Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(73)

“Anybody else get lucky?” I asked, completely over any and all embarrassment I might have had letting a double entendre slip.

A larger problem for me than the lack of leprechauns in any of the first three clubs was the lack of a usable ladies’ room in any of them. I’d assumed they all had ladies’ rooms; it’s just that Satan would be serving sno-cones in Hell before I would’ve set foot in any of them. Even the time-honored squat ‘n’ hover method wasn’t an option. If the floors in the clubs were sticky, I didn’t even want to think about what the bathrooms looked like. And I really needed a clean bathroom right now. I’d been fairly certain our waitresses in the next two clubs hadn’t been trying to poison me, so I’d had more Coke than my bladder could comfortably hold. Not to mention, if Yasha hit one more pothole, I was liable to let out a burp that’d ring his windshield, right before I’d wet my pants.

“Aren’t leprechauns in the Seelie Court?” I asked Ian, trying to keep my mind off the impending rupture of my bladder. “And isn’t the Seelie Court the good guys?”

“When it comes to the fairy courts, there aren’t good guys and bad guys,” he told me. “There’s just entirely too many what’s-in-it-for-me guys—and gals. All goblins and Unseelie aren’t evil, and all elves and Seelie aren’t good. There’s a whole lot of gray out there, more than black and white combined.”

“If the leprechauns know they’re in danger, why don’t they turn themselves in?”

“Because leprechauns are adrenaline junkies.”

“So they like being in danger?”

“Like it and will seek it out.” Ian stopped and spat a whispered curse.

“What is it?”

“Yasha, take us to Bacchanalia.”

The Russian werewolf shot Ian a sharp look in the rearview mirror. “Daredevil is one thing; suicide is another.”

“That’s where they’ve gone. And if they’ve been there long, we’re too late. Get us there and don’t spare the horses.”

Tires screeched, and I was glad I was wearing my seat belt. As it was, it damned near strangled me as Yasha Kazakov spun the Suburban in a U-turn in the middle of a thankfully empty Seventh Avenue.

Ian keyed his comms. “Steve, we’re going to Bacchanalia.”

Silence.

“Do you read?”

A sigh from one, a “Dammit” from the other, and a heartfelt “Shit” from Elana.

Well, that made it unanimous.

“What’s Bacchanalia?” I asked.

Ian answered me. Yasha was too busy trying to get us killed. “If Prince Finnegan knew he had one night on the town, he’d want to make it count and go to the most dangerous club he knew of—one owned by and crawling with goblins. He’d think that since he and his buddies would be glamoured that they’d be safe.”

“Wouldn’t they? Goblins can’t see through glamours.”

“No, they can’t. So Finn would think he’d be able to live dangerously without paying the consequences.”

“And . . . he would be wrong?”

“He couldn’t be more wrong. Rake Danescu owns that club. He’s a goblin, a dark mage, and while he can’t see through glamours, he’d know when they were being used.”

The depth of the leprechauns’ stupidity started to dawn on me. “And the goblins know that there are five glamoured leprechauns out looking for a good time.”

Ian nodded. “Rake Danescu would know exactly who they were the moment five creatures glamoured as human males set foot in his place.” His mouth set in a hard line. “That little bastard Finn was going there all along. Everything he did tonight was just to throw us off.”

“How’s that?”

“Bacchanalia is on the other side of town from all the clubs on the list he gave us. All the clubs on the list are—”

“Sticky.”

“To put it mildly. Bacchanalia is not. It’s upscale and very exclusive.”

“If it’s that exclusive, how are we getting in?”

“My undercover alter ego has a membership.”

Of course he does.

I knew how dangerous goblins could be, but that didn’t stop me from giving a little silent cheer. I bet Bacchanalia had fabulous bathrooms.

Ian paused uncomfortably. “I should probably warn you that Bacchanalia isn’t a strip club.”

My inside voice stopped cheering. “That sounds like a good thing, but if you feel the need to warn me, then it’s not.” I frowned. “I thought you said it was upscale.”

“It is. Bacchanalia caters to men and women, and bills itself as a complete adult entertainment experience.”

“Complete?”

“Experience. With an emphasis on experience. People don’t go to Bacchanalia simply to watch—they go to participate.” He hesitated. “And the five of us will go in together. Three men and two women going to Bacchanalia isn’t suspicious at all.”

“Do you mean . . . ?” I made vaguely suggestive hand gestures.

“Oh yeah. It’s a sex club.”

And the allure vanished from my dreams of a clean bathroom.



BACCHANALIA was located in what looked like merely one brick-fronted nightclub in the city. A pair of hobgoblins, glamoured as unnecessarily huge humans, stood guard on either side of a plain door.