We rode down to the nightclub district in the hills north of the Baltimore harbor. Before all the dislocations and wars and climate changes, the harbor had been smaller, but the low-lying areas had flooded when the oceans rose. When we were kids, we could still see the tops of some of the old buildings sticking up above the water, but those had all been demolished, and new marinas built for rich people’s yachts. Beyond the marinas were luxury high-rise condos, hotels, and fancy restaurants—all built above any possible tidal and storm surges.
And beyond that to the west of the harbor were areas that had been rundown prior to the pandemics and the wars. They hadn’t gotten any better over the years, and in some places, they’d taken a distinct downturn.
Just as in human society, there were demons and vampires who were lazy, had low intelligence, or had personality defects that interfered in their social abilities. Human slums were bad. Vampire slums were worse, and the cops didn’t even try to police the demon slums. We just walled them off as best we could.
Kirsten and I parked our bikes in a garage, and I set the alarms, then we strolled out to see what the night would bring.
Two women, dressed in tight—in my case—or tight and skimpy—in Kirsten’s case—clothes, out alone at night in a part of town where everyone was looking for some kind of trouble, usually attracted trouble. We walked down the street and encountered sex demons of all five genders, human hookers and gigolos, drug dealers of every sort, leprechaun and imp pick-pockets, and the inevitable street-corner preachers trying to save our souls.
We had grown up with all of the craziness and barely noticed it.
Without even talking about it, we ducked into the doorway of the Gaslight Grill and grabbed a four-top near the bar. I keyed the comm, and the human bartender looked up and gave us a grin. “What will it be, ladies?”
We ordered and sat back, surveying the crowd. Mostly human, with a fair sprinkling of magik users. A couple of shifters and a succubus sat at the bar. It was still early, and we knew the meat market dance clubs wouldn’t be revving up for a couple of more hours. The Gaslight was a good place to get a buzz on without paying outrageous prices for watered down drinks, so it was usually our first stop.
Going out with Kirsten always meant two things—there would be a lot of men hanging around us, and we wouldn’t have to pay for our drinks because…see number one. So, by the time we decided to head out for a higher level of excitement, we were both fairly lit and left a number of would-be lotharios feeling disappointed and with lighter pockets.
Of course, we didn’t make it ten feet down the street before we were accosted the first time. Most incubi didn’t waste their time once they saw their influence didn’t work on us, so they usually weren’t a problem. Vampires were a little slower. My theory was that they came from a less competitive world than demons did, so their brains weren’t as developed. But humans were the worst. Not the gigolos, but the drunks.
“Hey, baby. Lookin’ fer a party?”
Ignoring them worked sometimes. But a guy who towered over me reached out and grabbed Kirsten as she walked past him. Now, I’ve got four inches and forty pounds on my roomie, but she’s a long way from petite. Next to lover boy, she looked like a little girl. The top of her head barely reached his chest.
I started to get involved—a euphemism for tearing his head off—but Kirsten simply looked up at him and said in an even voice, “Let go of me or you’ll be singing soprano.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, darlin’. You and me gonna have a good time.”
“I don’t think so.” She reached out and grabbed his crotch. His pants immediately burst into flames, and he let go of her. Kirsten stepped back and turned to me. “Shall we go?”
As we walked away, I couldn’t help but look back over my shoulder as lover boy and his friend tried to beat out the flames. The tall man’s shrieks were climbing into the soprano range already.
“Nice spell,” I said.
She grinned. “People think that witches just collect herbs, mix potions, and create charms. They forget that we occasionally dabble in poisons and hexes, and some of us have nasty dispositions. And any witch who can’t kindle a flame isn’t much of a witch. I mean, keeping track of matches is such a pain.”
Kirsten didn’t normally have a nasty disposition, but she didn’t suffer fools.
We wandered down the street, enjoying the show around us, and stopping at Mythic Creations for a dark chocolate fix. Including us, the people out on the streets in Baltimore’s inner harbor on a Friday night were there to see and be seen and to have a good time. Due to different segments of the population having different fashion ideas, it made for a very interesting and unusual scene.
Chapter 13
Lucifer’s Lair was the largest, rowdiest, crudest, and most eclectic meat market bar in the area. Possibly in the entire metropolitan complex. People went there to listen to music, dance, flirt, and get laid. Johns Hopkins Medical School was just across the street, so the club attracted medical and nursing students, doctors and nurses, and the huge staff that ran the school and the hospital. It also brought in the students from Hopkins’ main campus and other colleges and universities, along with young professionals from all over the city.
The three-story building was full of people seven nights a week, getting drunk and high and flirting with each other. There was also the “lifestyle dungeon” in the basement, offering pleasures that were off my radar. I had never been in the basement, or on the third
