Chapter 29
Zogar
The female demon I enlisted for help chatters nonstop as we walk, asking very personal questions, which I decline to answer.
But that doesn’t stop her from sharing personal information about herself, very little of which I retain. The only details I’ve logged into memory is that the demon’s name is Kestra, she has a wife named Elanthra—but also enjoys the company of males—and she’s a Psionic demon, whatever that means.
I ignore the plethora of other details on offer—like the location of their home, the name of their pet rat, which foods and which sexual acts she most enjoys.
Why does she think I’d be interested in such inane prattle?
I’m deeply regretting my choice of guide, but she was the first demon I encountered who claimed to know where to find Gabreal.
Holding my arm, she’s moving far too slowly for my taste.
At first, I thought her speed was impaired by high-heeled shoes, similar to the ones that human females wear above, but on closer inspection, her feet are shaped in a way that positions her on her toes.
Her resulting slow gait swings her hips and her tail in opposition, although it’s clear that she’s also able to move her tail, independently.
After walking for over forty minutes, we arrive at the location she told me about—the building which houses Gabreal’s new club.
A large male blocks the entrance, and I mentally prepare for a fight, but Kestra gives him her name, he repeats it into a headphone, and then the doors behind him swing open.
Kestra continues to hold my arm until we’re inside, then she releases me.
“Have fun!” She wiggles her fingers toward me, then sashays into the crowd, her tail flicking to touch random people she passes—touching many of them in places she shouldn’t be touching anyone outside a bedroom. She disappears into the throng.
The building’s entrance is cavernous. The walls are covered floor to ceiling in gleaming black marble, and the patrons’ voices bounce off the hard surfaces to create an insufferable din. I push my way into the crowd, now actually hoping to catch another glimpse of Kestra.
With all her constant babbling, I didn’t ask her where in this club I can find Gabreal.
I spot him across the room.
Charging forward, I push demons out of my path but then stop short. It’s not him. It’s yet another image of this infernal demon—like the many I saw outside—but this one is lifelike and has dimension. It’s like a living statue.
“This new hologram is great, isn’t it.” A voice says beside me.
I turn toward a male demon with green skin and spikes on his cheekbones. I point toward the hologram. “Where do I find the real thing?”
The demon’s bushy eyebrows bob, as he leans toward me. “Wouldn’t we all like to know.”
“I must see him.”
The demon steps back, and several heads turn toward us.
I yelled. I shouted loudly enough that it briefly conquered the room’s loud chatter. But before I can apologize, or repeat the question politely, the demon skitters away. In fact, everyone within a twenty-span radius turns away.
I move through the crowd like a scythe through a field of ripe sorghum. No one is likely to help me now.
Spotting an open door, I head that direction, but a tall thick demon blocks the door. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“I’m looking for Gabreal.”
The man nods. “Whom shall I tell him is calling?”
Finally. I firm my stance. “Zogar, King of the Dragons.” There was a time when every soul in the Darkness recognized me on sight. Respected me. Feared me.
The man nods and then presses a button on his headset. “A shifter, calling himself some kind of King of Dragons, is asking for Gabreal.”
I grunt, swallowing my distaste for his wording. At least I’m getting somewhere—finally—and I fight to contain my impatience, while the demon listens to whomever is on the other end of his headset. Even with my superior hearing, I can’t hear a word.
The demon steps to the side, revealing that he’s standing on a landing, about four feet higher than the rest of the room. I step forward.
Kestra sashays toward the bottom of the carved stairs that descend from the landing, a seductive smile on her lips as her tail sways behind her. I fight my annoyance. Kestra knew my objective. If she knew Gabreal was in this room, why didn’t she bring me here directly?
This room is clearly an eating establishment.
A restaurant, I recall the word used above.
Everyone is well dressed, seated at tables draped in white cloths, and servers move about, many balancing trays on one hand while holding the other behind their back.
As if choreographed, groups of servers move toward tables and, in unison, set food and drink in front of those seated.
“Kestra will escort you,” says the demon guarding the door.
“I’ll be fine on my own.” I turn toward him. “Just tell me where to find him.”
The demon’s flat expression remains unchanged. “Kestra will escort you,” he repeats, as if I failed to hear him the first time.
