Hey there, my name is Drake and I will be introducing an original character in this chapter. I'd like to thank everybody for their glowing reviews and encourage any critique on my work that anybody can give. I'll have to put a warning in place that this chapter deals with some slightly nasty issues, but I assure you that it all comes with a purpose. Thank you :)

The Black Rose

Raissa stared suspiciously toward her kitchen table, mentally kicking herself for what she was about to do. A pink silk box rested against the hard wooden surface, a small tribal booklet lying to its left. In the centre of the arrangement stood a hand-painted china cup, twisted upside down and supported by its matching saucer. Two lavender incense sticks burned silently to themselves, a large violet dreamcatcher swinging from the ceiling as a cool midday breeze swept through the lonely caravan and blew against the beautiful eagle feathers of the Indian sleeping device.

Leaning forward, she straightened the black lace tablecloth as she sighed heavily to herself, dark brown eyes narrowing in an expectant manner. Reaching shakily toward the handle of the cup, the reflection of her Gypsy emerald ring caught in the Mexican sunshine and detracted her stare quickly toward her dark Roman hands. Now remembering the tales that her Grandmother would tell, one particular story crept into the front of her mind and coaxed the genuine smile that graced her bare lips.

Allowing her mind to travel back in time, she embraced her earliest childhood memory and willed for the sequence to play continuously throughout her head as she reminisced of the good old days. Remembering the warmth of her Abuela and the teasing scent of the home-made cookies that drifted up from her Spanish shawl, she heard that familiar stern tone echoing out into the afternoon.

"Raissa, you have the hands of a psychic. See how your fingers are long and slender? They form the shape of a leaf; linking you to all of nature and the secrets that she holds within her world."

Opening her eyes once more, she wiped away the track of sentimental tears that lined her mascara-stained cheeks. The ring had been an ancient family heirloom and was passed down to Raissa after her Grandmother had moved onto the spirit realm. She had inherited everything, but this was the first time that she had dared to tamper with the mystical equipment since she was a child. The inspiration that she had needed came from the vision she had dreamt of the night before last.

Her Grandmother had come to her during her sleeping hours and urged the young woman to consult the tea leaves, warning that a great change was about to commence. Raissa was a believer in every sense of the word and she had no reason to doubt anything that her Abuela had taught her. Whilst she didn't fear the messengers themselves, she feared the news that the spirits may bring. God had not shined on her in recent years and she didn't know how much more misfortune she could take. She had made a promise to herself to simply ignore the warning signs. That way, she could live her life in peace and not have to worry of the obstacles blocking her path. But here she was, breaking all of that for the sake of taking a sneaky peek into the future. She always had said that curiosity would kill the cat. She just hoped that it wasn't literal.

Breathing in deeply and allowing her chest to expand as a large sigh exited her lungs, she took the handle between her thumb and finger and turned the china over into her palm. Peering nervously into the interior of the cup, she noted the large mass of leaves that had formed in the bottom and the sparse patterns of dots surrounding the rim and the handle. The cup was varied and a small bunk of leaves seemed to fall over the star sign of Scorpio, which was unusual for her as her birthday was in May.

Taking a biro pen from the windowsill and inspecting the symbols more carefully, she found that the same sign seemed to be apparent throughout the reading, shortly followed by identical initial marks. Twisting several silky strands of dark brown hair into a loose bun and securing the style in place with a crimson bandanna, she tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the notch of her chin as she mumbled a series of inaudible Spanish ramblings to herself. With a trademark narrowing of her eyes, she gasped with realisation as she reached quickly toward the small tribal booklet that held the key to her message. Flicking through its worn-down, tissue paper pages, her hand shot involuntarily toward her mouth as the shock that shook her petite frame failed to conceal itself. A proud grin crept across her dimpled cheeks as she noted that her predictions were indeed correct and thus, she continued to read the printed text aloud.

"The swan; both graceful and beautiful, this creature symbolises love and enduring marriage," she managed, closing the book with a start as a flaw crossed her excitable demeanour, "In context to my life, that's like a good two-week fling at the very least. But the initial V. I don't know anybody whose name begins with V."

A sudden shrill ringing noise caused the young Gypsy to jump, the booklet dropping to the ground as her body jarred with nervousness. Laughing to herself about how worked up she had become, she reached toward her cell, flicking the mobile open and checking her caller ID.

"Raissa, you had better get yer Espanic arse into work now, or else Tony is gonna have fucking kittens, I mean it."

"Shit, Greta," she apologised, more than a little amused by her best friend's blunt manner, "I forgot that I was meant to be covering Lucy. I'll be there in ten, I promise."

