She was fearless! She was strong! She had faced counted rich adversaries and high-numbered monsters!

Who was she kidding? She didn’t face monsters, only numbers. She cowered at the hairy, hulking, snaggletoothed beast as it loomed between her and the door. Iskra stood bear-sized to most fellow humans, but she was meek as a rabbit, and compared to this monster as small as one.

Despite all the monstrous visitors her employer had, Iskra never expected to face a threatening beast, let alone for simply entering a fabulously fanciful nightclub for a fun night with friends.

“Hey, Feri, what’s biting you? Not fleas, I hope. What’s with the sneering at our friend here?”

Iskra’s blood ran cold as her oldest friend, Rodney, spoke to the werewolf bouncer like they were a friendly dog on a walk, even though his stout stature put him at half the werewolf’s size, even less as he slouched. He always had been among the bravest of her friends, always ready to speak his voice, a voice she’d never expected could drop so deep as he transitioned. Her heart flipped between terror of the werewolf and gratitude to her friend, even if his defense amounted to quips inspired by the name he took.

“I don’t recognize her,” the werewolf growled as if shooing her away with claws.

“That’s no reason to bar her entry, Feri.”

Iskra looked at Angel. Her voice had always run deep, and she spoke so with pride. If any of her friends could stand their ground to a werewolf, it would be her, but Iskra didn’t think her muscles could overcome supernatural strength.

“I don’t know, maybe it is.” The werewolf crossed their bulky, hairy arms. “Maybe she ought to watch her step.”

“Hey, what’s the holdup, my dudes and gals and pals!” Shyla poked her head out from the entry door. Her waist-length braid whipped as she moved. “I want to see you in before I lose myself in here!”

If a werewolf weren’t glaring her down, Iskra would have laughed. Shyla always tried to transcend the first half of her name. Her gangly limbs let her reach into everyone’s business in a flash—too much reach, usually.

“Feri!” A human who hardly stood to Iskra’s chest stepped through the door and glared at the werewolf. At this the wolf’s fur stood up, and they looked away. “Are you scaring new visitors again?”

“I—No!” The werewolf shook their head, almost as if pleading. “No, she’s—she’s suspicious!”

The new human looked at Iskra, who hid behind her dark shoulder-length hair. She twisted the sleeve of her dark V-neck sweater as her mind debated apologizing for the inconvenience.

“She’s as suspicious as an apple in an orchard.” The newcomer held the werewolf’s brawny arm; Iskra gasped as she even held their claws. “Now, Feri, be nice.”

“I’m just trying to instill fear of the typhoon, Nora,” Feri muttered. “The place has to have a reputation with what’s in it.”

“Now, Feri, that’s not your job.” Nora rubbed Feri’s snout. The werewolf’s bushy tail swished like a turbine. Even under the dark fur Iskra could see them blush. “You’re going to be a good girl and just do your job, right?”

“N-Nora!” Feri covered their face as it twinged into a smile. “Not while I’m on the job!”

Nora smiled to Iskra and waved her through.

Before entering the nightclub, Iskra took one last look at the sign mounted above the palace-sized building.

Sign artwork by Marcissist

Iskra craned her neck as she stared at the wide lobby, the dark wooden walls lit by flashing lights rising like glowing trees. A skylight opened to the glowing city night, lights glittering along the edge like a landing pad. It might as well have been one as harpies dropped through, alongside the occasional flying bug folk. Iskra shivered—even a winged demon dropped in.

Despite this the air felt warm, even stuffy. She smelled too many scents to pinpoint any, sweet and sweat and barbecue, the air suffused with fur and feathers. From the dance floor streamed music that led even Iskra to want to move her considerable bulk, muffling the chatter and laughter throughout the lobby.

“Humph, see if she ever gets a spot on our radio station,” Rodney said. He grinned and elbowed Iskra. “Come on, you could have stood up to that dog, hey, Feri’s no big deal, she’s just there to look tough and throw people.”

Iskra stared at him.

“I don’t want to be thrown.”

“You face fiercer monsters all the time working for Shaw, don’t you?” Rodney asked. Iskra threw up her arms.

“Rodney, I’m an accountant!”

