From the corner of her eye, Lemara watched her lipstick inch its way off the bathroom counter, followed closely by a tube of mascara. They clattered on the warped linoleum floor.

Lemara stared at them where they lay. If she didn't know better, she'd say both had been batted off by a territorial cat.

"Okay." She set down her heated straightening hairbrush and bent to pick up her things. "The lipstick I get. It's round. This room tilts. Happens all the time. But the mascara?" She turned it between her fingers. It was shaped like a toothpaste tube, kind of square at one end. Warily, she studied the bathroom: the corners, the tub, the space behind the toilet, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Latte?" she called hesitantly. "Is that you?"

She felt stupid even saying it.

There was no answer. Of course not. She was letting Aya's childish sense of wonder get to her. The girl probably believed in unicorns, but honestly, that was part of her charm. The way her smile lit up at the simplest things! Aya was a lot like a kitten. Maybe that was why she pretended her cat was still around. Haunting the bathroom.

Whatever. Lemara was done in there, anyway. She packed her cosmetics into the basket on the left side of the sink, checked her hair – no longer nappy but chin-length and sleek, perfect for a night at the club – and then rushed out of the bathroom. She didn't like to leave her dates waiting.

In a corner of the mirror, a coffee-and-cream cat lay with her single front paw hanging over the edge of the counter. She watched Lemara leave the apartment, her tail curling from side to side.

..::~*~::..

The Church looked abandoned from the weedy sidewalk. Housed in a former Episcopal church, the nightclub, like much of historic downtown Denver, was made of brownstone, pitted and crumbling. It was a small, insignificant building crouched in a small corner lot, but the music pounding from the spacious interior and cramped basement below tickled the bones in Lemara's feet. The stained-glass windows glowed with a hellish magenta light. Beckoning. Promising fun and maybe something a little naughtier.

Hanging on Desmond's arm, Lemara took her place at the head of the dressed-up, slicked-up, glittered-up line of partygoers. The bouncer's gaze crawled over her like a physical touch, and she took his constipated deadpan as permission to enter the creaky front doors.

While he bought admission in the vestibule, Desmond's dark brown eyes stayed aimed at her face. Sweet, but she wouldn't have minded if they had strayed downward. She'd worn this tight coral pink number for just that purpose. On Aya, it was a dress. On her, well . . . she wasn't going to get carded tonight. She might not even have to pay tonight. Desmond seemed to admire her arm against his paler one as the chick at the ticket counter wrapped their wrists with paper bracelets. The Church was printed on them in purple ink in a wicked, spiky font.

"You ready, beautiful?" he asked, loudly to be heard over the DJ's set.

"After you," Lemara said with a smirk. Even in sparkly tasseled sandals, she had him by two inches.

And Desmond, bless him, didn't give a hoot. His brilliant smile flashed. He strutted, preceding her into the club while she held the door. After she followed him in, laughing at the expressions of the white couple behind her, he leaned up and gave her what could only be described as a kiss of pure, hot sensuality in the dark foyer.

Okay. If he kept that up, they might not make it to Happy Hour at the sushi bar downstairs.

"Gorgeous as the evening sky, you are," he breathed against her lips.

"You're not so bad yourself," she breathed back. Then the couple entering next, and the one after, and those after them, pushed Lemara and Desmond into the nightclub proper.

The atmosphere reached out and grabbed them like giant hands. The beats surged into Lemara's ribcage, thumping against her diaphragm. The nightclub was a machine that wanted to make her part of it, attuning her lungs and her heart to its metered commands. A sculpture of chrome spikes hanging from the vaulted ceiling emitted a rotating rainbow of lasers that lanced through the crowd, up, down, back and forth, highlighting the thick banks of fake fog that billowed to the sides of the stage. A super cute DJ wearing cat-eared LED headphones held court from up there, her mauve hair waving over her bare, inked shoulder. She lifted her tanned arm, then made a swirling motion that collected the strobing light in about thirty bangles and her paper wristband. The dancing crowd responded, a deep-throated roar, mimicking the arm swirl. The DJ answered with an impish grin and an expert cross-fader.

