Page 11 of Of Blood and Smoke

Micha wrinkled his nose, overly affected by his senses. He knew how to temper it and yet didn’t do so very often. He’d once told me it reminded him of his position on the food chain, having superior senses and being able to translate and discern the environment to his advantage. He’d always been insistent we should rely more on our emotions than we did, suggesting we could tap into unused resources within us. Ezra had never quite managed to beat all that foolish belief out of him.

“Calm yourself,” I ordered him, keeping my voice even. He curled a lip at me in defiance and looked away. Much as I adored him, his loose ways got to me sometimes.

We were very different men. I prided myself on adhering to a strict set of rules, first learning the benefit of such at any early age. Life in the High Court depended on order and authority, and flawless execution of rules. Micha seemed to go whichever way the wind blew, at times.

“Easy to get lost here,” he said. I ignored him, all too familiar myself with the massive assault it could all be. The combination of vampire and demon blood in our veins was nothing if not intense.

“Have you ever considered we may have been tampered with?” he asked.

“That’s why we’re here,” I snapped at him.

Micha leveled a gaze at me. “You know that’s not what I meant. Our younger years?”

“Drop it. We have something to attend to.”

My training came back to me at times like this. We’d been schooled to be unforgiving monsters. Relying on magic made us weak and subject to nefarious trickery so we only learned what was necessary to operate in our assigned roles. One couldn’t always trust the signals and frequencies another emitted—theycould be faked. Our senses must remain finely honed to focus primarily on physical movements, not spiritual, and answered with bite of teeth or blade, not illusions. There was order and symmetry in the dance, as opposed to the chaotic noise of potential poison.

Magic was used sparingly and with definitive intent. It wasn’t for entertainment, even if my best friend was unsatisfied or given to conspiracy theories.

I paused, scanning our surroundings further and sensed the Lesser demons we’d sent ahead. Only a few steps above human, the beings were highly skilled watchdogs we counted on to take care of most grunt work, freeing our hands for higher pursuits.

Micha leveled another gaze at me, and we bypassed the line, no one stopping us as we passed. I’d had the foresight to email the club’s manager, Kenneth, prior to leaving the office so they were expecting us. If we’d shown up unannounced, it would’ve ruffled feathers that did not need disturbing. It was in everyone’s best interest to follow polite protocol.

The bouncers opened the doors, and we strode through, immediately surrounded by the rolling of a deep bass beat that vibrated the air. Glossy white paneling covered the walls of the hallway, lined with violet-hued recessed LED lighting. The ceiling was designed to appear celestial, coated with a robin’s egg blue and puffs of cotton sculpted into the shapes of clouds. The interior was deceptive, with the cartoonish colors and textures, hiding what lay below.

A hostess in a skin-tight ivory patent leather dress greeted us from behind a Lucite stand. “Welcome,” she greeted us, her silver-toned eyelashes batting the air.

She stared at Micha with ill-concealed interest. The edge of his mouth curled up almost unperceptively. He’d noticed as well, the faint wintery fragrance emanating from her pores. She’dbeen claimed by an angel or another angelic being, their scent having left the distinctive signature.

“Mind your keeper,” he snarled at her.

She shrank back and stammered, “Of course. No offense meant.” She recovered quickly. “Names, please.”

“Josiah Ipomoea and Micha Calthia,” I stated, as she inspected us. We were similar in appearance, in some ways. We were both tall, with dark shoulder length hair, and slim but muscular. My appearance was harsher than Micha’s; his face held more fullness opposite to my severe features. My prominent cheekbones, pointed chin, and striking eyes cut a harsh picture. Women were more prone to accosting him than I and having been turned down, she looked hopefully at me until I hissed at her.

She tapped the screen of the iPad she held, fingers shaking lightly. “You’re expected. Right this way.” I concealed my irritation at her unnecessary observation.

She stepped out from behind her station and another woman came through a door in the wall that opened seamlessly and took her place. I removed my sunglasses and tucked them into my pocket as we followed her to the interior of the building.

For the type of establishment it was, The Angels was remarkably clean and devoid of issues. The clientele was primarily upper crust, and most employees were both well-mannered and fine specimens of human flesh. The female and male dancers were all of exceptional quality.

Our hostess stopped before a set of double doors, knocked twice, and then opened them, stepping aside to allow us to pass. “My name is Anne,” she announced—late, I might add, and continued, “Kenneth will be with you shortly; please make yourselves at home.”

Ignoring her, the two of us walked in, and I shut the doors behind us with a flick of my fingers before she could touchthem. If she noticed I’d cut her off without using physical means, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. If she fraternized with angels, she’d likely seen some unexplained activity.

This area of the club was private, designed for seclusion and intimacy, a place where creatures such as us did not have to be as guarded. I selected a table surrounded by four leather armchairs with a view of the bar and stage and we seated ourselves.

Micha relaxed in his chair and pulled out his cellphone. “It doesn’t appear Boccelli has left the area,” he mused, "how convenient.”

“Indeed,” I replied with a snicker, knowing my friend was tracking his every move using the area’s extensive system of cameras. There’d be no escaping us. I felt my heart rate increase mildly, excited for what the night would bring.

“Hi, what may I bring you two tonight?” A waitress in a black cocktail dress stood beside our table.

“The mixture, please,” I responded, referring to a blend of wine and human blood.

She glanced at Micha. “Same for you, sir?” He tilted his head in affirmation.

“Any live entertainment for the evening?” She referred to those who would allow us to use their bodies in any manner we preferred, short of outright killing or maiming them. Donors, they were called. The angels had a thing for mercy when convenient and restricted our baser instincts. The “greater good“, a catch phrase they used and believed in with fervor, was applied to their rules and standards of operation and we would respect them.

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