“For the most mysterious globe-trotting monster aristocrat this side of the globe.” Shyla grinned. “Everyone knows she deals in monstrous affairs every day.”

“That doesn’t mean I do,” Iskra said. “The most fearsome being I’ve dealt with at the job is . . .” She rubbed her face. “Well, I guess that would be Ms. Shaw herself, kind as she is.”

“Exactly,” said Rodney. “Who’s scarier, a rich heavy hitter whose presence and tail could fill a room, or some two-bit dog glaring at patrons?” He rubbed his short hair and grimaced. “Don’t tell Feri I called her a dog.”

The werewolf, Iskra told herself, but she wondered if that answer only formed from the years Ms. Shaw had made her feel welcome—perhaps a little too welcome at times. She did cut an intimidating figure with her piercing red eyes, endless thick coils, and long-standing wealth.

Iskra breathed. That was why she came, right? To find someone less intimidating than her boss.

“Welcome to the Dream Typhoon!”

Iskra jolted at the greeting, so distinct it seemed to bypass her ears directly to her brain. The grinning greeter’s bright crimson skin made their red tuxedo look black, and their fangs and horns looked sharp enough to cut skin.

“Do you have a particular poison you’re interested in this evening?”

“Yeah, Aledna, I got one,” Angel said. The greeter waved at her.

“Once again, no, we do not have any angels.” Aledna smiled. “Except you. Usually they’re not denizens of the night, after all. You’re just going to have to settle for demons.” Angel laughed and grinned.

“Fuck that, I’ve been settling for harpies.”

With a flash that looked more like a film negative than light, the demon greeter sprouted dark leathery wings behind them.

“What, these wings aren’t good enough for you?”

“Maybe if I want a pair of shoes,” Angel said.

Iskra thought Aledna’s thin, sharp frame and dark red colors gave them an opposite look to Angel’s round muscles and bleached-white hair tinged with lime. She shivered. She’d be disturbed if a demon flirted with her. Her other friends might have relished it, though. Maybe she and Angel were the boring ones.

“Hey, if you two are done flirting,” said Rodney. Iskra gasped as he pushed her forward. “It’s Iskra’s first time, Aledna. Give her a friendly welcome, would ya?”

Aledna smiled and bowed their head.

“Welcome, Iskra. The lobby here is quite amenable to humans, plenty of spaces for those seeking excitement or to unwind, without endangering yourself or leaving you completely unwound. You need not worry here.”

“Oh, thank you,” Iskra said. She remained tense—demons were only surface-level friendly, she thought. “Yes, my friends told me—the lobby is something of a neutral zone, right?”

“A fitting way to put it,” Aledna said. Their smile filled with fangs. “The rules in the lobby are strongly enforced, so if anyone gives you trouble, let us know.” Iskra gripped the dark skirt hiding her chubby legs as the demon greeter’s sharp tail pointed to it. “Say, someone tries to slip their tail under your skirt. We’ll throw them out before they get a look. If you think someone is breaking a rule, just let one of the staff know, and we’ll take care of it.”

“Even if you’re not sure it’s a rule,” Angel said. She leaned over Aledna. “The staff are all nice, right, Aledna? You’re not going to push any contracts on our friend, right, Aldena?” The demon cackled.

“What do I look like, a fossil?” They nodded. “You’re right about the staff, though. We won’t judge you for any issue you bring to us. Safety is our top concern.”

“The last thing we want is to avoid speaking up because we’re afraid we’ll look stupid,” said Angel.

“Of course,” Iskra said. She smiled. Angel always looked out for everyone—Iskra wished she could do the same, but half the time she struggled to look after herself.

“Yeah, it’s true, I think that all the time,” Rodney said. “That I’m stupid, I mean, not you, Iskra, I mean, for goodness’ sake, you play circles around me in chess, you’re a genius compared to me.”

Iskra laughed and blushed.

“I’m not a genius, Rodney. You’re the one who could talk his way out of the end of the world.”

“That’s not genius,” Shyla laughed, “that’s all bluffing.”

