had to hide you for weeks.”
“That was months ago, and he’s in jail, remember? Besides, you know I’ve always wanted to get inside this place. How could I turn down free tickets?”
Was Aaron still in jail? Mairi wasn’t so sure. Not after what Lauren had told her. “So, tell me about this man,” Mairi said as she watched a pair of guys with Mohawks and silver chains dangling from their nostrils to their lips saunter past them.
“His name is Sayer,” Rowan answered, watching the guys go by, “and, my God, is he hot. He came into Enchantment this morning with the Tarot Guy. Who, by the way, is überhot, too. He simmers with mystery and totally oozes sex. I bet he’s wild in the sack, once he lets go of his reserve.”
“I know. You talk about him every week.”
“Do I?” Rowan sighed. “He doesn’t notice me. At least not that way.”
“So a guy you’ve never met comes into your store and offers you tickets to Velvet Haven, and you accept them—and don’t feel a bit worried about that, especially after what I showed you happened in the city last night?”
Rowan paused. “Did it happen here?”
Mairi glanced at the bird, then at the facade of the club. “No.”
“Then what’s to worry about?”
“I don’t know.” And truly, she didn’t. But she felt like they should worry. This wasn’t their usual scene. And her dreams . . . they were dark and disturbing and somehow in her mind she had linked them with this place. Even though she’d never been inside the club.
Something brushed by her, skating down her arm. It was a black feather from the raven, which had just flown off the branch. Goose bumps sprang up and she shivered. Her body tingled where it had touched her. She felt warm—aroused.
“Hey, look, the line’s moving,” Rowan announced.
Within five minutes they were standing before a brute of a bouncer who scowled and looked them up and down as he took their tickets. “You’re VIP,” the bouncer muttered as he unhooked the velvet rope and waved them through. “Sign in, name and phone number. Then take the stairs and turn right. Mr. Macdonald will show you where to go from there.”
“Cool!” Rowan squealed as they entered the club and scribbled their name on a clipboard. “It’s even better than I thought.”
The doors suddenly shut behind them, creaking on the old rusted hinges. Inside, neon blue and pink beams of light flickered over the dance floor, illuminating the gyrating dancers. The music was loud . . . pulsing . . . the techno beat hard and heavy. In the shadowed corners were shimmery fabrics in fuchsia and black. The furniture had a Victorian Gothic vibe that reminded Mairi of an old burlesque club. Only it wasn’t occupied by men in tuxes and ladies wearing feather boas. The clientele at Velvet Haven were in leather and PVC. Mohawks and piercings and long Matrix -like coats replaced the tuxes. There were cyber Goths wearing their silver wigs and metallic costumes, as well as those creepy Babydolls who dressed like little girls and walked around sucking their thumbs. Some Metal Heads were holed up in a corner, their leather jackets covered in spikes, their necks adorned with dog collars. A group of women dressed in long black gowns that looked like something out of the Victorian age floated past them. One of them had two little puncture holes on her throat with two drops of blood dripping from the openings.
Talk about taking things seriously.
Against a wall filled with gilt mirrors, the DJ was spinning records, his shoulder-length black hair streaked with electric blue dye, his arms bulging with muscles and tats. He was at least six feet five and the expression on his face was beyond intense.
“Oh my God,” Rowan gasped, looking at the DJ. “That’s him ! The Tarot Guy.”
Mairi swung her gaze to the wall to check out the man who came into Rowan’s New Age boutique on a weekly basis. She got an eyeful, all right. In the reflection of one of the
“That was months ago, and he’s in jail, remember? Besides, you know I’ve always wanted to get inside this place. How could I turn down free tickets?”
Was Aaron still in jail? Mairi wasn’t so sure. Not after what Lauren had told her. “So, tell me about this man,” Mairi said as she watched a pair of guys with Mohawks and silver chains dangling from their nostrils to their lips saunter past them.
“His name is Sayer,” Rowan answered, watching the guys go by, “and, my God, is he hot. He came into Enchantment this morning with the Tarot Guy. Who, by the way, is überhot, too. He simmers with mystery and totally oozes sex. I bet he’s wild in the sack, once he lets go of his reserve.”
“I know. You talk about him every week.”
“Do I?” Rowan sighed. “He doesn’t notice me. At least not that way.”
“So a guy you’ve never met comes into your store and offers you tickets to Velvet Haven, and you accept them—and don’t feel a bit worried about that, especially after what I showed you happened in the city last night?”
Rowan paused. “Did it happen here?”
Mairi glanced at the bird, then at the facade of the club. “No.”
“Then what’s to worry about?”
“I don’t know.” And truly, she didn’t. But she felt like they should worry. This wasn’t their usual scene. And her dreams . . . they were dark and disturbing and somehow in her mind she had linked them with this place. Even though she’d never been inside the club.
Something brushed by her, skating down her arm. It was a black feather from the raven, which had just flown off the branch. Goose bumps sprang up and she shivered. Her body tingled where it had touched her. She felt warm—aroused.
“Hey, look, the line’s moving,” Rowan announced.
Within five minutes they were standing before a brute of a bouncer who scowled and looked them up and down as he took their tickets. “You’re VIP,” the bouncer muttered as he unhooked the velvet rope and waved them through. “Sign in, name and phone number. Then take the stairs and turn right. Mr. Macdonald will show you where to go from there.”
“Cool!” Rowan squealed as they entered the club and scribbled their name on a clipboard. “It’s even better than I thought.”
The doors suddenly shut behind them, creaking on the old rusted hinges. Inside, neon blue and pink beams of light flickered over the dance floor, illuminating the gyrating dancers. The music was loud . . . pulsing . . . the techno beat hard and heavy. In the shadowed corners were shimmery fabrics in fuchsia and black. The furniture had a Victorian Gothic vibe that reminded Mairi of an old burlesque club. Only it wasn’t occupied by men in tuxes and ladies wearing feather boas. The clientele at Velvet Haven were in leather and PVC. Mohawks and piercings and long Matrix -like coats replaced the tuxes. There were cyber Goths wearing their silver wigs and metallic costumes, as well as those creepy Babydolls who dressed like little girls and walked around sucking their thumbs. Some Metal Heads were holed up in a corner, their leather jackets covered in spikes, their necks adorned with dog collars. A group of women dressed in long black gowns that looked like something out of the Victorian age floated past them. One of them had two little puncture holes on her throat with two drops of blood dripping from the openings.
Talk about taking things seriously.
Against a wall filled with gilt mirrors, the DJ was spinning records, his shoulder-length black hair streaked with electric blue dye, his arms bulging with muscles and tats. He was at least six feet five and the expression on his face was beyond intense.
“Oh my God,” Rowan gasped, looking at the DJ. “That’s him ! The Tarot Guy.”
Mairi swung her gaze to the wall to check out the man who came into Rowan’s New Age boutique on a weekly basis. She got an eyeful, all right. In the reflection of one of the
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