"It's not me you need to promise to like," spoke the thick Irish accent greeting the other end of the line, "I think he's having an Aneurysm!"

"Ten, no sweat."

She quickly shut the phone, bending down to pick up her book and placing it neatly back upon the tabletop as she searched for her favourite jacket. She didn't want to damage any of her Abuela's old readings, being that they were so precious and delicate. Deciding that she'd clear up later, she slipped her feet into her trusty black flip-flops as she fiddled with the clasp of the colourful charm bracelet that she wore around her left ankle. Pushing out the creases of her cut-off denim mini, she adjusted her white singlet and tucked her crucifix necklace neatly between her breasts. Securing her large hoop earrings and pulling down her hair, she grabbed her bag from the back of the chair, figuring that it was probably too hot for a jacket anyway and slipping into the afternoon heat.

……………………

She skipped along the road with her vibration-proof earphones held securely into her ears. Music was her life and the very reason that she ended up in Mexico at all. She had been promised a position as an entertainer at a respectable club, but as she had found, that job turned out to be an exotic dancer who only used her lungs to purr teasingly toward the regulars. She spent every free day working on her lyrics and strumming along to her acoustic guitar. It was true that she didn't have an eight-octave voice, but she could play, and more importantly, her love for writing shone through in every word she uttered. Laced with enough emotion, she could have gone far. But those dreams were more like distant memories now, and whilst she could mourn for their loss, she could instead spend her days dancing away the pain in her heart. A small consolation for a young woman lacking the strength to finally move on, but a comfort none-the-less.

Deciding that she had spent a large enough portion of the day embellishing her Father's Spanish roots, she chose to let her music reflect the French blood that her Mother had pumped into her veins. She was fluent in both languages, but admittedly, it had been a long time since she had used the latter. Hitting the repeat button as she jogged toward her place of work, she allowed the mysterious European beat to pulse into her ears, her rough accent piercing into the Mexican streets.

C'est pas ma faute
Et quand je donne ma langue aux chats
Je vois les autres
Tout prêts à se jeter sur moi
C'est pas ma faute à moi
Si j'entends tout autour de moi
Hello, helli, t'es A
Moi Lolita

Bursting through the doors of the understated establishment, she was greeted by a fuming Tony, who was screaming blue murder. The large quick-tempered American was firing a line of random insults in her direction as she made off toward the back, quickly followed by their over-dramatic boss.

"I'm sorry," she apologised again, rooting through a large pile of stage costumes, "What more would you like me to say?"

Wiping a field of renegade sweat beads away from his forehead, he allowed the perspiration to melt onto his fingers and drop to the ground with a light thud. He had to be at least 25lb overweight, his black business suit graced by a neat white shirt that buttoned all the way up to his bulging neck. His anger was evident by the fire in his eyes and his black stare spoke volumes as she continued to go about her business and ignore the death glare he was sending her.

"Raissa, I swear to God," he threatened, his finger jabbing toward her in a dagger-like manner, "If you let me down one more time, then I will dock your pay by twenty percent. And don't think that doesn't include tips," he added before she could protest.

"Well then maybe tell Lucy to start picking up her slack cause I do have a life to lead, ya know?"

He turned his monstrous back on her, pushing the beaded curtain that separated the dressing rooms back viscously as he disappeared away into the bar. She knew that he was serious because he had used her full name. Most people called her Izzy, simply because it was easier to pronounce and sounded more conventional. She loved her name, but she didn't mind the abbreviation either and happily went along with the flow. She was the type of girl who lacked the enthusiasm to change anything that she didn't like. She would wait until it boiled her blood so badly that she snapped and made it a thousand times worse. She knew her flaws, but she was unwilling to do anything about them. After all, aren't our imperfections the things that make us human?

Glancing almost ashamedly into the mirror, she allowed her denim skirt to drop to her ankles, stepping carefully out of it and into a pair of black French knickers. Pulling her vest over her shoulders, her long dark hair fell down to the middle of her back, curled around the edges in a typical Gypsy fashion. Her brown locks twisted at the ends and had a healthy glow that few could boast. Her appearance was the one thing about her life that she could actually control, and therefore, she took great care of it. Pulling a black corset around her slender waist, she wandered into the dressing room beside her, kneeling down as another girl tied the straps at the back.