“Sounds like your friends will steer you right,” said Aledna. “Stay in the lobby and you’ll be fine, and be wary if you consider entering any other sections.” They gestured to rows of circular sofas, a low table at the center of each. “Go ahead and take your pick of seating; it’s still early, plenty available.”

“Yeah, that’s one of two times the lobby has plenty of seats,” Rodney said as they walked to the seats. “Before the crowds arrive, and after the other sections have lured them in.”

Iskra glanced over the sofas, lit by neon poles separating the booths. Flames spouted at one where a scaly gal with horns blew fire from her mouth. At one corner a group in pirate garb sang with a mermaid. One sofa looked overgrown with vines, two leafy-green folk whispering to a beet-red human.

More rows of sofas stood along the other side of the lobby, and at the center spread a flashing prismatic dance floor covered in a potpourri of varied dancing demihumans. As Iskra sat on the pliant seating she watched the dance floor. A diminutive arachne danced circles around everyone—the extra legs must have been an advantage. A graceful kitsune spread across the dance floor as nine humans danced with their tail.

Nevertheless Iskra’s eye followed the swaying lamias dancing slithers between other patrons.

Bordering the other sides of the dance floor stood two rainbow-lit bars stocked with drinks that seemed to glow as much as the nightclub lights. Iskra blinked as smoky drinks appeared to the patrons from thin air.

“Hey, Emdyon is serving tonight!” Shyla bounded out the booth to the bar and chatted with the cloudy-skinned, mauve-smoky bartender.

“Fantastic!” said Angel. “Tonight is going to be magic.”

Iskra stared at the bartender.

“He’s a jinn,” she said.

“You bet he is.” Rodney chuckled. “Say, ever meet any at your job?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Iskra said. Though with how Ms. Shaw’s finances came out, Iskra sometimes wondered if she’d made deals with some.

Shyla returned with five drinks and placed them on the table.

“Drink up! It’s the perfect way to start the night, Iskra, and don’t worry, they’re not alcoholic, but they’re amazing and really get your blood pumping.”

Iskra thanked her and sipped the drink before swallowing a gulp. Her taste buds—her entire mouth—her entire head sizzled in a barrage of rainbow tastes. Her every thought transformed into a new flavor that washed her away. She coughed as she forced herself to stop drinking.

“You said this is non-alcoholic, right?” she asked. Shyla laughed and slapped her back.

“Sorry, yeah, it’s non-alcoholic, but it still grabs you, doesn’t it?”

Iskra sighed and chuckled. She placed her drink aside. Her taste buds jumped for more, but she had a different thirst she visited the nightclub to find a way to quench.

She looked across the lobby for anything she’d yet to take note of. The lobby alone could have been a nightclub in of itself, but signs at corridors pointed to specialized sections further in the building. Her eye caught a sign pointing to a lamia section. A balcony above accessed by stairs and glass elevators held more signs.

Her gaze paused on a quiet, stark corner that seemed to have its walls and lights stripped bare, exposing craggy stone bricks she’d expect in an old castle. It clashed with the lobby’s flashy décor and warm wood paneling, and patrons sat perusing books or poring over parchments lit by table lamps, more like a study room than a nightclub.

“That’s the rustic corner.”

Iskra looked at Tony. It was easy to forget her pale friend was there, turtleneck sweater dark and manner receding, quiet until something drew him out. Like a rustic corner, apparently.

“It’s a little area for people who’d like a bit of quiet, away from the glitz and glamour of the rest.” Tony smiled. “You know, it’s rumored that this place is a repurposed old castle. No one is sure who owned it, or how the current owners got it, and they’re sure not telling, but they say that corner is what the old castle looked like before they renovated it. The place is certainly big enough to be a castle. Rumors abound about the old royalty that used to live here and if their ghosts were banished by the current owners or if they’re partying in a secret ghost section of the nightclub. Adventurers come by all the time from rumors of treasure rooms left behind, and you even get scholars from rumors of old libraries hidden away with ancient books of occult or mysteries of forgotten history.”

Rodney laughed.

“Hey, we found something to get Tony out of his shell! Spread your wings, butterfly boy, and regale us with ancient history!”

