One
January 1994
Abberline was irritated.
He muttered beneath his breath as his compulsion to visit the Black Iris club became overwhelming to the point of pain, a nagging ache in his sides. He had other, more pressing matters to attend to. Affairs of the Night.
He shouldn't have been there, pushing past the glowering skin walker at the door, descending the precarious staircase to the bowels of the shit hole where the air throbbed with music and magic.
The club was built in the basement of an empty tenement, an abandoned housing project on the outskirts of Buffalo, New York. He had trekked on foot for miles to get to the spot and as he took a seat at the greasy bar, with a petulant stare he ordered a double Jack.
The place was crowded for a Monday night. Lamia, Vampires, Witches, Skin Walkers and Fae intermingled on the floor. He wondered idly what had drawn them all here.
He caught glimpses in the distorted mirror behind the bar, faces he half recognised, though he did not extend a greeting. No on had the balls to approach him anyway. He nursed his drink, swirling the ice around his glass until the agitated bartender deliberately cleared his throat.
"Long time no see." A woman slithered into the stool beside him. She was Amazonian, a goddess, standing taller than his 6 foot height and radiating Power like cheap perfume. She was Abaca. Unmistakable. A witch that dealt in Mysteries. The only person with balls enough to approach him.
"Not long enough it seems." He mumbled whilst sipping from his glass.
The aroma of Abaca's abundant black hair was a subtle enticing spell, it began to irritate his throat until he spluttered, spilling diluted Jack over his chin. Abberline hated magic.
"You're no fun tonight."
"I'm not here for pleasure."
She said something sour before she and departed. What else could be in this rancid womb for? The thought made him get to his feet to leave. That was when he saw her.
"This is Life After Baba Lucine" A human girl in her middle teens stood on the darkly lit stage, her bright pink hair glowed softly, delicate fingers cradled the mic aimed at her lips like the barrel of a gun, her voice was husky and haunted.
He blinked. The guitars roared, the drummer striking an odd pattern and the bass pounding hard and heavy. The music was dark and intense and it commanded the People's attention like a spell. And then the girl began to scream.
Saben smiled as she accepted the envelope with a few bills. It was enough to get to the next Black Iris in a backwater somewhere, Vinnie the tour manager knew the details.
"How much?" Geoff Deckard her guitar player mumbled around his half smoked Marlboro.
"Couple hundred." She shrugged and thrust the money deep down into her jeans pocket. "Enough."
She walked out the back entrance, a hand on the wall to guide her up a rickety staircase and a badly lit hallway. She wanted to escape the ambience of the Black Iris. The crowds of creepy rich kids that ran in droves to these clubs made her queasy. There was something about the bartender that made her flesh crawl, something in his smile that was razor edged and incomprehensibly dangerous.
It was different from the other venues they played.
Though she could not deny that playing this subterranean circuit, top secret locations, paid in abundance. Money after all made the world spin. Deckard reminded her of this every time she suggested ditching a Black Iris show.
"Oh little girl, where are you going?"
The voice ricocheted about the stairwell, Saben froze in mid-step immediately dropping eyes to the ground. "I'm on my way out." She managed to say before her insides seemed to clench with panic, her mind buzzing with warning bells as she slowly became deaf, dumb, blind and mute.
A woman stepped in front of her, tall and glorious, vampy and dangerous. She was humming as she twisted a lock of Saben's neon pink hair around a manicured fingertip, a manic smile spread on her generous mouth. "You're too precious. What can you be, fifteen, sixteen?"
She wanted so desperately to say I Have To Be Going Now and run up the staircase but her lips refused to form the words, her tongue was large and lazy in her mouth. The scent of the girl was intoxicating, herby, as if a rancid fist had been forced down her throat.
"Abaca." Interrupted. "Get out of here, you stupid little girl."
The spell broken. Saben took the opportunity to take the few remaining steps to the outdoors in two large strides.
Abaca sighed heavily. "You owe me."
"She's just a child." Abberline reminded from the shadows.
"Meat." Abaca spat on the floor.
He approached her fast, grasping a handful of flagrant hair and drawing her close enough to kiss. "Flouting Night World law is punishable by death."
"And who's going to tell?" She spoke tremulously, palm splayed on his chest to hold him back, to soften him and seduce him. "We could share, Cebren."
He took hold of her throat. "Don't call me that." He hissed through his sharp teeth and she began to tremble, her throat spasming beneath his grasp.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." Saben pounded her fist on the hood of the van.
"C'mon." Pin Cushion, drummer and driver held out his hands as if to call truce between Saben and the van.
"You in a hurry?" Deckard asked lighting a fresh cigarette.
She half turned to glimpse the tall stranger from the bar staring at her from the stairwell she had just emerged from. She looked back at Geoff and extended her middle finger, "go fuck yourself Deckard."
She climbed through the side, hunching down between the crashes and rides, her feet splayed over her battered hard case where her 1970s Les Paul custom guitar and other only material possessions were housed.
"She's always causing fucking trouble." Deckard complained, flicking his cig into the night before climbing into the front seat. "Can't stay and just relax after a show always have to be on the fucking move.."
"Everybody in." Pin, ignored Deckard's diatribe and ushered the bass player, Heather Mazahura into the back seat.
The van took three attempts to start up. Saben lifted herself to peek out of the crud stained window and felt the awful quiver in her insides, the sudden loss of breath. The stranger was standing in a swathe of shadows, staring at her. His eyes were glowing.
"What did you say?"
"His eyes are fucking glowing." She hissed.