The vampire may appear human, but the resemblance stops at the beast’s cold, clammy skin. Once infected, the human or metahuman victim of vampirism is dead. In the victim’s place is born a devil from the darkest heart of Creation, a thing reared in darkness and nurtured on innocent blood.

– 

Martin do Vries, Shadows at Noon, posted to Shadowland BBS, 24 May 2057

As Rachel stepped through the door to The Joy Club, her senses were assaulted. She came into the strobing black lights in a daze, the scent of incense choking her, and the music-scant decibels from being ear-shattering-hit her like a physical blow.

Just inside the entrance, to the right, the long bar stretched back into the darkness. To the left, Lindsey was doing her thing on the main stage, her high, elven features making her look a bit vulpine in the flashing colored lights. Lindsey was the only elf who danced, and she usually went home with the most nuyen. Norms of both sexes loved having her for lap dances, thinking they were getting something exotic as well as erotic.

Rachel knew that Lindsey was far from the best dancer there, but it seemed that few could resist that extra twinge of strange that accompanied her wide, sensuous mouth and platinum-tipped ears.

Screams from backstage attracted Rachel’s fogged attention for a moment. It was Mia.

Rachel frowned. Mia must need nuyen bad if she was going into her act this early in the week.

Mia sat, naked, in a chair center stage, her back arched, sweat dripping from her forehead as a young ork pushed the head of a large golden pin through her soft flesh. Mia whipped her head around, her shoulder-length black hair covering her face in sticky strands, her scream drowned out by the roar of twenty male voices, as blood welled around the pin.

At fifty nuyen a pin, Mia was working on pretty close to a thousand nuyen for this set, but Rachel knew, no matter what painkillers Mia was dosing, she wouldn’t make it more than another set or two. Not to mention if some customer wanted a little more intimate lap dance. However, that seldom happened to Mia, because she charged five hundred for a table dance. All for the customer to have the privilege of actually drinking any of the blood they shed from her body.

Before tonight, Rachel had found the blood-drinking thing a bit disturbing, but now it made her shiver, imagining what de Vries could do to Mia with those sharp teeth of his. She turned back to the bar and walked down toward the end as the music came to an ear-rending crescendo, barely drowning out Mia’s screams.

Suddenly, Rachel felt two small hands slip under her shirt and cup her breasts. She turned and saw Celone standing there, a wide grin on her sensuous mouth. Celone was the tallest of the night girls, with brown hair just past her shoulder blades and incredibly long legs. She was also the nastiest dancer.

“Hey, you working a double?” Celone yelled.

Rachel shook her head, still in a fog.

Celone’s grin turned to a frown. “Devon and I got a guy who wants a three-girl shower show. He asked for you.”

Rachel’s eyes tracked to the back of the bar where the shower slash hot tub set-up rested. Devon, a tiny girl with muscular thighs, over-sized breasts, and long, dirty-blonde hair, was already in the shower, letting jets of neon-colored body paint spatter her body.

The customer was just getting undressed, smiling at Rachel and trying to suck in his hairy gut.

Rachel shook her head. “You know I don’t do the live sex thing.”

Celone smiled. “He promised no touching, so it would just be you, me, and Devon. Sex with girls isn’t the same thing.”

Rachel frowned. “Sex is sex, no matter who you do it with, and I don’t do it for nuyen.”

Celone frowned, “Hey, that’s not fair to Devon and me. Besides, when was the last time you made five hundred nuyen in under ten minutes?”

Rachel shook her head again. “Sorry, I’ve got to find Flak. You seen him?”

Celone’s frown turned into a full-fledged pout. “Come on, Rachel. I’d do it for you.”

Rachel doubted that, but she just smiled. “Why don’t you ask him if he wants Jessica? Everybody says we look like sisters.”

Celone’s big brown eyes widened. “Rocket. He probably won’t even know the diff.” Then she started to turn around as the music began to wind its way back upward.

Rachel grabbed her arm. “Have you seen Flak? I’ve gotta talk to him.” Her frustration bled through into her voice.

Celone turned, and pointed behind the bar. “In the office, with Lucus.” Then she was gone into the smoky depths of the bar.

Rachel turned back to the bar, and saw who she was looking for.

Flak, the bartender-doorman, steped from the gloom at the rear of the club, and walked toward her with a smile on his face. That smile had been known to make norms weep with fear. Flak stood over two meters, small for a troll, but there was no mistaking the sheer power in the ripcord twist of his muscles. His massive head was shaved, and his knobby left arm was covered with a huge tattoo that he’d once told Rachel was a Special Forces tat.

“Rachel!” he bellowed over the music. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Rachel gestured toward the back, behind the bar, and screamed, “I need to talk to you!”

With a nod, Flak led her back through the tiny kitchen area, and past a storeroom to the cramped office.

Lucus, the owner was just getting up. He was an older man, turning heavy, but with the most gorgeous mane of salt and pepper hair Rachel had ever seen.

“Boss,” said Flak. “can I use the office for a minute?” Lucus looked at Flak, then at Rachel, and for just a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he looked more closely at Rachel and grunted. “Yeah, but make it fast.”

After he was gone, Rachel sat down in front of the desk, while Flak tried to fit his bulk up onto the side of the desk itself.

“What’s on your mind, Rach?” Flak’s voice was soft, gentle, and completely out of place coming from that mouth full of tusks.

Rachel looked up into the huge man’s eyes, and she realized for the first time that they were black, with absolutely no delineation between where the pupil ended and the iris began. It had never occurred to her before, even in their workout and training sessions, but now she wondered if they were natural or augmented in some way.

“How did the run go?” she asked.

Flak grimaced. “We had some minor frag-ups,” he said. “Pretty standard really.”

“Did you convince Carlos to stop beating Corinna?” Flak gave a harsh laugh. “You could say that. Carlos won’t be beating anyone anymore. For the rest of forever.”

“Oh.” was all Rachel could say. She had no sympathy for Carlos, and if anyone deserved to die, he was her number one candidate.

“Why?” Flak asked. “You got another job for us?” He started to smile, but it faded the moment he saw the look on her face.

Rachel felt the laugh bubble up in her throat and it came out dry and brittle, the laughter of someone who’s seen too much and gone quietly insane. The sound of it scared her.

Flak’s expression didn’t change, but his voice took on a hard tone Rachel had never heard in it before. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Rachel laughed again, trying to bold back the tide of emotion running through her. “What do you know about vampires, Flak?”

Flak’s eyebrow arched, but he didn’t laugh at her, and for that Rachel was grateful. “Not as much as some people, but more than you might think. Why do you ask?”

Rachel took a deep breath as Flak reached his mammoth paw into the desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Petron tequila and two shot glasses. “You look like you could use one.” He poured the drinks, and handed one to her.

Without a word, they slammed the liquor at the same time. Rachel let the smooth, bitter liquor slide down her throat like a tiny bit of molten lava. It was real tequila, not the synth stuff, and started a small warm glow as it hit her stomach.