Iskra smiled. It was nice to see the reserved Tony expound upon something. He really did give the impression off a pupa waiting to emerge with butterfly factoids at times. She always thought he was bent at a weird angle, but over the years realized she was probably bent at her own weird angle.

Angel placed a hand on the table.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I think we should fill Iskra in on a more modern topic.” She directed her to a hanging sign at one end of the room. Iskra stared at it, mouth open; it stretched as wide as the halls and hung halfway to the floor. It bore a heavy header:

TYPHOON’S RULES

No biting, no mind control, no groping, no clawing, no swallowing another patron, no forcing another patron to swallow you . . .

Iskra’s head spun at the tidal wave of rules.

“I can’t remember all that.” She worried she’d already broken a rule, somewhere, somehow.

“Hey, it’s just like accounting,” said Rodney, “just a bunch of rules, right?”

“Don’t worry.” Angel held her hand. “Those rules aren’t really for you.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Everyone turned as a commotion erupted a couple booths away. A human-bodied but fire-lipped dragon, whose muscles bulged against her Dream Typhoon suit, berated the two plant folk who’d been whispering to a human earlier.

“You know the rules! You are not allowed to pass your own drinks to other patrons!”

“We just wanted to give that lonely human a little gift!” the plant folk said.

“No exceptions.” The dragon lifted the nectar-lipped human, who swayed in a daze. She tossed them to an arachne who held the ceiling with sharp legs. “Go get them sobered up, please.” The arachne saluted and scurried off. The dragon pointed to the plant folk, lips still spitting fire. “As for you two, you’re out of here, or you will be burned.”

Angel cleared her throat.

“You see, Iskra, those rules are in place to moderate the behavior of the nightclub’s diverse monster guests.”

“I hear,” said Tony, “when the club first started they had to add a new rule every night.”

“We, on the other hand,” Rodney said with a chuckle and adjustment of his collar, “are chumps, so to speak. I guess there’s, what, probably a rule against fighting? But basically every rule up there ain’t something we can even do.”

“Those rules,” Angel said, “are to keep species without powerful abilities and magical talents, such as we humans, safe from those who do.”

“That way,” said Shyla, “a vampire can’t just waltz right up to you and bite you on the neck like a free sample.” She clenched her fingers to imitate bites.

Iskra pursed her lips and shuddered.

“Thank you for that imagery, Shyla.” She sighed and nodded. “I understand, so those rules are to ban all the nasty things the demihuman patrons can do.”

“Well, nasty depending on your point of view,” Shyla said. “Some of us would probably like to be a free sample.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Tony asked.

Everyone gave a hearty laugh. Bent at a weird angle as ever was Tony—though Iskra knew she was hardly an exception, as she remembered her visits with Ms. Shaw.

“Now,” Shyla said, “the important thing about these rules is that they only apply to this lobby. If you enter another section, it all changes.”

“You can kind of see it from here,” Angel said. She pointed down a corridor, at the end of which hung signs like the rules list in the lobby. “Those signs have any rule that doesn’t apply in the corresponding section crossed out.”

Iskra whipped back to look at Angel. The rules didn’t apply?

“Some of these friendly monsters are frisky,” Tony said. “Sometimes they like to cut loose.”

“The idea is,” Angel said, “that humans and others who enter sections not tailored to them are accompanied by a friend or partner who keeps them close. The rules don’t apply, but their friend keeps them safe.”

“Otherwise,” Shyla said with a grin, “they’re just adventurous, like me.”

“Or foolhardy.” Rodney laughed, and he and Shyla made faces at each other.

Iskra imagined the lamia section, like a big mating ball of writhing, slithering tails, too thick and heavy to escape. No mind would be safe there. She wanted to meet lamias, but not like that—she’d stick to the lobby.

Angel began to suggest the same when a familiar chrome sheen caught Iskra’s eye. She yelped and covered her face to hide. Rodney slid close to ask what was wrong while the others looked for what disturbed her.

“It’s Eduards!” she whispered. “It’s Ms. Shaw’s butler! She knows I’m here, don’t let him see me! I couldn’t live down the guilt!”

