Chapter 8 #2
Seymour called an Uber to take them back to his truck, and seeing his trusty vehicle was both comforting and a stark reminder of his strange new reality thanks to the giant claw marks in the tailgate.
He made a mental note to ask Neil later if Lou had insurance because there was no way he was paying for that himself.
Once behind the wheel, Seymour got Day settled beside him. “All right. Here we go.” He waited for Sariel to get in on the passenger side to ask, “So, you know this Lovecraft place?”
“I am familiar, yes.” Sariel nodded. “Mr. Heiss has visited it to conduct business with Mr. Kalt.”
“All righty.” Seymour glanced down at Day. “You okay, lil’ girl?” He gave her a pet. “You been real quiet.”
“Thinking,” Day replied. “I… I do not feel confident about this bar. I could be wrong. What if I’m wrong? What if the talking puppy was wrong? What if—”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Seymour smiled gently. “If you’re wrong, no biggie. We’ll just try some other place, all right? Can’t be too many places that smell like chicken and candy perfume and pickles in Somerstown.”
Day purred, but it sounded distraught. “I suppose not.”
Sariel scratched Day’s ear. “All will be well. We are together, and we will most certainly triumph over any obstacles we face.”
Day pouted. “How can you be so sure?”
“You are a beautiful and strong nekomata, and I am a very powerful angel.”
“What about Seymour?”
“Seymour is rather handy with a golf club.”
“That is very true.” Seymour chuckled, waiting for traffic to clear so he could pull out on the street. “Kinda wish I’d kept that damn thing. Might come in handy later.”
“I am sure we can find you a suitable weapon should you desire one.”
Day perked up. “I do know where to find a magical sword.”
“Let’s hold off on magical swords for now. Hopin’ not to get in any more damn fights today.” Seymour looked over at Sariel, noting he was staring at Seymour’s hand on the wheel. He smiled and placed it on Sariel’s knee.
Sariel smiled, lacing their fingers together.
Day put one soft paw on Seymour’s arm and the other on their joined hands, and her purring sounded much more cheerful.
Seymour pulled out into traffic when he could, asking, “So, where the hell am I goin’?”
Sariel gave him directions, leading them to a bustling part of the city packed full of restaurants, fancy boutiques, and lush flowering bushes jammed along the crowded sidewalk.
There was even an art gallery with a sign advertising a sit and sip painting class.
Moving a single block took several minutes due to the heavy foot traffic zipping back and forth, and it wasn’t even the damn weekend.
The buildings here were a mix of towering plain brick boxes with smaller, more eclectically styled construction crammed in between.
Some had elaborate facades that reminded Seymour of Greek temples, a few had rooftop seating with big fancy balconies, and one in particular had all of the above plus a paint job Seymour could only assume was the result of a rainbow exploding.
Considering the row of various Pride flags framing the doorway, Seymour was pretty sure this was the right place before he ever saw the pink neon sign in the window.
“This is it, huh?” Seymour could hear the bass thumping away as they crawled by.
“Yes.” Sariel pointed to the next block. “There is a parking deck up ahead.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t look like we’re gonna find shit out here.”
“Why would we—“
“Parking. We will not find parking out here.”
After securing a spot on the third level of the parking deck, Seymour urged Day to ride up on his shoulder as he led them down to the bar. As they got closer, he took Sariel’s hand.
Sariel smiled, but it faded quickly. “Once we are inside, I…”
“What?” Seymour bumped their shoulders together. “Afraid some monster in here is gonna run back to Mr. Heiss and fuckin’ tattle?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I am afraid of.”
“Well.” Seymour gave Sariel’s hand a firm squeeze. “If he says shit, we’re just tryin’ to blend in.”
Day meowed curiously. “Mr. Heiss is a demon?”
“Yes. He is my master.”
Day frowned. “And he wouldn’t want you to be with Seymour?”
“No.” Sariel shook his head. “I am afraid the situation is complicated.” He glanced up as the front of the club approached. “And perhaps not one we should discuss—”
“Can I eat him?”
“Day, no,” Seymour chided.
“Technically, she might be able to,” Sariel mused. “In terms of physical ability—”
“See?” Day purred. “I can eat him.”
“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Seymour snorted out a laugh. “No eatin’ nobody for the immediate future, okay? We gotta behave. We gotta be cool. We gotta stick to the plan.”
Sariel blinked in surprise. “We have a plan?”
“Yup. We go in there, get into the sneaky monster part, and, uh… Yeah.”
“That is not a very good plan.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m workin’ on it!”
And by that, Seymour meant he had absolutely no earthly idea as to what the fuck he was doing.