From the bottom of the stairs, Kestra beckons for me to follow.
Running her hand over her hip, she licks her lips, as if she thinks she can arouse me.
Every part of me resists accepting more help from this annoying demon, but I can’t enter this room without walking down the stairs, and she’s at their base.
Before descending, I scan the room. Not seeing Gabreal, I stomp down and glare at Kestra. “Where is he seated?”
She giggles softly. “Oh, he’s not in the restaurant.”
“Then where is he?” My annoyance rises.
A server approaches. “Sir, please lower your voice, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
I’d like to see him try. But I tamp down my rising anger. It won’t serve me right now. I wish I were holding Rosomon’s hand—she always calms me—even though I would not want her exposed to these demons.
Kestra weaves through the tables, and I follow, trying to ignore the heads turning toward us. Has no one here seen a dragon shifter before? I suppose that most haven’t.
We exit the restaurant through red curtains, and I nod to the demon who parted them, reminding myself that being polite will serve me—until it does not.
Kestra leads me into a hallway, covered by what appears to be mirrors.
Inside the ceiling, lights shift erratically bouncing off the reflective surfaces, and the bright flashes sting my eyes.
Walking beside me, Kestra seems unaffected, and based on our reflections, she’s studying me, as if I’m some kind of puzzle she’s hoping to solve. At least her incessant chattering has stopped for the moment.
At the end of the hallway, she presses the call button for an elevator, and gleaming silver doors instantly slide open to admit us.
“Where are we going?” I ask gruffly, as she pushes a button labeled “B”.
“The ballroom.” She smiles. “Gabreal was last seen there.” She looks at her handheld device—a phone—and rapidly taps onto its screen. As the elevator stops, she slips the device into a pocket at the front of her hip.
I brace for the loud pounding sounds and flashing lights I’ve encountered in every room designed for what passes as dancing in these times. But when the doors open into the ballroom, I blink several times to be sure this isn’t an illusion.
Music, lyrical and soft, drifts from a group of musicians playing instruments on a balcony above.
The demons filling the ballroom are all dressed in finery—velvet, silk, pearls and gemstones abound.
The decor, too, is opulent and might have been furnished from my hoard.
My eyes narrow, wondering if some of it did come from stolen gold.
Eldrath did say that searching for dragon hoards had become sport.
Above us, sparkling crystals dangle from a multitude of chandeliers, which cast tiny reflections over the ceiling, ornately painted with pastoral scenes.
On the dance floor, demons elegantly glide around in formation, and every living being in this room seems calm and dignified—even the demons whose appearances would terrify any human.
The demons not dancing, stand or sit around the room’s edges, sipping cocktails and quietly conversing.
This scene is not what I’d expect from a demon ballroom.
Especially not one run by a demon such as Gabreal—an evil demon who has allowed, likely encouraged, so many despicable things to occur in the City of Darkness.
The dances, the music, the garb are reminiscent of a ball I might expect in a human royal court in the Light, and that thought has me imagining Rosomon in such a setting and hoping that someday we will enjoy a dance together like this.
Kestra again consults her phone. “Come,” she says quietly. “Gabreal was just seen at the sweets table.”
She leads me around the edge of the room and into a small antechamber housing a long table covered in dainty, elaborately decorated treats.
Leaving my side for a moment, she speaks to a demon with bright red skin and long twisted horns atop her head.
She’s wearing a pale blue velvet gown, and the contrast between her body and her clothing is jarring, although the gown does become her.
Kestra picks up a tiny cake. Revealing sharp teeth, she pops the morsel into her mouth, then closes her eyes, as if in ecstasy. “You’ve got to try one of those,” she says.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Gabreal?”
She licks her long-nailed finger and smiles lasciviously. Is she truly still trying to seduce me?
“Are you certain you’re not hungry, Zogar?” She licks the tip of her finger again. “Not for anything?”
“Not in the least.” My stomach is grumbling at the sight of this food, but the portions of cake and pastry are so tiny I’d need dozens upon dozens to quash my hunger.
She shrugs. “Your loss.”
My patience is quickly vanishing, and I glare at her.
“Gabreal just left here,” she says. “My friend overheard him saying he’s headed for the rooftop bar.”
I sigh. “Then what are we waiting for?”