Snippet #2552862

All clubs are essentially the same, at least in Jace’s mind. Regardless of whether you’re in some Eastern European shit hole, San Antoni in Ibiza, the clubbing capital of the universe - certain things are to be expected.

It will be loud. It will be dark. There will be at least one guy who is near death - and nobody will know how to handle it. There will be two for one shots that taste like gasoline, drunk girls trying to take their clothes off, drunk girls who have already taken their clothes off, and a shit ton of drugs.

Comatose had all these things, even though it was a Danish club used as a front for immortal drug smuggling. At the end of the day, it was still a club. And Jace knew a thing or two about clubs.

The first thing he and Hunter did upon entering the club was get two beers. Normally Jace would’ve christened the night with a bottle of vodka or maybe even whiskey. But they had work to do, and they couldn’t afford getting sauced this early in the game.

So, beers in hand, they settled themselves at a small table off to the side. It was shrouded in the shadow of the spiralling staircase that led up to the balcony, making it an ideal spot to watch. It only took Jace a few seconds to spot a group of vampires. “Over there,” he said to Hunter, gesturing with his beer to the lounge area across the dance floor.

There, a group of alabaster skinned vampires, looking glamorous and emaciated in skimpy dresses and leather jackets, were clustered on cushions, sipping thick red liquid from wine glasses. “Think that’s Crimson?” Jace asked, taking a swig from his beer.

It was, undoubtedly, Crimson. It was too thick to be wine, and not the right color for normal blood. It had a shimmery quality to it, almost metallic, that suggested magic was at play. And sure enough, off to the side, there were the warlocks.

There were two of them, men, standing as bouncers, preventing human riffraff from entering the roped off lounge. There were others though, some mingling with the vampires, others drifting around with feigned aimlessness.

Two, in particular, stood out to Jace. They were both women and they were both, quite clearly, hunting. The first woman was Asian, Vietnamese if Jace had to guess, based on the gentle brown of her skin, and the sensual curve of her eyes. She was tall and willowy, with short black hair framing her face in an inky halo. She wore a slinky silver dress, with a neckline that plunged all the way down to her naval.

The other was black, petite, with a head of unruly dark hair that made her look absolutely wild. She wore beige stockings and a loose white frock that served to tone down her feral appearance. She wore lace gloves and Jace could only imagine what sort of claws she was hiding under there.

All warlocks have a Tell, something that distinguishes them from humankind, some unnatural feature that serves as a reminder of their demonic parentage. For the black girl, it was probably some sort of talons or scales on her hands, and as for the Vietnamese girl, Jace couldn’t tell.

“Those two,” Jace said, nodding at the warlock girls prowling the club floor. “They’re the recruiters.” He got to his feet then, careful not to look at the warlocks again. “Let’s go in.”

So, Jace, beer in hand, made his way over to the dance floor, where the two warlock girls were prowling like lionesses on the savannah. Jace willingly made himself the gazelle. He forced himself to stumble, as if with inebriation. Luckily, he had a lot of experience with being drunk, and could fake it pretty well.

So, harnessing his inner party boy, he meandered through the crowded mass of writhing bodies, and threw himself right into the back of the Asian warlock. She stumbled from the impact, and he purposely spilled his beer all over the Vietnamese girl.

She spun immediately. Jace watched her eyes, a crisp and unnatural black, light up with irritation, and then simmer with interest when she realize what he was. A werewolf. Potential prey.

“Whoa! Oh fuck, sorry about that,” he apologized, hoping he sounded like just another shitfaced club rat. Which was ironic. He’d spent most of his adolescence pretending not to be wasted out of his mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” the girl thrummed, looking him up and down, assessing his potential. Apparently she liked what she saw. Nobody could say he wasn’t suited to this mission. “In fact, let me buy you another.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to do that,” he laughed, loudly as she placed her spindly fingers on his arm. “It was my fault - I’m just like, I’m like so wasted right now.”

“So you don’t want another?” she asked, her fresh red lips curving upward.

