Page 20 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Maxwell looked morose, his face set in that brooding expression that made him look older than his thirty-something years. Was he always this serious, or was there something in me specifically that brought it out?
The sun was just setting when we arrived. I parked the car down a narrow side street about half a block away, in a legal parking spot so Maxwell wouldn’t have to arrest me upon pulling up.
From the outside, Undertone looked like an aging vintage vinyl-record shop. Peeling posters decorated the grimy windows, and a neon sign “By Appointment Only” hung crookedly—a deterrent for humans seeking actual vintage vinyls. Because the real establishment, deep underground, was a nightclub catering to most supernatural persuasions.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” I said as we walked toward the door. “Seb banned us from hanging here. He’s got beef with the vampire who owns the place… Dominic.”
Maxwell groaned. “I know.”
“But don’t worry. Dominic’s usually either in his office or the private rooms. He hardly ever mingles with the commoners before midnight.”
We pushed through the door, a little brass bell tinkling overhead. Soft jazz music floated through the air—the kind that makes you think of smoky rooms and forbidden pleasures. Inside, the shop was dimly lit, with rows of vinyls arranged in meticulous order.
Even the receptionist, the vampire Marley, seemed to freeze before they smiled, perfect victory rolls framing their face and crimson lipstick accentuating their smile. They sat behind an antique desk, fingers poised over a rotary phone.
“Smaller Thorne,” they drawled, voice deep and rich like molasses. “I haven’t seen your brother in a while.”
Last year, Seb had resorted to sending Kit to buy blood from Undertone, despite its dubious, unethical nature. Needs must when you’re a vampire, though.
“Sebastián’s got his own personal blood bank these days,” I quipped, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “His boyfriend comes with all the nutrients a growing vampire needs. Organicandfree range.”
Marley’s laugh was surprisingly warm. “Good for him.”
I felt Maxwell shift uncomfortably beside me.
“Anyway, we’re here for a listening appointment,” I said, flashing my most charming smile. “Pleasure tonight, not business.”
Marley’s perfectly pencilled eyebrow arched. They closed their thick paper ledger with a deliberate thump and stood.
“Follow me.”
At the rear wall, three listening booths lined up in a neat row. Marley unlocked booth three with an ornate brass key. The door swung open with a theatrical creak, and they ushered us inside.
The booth’s walls were padded with cream leather, and a gleaming turntable sat on a polished wooden shelf. Maxwell dominated the cramped space, and I found myself pressed against his side, acutely aware of how my head barely reached his shoulder.
His body was warm and solid against mine, and I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes when he glanced down at me. For a moment, his usual scowl softened into something… else? But then Marley reached for arecord from a high shelf. As soon as they dropped the needle onto the turntable, hypnotic music filled the tiny space.
The wall behind us silently slid away, revealing a steep spiral staircase descending into darkness. LED strips embedded in the steps pulsed with a soft blue glow, lighting our way down.
“Enjoy your evening,” Marley said, their voice already fading as we descended.
The staircase wound down before we finally reached a vast underground space. A curvy female pianist played a bright-yellow grand piano in the middle of the room, her fingers dancing across the keys to a melancholic jazz number. Classic Dominic—always trying to pretend Undertone was a classy establishment before it devolved into a riotous rave by midnight.
Maxwell shifted his weight from foot to foot, adjusting his collar like it was suddenly too tight.
“You look like you’re about to be executed,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “Grab that table over there, will you? I’ll get us drinks.”
I made my way to the bar constructed from stacked vintage speakers, then returned balancing two gin and tonics.
“So, it’s just gone half nine. It could be a while still.” I pushed a glass toward him. “I went gin and tonic because I thought you’d want something boring.”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed as he glanced from my drink to me. “You’re driving!”
“I drovehere,” I replied with a smirk. “And I need something to take the edge off if we’re going to be interrogating wolves in Dominic Thrift’s basement.”
Whilst he groaned, I quickly snatched up my glass and took several large sips, the gin burning pleasantly down my throat.
“Fine, I’ll drive us back.” Resignation etched itself across his face as he pushed his drink toward me. “Your driving made me car sick, anyway. But these better not bedoubles.”
