Gathering a deep breath, Jack took Megan by the hand and crossed over the threshold. For an instant, darkness overwhelmed them. Then, as if emerging from an air lock, they found themselves in a brightly lit, lavishly decorated foyer. A few steps ahead, waiting at a narrow podium, stood an elegantly dressed maître d’. Behind him were a pair of immense oak doors, decorated with intricate carvings.
“Mr. Collins and Ms. Ambrose, I believe?” asked their host. “Right on time.” He looked closely at them, then around them. “I was told to expect a pair of ravens as well.”
With a loud squawk, Hugo came flapping through the black portal. “Damn,” said the bird. “I hate those warp doors.”
“They are a nuisance,” said the maître d’, “but they operate quite effectively in keeping out the riffraff. Only those who belong can pass through. Where is the other fowl?”
“The second bird is busy tonight,” said Jack. “We’re it.”
“Excellent,” said their host, and snapped his fingers. Seemingly out of nowhere, a slender young woman, dressed in a stunning pink outfit that left little to the imagination, appeared. “Ms. Vesta will show you to your table.”
Behind him, the huge oak doors swung wide. “I’m off,” declared Hugo, and went flying through the opening. “See you inside.”
“Typical,” said the maître d’, the slightest sneer crossing his lips. “Birds are so impatient. The rest of your party is waiting on the second level. Have a good evening.”
“Thank you,” said Megan, flashing a smile at the host. As they followed Vesta into the next room, she leaned close to Jack and whispered, “Watch what you’re thinking, buster. Remember, I can eavesdrop on your dreams. And there’d better not be any pink cutie floating around inside your head tonight!”
“Who, me?” asked Jack, trying to sound insulted. “You know you’re the only girl I dream about.”
“Keep it that way,” whispered Megan ominously. Then, in a normal tone of voice, she continued, “This place is huge. It’s the size of the railroad terminal.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Laid out on three levels, the nightclub was immense. There were hundreds of tables scattered in haphazard fashion around a wide dance floor. On the stage behind it, a jazz group was playing background music, while a trio of beautiful, dark-haired women softly crooned a song in a language Jack didn’t recognize. Somehow, it sounded vaguely familiar.
“Don’t listen too closely,” warned Vesta, noticing the direction of Jack’s interest. “Those girls aren’t any ordinary vocal group. They’re the sirens. Supernaturals are immune to their lure. But with mixed blood, you’re not.”
“The sirens?” repeated Megan, excitement in her voice. “Then this must be the Chaos Club.”
“Of course,” said Vesta, weaving a path between the tables. “Where did you think you were?”
Jack, anxiously trying to ignore the sirens’ song, exchanged glances with Megan. “The Chaos Club?”
“Father’s mentioned it to me several times,” said Megan, “but he’s refused to take me here. The old geezer dislikes being surrounded by supernaturals. Claims whenever he comes here, the patrons always want him to perform magic tricks. Merlin hates using sorcery for entertainment. He thinks it trivializes the art.”
Jack’s eyebrows narrowed, trying to make sense of Megan’s ramblings. After a few seconds, he thought he understood. “You mean, this is a nightclub specifically aimed at supernatural entities. A sort of Gavagan’s Bar or Callahan’s Saloon for mythological beings?”
“Precisely,” said Megan. “Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”
“The Pied Piper is performing on the bandstand tonight,” added Vesta, smiling brazenly at Jack. She winked. Her expression made it quite clear that if Megan was annoying him, she was definitely available. “Pan’s scheduled to sit in for a couple of sets later on. He really swings.”
“The patrons are all supernaturals,” said Jack, his gaze sweeping across the club. Other than the absence of the auras that identified them as mortal, everyone in the nightclub appeared terribly ordinary. Which was not very surprising. Survival in the modern era for the supernaturals meant blending in with their surroundings. They evolved and adapted to die times. “And the staff as well?”
“Sure,” said Vesta. “A consortium of gnomes and leprechauns own the place. Diogenes handles the bookkeeping, while Hercules works as the bouncer. With him around, we never have any trouble.”
“Who’s the maître d’?” asked Jack, fascinated by the girl’s matter-of-fact listing.
“That’s the Comte de Saint-Germain,” said Vesta. “Despite those novels written about him, the count’s no vampire. He is quite mysterious, though, and quite sophisticated. And he knows everybody.”
She ascended a short flight of steps leading to the second level, revealing quite a bit of white thigh. “I’m a wood nymph,” she continued, gazing at Jack in disconcerting fashion. “From the golden age of Greece.”
“I met some of your cousins at the mall a few weeks ago,” said Jack without thinking.
“Yes,” said Vesta, her voice sultry enough to melt butter. “So I heard.”
“Me too,” said Megan, jabbing an elbow into Jack’s ribs.
Jack turned red. The mall nymphs had proved to be delightful if exhausting company. Dedicated to the practice of free love, as often as possible, they were not the type of girls you mentioned to your fiancée. Especially if she had an intense jealous streak—like Megan.
“Here at last,” said Vesta cheerfully. Waiting for them at a large table were Freda Collins, Cassandra, and Fritz Grondark. Dressed in a pinstripe suit coat that barely stretched across his massive shoulders, the dwarf tugged unhappily at the gaudy tie laced around his neck. Hugo loitered by the floral centerpiece, nibbling at the greenery.
“About time you arrived,” grumbled the bird. “I’m starving.”
After seating Megan, Vesta pulled back Jack’s chair. As he took his spot, her hands grazed across his back. “If you ever lack for company,” she whispered, “think of me. I’m available.”
Standing, she nodded pleasantly to the entire company. “Bryan will be your server tonight. He’ll be here shortly with your menus. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Charming young lady,” said Freda after Vesta departed. “That’s one of the nicest things about the Chaos Club. The help here always seems so anxious to please.”
“I’ll say,” declared Jack, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead.
“I took the liberty of ordering us all champagne,” said his mother, standing. She raised her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Jack and Megan. Happiness today, and forever after.”
They drained their goblets and Jack kissed Megan. The touch of her soft lips banished any thoughts of nymphs from his mind. There was only one woman for him, and she was sitting by his side.
“I, too, would like to honor the lucky couple,” said Cassandra. Jack noted that their empty glasses were once again filled to the brims. Magic did have its uses. “To a long life, many strong children, and a clean death in battle.”
“Bravo,” said Fritz Grondark, banging a huge fist down on the table for emphasis. Fortunately, the furniture at the Chaos Club was built to withstand punishment. “Well said.”
Grinning, the dwarf dug into the pocket of his suit. “I made these special for you,” he declared. Pulling out a small ivory box, he handed it to Jack. “Go ahead. Open it.”
Jack, with Megan peering over his shoulder, did so. Inside the box were two gold rings. Each band consisted of a pair of twined serpents. Their eyes glowed red with tiny rubies.
“For your wedding,” said Grondark proudly. “Handmade from Alberich’s gold. I made a similar pair for Siegfried and Brunhild.” The dwarf coughed self-consciously. “These, of course, aren’t cursed.”