Page 66 of Throwing Shade
The moment my cloaking took effect, the wide, cobblestoned alley vanished, replaced by spiky gates with a large metal sign reading “Blood Alley” spanning them. Gargoyle statues crouched on each corner of the sign.
Immediately inside the gates, four narrow crooked lanes branched off, each one running uphill.
I pumped the air in victory. No more standing and squinting to reveal hidden spaces. Simply deploy my cloaking and bam!
The bumpy cobblestones of the real Blood Alley gave way to smooth pavement as I threaded my way past the Ohrists milling about. One French-speaking group in brightly-colored dashikis huddled around someone’s phone, glancing every now and again at the door they stood in front of, while two girls with thick Scottish brogues flew past, one of them complaining that they’d already been up this street.
If I reached out my arms, my fingers would almost brush against the black lacquered doors lining either side. There were no identifying signs, only red lightbulbs above each entrance, washing the entire street in a bloody haze. Some doors had one bulb, others two or three.
Most of the lights were on, but the ones that weren’t were accompanied by open doors, so I peeked into one of the three-bulbed rooms.
Two bare-chested male vampires with tight six-packs and hair to their shoulders, their eyes ringed with kohl, lounged sensuously on velvet divans. The wide floor planks were stained the same black lacquer as the door, while a black wrought-iron chandelier completed the goth vibe, turning their pale skin almost luminescent.
It was so over the top that I almost snorted, resisting the urge to ask if they’d like some wine with their cheese.
“It’s getting out of hand.” The blond vampire lifted a silver chalice with an ennui-heavy sigh. “Zev expects us to be his cash cows.”
“What do you expect?” the raven-haired one answered. “Blood Alley was voted the number-one attraction on Ohrists Abroad for six years running. The free market wants what the free market wants.” He licked his lips, his fangs descending. “There are perks.”
Despite knowing that no one could see me under my cloaking, it still felt horribly inadequate. A flame thrower and a small tank might have been a good idea.
“Excuse me?” a woman said from behind me to the bloodsuckers.
I veered around the timid woman and her equally shy friend unnoticed, thanks to the black invisibility mesh. Was Zev the head vamp? I bit off a ragged cuticle, Janice’s prosthetics and Laurent’s scar looming large in my mind.
“Ladies.” The blond vampire held out a hand, his dark eyes heavy with promise. “Come inside.”
The other vamp hit a button on a small sleek remote control and a dark, melancholic tune accompanied by a sonorous male singer played over a fast-paced drum beat.
The women tittered nervously, one of them touching her neck.
This was madness. I wanted to grab them and shake some sense into them. For centuries, humans had armed themselves against the evil creatures, staying out of forests and barring their doors at night, but our pleasure-seeking culture had turned these encounters into some kind of titillating amusement park. I guaranteed that even if it was forbidden to go as far as turning Ohrists, what happened in Blood Alley did not stay in Blood Alley, although Lindsey’s words about Ohrists craving what only vampires could give them made a lot more sense now.
The women accepted the vampire’s invitation, shutting the door behind them, and the bulbs glowed red.
I stomped up the lane, the pressure of the dark clouds overhead causing a throbbing ache in my head.
“Always room for more.” A Black female vamp in a beaded cocktail dress beckoned the crowd, waving a cocktail shaker. There was only one red bulb over her door.
A large blue lava lamp spilled its shadows over the walls of the well-stocked bar, giving the feeling of being underwater. The hypnotic feel was amplified by the languid electronica flowing through speakers.
A party of Japanese men with Beatles haircuts and skinny suits hurried to join her.
An Ohrist exited a different watering hole, a two-bulb establishment, where people drank to the blast of industrial music at a bar built from scrap metal, projections of a post-apocalyptic city swirling over the walls and floor, with Mad Max vampires of indeterminate genders head-butting patrons in a small mosh pit.
In another three-bulb door farther down, a vampire with the build of a small mountain range took off his shirt to face off against a man missing three teeth who looked like he threw logs for fun. The vampire cracked his knuckles and threw the first punch, and the man staggered back against the door, slamming it shut.
In the final room I spied on, again two-bulb, a jewel-toned stained-glass lampshade hung over a poker table with a beautifully carved base and a leather bumper running its circumference for players to rest their cards on. An Asian vamp croupier shuffled with impressive speed while he waited for his patrons to get settled.
There were dozens of doors over the four streets and Laurent could be behind any one of them, but if I had to guess? I stopped at the top of the hill where all the roads converged.
A round windowless limestone building loomed over Blood Alley, its dark purple lights spelling out “Rome.” Hilarious.
Gargoyles crouched unevenly on the expanse of unkempt lawn between myself and my destination. I hurried past the first one, my stomach knotted, assuring myself that these were statues. Movement out of the corner of my eye made me jump, yelping, but it was a raven landing on the head of one particularly hideous gargoyle.
“Poe?”
The bird shook out its wings, turning fathomless black eyes on me.
