“Batsheba Hunter.”
“Your name isn’t on the list,” the grim-faced bouncer said, drawing his fat stubby finger on the tablet as he pretended to search the guest list.
“Check again,” I said silkily. The prismatic curved horns on my temples were starting to itch. I was going to kill Fatex if he’d neglected to fill out the requisition form again. Not only wouldn’t I get into the Firehouse, but I’d have to put the drinks on my tab. The cocktails in this particular shitty nightclub cost fifty dinero apiece. I never carried more than three hundred when I was working.
“Look, hunter, you’re gonna have to find another dive to give tail.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“No pun intended,” he added.
I leaned over the red rope cordoning the line, and grabbed the red-bearded dwarf by the collar of his purple vinyl jacket.
“For a tawdry caract of so little intelligence, you somehow managed to insult my sexual proclivity and race in the same word and my occupation in the same sentence.” I breathed into his face, trying not to inhale the dwarf’s nauseating tobacco fume. His cheeks flushed, and sweat beaded on his forehead. I didn’t lay down the heat. “My tail is twitchy, and the more I breathe on you, the thirstier I get. Convince me you’d made a mistake.”
He clutched the Cerulean blue hand that was gripping his collar. He yowled when his fingers sizzled.
“You are as stupid as I thought. Everyone knows it’s usually fatal to touch a Cerulean, especially a female.”
He was gasping for breath, even though I’d been careful not to touch his skin.
“So, are you going to convince me, or what? Is my name on the list?” I released him.
“Of course, Authenticator Batsheba, your name is on the list.”
“Show me.”
“Right here.” He pointed to the entry on the tablet.
Good. Now that my identity was on record, I could charge my drinks to the Agency.
The bouncer unlatched the rope. I took a deliberate step forward on my platform heels.
“One more thing,” I drawled.
“Yes, Authenticator?” the dwarf quavered.
“Who instructed you to keep me out?”
“Who?” Still quavering.
“Who told you to lie to me?” I stared him down, which didn’t take much effort considering he was a dwarf.
“The Author.”
“I know that,” I said impatiently. “Which one?”
“Shaman Andramedy.”
“Excellent.” And just to be nice, I gave him a ten dinero tip. I wouldn’t need to spend money tonight, anyway.
I crossed the red carpet into the foyer of the nightclub, where a pair of security guards menacingly approached me, their brawny chests bulging, thumbs latched on their belts, and steel-toed boots gleaming. Humans. I grimaced.