Through the entrance walked a mechanical chrome chassis in human shape, four sturdy steel arms held behind his back. The sleek visage, metal head styled like slicked back hair, was quite familiar to Iskra. He walked directly to speak with a dragon on the other side of the club.

Veda Shaw made her butler the usual point of contact for her employees, though on occasion he delivered Iskra an invitation when Veda wished to have a more personal visit. Those meetings—well, they broke more than one rule of the Dream Typhoon’s lobby, not that she ever wished to protest.

If Ms. Shaw caught her gallivanting about in a seedy nightclub among frisky, feisty monsters, her credibility would tank. If she thought Iskra spent her time in the passionate tails of debauched lamias, surely she would consider her beneath her. Iskra already worried how professional taking such physically and mentally intimate affection from her employer was, and certainly Ms. Shaw wouldn’t risk her image to employ someone who slept around in indecent nightclubs.

Rodney patted her shoulder.

“You can sit up, Iskra. You don’t gotta worry.”

“But—”

“Oh, geeze, I thought something was really wrong for a sec,” Shyla said. She chuckled. “Listen, do you know how many times I’ve seen that bucket of bolts—actually to be fair he looks so sleek he’s probably got premium welding or something, I dunno, anyway, my point is I see him in here all the time.”

Iskra raised her head.

“Wait, really?”

“This is, despite all the rumors, considered quite a reputable establishment,” said Tony.

“With all the rules they adhere to in the lobby,” Angel said, “that’s no surprise.”

“And adding to those rumors,” Tony said, “is talk that Veda Shaw herself visits the Dream Typhoon on occasion. The only real evidence is of her doing so as a neutral ground to meet with those whom she has business prospects, and much of the evidence points to her robotic butler being her liaison, but I expect for special meetings of valuable associates of high status she would meet with them personally.”

“Plus, even she’s gotta have fun once in a while, right?” Rodney said.

“Well she—” Iskra shook her head and reminded herself she wanted to keep her private meetings with Ms. Shaw under wraps—well, secret. “Anyway, uh—” She chuckled. “Sorry, I kind of thought you were bringing me to a seedy den of peril.”

“Oh, we would never do that.” Angel hugged an arm around her. “You’re too precious to us, and we know your status is precious, too.”

Iskra watched Eduards pass deeper into the nightclub. She may have played circles around Rodney in chess, but when she played Eduards he played her like a fiddle.

“Have you ever talked to Eduards in here?” she asked.

“Oh, we’ve tried,” Shyla said. “We’ve tried to get him to do an interview at the station, or his employer, or one of his coworkers—no dice. He never gives us a look.”

“Strange,” said Iskra. “I know he’s a fan of the station.”

“Wait, really?” Shyla said. “He’s a robot.”

“Said to be advanced beyond ordinary science, in fact,” Tony said. “Who’s to say he isn’t advanced enough to like radio?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s radio.” Rodney laughed. “It’s not like that’s advanced technology.”

“Well then, you should get him to come on a show, Iskra,” Shyla said.

“Me?” Iskra shook her head. “No, no, you’re right, he probably wouldn’t.” Would he? Of course, he was Ms. Shaw’s butler. Perhaps she ordered him not to. Iskra didn’t want to rock that boat. Perhaps if she were more like Rodney or . . . No, being more like Shyla scared her too much.

“Well, anyway!” Shyla stood. “I think it’s about time I get going. You can show Iskra the rest of the ropes, right? I’m thinking about seeing who’s in the siren section tonight.”

“You’ve got your own ropes to see, then?” Rodney said. Shyla laughed.

“They just might rope me in. Later!”

Iskra watched her bounce to one of the halls. Being more like Shyla definitely scared her.

“Sirens use ropes?” she asked.

“Who do you think made that siren story about the hero who tied himself to a boat?” Rodney said.

“See where Shyla is going?” Angel pointed after her. “Down those corridors you can find sections for sirens, mermaids, squid—there are pools out that way for the water monsters. Slimes, too. A plant section and mushroom section is nearby, as well.” She pointed up. “There are sections upstairs, too, most of the harpy sections, and vampires.”

“And steer clear of the basement,” Rodney said. “That’s where the bugs are. Tony, too.” He patted Tony’s back.