Thanking her, she found herself lost in her own reflection once more, emptying the contents of her bag out onto the table in front of her and grabbing several sticks of make-up. She added a thick layer of dark eyeliner to her inviting brown stare, large eyes being draped with several coverings of smoky shadow and a fresh coating of the complimenting mascara. She rubbed a healthy helping of liquid foundation into her tan skin, grabbing a lip pencil and working her way around the outset of her pout. She had a striking bone structure, and whilst not conventionally beautiful, she had a certain mystical appeal. Going for a frosted shade of gloss, she finished up on her face, rubbing a light coating of oil into her thighs and arms. Slouching back into her seat, she stared ever deeper into the looking glass, unsure of whether she loved or hated the person staring back at her. She was twenty-three years old, but still hadn't found her calling. She was beginning to wonder whether or not that was the causing of her own stubborn streak.

Taking her cross in her hand, she shut her eyes in a solemn manner, reciting a short prayer to herself as she fed off of the energy in the room. Tucking the crucifix back into her bra, she reached over toward the mirror, grabbing the worn-out photograph that was stuck to the bottom right-hand corner. Wiping her thumb over it, she remembered her Grandmother once more, making a special note to go to confession and seek forgiveness for dishonouring their family name. Finally, working her quick tongue over the small pink piercing that worked through its middle, she let out a deep sigh, mentally psyching herself up for a hard night's work.

……………………

Slipping back into the club, the stench of stale sweat and torrid sin thrust themselves upon her senses, Raissa choking back the need to vomit as she stared toward her large customer base. The smell never hit her immediately, it always took a little while to really get up her nose. Half of her suspected that it was a psychological reaction, but then she never was big on that kind of subject.

The club was generally grotty, a few stray strips of harsh sunlight permeating the blacked-out windows and adding even more of a dingy aura to the building. The bar lined the left, several younger girls cleaning down the mahogany surface with filthy rags, health and safety failing to cause an issue with the resilient Tony. Three shelves of bottlenecks were hung proudly against the off-white background, a final line of the more exquisite ales being stood on their tops and proving much more expensive than their average customer would go for. Three red-faced first-timers lined the crimson bar stools that sat before the counter, several pumps and bowls of peanuts set out for all to enjoy as they, too, gazed the dancing area.

A main stage was constructed against the back wall, coming off from both sides and then extending into one long strip that went out into the crowd of dirty tables. A single silver pole marked the end of the platform and two caged podiums rested on either end. Speakers were plugged into every corner of the room and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke lined the unhealthy atmosphere. In short, the place was a tip, but nobody seemed to mind this as cleanliness was the furthest thing from your mind whenever you stepped into Black Magic.

As Raissa sauntered out into the audience, a familiar beat pumped energetically from the sound system, the unspoken cue for the commencement of her act. Her prose was almost animalistic, back arched and hips thrust firmly forward as all eyes rested upon her erogenous zones. Dark stiletto heels graced her small feet, giving her stride a more sexual edge as she stalked toward the stage, the tribal tattoos on the back of her neck glimpsing teasingly from behind her mass of volumised hair.

She raised one leg onto the two-foot high platform, leaning back to allow the curve of her voluptuous hips to take effect on the masses as two security guards approached, helping her up in a chivalrous manner before reasserting their position at the door. The track that was playing had a heavy hip-hop beat, Raissa recognising it as Oh by Ciara and Ludicris.

Slipping her fingers onto the edge of her panties, she pulled them down ever so slightly, giving a clear view of her accentuated pelvic bones as she swung her hips to the bass. Extending her arm into the air and allowing her other hand to slowly work its way down, she moaned lightly as her body dropped lower to the ground. With her knees now bent completely and her weight resting against her thighs, her black stilettos were thrust into the stage, keeping her balanced as she steadily made her way back up.

Allowing her frame to dance around the pole, she reached one hand up toward the top, supporting her weight as she swung around by her thighs. Her head was pushed back and her dark hair dangled freely as she gazed at the upside down form of the men clapping her on, some going as far as to stuff dollar notes into her corset. Gyrating back down and stalking up to the very edge of the platform, she bent in to pull the closest person she could get, onto the stage, shimmying down his body as he teasingly untied the back of her top.

Moving out so that the strings could fall loose, she peeled it away from her body, ensuring that the money land at her feet as she threw it into the crowd, finishing completely topless as the last chord of the joint echoed out into the room. Receiving several elated cries of enjoyment and two marriage proposals, her friends on the door helped her back down again, one covering her bare shoulders with a shawl as the other collected her tips. Talk about a way to earn a living.

……………………

Cupping her palms full of icy water, she threw the refreshment up to her stinging eyes, allowing the frost to calm her shame as she pressed a delicate kiss into her crucifix necklace, swearing that she would stop getting so emotionally involved in the dances. Whenever she had something on her mind, it reflected in her act; the stress of the day oozing from every pore as she let her spirituality mask her ability to perform. She wasn't ashamed of what she did to get by, after all she sold her body and left her soul intact. But when she couldn't even claim her focus to do such a thing as dance, then she knew that she had a serious problem.