Squealing, Lemara dragged Desmond into the center of the dance floor. She was so ready for a night of sweat and heat and lungs bursting with dry ice fog, of expensive drinks and cheap sushi and the sensation of Desmond's silk shirt sliding over taut, flat muscles. It had been an exhausting and disappointing week, what with all the overtime at work that had cost her a grade, setting her back a whole quarter. While everyone else would graduate at the end of the week, Lemara would be all alone making up the credits over the summer. Even Aya was moving on, moving away.

Didn't matter, didn't matter! Lemara closed her eyes and shook her head to the music. She raised her arms and led with her hips. She wasn't going to think about it tonight. It was only one class. She would survive. And this rhythm was fire.

Desmond's hands, wide and long-fingered, crept to her hips. The fingertips explored her tummy, her waist, the small of her back. He pulled her tight against him.

She allowed her arms to settle around his neck. They couldn't talk here, not with the music battering at the necessary senses, but that was all right. There were plenty of things they could say without words.

..::~*~::..

Prickly pear margaritas and Alaska rolls. Lemara let her eyes roll back in her head. Could life get any better?

"So, you two are students over at the school? University of Denver?"

"Yeah," Desmond yelled. Even downstairs it was hard to make themselves heard over the music. His arm hadn't left Lemara's waist all night. "One quarter left and then we're free. My girl, here, she's gonna open her own dance studio."

The pair of couples who had offered to share their table "oooooh"ed and smiled and raised their eyebrows at each other. Lemara couldn't remember all their names – one of the girls was Kittney, who looked like she couldn't be more than seventeen – who'd let her into a place like this? – and the two guys were, she thought, Luka and Vahe. Luka was the one with the glorious cloud of curls that made her think of a yellow sheep. Vahe had large, liquid eyes, thick eyebrows, and cropped hair, all so black against his white face that she kept thinking of vampires.

"Shut up," Lemara playfully said to Desmond, and then she laughed when he planted a kiss behind her ear. She loved it when her dates talked her up like that, even if they were a whole month younger. No one could tell. Right? After a sip of her pink margarita, she picked up her disposable chopsticks and said, "Des is shooting for a technical engineering degree."

"Technical engineering?" Vahe asked. His accent sent shivers down Lemara's shoulder blades. Delicious. "That means you could design cars, yes?"

"Engines, mostly," Desmond answered. He waggled his empty beer glass at the bartender, who nodded and began filling another. "I would work with mechanical engineers to review designs and blueprints, record data from tests, that sort of thing."

"It's true that engineers only want to design," Luka's girlfriend said with a wink at him. She tossed a shiny sheet of natural red hair, if Lemara was any judge, over her shoulder and then licked the salt off the rim of her glass. "Then they wash their hands of the mess they made and leave it to the technicians to fix all their mistakes."

"Oh, are you an engineer?" Desmond asked in a different tone of voice, sounding like he couldn't believe his luck. He held up his hands, grinning, and the server took that moment to slip his beer and a bowl of edamame onto the table and make off with the empty glasses. "Man, I'd love to pick your brain."

"Sure, any time," Luka said affably enough. "I always need someone to clean up my messes."

His girlfriend poked his kidneys. He captured both of her hands in one of his, laughing.

Desmond waited, then got Luka's attention again. "What's the market like out there?"

Before Luka could answer, Kittney, who had been smiling blearily into the remains of her margarita, suddenly giggled. Then she burped.

"Uh oh," Luka's girlfriend said – what was her name? Lemara settled for a nickname: Red dropped the edamame pod she had just picked up back into the bowl. "Marr, do you think you could help me? Someone needs a private minute."

"Quick," Lemara said while thinking, Damn. The chick knew her name. "Before she ruins her shoes."