He’d spent the entire day running over hell’s half-acre, juggling one monster nightmare for another, while trying to navigate a potential new romance and a sweet kitty cat monster with serious abandonment issues.
Fuck, he needed a drink or ten.
They stepped into the lobby of the club, halted by a large bouncer with glittery eyeshadow who was no doubt standing there to check their ID.
Sariel ignored him and the door he guarded, opting for one marked PRIVATE in big gold letters. He touched the doorknob, waited, and Seymour thought he heard a click.
Hard to be sure over the music thudding through the walls.
The door opened then, revealing a pitch-black hallway.
Great.
Wonderful.
Nothing fucking creepy at all.
Sariel brought Seymour’s hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Fear not.”
“That obvious, huh?” Seymour grimaced.
“I can hear you clenching your teeth,” Day whispered. “It’s squeaky.”
Seymour sighed.
Sariel ushered them inside the hall so he could shut the door behind them.
Seymour didn’t have to suffer the darkness for long because Sariel’s halo appeared, casting a warm, golden glow around them.
At the end of the hallway was another door, and this one opened into a smoky club, the thick haze cut only by red neons and the piercing spotlight beaming down on the main stage.
The light followed a tall, lithe young man with pale white skin and a shock of neon blue hair as he climbed the pole at the end of the catwalk. He was wearing nothing but glitter and a sly smile, contorting himself into positions that made Seymour’s back ache just thinking about it.
Thick green tentacles descended from the ceiling, curling around his body and spreading him like an offering. The young man’s expression softened blissfully, his moans audible over the music, and oh—the tentacles were moving between his legs and…
Yup.
That was a thing that was happening.
Sariel didn’t seem to notice or care about the young man’s nudity or the live tentacle sex, as he was focused on getting Seymour over to the bar. The light of his halo had faded but not vanished, and Seymour noticed then that their entrance had already gathered a lot of attention.
Probably because Seymour and the blue-haired man on stage were the only humans here.
Seymour couldn’t begin to name the monsters that filled nearly every seat in the house.
There was some sort of green half-human and half-kangaroo man, Bigfoot’s cousin, a lizard with six arms, and more.
It was impossible not to stare, and he was sure he looked ridiculous right now—stumbling over his feet as Sariel dragged him along, like a kid getting pulled through the candy aisle by an impatient parent.
Not that anyone or anything here looked particularly tasty.
Well, other than the beautiful angel still practically carrying him to the end of the bar.
And yes, the whole place smelled of spicy chicken wings, sickly sweet perfume, and the distinct yet oddly inviting aroma of fried pickles.
Sariel sat, urging Seymour next to him. “You really should stop staring.”
Seymour grimaced. “Sorry.”
“The large furry one didn’t seem to be a fan.” Day hopped down to perch on the bar in front of him. “He was—No! Don’t look!” She waved her paws. “I just told you he didn’t seem to like it.”
Seymour kept his eyes trained forward. “Yup. Got it. Yeah. So, let’s get to work on that plan of mine. How about—”
“Whatcha havin’, gents?” a booming voice asked.
Seymour looked up.
And then up.
At an anthropomorphic grizzly bear with small deer antlers wearing a pair of tight jeans.
He had to bite the blood out of his tongue to stop himself from laughing hysterically.
Smokey the fucking Bear was asking for his drink order.
“Nothing for me, please,” Sariel said with a polite shake of his head.
“Uh, bear?” Seymour managed to choke out. He coughed. “No, I meant beer. No. Scratch that. How about, uh, Jack and Coke. Double.”
The bear gave Seymour a quizzical look, but asked Sariel, “He with you?”
“Yes,” Sariel replied.
“Mr. Kalt expectin’ you?”
“No.”
“Well.” The bear smiled. “If he asks, I never fuckin’ saw you.” He tapped the bar and then stepped away to help another patron.
In front of Seymour appeared a short glass tumbler full of brown liquid and ice.
Day meowed and eagerly bopped her paw on the bar.
She pouted when nothing appeared.
“Sorry, kitty girl. I’ll see if they got any milk whenever he mosies back this way.” Seymour raised the drink to his lips but paused. “Wait. Is this even fuckin’ safe?”
“Yes.” Sariel nodded. “It would do Lovecraft’s no favors to poison their customers.”
“Sorry. Was just thinkin’ ’bout them faeries and ya’ know.” Seymour knocked the drink back in two big gulps. “Whew! Okay. Now, ’bout this plan.”
“We are ready!” Day cheered.
“So, uh…” Seymour slurped at the ice.
Fuck.
Not get killed by monsters while looking for a robot head stolen by bad monsters in a monster club?
“Might I make a suggestion?” Sariel asked gently.
“Suggest the fuck away.”