of us.

  “Wonderful! Now we’ve moved on to attacking the paparazzi! Perfect.” Belatedly, she glanced at the man on the ground. “Sorry.” Maybe someday, if she practiced this “acting” thing she was supposedly so good at, she might even sound like she meant it. “Get his ass in the car before he beats up something else.”

  The camera kept snapping as we got in the limo, flashes going off around us like strobes. Gretchen took up one whole seat herself, making it very clear that the three
of us “animals” weren’t to soil her personal space. I found myself sandwiched between Bobby and Tai, who kept exchanging grins behind my back.

  Finally, I sighed. “Okay. Out with it.”

  They both busted up into snickers, and Bobby asked, “Jumpy much?”

  I gave him a very serious look. “You have no idea.”

  9

  Someone was pounding a sledgehammer into my skull, and I didn’t much appreciate it. After some flopping around in a bed that was way too huge and very much lacking a Mira, then struggling to untangle myself from a comforter that was way too puffy, I finally realized that the pounding was on my door, not my dome.

  What the hell time is it? The clock said it was eight a.m., but my body said “Hey, jerk, you’re not sixteen anymore.” Obviously, my days of partying all night were long over.

  “Coming! Coming…” I grumbled as I padded across the room. “Keep your pants on.”

  The peephole revealed a room service cart outside, and the scent of bacon was already wafting under the door. My brain pointed out that I hadn’t ordered breakfast, but my stomach pointedly refused to care. I opened the door.

  “Where would you like me to put it, sir?” The attendant wheeled the cart past me while I stood there trying to figure out why I knew that voice. When he stood up, looking expectantly at me for his tip, I knew.

  “Spencer?” Yes, Chatty Spencer from the plane trip blinked at me in surprise, then broke into a broad smile.

  “Oh, hey! Jesse Dawson from the airplane. The champion! I remember you!”

  I remembered him too, and I didn’t really believe in coincidences. I grabbed him by the collar of his neatly pressed chef’s coat and slammed him against the wall hard enough to hear his head thump. “What are you doing here?”

  “Dude! Man, leggo!” He pried at my hands futilely.

  “How did you find me? Who sent you?” With my forearm firmly across his throat, he didn’t really have any choice but to answer my questions. With my free hand, I roughly shoved his coat sleeve up, revealing a forearm bare of any marks. Even though he’d been clear yesterday, it was not what I’d expected to find.