Red tried not to laugh and failed as she hopped off her stool. She flipped her hair again so that it wasn't in the way of her hands. "Excuse us, boys. Girl time."

"Don't take too long," Vahe said. He eyed Kittney with a small amount of alarm, then got busy emptying his Coors so he wouldn't have to say anything else.

Lemara rolled her eyes. Together, she and Red steered a floppy and giggly Kittney upstairs, bumping their way through the dark. They shuffled her sideways into the whitely-lit ladies'.

When the door clicked closed behind them, the music dropped to bearable levels. Lemara breathed a noisy sigh of relief. Stark and a bit foul-smelling, the restroom nevertheless felt like a haven. Especially since there was no one else in there. She really didn't want to explain this underage disaster to some pop-veined bouncer.

"Sit her on the sink," she suggested, and Red agreed. Together, they maneuvered Kittney onto the lower and longer wheelchair-accessible sink. She lolled against the foxed mirror, singing off-key to herself.

Suddenly, Lemara became aware of another, rather urgent need. Too many prickly pears. She tilted her head toward the stalls. "Sorry, you got her for a minute?"

"Yeah, it's cool," Red said with a laugh. Heedless of her skirt, she propped Kittney upright with her knee while she pulled a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser. She wet them under the nearby faucet. "Be quick, though?"

"Sure." Lemara didn't like peeing in company, anyway. She wedged herself into a crooked stall, swore a bit at the missing lock, and decided to just go for it. She sat, keeping the door closed with her toes.

Kittney's singing tapered off.

"Hey," Red said gently. Lemara pictured her wiping the girl's face with the paper towels. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Kittney said. God, she even sounded young. Where the hell had a guy like Vahe picked her up? He hadn't looked that stupid. Then Kittney burped again. "I need to get down."

"Okay, slowly. Let me help you," Red said.

"No, I got it."

"Oh, watch out!"

Shuffling. Kittney's high-pitched giggles. A noise of exasperation from Red. Trying to tune them out, Lemara squeezed her eyes shut and finished her business.

"I got you, but – why are you – hey! Stop, don't do – ow! What the ever-loving God was that for?"

Kittney grunted; it sounded like Red had shoved her. Something small and plastic clattered onto the floor, making Lemara think of her lipstick earlier.

"I . . I don't . . ." Red's voice trailed off.

From below the stall door, Lemara watched in astonishment as Red dropped to her hands and knees. Her mouth was open and her wide eyes were horrified, as though she were about to throw up.

"Hey!" Lemara yanked open the flyer-plastered door, which swung inward, delaying her. But then she couldn't leave the stall without stepping on Red, who lay in a swath of her coppery hair. "What happened?" she gasped.

She looked at Kittney for an explanation. Kittney pressed herself against the stained wall between the sinks, hands behind her back like a naughty little girl. But her smile – that went beyond naughty. It was wicked.

For no reason at all, Lemara felt cold all over, cold as stone, stone-cold sober. Kittney blinked. Nothing special about that, it was a natural thing for a human to do. Except a faint flicking sound accompanied it. It sounded like a grasshopper snapping its wings. When Kittney's eyes opened, they were as black as her date's. Not just the pupils and iris, though, but the sclera, too. Both eyes shone sickeningly in the light, oily black from corner to corner.

"What did you do to her?" Lemara asked in a strangled whisper.

Kittney blinked, making the flicking sound again, and then her eyes were normal brown. Lemara blinked, too, convinced she was seeing things. Kittney tilted her head and peeled herself off the wall. She stalked toward Lemara. Her foot came down on Red's hand.

"What I'm going to do to you," she said sweetly.

"The hell you are, you little bitch," Lemara snarled. Hanging onto the sides of the narrow stall, she kicked her long, strong dancer's leg forward. She planted her size eleven sandal in Kittney's midsection as hard as she could.

