Flynn opened his right hand to show me an owl tattoo. “When I draw an image on my hand with special ink, I can transfer my light through the liquid fire. It binds my light to your flesh, creating an exact replica of the pattern. Temporarily, of course.”
“Nifty. So you draw that thing on your hand every night?”
“What else have I got to do? Watch reruns ofFantasy Island?”
Simone had the same mark on her inside forearm. I hadn’t noticed before, but she moved around a lot and there were too many distractions.
“Flynn, give her the tour. When you’re done, bring her straight down. We’re about to get busy in the next hour.”
He plucked a pair of orange glasses with round lenses from his shirt collar and made sure they weren’t broken before putting them on. “Whatever you say, my queen.”
Chapter 7
Flynn escorted me through the first floor to show me all the sections. The caged dancers were part of the show but not the main attraction. The White Owl gave people absolute freedom to express themselves without judgment. Some were engaged in intimate conversations while others role-played under the watchful eyes of onlookers.
Flynn gestured toward a door. “That’s the loo.”
The symbol on the door was a man and woman holding hands.
“It’s for everyone,” he explained. “If you want privacy, I suggest using the staff room in the back.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“These don’t have stalls. It’s all very… voyeuristic.”
“That’s the worst first date I could possibly imagine.”
He barked out a laugh. “Nobody comes here to find true love. They come to play and to watch. To fantasize. For some blokes, peeping in the loo is a fantasy.” We passed a long row of black doors with sliding peepholes. “They come to escape. Have a look.”
I leaned forward and slid open the cover.
“The window is mirrored on their side, so they never know when someone’s watching them,” he explained, leaning against the door.
A woman in nothing but candy-red heels was choosing an outfit from a clothes rack. She held a gold dress up and looked at herself in the corner mirror. A red love seat faced the door, and I wondered if this was her fantasy or one she might be playing out for someone else.
“Onthisfloor, we have strict rules. One person per room. Otherwise, it’s hard to keep an eye on them all and things can get messy.”
I slid the latch closed. “What doyoudo around here?”
He pushed away from the door and led me to the stairs. “I’m part of the cleanup crew.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said, smiling at me over his shoulder. “I pick up broken chairs, clean spilled drinks, toss out rule breakers, put people on the naughty list, and keep the place spotless and copasetic. So that means I’ve got my eye on everyone, making sure they follow the rules. The owner doesn’t want his fantasy club turning into a cheap brothel.”
“How the hell do you police that in a place like this?”
We reached the top of the wide, carpeted stairs, and he stopped at the door. “The bartenders keep the peace. They handle the fights on the floor, and my blokes keep everything else in order. We enforce the rules, and most people follow them. The consequences mean getting blacklisted, and to be honest, there aren’t any other clubs like this one. They’ve gone downhill by attracting the wrong sort. People are shagging in the open and all kinds of sordid things. Customers don’t come here for that.” He glanced down at my feet. “Hope those are comfy. You’ll be standing for a long time.”
The red-and-gold theme carried throughout the club, and while each level was more explicit than the last, I didn’t see anyone engaging in any sex acts. Simulated? Yes. Touching? Yes. And a whole lot of sexual role-playing I’d never seen before. There were chairs and other adult equipment, panthers on leashes, sensory exchange for either fun or profit, and some corners were set aside for the hard-core stuff—like whipping and masochism. The private rooms weren’t private. Anyone could walk in or watch through the viewing windows. Each level had a bar, and I gathered that most of the bartenders were Sensors by the way they were spiking the drinks. As we walked, men and women approached me, asking if I wanted to play in whatever fantasy they were engaged in. But once they noticed the owl on my arm, they backed off.
When we returned to the first floor, Flynn nudged me. “What do you think?”
“I don’t see any Vamps in here.”
“We have a policy about the famously fanged. Our customers don’t want to be near anyone who might snitch. Vamps are notorious charmers who blackmail for a living. Aristocrats snub places like these, but I’ve seen many a Councilman sneak through the doors with a mask on their face. Aside from all that, the only way to control Vampires is impalement wood, and that’s not in the budget. A peckish one might bleed someone dry. And that’s not the worst of it. They can do serious damage, and not just to the walls and furniture. I’ve got twenty-four ribs in my chest, and I aim to keep them. The younglings don’t know their own strength.” Flynn continued our walk. “So, are you up for it?”
“As long as nobody touches me, I’ll be fine.”
