A large male blocks the entrance, and I mentally prepare for a fight, but Kestra gives him her name, he repeats it into a headphone, and then the doors behind him swing open.
Kestra continues to hold my arm until we’re inside, then she releases me. “Have fun!” She wiggles her fingers toward me, then sashays into the crowd, her tail flicking to touch random people she passes—touching many of them in places she shouldn’t be touching anyone outside a bedroom. She disappears into the throng.
The building’s entrance is cavernous. The walls are covered floor to ceiling in gleaming black marble, and the patrons’ voices bounce off the hard surfaces to create an insufferable din. I push my way into the crowd, now actually hoping to catch another glimpse of Kestra.
With all her constant babbling, I didn’t ask her where in this club I can find Gabreal.
I spot him across the room.
Charging forward, I push demons out of my path but then stop short. It’s not him. It’s yet another image of this infernal demon—like the many I saw outside—but this one is lifelike and has dimension. It’s like a living statue.
“This new hologram is great, isn’t it.” A voice says beside me.
I turn toward a male demon with green skin and spikes on his cheekbones. I point toward the hologram. “Where do I find the real thing?”
The demon’s bushy eyebrows bob, as he leans toward me. “Wouldn’t we all like to know.”
“Imustsee him.”
The demon steps back, and several heads turn toward us.
I yelled. I shouted loudly enough that it briefly conquered the room’s loud chatter. But before I can apologize, or repeat the question politely, the demon skitters away. In fact, everyone within a twenty-span radius turns away.
I move through the crowd like a scythe through a field of ripe sorghum. No one is likely to help me now.
Spotting an open door, I head that direction, but a tall thick demon blocks the door. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“I’m looking for Gabreal.”
The man nods. “Whom shall I tell him is calling?”
Finally. I firm my stance. “Zogar, King of the Dragons.” There was a time when every soul in the Darkness recognized me on sight. Respected me. Feared me.
The man nods and then presses a button on his headset. “A shifter, calling himself some kind of King of Dragons, is asking for Gabreal.”
I grunt, swallowing my distaste for his wording. At least I’m getting somewhere—finally—and I fight to contain myimpatience, while the demon listens to whomever is on the other end of his headset. Even with my superior hearing, I can’t hear a word.
The demon steps to the side, revealing that he’s standing on a landing, about four feet higher than the rest of the room. I step forward.
Kestra sashays toward the bottom of the carved stairs that descend from the landing, a seductive smile on her lips as her tail sways behind her. I fight my annoyance. Kestra knew my objective. If she knew Gabreal was in this room, why didn’t she bring me here directly?
This room is clearly an eating establishment. Arestaurant, I recall the word used above. Everyone is well dressed, seated at tables draped in white cloths, and servers move about, many balancing trays on one hand while holding the other behind their back. As if choreographed, groups of servers move toward tables and, in unison, set food and drink in front of those seated.
“Kestra will escort you,” says the demon guarding the door.
“I’ll be fine on my own.” I turn toward him. “Just tell me where to find him.”
The demon’s flat expression remains unchanged. “Kestra will escort you,” he repeats, as if I failed to hear him the first time.
From the bottom of the stairs, Kestra beckons for me to follow. Running her hand over her hip, she licks her lips, as if she thinks she can arouse me. Every part of me resists accepting more help from this annoying demon, but I can’t enter this room without walking down the stairs, and she’s at their base.
Before descending, I scan the room. Not seeing Gabreal, I stomp down and glare at Kestra. “Where is he seated?”
She giggles softly. “Oh, he’s not in the restaurant.”
“Then where is he?” My annoyance rises.
A server approaches. “Sir, please lower your voice, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