The girl jerked at the impact but didn't otherwise react. She wasn't very big – not as small as Aya, sure, but Lemara wasn't exactly petite. Kittney should have folded. Instead, Lemara shrieked; it felt like she had kicked the cement wall. Prickles raced up her shin.

Kittney's smile slipped off her face like a loogie. Before Lemara could regain her balance, Kittney grabbed her ankle tightly enough to bruise. Her other arm swept around, hand fisted, and then she jabbed a syringe needle into Lemara's bare inner thigh. She depressed the plunger.

Lemara let loose a flood of profanities that couldn't be heard over the music in the club.

Kittney blinked her eyes black again. They were all Lemara could see in her disbelief and her shock, black against the white overhead light.

She was still swearing when the tranq invaded her system and she plummeted, a cold stone, to the cracked floor tiles.

..::~*~::..

"Took you long enough," the demon wearing the meat suit named Luka complained when Kittney – the demon possessing the girl named Kittney – dragged the tall girl out the bathroom's derelict back door. The lock she had broken to get it open rattled like a science-lab skeleton. He held the door still to quiet it and unfeelingly watched Kittney struggle with her load. "Hurry up, I've already got the others in the truck."

"Should have given this one to you," Kittney grunted, heaving the girl another few feet.

"I wouldn't have said no." Her partner bent and hefted the unconscious human. He lifted her limp body, planted his face in the sweat-slicked bend between shoulder and neck, and inhaled mightily. "Not my fault you chose such an immature vessel. Mind if I have a taste?"

The deserted alley stank of garbage and dog shit. It had rained while they'd hunted for sacrifices inside the club and the wind coming off the foothills had an icy bite to it, cutting through Kittney's skimpy velour and sequin dress. Flesh was so cumbersome and finicky! Still, literally anywhere on Earth was a million times better than Hell. Kittney narrowed her eyes at her partner, letting her demon essence flood them with black. "Yes, I do mind," she hissed. "We aren't to spoil them before the ritual. Now get her in the truck before I cut your prostate out and make you eat it." How was that for immature?

"Fine," he whined. Like a farmer swinging a hay bale onto a pile, he dropped the human on top of her horny boyfriend who was, at the moment, drooling unaware on the plastic sheet covering the truck bed.

Together, the two demons closed the stolen truck's tailgate and camper shell, locked them, and then scrambled into the cab. The demon riding the Luka meat suit stomped on the gas and drove the truck onto the gleaming city street, tires squealing. Traffic lights smeared across the tinted windows, too dark to allow a glimpse of the cargo within. Once away from The Church, Luka eased off the accelerator to match the flow of the late-night traffic. Kittney sat back, ignoring the seat belt, confident that her master would be pleased with their work.

If all went according to plan, she would be there when Lilith broke the next seal. Breaking all sixty-six would free Lucifer from the pit. Once that happened Earth would be all theirs, a demon's – well, not paradise, but playground. One of blood and screams and satisfying every whim, for eternity.

And then – then – they would finally be able to kill that pretentious man-boy, Sam Winchester. Peel his skin from his body, burn holes through his organs with acid, and break his bones. All two hundred six of them. Azazel had been a fool. No mere human would ever lead the armies of Hell, and Lilith was going to make sure the humans never forgot it.

A/N: See, a mention of the heroes finally! I promise, this really will be a Supernatural fic, not an OC-takes-the-spotlight one. X3

Disclaimer: While I am taking elements of real life (Coal Mine Dragon, The Church, University of Denver), I'm taking great liberties with them. For example, the Chinese restaurant is out in the suburbs, not in Denver proper; I just like the name.

Reviewer Thanks! I can't believe I have the chance to use this section on my second chapter! I am so excited and grateful to you, Shazza19 and Topkicker26.

As always, please please leave a review before you go! Are you still enjoying the story? Are you interested in what is going to happen next? Did you like anything in particular, or see something that could use work? You can tell me. I'm very friendly. :3

Yours,

~ Anne