Where Is He...?
The Old Grey nightclub was busy and crowded, as it usually was on a Friday night. Everyone inside was celebrating having finally been relieved from a week full of hardships at work. There was laughter and jeers. The smell of liquor was intoxicatingly tempting. But André resisted the urge to indulge. He was on business. He heard the wooden bar stool next to him grind against the floor. The creaking hurt his ears and he looked to his right to see who it was.
Grunting as he lifted himself onto the stool, André’s dwarf informant finally settled himself and patted down the wrinkles on his suit as he sighed. André wanted to shoot a few jests his way but dwarves were notorious for having explosive tempers. André was trying to save his energy for his assignment.
André caught a couple of people watching the dwarf get onto the stool. The dwarf’s overlarge head turned and stared at everyone inside the club.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?” the dwarf spat. “Never seen a fuckin’ dwarf getting’ a drink?” The people turned back awkwardly towards their business and André tapped the dwarf’s shoulder.
“Focus, Durin,” André whispered. “I need your mind here.” The dwarf waved his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Durin said. The half-man raised two fingers and called for a drink. The bartender stepped forward and looked down on the pair.
“What’ll you be having, Durin? The usual?” he asked as he cleaned out a cup with a towel. The black-haired dwarf nodded.
“Yeah, Alfirin’s Elixir will be just fine for me, however, my friend here…” André’s eyes cut towards the dwarf and then back to the bartender. André fixed himself in his seat and breathed coolly.
“I’m looking for someone. I’ve heard he frequents this club during the weekend.” The bartender chuckled.
“A lot of your kind frequent this bar during the weekend. I’m the only one in New Rome that’ll accept you. What’s his name?” André’s gold eyes blinked.
“His name is Avenant Bleu. You may know him as ‘Prince Charming’.” The man paused and then shook his head casually.
“I don’t know anybody by that name,” the bartender replied. André sniffed and Durin sighed.
“You’re lying. I can smell your fear scent and I can hear your heart starting to quicken.” The black man stood up, revealing his entire six foot, three inch frame. “You aren’t just lying to me. Don Favola sent me to find him. My business is with Bleu but if you want to get involved, I’ll indulge you. Now I’ll ask again,” André said as he leaned forward. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs. In the VIP section to the left,” the bartender gulped. André threw a couple of dollars on the counter then backed away.
“Good,” he said. André pointed to the money. “Treat the dwarf nice,” he said as he walked away. Durin let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Aha, very fuckin’ funny.” The dwarf then turned to the bartender and grinned. “Well, you heard him. Where’s my damned elixir?” he yelled as he slammed his fist on the counter.
André left Durin to his drinks and pushed his way through the partying crowds. Drunk women clawed at him, but once again, André resisted. He could feel his blood bubbling and boiling in his veins. It would soon be time to let go of the restraints. He just needed to find Bleu.
André’s feet carried him up the stairs to the back of the bar and started to climb up. At the top was the bouncer, a enormous man, bigger than André, with a bull’s head. When he breathed, smoke blew from his nostrils. A minotaur. The half-bulls could transform at will and alter their bodies, most often shifting their appearance to normal men. However, bouncers often kept their heads to try and intimidate any wayward bar patron. André didn’t have the time or patience.
“This is the V.I.P. Section,” the minotaur bouncer said. André sniffed and glanced up at the creature.
“Yeah, I can read. I’m on business. Let me through,” he said. The minotaur growled.
“Do you have a V.I.P. Pass?”
André cleared his throat and flexed his fingers. “Don Favola,” he replied. “That’s my pass.” The minotaur’s face after receiving the news was enough to almost allow André to smile. The half-bull backed away sheepishly and pointed down the hallway.
“Down to the—“
“Left. I know.” André brushed past the bouncer and headed straight down the hallway. The bass from the music boomed down the hallway. André could smell liquor, weed smoke and sweat. There were plenty of women as well. Their pheromones caused the man’s hair to stand up on the back of his neck. But he had to resist. It was almost time.
André passed through the curtains leading to the V.I.P. Section and surveyed the scene. His presence gave everyone pause. Numerous eyes went straight to him and André watched everyone for any sudden movement. There was nearly every sort of Yarn spread inside. Young females elves stopped dancing on the poles and turned their bright emerald green eyes towards him. A drunk pale-skinned ogre staggered from the back, reaching out for one of the elven strippers.
“Hey, sexy. Get your golden skinned ass over—“ he stopped when he saw everyone was silent. He waved his drink around and smiled, his ragged mouth in plain view. “Oy, why’d the party stop? Charming’s guaranteed everybody drinks! Live it up, eh?” he said.