“You don’t appreciate the chitinous elegance of their forms,” Tony said.

“You’re right, I don’t, and I’m never gonna, ‘cause bugs bug me,” said Rodney.

“Bugs don’t bug me,” Tony said.

“Bugs don’t bug me! Bugs don’t bug me!”

Everyone jumped as an adjoining booth buzzed Tony’s words in a chant.

Three bee folk, dark eyes wide and bodies fuzzy, approached the group with so many excited greetings they sounded like kids at a carnival. They looked about as sticky, too. Iskra held a finger to her nose as a honey aroma soaked the air.

“Well, hello.” Tony smiled and extended a hand to the bees. “I didn’t know there were bee folk around here.”

“We just got a new section up,” one of the bees said, a buzz to their voice. All three clasped their hands together and grinned as if giving the most exciting news of the century. “They let us have an area in the attic that wasn’t being used.” Another bee stooped near Tony.

“Hey, would you like to see it? We’d love to have more guests up there!”

“Oh, I’d love that.” Tony looked at his friends. “Oh, y’olks don’t mind, do you? Shyla already left, I guess it’s time I settle somewhere for the night.”

“Hey, don’t worry about us,” Rodney said. He put an arm around Iskra. “We’ll keep Iskra out of trouble.” Iskra smiled and rolled her eyes.

“All right, see you later!” Tony stood and followed the bees upstairs.

“I guess we’re starting to thin out here,” Angel said. “We’ll stay in the lobby with you, Iskra. We can find someone to introduce you to.”

“Yeah, it’s not like all the fun monsters go to their respective sections,” Rodney said. He stood up. “Oh, dang, sorry ladies, I gotta make a social call, I’ll be back, that’s an absolute promise.” He sauntered to the entrance to chat up a pair of kitsunes as they entered.

“Oh, lord, it’s those two,” Angel said, hand to her head. “You know how Rodney can be a shameless flirt? Those two beat him by a mile. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll see much more of him tonight.”

“Do you ever wonder what that’d be like?” Iskra asked. “Being so unabashedly flirty?”

“Remember that time we couldn’t find him for a week?” Angel asked.

They laughed—he’d gone to a spa and flirted with a slime masseur until she engulfed him for a week in her slime. He came out of it unfazed and even said he got her phone number.

“It might be fun, but I wouldn’t want people to worry about me. That slime lady could have been dangerous.”

“That’s true,” Iskra said. “The thought is a bit terrifying.” Angel stood from the sofa.

“Let’s head to the bar, see who we meet. Rodney didn’t mean what he said—the lobby does draw some fun folk.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Iskra said. “I can at least watch the variety of monster folk without worrying about work.” Angel pulled her back.

“Wait, not Emdyon’s counter. He’s friendly, but like a lot of jinns, he loves tricks. Might turn you into something without asking first.” Iskra tensed up.

“That isn’t against the rules?”

“Oh, it’s against the rules without permission,” Angel said. “He just gets your permission without you realizing. I swear, the only reason no one has filed a complaint is that he figures out what people really do want to be. Once he turned a girl into a dragon and she acted like it was Christmas. Okay, Citrine is working the other counter.”

“Why is she in a treasure chest?” Iskra asked.

“She is the treasure chest. She’s a mimic.”

“A mimic?” Iskra stared at the golden-skinned lady handing out drinks behind the counter. “I honestly didn’t know they were real.”

“It’s a rare sort who hang out in public,” Angel said. “All you need to know with her is to not accept anything you don’t ask or pay for, because when it comes to trade, she is vicious.”

At the bar they ordered mild drinks. They sat and watched the variety of patrons pass through the lobby as music pumped and monsters shimmied on the dance floor.

“It’s not just bugs in the basement,” Angel said. She pointed to a mummy shambling down a hall. “A lot of the undead sections are down there, too.”

“But the vampires are upstairs?” Iskra asked.

“A lot of people say it’s snobbishness,” said Angel. “I think it’s just because they’re bats and like the rafters.” She looked at Iskra. “So, what is your type? Half the time you sound afraid of Veda Shaw, so I’m guessing it’s not lamia.”

