Brush of Darkness by Allison Pang

Robert’s there, and you two can try to figure out what the best course of action is. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be seen either. After all, if there’s something untoward going on, showing them that you’re not rattled by it couldn’t hurt.”
    “Unless I get killed for it.” My lips curved into a self-mocking smile. “But I’ll be there.”

H ot stuff, Abby.” The bartender grinned broadly at me, his teeth gleaming in the amber light of the nightclub. This would have been slightly more reassuring if it weren’t for the distinctly wolfish snout pressing out from his face. His tongue lolled between sharp canines as he laughed at my expression, one hairy paw taking the ten-dollar bill I handed him. “You look damn good enough to eat, darlin’. All you need is a little red hood.”
    “Not that hot, Brandon.” I stifled a groan at his words. My fingers curled around the Mudslide he pushed across the bar, smearing the condensation on the frosted mug. I let my lips drift over the straw, the heady sweetness of chocolate and Bailey’s flooding my mouth. My gaze flicked to the mirror behind the counter. No harm in checking myself out, right?
    I was as dressed up as I get, in wedge-heeled, sling-back sandals and denim capris. My shirt was a cut-off, leaving my belly slightly exposed. I hadn’t worked out in ages, but years of
pliés
and
pas de chat
had left my abs with more than a hint of tautness. Maybe not as muscular as before, but I didn’t mind.
    I’d pulled my hair into something more stylishly tousled, and I even brushed on a little eye shadow. Not too much though. Funny how tossing a little glitter on your eyelids suddenly looks garish when you’re standing next to a gorgeous fox-woman or an ethereal nixie. Of course, there were some real ugly creatures that hung around this place too. Not that it really mattered. Glamour or not, beautiful or hideous, the OtherFolk all had an aura of otherworldliness that therest of us couldn’t touch.
    The woman at the other end of the bar was certainly doing her damnedest though. She had hair the color of ripe chestnuts and golden skin, her dark-smudged eyes and green velvet dress giving her a sort of absinthe-Faery-meets-streetwalker vibe. She was holding court among a gaggle of vampires. They were drooling all over her, but I couldn’t tell if that was because she was an artist of some sort, or just because of the 38DD implants bolted to her chest. I shuddered.
    I turned back to the werewolf and snorted. “She seems like your type, Brandon. How come you’re not trying to talk her into being your TouchStone?”
    “She’s just a groupie,” he declared, licking his chops. “She’d be lovely for a few nights, I’m sure, but I’m looking for something a bit more permanent.”
    “And you thought an underage girl would be the best choice?”
    He winced, and his wolf ears flattened sheepishly. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Katy seems so . . .
right
. And she found this place on her own. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? Besides, she’s awfully sweet. I miss that sometimes.”
    I nodded and let my gaze travel to the door. The Glamour draped like a veil at the entrance of the alley leading to the Hallows reminded me of swimming through spiderwebs of boredom and ennui. Mortals that weren’t TouchStones—or who hadn’t had their eyes opened to the OtherWorld—tended to walk on by, glances sliding away as if it didn’t exist. Inside, it was like any other bar. Smoky. Hazy. Hot and sweaty with dancers and drinkers, wingmen and fat chicks. Normal. Well, except for the pointed ears and fanged smiles, that is.
    Up on the stage Melanie played “Last of the Wilds” by Nightwish, her hand rocking over the strings of her violin, itswood a burnished silver color beneath the lights. She twirled about like a gothic pixie, all black corset and Doc Martens.
    Elves crowded the stage, whirling in a flurry of impossible colors, cheering her on with hungry