So Bleu was here, apparently. The ogre would know where. The crowd parted as André approached them. He recognized a few faces in the crowd. Yarns he had worked with in the past. Some he had been ordered to shake down for the Don. All of them knew who he was and they made sure not to get in his way.
When André got to the ogre, he could smell the fetid stench of the creature climbing its way into his nose. André was disgusted, but he had to withstand. The elf that the ogre chased was continuously denying his advances. Her eyes flashed behind him as she saw André coming.
“Ogre,” André said as he put his hand on the creature’s shoulder. The ogre whirled around and stared André in his eyes.
“Get your damned paws off me! Who the hell are you?” he spat.
“Prince Charming,” André said. The ogre frowned.
“You bloody liar. You’re not Prince Charming. He’s in there!” the ogre waved to the back room. André smirked. Dwarves were violent when drunk. Elves got sexual. Ogres just got dumber.
“Ah, no. You caught me,” André said as he backed away. The pale beast shook his head.
“Damned right. Get out of here, you liar.” André obliged and left the ogre to his elven dating games. The man walked back to the room where the ogre had pointed. He heard the party begin to resume and he took in a deep breath as he pushed past the back room curtain.
Behind the cover, there was a circular room with a door and desk at the back. There were tables to both sides of André and as he entered, his eyes caught the people within. He narrowed his eyes. People. Not Yarns. They all looked and smelled human. André heard the door behind the desk open. Five messy haired, naked women walked out and a young man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes followed. It was Bleu.
He looked up when he saw André. For some reason, he smiled.
“Ah, Don Favola’s pet dog is here,” the young man said as he sat as his desk and the women passed André and left the room. Avenant Bleu kicked his feet up and grinned. “What can I do for you, Mr. Connor?” So, he knew who André was and that he was coming? Yet he didn’t hide…
André glanced around at the men inside the room with Bleu as he walked towards his desk. The men looked tough. Some of them had tattoos that noted them as being a part of one of New Rome’s most violent human gangs. André wasn’t impressed or concerned.
“You already know why I’m here. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be,” André said. Bleu raised an eyebrow and leaned back.
“Oh, is Favola still mad I killed his brother-in-law and left his pretty sister entranced?” he asked. Still? It had only been two days. André growled lowly and planted his hands on Bleu’s desk.
“I can either take you to him or I can take the top piece of you to him.”
“Or you could run back to the Don like the little bitch lapdog that you are and tell him I’m coming for his wife and daughter next,” Bleu said.
Wrong answer.
André grabbed Bleu by his shirt and pulled him from behind his desk. Bleu squirmed and kicked André away. Before André could reach for the slippery man again, he felt something sharp slip between his ribs and twist. André howled and spun with a backhand to the human wielder. The man flew to the back of the room. The rest of Bleu’s men closed in on André, all of them with knives glinting in their hands. André breathed through his nose and growled. Now, he could afford to let loose.
André’s eyes turned the color of the blood moon and black hair began to form on his arms and face. His canine teeth grew and sharpened. His muscles bulged under his shirt and André snarled as he stared down the men. The humans stared forward with wide eyes and shaking hands.
“My God…he’s a werewolf?!” one of the men gasped. André growled.
“The one and only.” The wolf-man leaped forward and jabbed his clawed hand into the chest of one of the men and lifted him into the air. Mansblood dripped down André’s arm as the last life ebbed away from his victim. The rest of the humans left the room as quickly as their partner had been killed. André turned his head and glared at Avenant Bleu.
The Prince Charming sighed. “Can’t trust humans to do anything.” He pulled a knife from his belt, slickly crafted with ornate designs carved on the blade. Bleu twirled it around and pointed it at André. The smell of it made André weak. It couldn’t be…
“Silver?” André growled. Bleu grinned.
“The one way to do permanent harm to your kind. Given that you’re supposedly the only one left, I’m sure you’re well aware of the effects.” Bleu walked forward and André felt himself grow weaker. He blindly swung and Bleu danced away. With two quick jabs, the damage was done. The silver knife stabbed into André’s stomach and then his chest. The pain never left and André’s blurred vision caught sight of the broken tip of Bleu’s blade.
Prince Charming smirked. “Ah, werewolf skin is tough. Broke the tip.” Bleu glanced at André and sucked his teeth. André’s heart pounded and blood gushed into his hand.
“Fuck…” he wheezed. He reverted to his human appearance and collapsed to his knees.
“Looks like you won’t be taking me back to Favola after all, huh?” Bleu walked past his body. André coughed up blood and watched as Avenant Bleu left the room. The last werewolf laid on his side, groaning as the silver sizzled in his thoracic cavity. It was burrowing towards his heart. If it made it there, he’d die. If he tried to took it out himself, he’d probably do more harm than good. Hell, right now, he was dying.
He couldn’t die.
He was the last.
