Chapter 24 Attend a Social Gathering #2
We made our way to a raised platform on the far side of the room. Unlike the other VIP sections, which were merely elevated above the main floor, mine was elevated and also separated by a barrier of shadows. The bouncer—a construct of bone and metal—recognized me immediately and stepped aside.
Inside, plush seating surrounded a table laden with bottles of rare spirits. The shadows provided a one-way view; we could see out, but no one could see in unless I allowed it.
“This is yours?” Arabella asked, settling onto one of the couches.
“One of the perks of being a chair,” I explained, pouring us each a glass of bloodred liquor. “Each member has their own space.”
A server appeared—a faun with delicate, spiraling horns that caught the light like polished bronze.
Her lower half was covered in russet fur that matched her wild curls, and ended in hooves.
She wore only a simple black vest that left little to the imagination, adorned with pins that I recognized as awards from various criminal enterprises.
“Welcome to the Gilded Gallows, Lord and Lady Blackrose,” she said with a bow that managed to be both respectful and suggestive. “What can I bring you this evening?”
Arabella leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What would you recommend? I’m in the mood for something I’ve never tried before.”
The faun smiled. “First time at the Gallows deserves something special.” She tapped a hoof thoughtfully. “I have just the thing. I’ll be back shortly, my lady.”
She vanished into the crowd. I settled back into the plush seating and pulled Arabella against my side. My fingers trailed on the bare thigh revealed by her slit. From here, we had an excellent view of the entire club, and I could keep an eye on all the entrances and exits.
Our meeting with the Alchemist wasn’t until tomorrow, but I wouldn’t put it past them to stage some kind of preliminary test or observation. They were notoriously fond of games.
“This is incredible,” Arabella breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the spectacle below us.
On the main dance floor, the usual mix of grinding bodies and questionable life choices was in full swing. But the Gallows prided itself on offering entertainment that went beyond simple debauchery.
On a raised dais to our left, an orgy was in progress—a writhing mass of limbs from at least six different species.
A pair of shapeshifters kept changing forms mid-thrust to appreciative applause.
Presiding over this carnal chaos was a succubus, her wings unfurled over the spectacle as she whispered instructions that sent ripples of pleasure through the assembly.
My face hardened into a scowl. “Not a fan of performance art?” Arabella teased.
“Not a fan of demons,” I replied flatly, and hated the look of sympathy she gave me. Instead, I looked at something else.
To our right, a group of vampires had claimed another platform. They passed a human woman between them with the casual elegance of sharing a fine wine. She arched and cried out in ecstasy each time fangs pierced her skin, her face flushed with pleasure.
“Is she actually choosing that?” Arabella whispered, watching the woman arch as fangs pierced her neck. “Or is she under some kind of thrall?”
I shook my head. “She’s likely paying them. Vampire bites are quite the luxury experience these days. Why give them away for free when they can get paid for eating?”
Arabella shuddered and looked away, but I noticed she kept glancing back at the vampires, more fascinated with them than the crescendoing cries coming from the orgy participants.
In a corner booth lit by candlelight, a circle of ancient witches sat knitting, their wrinkled faces serene beneath wispy gray hair. At first glance, they looked like harmless grandmothers, with the kind of maternal faces that suggested fresh-baked cookies and bedtime stories.
Then I noticed what they were knitting.
A man levitated upside down above their table, suspended from the ceiling by invisible threads.
His impossibly long, dark hair hung toward the table in silky strands, and the witches were incorporating it into their work—pulling, weaving, creating an elaborate tapestry.
The man’s face was serene, almost blissful, as if he were in the deepest, most peaceful sleep of his life.
“What’s happening there?” Arabella asked, leaning forward.
I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it. Studied the scene more carefully, watched as one witch paused to stroke the floating man’s cheek. He sighed in his trance, a smile ghosting across his lips.
“I—” An unfamiliar sensation crept over me. “I actually don’t know.”
She turned to me with exaggerated shock. “The great Lord Blackrose admits ignorance? Should I summon a scribe to document this historic moment?”
“Very funny,” I said drily. “There are still plenty of terrible things I know far too much about.”
She watched the scene with renewed interest. “He looks happy, though. Maybe it’s not sinister at all.”
