He took one last swipe of black shadow under his eyes and turned off the makeup mirror’s light. He grabbed Fane by the hand, danced in a circle in the center of his room.

“Let’s go.”

Blue lights were revolving one street over, but theirs was quiet. Raven felt a rush of excitement, squeezed Fane’s hand. The commotion was for him. Him.

They folded themselves into his beat-up Elantra, Ratty thing, the Rat, and drove away from the turmoil.

The Rat was feeling feisty tonight, so he let it have its head. Besides, all the Nashville cops were hung up in Green Hills. They took the shortcut through the west side of town to Twenty-first Avenue, then got on Broadway. The streets were hopping tonight, everyone dressed up. It was the one night of the year that he and Fane could walk among the masses and fit in.

And he found that pedestrian. He didn’t want to fit in. He wanted to stand apart, to be different. Different was arresting, exciting. These poseurs, thinking they were being so avant-garde, their individuality cloaked in Halloween getups, were nothing compared to Raven. His ability to be unique was legendary among their brethren.

He turned left on Second Avenue, then scooted the Rat into the parking garage above SATCO, the San Antonio Taco Company, The garage was packed tonight-they had to drive all the way up to the sixth level to find a spot. They bundled out of the car and into the elevator, Fane getting more and more exasperated when they stopped at every floor to let revelers on board. They gawked at her, and she didn’t like it. Raven finally bared his fangs at one idiot dressed as a pirate, and he flipped Raven off and turned around.

They ran across the street, not bothering to go to the intersection, and narrowly missed a car barreling up Second. Choking with laughter at the man’s shocked face, they ran into the club, cloaks flowing behind them. They handed their money to Tony, Subversion’s gargantuan bouncer, climbed the darkened stairway, feeling the bam, bam, bam of the bass line thrumming through the walls.

When they entered the strobe-lit room, Zombie Girl’s “Creepy Crawler” was on the turntable and the energy nearly knocked them off their feet. Raven grabbed Fane’s hand and pulled her through the masses into the center of the dance floor. He dug into his pocket and extracted two little blue pills, ones he’d carefully dipped and kept separate from the rest of the stash. He fed one to Fane, slipped the other under his own tongue. The Ecstasy started working quickly, sending golden warmth through his body.

Then the trip began in earnest. They kissed, feeling the energy rushing between them, coursing through their veins. They swayed and jumped, threw their arms in the air. Raven felt a scream building deep in his chest and went with it, riding the energy, building and building until he let loose with a war cry so intense he realized he had an erection and was inches from coming.

This was what it was all about. This was his place, his life, his world.

He stopped, stood still in the middle of the dance floor, his head thrown back, the music building in his very soul, feeding. As the music peaked, his orgasm built to a crescendo, and he howled. He was a God now.

She watched from the corner of the darkened space. Word had spread like wildfire through her community that a series of murders had been committed, and she knew in her soul that whoever did it was in this room, right now. A few minutes before she’d felt the air change, felt the energies shift. A very powerful spell had been cast, and she began to drain. Someone was feeding, close by. Damn vampires. She snapped back and shielded herself deeper, stronger, felt her strength return. She kept her eyes sharp on the crowd.

He was here. She could feel him.

What he’d done was wrong. It broke all their laws. He would have to be punished.

She sighed. Tonight was supposed to be a sober, somber evening, one of great reflection and inwardness, a night to make contact with the departed and assure them that memories of their lives were still precious. A night to look forward with great anticipation at the dying of the God and the rebirth of the Goddess. She’d conducted her spells earlier, at sunset. Set her altar with a white candle and a black, her athame, her wand, a small skull, real and very powerful, that she’d purchased at the Pagan Festival at Montgomery Bell State Park a few years back, plus black, red and white ribbons.

She’d snapped sprigs of rosemary off her windowsill during the last new moon, let it dry for full potency, then made a posy with it, braiding the ribbons and winding them around the rosemary thrice, chanting, “Rosemary is for remembrance, tonight I remember those who have passed. Those who have crossed through the veil, I will remember.” She’d meditated about those she’d lost, communed with their spirits. She’d left the ceremony feeling peaceful. The posy would stay on her altar until Yule. She always felt such an affinity with Samhain-celebrating the circle of death and life was how she’d begun in Wicca.

Though her phone was off, she had begun to receive calls before her ceremony was over. By the time she had finished and checked her voice mail, she had eight messages. When she heard the news, she knew her evening’s peace was over. It was her responsibility to find who had broken their laws. She needed to look through the veil again, so she lit a fire, set her altar and did a scrying ritual. The flames told her she needed to be among the masses tonight, so she’d hurriedly dressed and come to the gathering.

She recognized many of the faces in the crowd, though not as many could place her. She’d done a strong shielding spell with a cloaking element so she could walk among her kind relatively unseen. It wasn’t like she was invisible, ghostly-far from it. The spell just worked to entice people to look away. She didn’t need the attention.

There was the usual buzzing in the crowd, but it had spiked a fever tonight. Word was spreading about the multiple murders, that there was a satanic component. Everyone in the room knew that was a joke-Satan was a Christian deity, and none of them were practicing Christians. Wiccans, pagans, Goths, vampires-all coexisted in the harmony of the club. Satan was for those who didn’t understand.

But when crimes like this happened, they all got a bad name. What small foothold they enjoyed in the community was immediately severed, and they had to hide again.

She secreted herself in the corner that afforded the best view and watched. The club was crawling with poseurs tonight, civilians who wanted to walk on the dark side for an evening. They were easy to spot, with their inexpertly applied makeup and ridiculous, darting eyes. They’d come in, dance for a song or two, shove each other around in embarrassment, then leave. The true followers would sigh in relief and go back to being themselves.

There.

At the center of the dance floor, two swayed in time to the music. A male and a female, young, but powerful. The moment she saw them her heart constricted. Divination was an elegant art, one best practiced by those with a true understanding of path work. She had the gift of understanding, was able to see into their minds. She felt the evil lurking there, and knew.

She stood, ready to approach, but halted when a small girl strode through the crowd, went directly to the male, pulled at his shoulder until he faced her, then slapped him, hard. His head snapped to the side and tears formed in his kohl-lined eyes. They started to argue, so she hung back to see what would happen. The boy looked startled for a moment, then shrugged. The interloper took off, tears running down her face. The tall girl put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and they conversed, then followed the girl. As they left, the air in the club lightened. The music became louder, and the room felt happier.