“Oh, well, that is—” Iskra stammered. She thought of Ms. Shaw’s long, strong, sinewy tail curling around and squeezing her body as cool scales rubbed her, red eyes pulsing into dazzling indigo. Iskra felt a blush spread over her body, and a smile grew over Angel’s face.

“Or maybe that fear is telling exactly what your type is.”

“Angel! Angel!”

Angel and Iskra turned as a beaming snowy-white owl harpy flapped to them, feathers fluttering around him.

“Oh, hi, Errol.” Angel introduced the harpy and Iskra.

“Happy to meet you, Iskra,” said Errol. “A friend of Angel is a friend of mine. But listen, Angel, I’m glad I caught you here, I got a new map to show you, this is the big one, I know it.” Errol fluttered his feathery wings as his yellow eyes twinkled enough to brighten a mausoleum.

“Oh, I—” Angel looked between Iskra and Errol. “I don’t really—tonight isn’t—”

“I promise it’ll only take a moment.” Errol brushed Angel with his wing to lead her out of her chair. “I promise; you don’t mind, Iskra? You don’t mind, sure you don’t, it’ll only be a moment!” Angel looked back to Iskra as Errol herded her away.

“Iskra, is it okay—?”

Iskra smiled and waved her away. No need to worry about her. She didn’t want to dampen Angel’s night at the club—she worried they were both sticks in the mud at times.

She sat back and watched the dance floor. She’d never seen such a variety of demihumans and monsters in one place—small lizards, big bugs, short rodents, long tails. She wondered how they all avoided falling over each other.

A flash of azure drew her attention as one lamia twisted and curled between the other dancers like a fluid. Her long, curly hair covered her face half the time, but she glided between the dancers like a graceful gazelle—if a gazelle had long azure hair and wore a soft, fluttering sweater and had a tail as blue as the sea instead of legs.

A few of the lamia’s arm movements swept away her hair. Iskra swore the sclera of her eyes were green instead of white, but she’d never seen eyes like that before.

Iskra blushed when it looked like, for a moment, the lamia winked at her. She definitely had green sclera, and when her loose sweater billowed Iskra thought she saw blue scales down her back. This lamia was unlike any she’d seen, and not just because her graceful dancing almost looked hypnotic in of itself.

Iskra watched until the panting lamia pulled her vivid tail off the dance floor and planted her blue butt under her miniskirt on one of the bar stools. Iskra looked down at her mild drink as she heard the lamia order one stronger than any Iskra would have dared, deflect several further offers from the mimic bartender, and down the drink in one gulp.

As Iskra sipped her cold drink her heart raced. This lamia seemed like an awesome party animal. Too awesome for Iskra. She should look for somebody serene.

Her heart jumped when she looked up and saw the lamia watching her with a smile. She winked to Iskra and slithered away to a corner. Iskra swallowed, and she swallowed again when the last of the lamia’s tail waved and beckoned her to follow. She knew she was blushing like a ripe tomato begging to be squeezed. She knew she shouldn’t follow that lamia.

She knew she’d come to the nightclub hoping for the attention of a lamia as pretty and cool and amazing as her.

Iskra looked for Rodney or Angel. She couldn’t see Rodney, but Angel was at the rustic corner with the owl harpy. They seemed deep in discussion and focused on a paper spread over a table. She looked back and saw the lamia leave down one of the halls.

With a deep breath Iskra downed her tangy drink. She coughed and gasped as it burned down her throat. Once she could breathe again she followed the lamia to the corridor, longing to know her more. She’d return in a moment. She’d be back before Angel.

Shifting neon lights illuminated the warm hall. The burning music of the dance floor faded as Iskra stepped down the corridor into a serene ambience aided by slow lights and wall-embedded fish tanks. She felt like she’d entered a portal into another world, quiet and cozy yet buzzing with hot potential radiating off the vibrant lights.

Iskra saw the lamia slink through a doorway. A curling hand and tail beckoned her before the lamia disappeared. Iskra rushed past a few patrons who glanced at her, tall dragons and a short dryad and even a little slime.

She reached the door the lamia had passed through and looked at the sign above.

Sign artwork by Marcissist