“In a place called the Gilded Gallows, I’d bet against ‘not sinister,’ ” I replied. “But you’re right—he doesn’t appear to be suffering.”
Near the back of the club, a minor demon summoning was underway—probably someone trying to impress their date by calling up a lesser imp to mix cocktails.
That rarely turned out well. Already the bouncers were moving in that direction with the weary efficiency of people who dealt with this sort of thing nightly.
The server returned with drinks that sparkled.
Arabella sipped hers cautiously, then smiled. “Sweet and refreshing. What is it?”
“Liquid moonlight with a touch of distilled rebellion,” the server explained proudly. “A house specialty to get you started.”
A commotion near the entrance drew our attention. A group of fae nobles swept in, their stances arrogant as they surveyed the club with predatory smiles. Their glamors flickered occasionally, revealing glimpses of needle-sharp teeth, hollow eyes, and bark-like skin.
Nearly every woman in the club turned to watch them, expressions ranging from curiosity to naked desire.
I huffed in disgust. “Fae.”
“Not a fan of them, either?” Arabella asked. We watched as one particularly tall fae with translucent wings caught the eye of a young human woman and beckoned her with a finger.
“They’ve cultivated a reputation as immortal sex gods,” I said, swirling my drink. “But all that fairy wine secretly does things to their bodies. That’s why they always target the younger humans. Easier to impress when you have no basis for comparison.”
Arabella’s lips quirked. “The wings are compensating for something, then?”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Let’s just say there’s a reason they rely so heavily on glamor and enchantment.”
“And here I thought they were just naturally irresistible,” she said, watching as the fae led their admirers to a private alcove.
“Nothing natural about it,” I muttered. “Just centuries of good marketing and magical coercion.”
“It works. When I was a teenager, I used to daydream about a fae lord rescuing me from my tower.” Arabella turned a wicked grin toward me. “But I’m happier with how things turned out.”
I gave her a flat stare and said in a low voice. “Please stop setting the bar so low, Arabella.”
She laughed and leaned forward to get a better view at a fight that had broken out near the bar. The combatants were using enchanted chairs as weapons, and the other patrons cheered them on.
I found myself relaxing slightly despite the chaos. Arabella’s delight was infectious, and her lack of moral outrage was refreshing. She wasn’t trying to change anything or save anyone—she was simply observing, learning, experiencing.
It occurred to me that this was what I’d been missing in my previous entanglements.
Not just acceptance of who I was, but genuine enjoyment of the world I inhabited.
Arabella didn’t just tolerate my darkness—she found it fascinating.
And I found myself wanting to show her more of it, to watch her eyes light up with that particular blend of curiosity and wickedness that was becoming increasingly addictive.
“I still think we should have pressed Griffin and Sebastian to come tonight,” she said after a while. “Griffin especially. He seems like he could use some loosening up.”
“Sebastian would be clutching his pearls and Griffin can barely contain his chaos when he’s trying to be careful.”
“But that’s exactly why he needs this. He’s so worried about disappointing you that he’s tied himself in knots. A little debauchery might do him good.”
I snorted. “Considering his antics at our wedding, I’m guessing Griffin knows how to debauch himself just fine.”
As if summoned by my words, a familiar gangly figure appeared on the edge of the dance floor.
“Son of a—” I cut myself off, recognizing the distinctive silhouette. “Griffin.”
Arabella followed my gaze and burst into laughter. “Oh my gods, look at him go.”
Griffin was indeed going. His long limbs flailed in a dance style that reminded me of a scarecrow in a windstorm, his wild hair still caked in flour that shook out all over the floor.
He’d shed his outer robe and was down to a shirt and trousers, both of which were clinging to his lean frame.
But it was his partner that made the scene truly surreal.
He was dancing with an imp—about three feet tall, with purple skin and tiny horns. It was keeping pace with Griffin’s erratic movements with the kind of gleeful abandon that suggested either genuine enjoyment or complete insanity.
They were drawing considerable attention.
“I wonder what Griffin’s crime was,” Arabella mused with a grin.
“Oh, he has plenty, most of them accidental.”
I dropped the shadow barrier just enough to catch Griffin’s eye.
When he saw us, he grinned and waved, then said something to his partner before making his way to our section.
He climbed the stairs to the VIP area, giving the bone and metal construct a wary look, but the construct let him pass at my nod.