Seressia Glass
The Majestic
Rinna walked past the row of crimson stools at the Majestic’s well-used counter, heading for a table in the back corner. The Art Deco diner had been an indelible part of the Poncey-Highland neighbourhood just east of downtown Atlanta since 1929. Open twenty-four hours and every day except Christmas, the Majestic catered to an eclectic crowd of humans and hybrids alike.
At this time of day, the diner was mostly empty. That would change as night fell, then at midnight. That was when the Majestic became a prime people- and hybrid-watching venue.
She wasn’t there to watch, though. No, she’d arrived an hour early to gather her thoughts and prepare to make her case to a man she hadn’t been able to forget for two years.
She looked up as the waiter placed a menu, a glass of water and tableware in front of her. “Hey Sam. Getting in touch with your feminine side this cycle?”
Sam flashed a sharp-toothed grin, pushing her green-tipped black fringe off her forehead. “Thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a walk on the wilder side,” the hybrid confided. “You wanna look at the menu, or do you already know what you want?”
“I’ll flip through it, and just start with a cup of black coffee, thick.”
Sam placed a laminated menu on the table. “Gotcha. Back in a bit.”
Rinna tapped her fingers as she looked through the menu, trying to quell her nerves. Two years. After two years, it would finally happen. She’d finally see him again.
Sam returned with coffee. “Today’s the day, eh, Rinna?”
“Yes.” She fidgeted. “At least, I hope so.”
“Of course it will be. How can Bale resist you?”
“Easily.” Rinna wrapped her hands around the coffee mug to prevent tapping a hole into the table. “Our people can really hold on to grudges, down to the smallest slight. Bale and I didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”
Best of terms. She’d run away from Bale like a weak banring afraid of being exposed to die by her crèche mother. All because she’d discovered Bale’s clan affiliation. A clan he no longer recognized, much as she’d left hers for a new life in Atlanta two years ago.
“He’ll come,” Sam assured her. “Didn’t the Chaser tell you so?”
“Yeah, she did.” Rinna had taken a huge risk approaching the Shadowchaser, especially given the circumstances in which they’d first met. Besides, Shadowchasers were a hybrid’s version of the boogeyman, a tale used to frightened the young. All she’d heard growing up was that Shadowchasers hunted hybrids and Shadowlings, trapping or killing them on sight. And that they loved to munch on young misbehaving banrings. It didn’t matter what you did or didn’t do, the fact that you existed made you the Shadowchaser’s enemy.
She’d learned that wasn’t the case, thanks to Bale. She’d learned a lot of things, thanks to the male banaranjan.
Two Years Earlier
A pulsing beat thundered through all three tiers of the DMZ’s main room, forcing Rinna’s heart to keep pace. It was a great night to party. It was an even better night to hunt.
Not that she needed to hunt. Many banaranjans made do with synthesized human adrenaline delivered via autoinjectors or served over dry ice in mixed-clientele clubs like the DMZ. It did what it needed to do, but nothing compared to sampling the epinephrine directly from the source. In a place like this, there were always plenty of volunteers around.
The Goth club looked like a cross between the Roman Coliseum and a factory from the start of the Industrial Revolution, perfect for its diverse clientele. Those who walked in Light gathered on Rinna’s left, though all three levels seemed sparsely lit with the blue-violet-white flickers that denoted Light beings. Maybe they’re all at a convention, she thought.
On the right, occasional flashes of yellow lit the deep dark of the Shadow side of the club. Plenty of beings on that side, Rinna noted. Most club-goers, human and otherwise, spilled over the middle ground between the two camps, the most neutral of the neutral territory inside the club.
Finding a nightspot that catered to hybrids and humans alike had been essential to her successful relocation to Atlanta — that and the Majestic, of course. The DMZ was a demilitarized zone masquerading as a bar that allowed anyone, of any walk of life, to enter as long as they didn’t draw weapons. Rinna couldn’t see the protective shielding that radiated from every bit of the club’s infrastructure, but she could feel it. She knew it was quick to take care of anyone careless enough to display aggression. Rumour had it that even the Shadowchaser had to remove her weapons before she entered.
Rinna wasn’t sure about that, but if it was true, it only confirmed her belief that she’d made the right choice relocating to Atlanta. A diverse club, the lack of a major banaranjan community and the presence of a Gilead Commission unit meant Rinna had a chance of a decent home and a reasonable life expectancy. Much better odds than where she’d been before.
Rinna took a final sip of her cocktail before discarding the plastic cup. She hoped she looked like most of the human females in there. Strappy stilettos, form-fitting jeans and a blouse with a plunging neckline seemed to be standard-issue attire for most of the women. It had taken months to perfect her human persona, practising in secret then making clandestine trips to test her abilities. Once she could pass for human and feed without detection, she’d made her escape.
Rinna leaned over the rail that ringed the first level. A live band played on a round stage in the centre of the club. The Pit circled the stage, a seething maelstrom of Shadow and darkness in which the DMZ’s non-aggression rules didn’t apply. Anywhere else in the club, if you drew weapons or called your power, wards would flash an orange warning, giving the perpetrator about two seconds to dial down or die. In the Pit, however, hybrids were given free rein, as long as no one got killed. Humans could go into the Pit too, but not without a little hassle. Since Rinna had been visiting the DMZ, she’d never seen a Light being enter the cauldron of violence. The humans who dared to had to sign a waiver before descending the stairs to the gated entrance.
She breathed deep, eyes sliding closed. Adrenaline wafted through the air, not enough to attempt to filter. For that, she needed more humans in the Pit or one male to show interest. She exhaled, releasing a simple banaranjan pheromone lure, and waited.
“Hey.”
She turned away from the railing. A human male with spiky blond hair, pale jeans and a dark navy shirt smiled at her, the prerequisite bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. Nice.
“Hi yourself.” She smiled, revving up her charm. Draw him in slowly, then get his heart racing.
“Would you like to dance?”
“Sure.”
“Sweet.”
The club was too crowded to move further along the dance floor, so they carved out a bit of room along the rail. Rinna lifted her arms and gave herself over to the frenetic music pouring from the stage. She kept the unnamed blond in her sights, smiling and flirting while dancing close, spiking his adrenaline.
He leaned forward, careful not to spill his beer. “My name’s Cade.”
“Nice to meet you, Cade,” she called out over the lead singer’s growling vocals. She leaned close, brushing her body against his. “My name’s Rinna.”
His heart pounded loud enough for her to hear it. “Rinna. A cool name for a hot chick.”
She laughed. “Does that line get you laid a lot?”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “It may be a line, but it’s still true.”