"I'm the biggest contradiction alive," she groaned, dabbing her face down with a warm towel.

"Don't say that," reassured one of the guards, not realising that she was talking to herself more than she was him, "You did good tonight."

"Well good isn't good enough for me," she smirked, squeezing his shoulder thankfully as she rose to find Tony, "I take it I missed Greta then?"

"Afraid so," he apologised, checking his watch as the end of his break approached, "But don't worry about that, you have bigger fish to fry."

"True," she started, her train of thought interrupted as Tony breezed into the back with a bagel in his grip and a series of small coffee stains gracing his tie. His stare was purposeful and it seemed that he still hadn't calmed from her late arrival earlier.

"Some guy's asking after a lap-dancer," he explained, avoiding her eyes as his tone became more pleading, "He only has twenty-five, but I told him that I thought I could get a girl, you up for that?"

"Hey, who am I to put a price on a hard-on?" she joked weakly, swallowing her pride and slipping into a triangular bikini top. Grabbing her straighteners from where they were charging on the counter, she ran them easily through her hair, smoothing the dark locks and leaving a silky appeal. Pulling the strips up to the top of her head, she secured them with a tight band, a few loose tendrils falling free and giving her a raw appeal. "Point me in his direction."

……………………

Running her fingers across the surface of her lips, she pulled her sculptured stomach even tighter as she approached the man in question, leaning over his seat and rubbing her oily hands against the back of his neck as she whispered, "Hey there," in a smoulderingly coarse tone. She could physically feel the line of goose bumps shoot up on his light skin as his blonde hair persisted to stand on end, obviously his first time at such an establishment.

"Well..." he started, turning to face her but having his jaw suddenly poke out in shock as he took in her appearance.

"What's wrong baby?" she purred, leaning over him once more as he pushed her arms away from him, rising to make a scene. Standing with chest pushed out confidently, he pointed toward her midriff as his eyes darted over to where Tony was seated at the bar, coming on to a young teenage girl who looked to be revolted by his antics.

"Ya know," he spat, almost as if his words were physically bitter, "If I'd have wanted a Spade, then I would have asked for one."

Raissa's mouth fell open in disbelief, her hand involuntarily moving up to her cross and cradling it into her palm with a shocked urgency. She tried to devise a witty come back, but her mind seemed to draw a blank, getting caught in the moment and allowing her eyes to drop ashamedly to the floor as he continued with his racist rant.

"This fucking Lolita is probably carrying more diseases than a common rat!"

Upon hearing the last statement, her fist jumped into action, spurring out and punching him square in the jaw as he was thrust over the table; sending shards of sharp glass everywhere as mass panic broke out at Black Magic. Several customers made a dash for the door, some looking to escape the violence but others just hoping to get away with not paying their bar bills.

The bouncers ran for the two, but as the crowd surged toward them, they were pushed back, getting caught in the mass of sweaty bodies vainly trying to cram out of the exit amidst all of the chaos. As the man that Raissa had fought with rose, she noticed the cut upon his lip, his eyes burning a deep crimson as he spat out a stream of blood, clenching his fists menacingly.

Never one to be intimidated by a man, Raissa dived toward him, being caught halfway by a furious Tony, who practically wrestled her to the ground whilst reading her the riot act. He pinned her arms behind her back whilst she squirmed beneath his grip, wriggling to get free and shouting vindictive threats in the direction of the guy that she had flawed. She could feel the anger bursting through her veins, shoving her heart into overdrive as a sequence of very gut-wrenching memories came flashing back into her head at what felt like light speed.

"Why are you taking his side?" she screamed, the man in question now being dragged outside by the bouncers.

"The customer is always right!" he yelled, finally letting her go as she rose indignantly, wiping down her underwear and pulling her hair away from her eyes.

"Tell me something Tony, have you ever seen your Pappy getting spat at in the street for having slightly darker skin than everybody else?"

"Well no..." he started, uncertain of how to proceed with her from here, she was always impossible after she had jumped on her high horse.

"Of course not, cause you're white," she spat, pulling her dark stilettos away from her aching feet, "And I'm telling you now, I will not work for a boss who allows me to take that kinda crap."

"Are you quitting?" he questioned incredulously, "What about your contract?"

"I'll work till the end of the week, then I'm out. I guess I really am done with this place. Like my Abuela told me, it's time for a change..."