“Oh I sure as fuck want another one,” he said, and she laughed with him as they left the dance floor and headed to the bar. “I’m Jace, by the way.” Luckily, when people thought of Midnight’s youngest son, the name Jonathan Bravo came to mind. Few people knew him by his nickname, thus allowing him to use it freely.

“Lara,” the girl replied as they reached the bar. Jace doubted that was her real name. She was probably old as dirt, probably had some weird ass name too.

“Oh hey,” Jace said, having ‘spotted’ Hunter, and waved him over. “This is my best friend Hunter. Hunt, this is Lara.”

“A pleasure,” Lara said, motioning for the bartender to get them beers. The beers materialized immediately, not as a product of magic though, but a product of being a pretty girl. “I gotta ask, what are two pups like yourselves doing so far from the pack?”

“Are we that obvious?” Jace asked, laughing.

“It’s the accents,” the girl replied with a clever smile. Delegates naturally had a rather British sounding accent - a product of immigration and isolation - so it wasn’t hard for them to play it up a little.


“Well you caught us,” Jace teased, elbowing Hunter playfully as he took a drink from his beer. “Hunter and I are on a road trip of sorts, you see. We’ve spent our whole lives in England and we figured it was time to see the world. We can’t all be jet setting warlocks.”

Lara smiled guiltily. “It’s a nomadic life,” she said with a shrug, just as the little black girl danced over, twirling into existence like a dark fairy. “Oh, Carolyn, these are my new friends - Jace and Hunter. Boys, this is Carolyn.”

Carolyn gave them each a quick once over. It might have seemed sexual, but Jace knew what she was really evaluating. “So, which one is mine?” she asked, glancing up at Lara. “What? I mean we’re gonna fuck them right.”

“Carolyn!” Lara pretended to be abashed, but she was still grinning. “Don’t be crass.”

“I don’t like to waste time,” Carolyn explained.

“Hey, I respect that,” Jace said, lifting his beer in salute.

“I’m fine with either,” Carolyn went on. “But I kinda like the ginger.”

“Forgive her,” Lara said. “C’mon, why don’t we take this party outside before Carolyn offends anybody else.”

Jace exchanged a brief look with Hunter before they followed the two warlock girls out of the club. They knew they were walking into a trap, but they went onward. Jace’s blood was singing with adrenaline; fear and excitement coming together noxiously.

Outside the club, the night was cool, and smelled of gentle smog and sea salt. They had found themselves on a deserted patio overlooking the harbor. There were chairs and tables around, but no people. Jace was just thankful the girls hadn’t taken them to the roof. He was done with club roofs.

“Nice view,” Jace commented, gesturing with his beer to the boats bobbing on the black waters of the harbor. He wondered vaguely if any of those boats belonged to the Guild, and if so, how much Crimson they were carrying.

“I’d say,” Lara purred, as she latched onto him, gently knocking him into the wall. He laughed, trying to sound drunk, as she started to kiss him. Little, feral Carolyn was all over Hunter. Jace tried to kiss Lara back with as much enthusiasm as he could, but she was no Claire.

That became abundantly obvious when she inserted her tongue into his mouth. It was thin, long, and just plain unnatural. He made a surprised choking sound in response. Having heard it, Lara pulled away.

“What?” she purred, flicking her forked tongue like a snake. “This doesn’t bother you does it?”

Stunned, Jace just shook his head mutely. “Good,” she said, attacking his face again. He felt her thin hands on his neck, and then he felt a pinch. Something sharp had pierced his neck. He knew immediately that it was a needle, and he could imagine what was in it.

Lara pulled back again, grinning, this time with teeth. The smile transformed her face, from that of a pretty Vietnamese girl, to a shark toothed, snake tongued monster with black eyes.

“Night puppy,” she said sweetly just as Jace felt clouds entering his world. He blinked lethargically as the fog swept over his body. His legs fell out from under him, and then he was falling onto the asphalt.

He took note of several things just before blacking out. First, he saw Hunter drop like a stone, as wild Carolyn stood above him, syringe in clawed hands. Second, he saw a van idling in the alley next to the club, and lastly, he saw the men coming out of the van.

But when everything went dark, all he could see was Lara’s smile.