Page 1 of The Red Room

ONE

Three days before the full moon

The music.Dancing.

Losing yourself to a new song under the shifting lights of the room.

This is the Los Angeles nightlife. It’s electrifying. Some might say intoxicating, in more obvious ways than one. And yet, I’m stuckoutsidethe hottest club, standing on the wrong side of some felt fucking rope. Here I wait, clad in a cocktail dress a size too small, bunching in all the places I’d rather not draw attention to. Twenty-five, embarrassingly single, and barely able to afford the cover charge of Völk should the bouncers up front decide I am no longer at risk of tainting the gene pool.

I move closer to the rope, counting off the three small steps forward in my head. With only two more people ahead of me, a combination of anxiety and excitement coils in my stomach. Sure, I want to get in, but am I really thrilled by the idea of sitting at the end of the bar alone sipping some overpriced vodka tonic?

No, I can’t say I am. Getting out of the coldest night on record might be what’s exciting, and I’d be willing to bet the string of people behind me blowing hot air into their hands would be apt to agree.

While Völk itself appears to have gone through major renovations, the rest of the street is in dire need of a facelift. Every other building within view looks vacant, and most of the streetlights are either broken or off altogether. Trash lines the gutters. The street is full of cracks and potholes. Why would they open a club here of all places? More importantly, what about this club has so many people fighting to get inside?

The line moves again, leaving me front and center. I half expect the other shoe to drop and a max-capacity announcement to be made. It doesn’t, thankfully enough, as icy clouds break from my mouth and plume off the bouncer’s suit blocking my path. He doesn’t notice, at least, I don’t think he does. He keeps a keen eye on the large crowd, which seems to now wrap around the corner.

I check my phone and can’t help but roll my eyes. Half past eleven.Of course.Why shouldn’t I wait in line for almost two hours? It didn’t matter how much time and effort I put into readying myself for the night. I’m notskip the linematerial, and even though I’m used to it by now, it doesn’t make the punch to my self-confidence sting any less.

Court:You make it in yet?

I scoff and more clouds rush to the large bouncer’s torso.Not yet: I respond, my insides screaming something else entirely. Us normal people don’t get to ride the express lane. I am where society expects me to be. Where I belong, I guess. In the cold, patiently waiting for my turn.

I’m next: I text back, tuck my phone away, and peer up at the man towering above me. “Busy night?”

The bouncer glares down at me, somehow ignoring the music and steady thumps pounding the sidewalk. He simply nods in my direction then returns his stern gaze to the ever-growing line behind me.

“Are you here alone?” he asks, his voice heavy with concern or judgment. I can’t tell which. There’s the hint of an accent, but I’m having trouble placing it. When he said “here,” it didn’t quite come out that way.Ear. Are you ear alone?

I glance down at the sidewalk. “No, uhm. My friend is already inside.”

The bouncer leans in close and eyes me for a moment long enough to send an uncomfortable shiver up my spine. “Stay vith your friend,” he says finally, his accent thick and low. “And stay away from the red room.”

Pins skirt across my arms, leaving goose bumps in their place. Nausea and maybe something else, some terrible feeling, twists my stomach. “What’s in the red room?”

He stands upright, his eyes fixing on the crowd behind me. “Next,” he announces and unclips the rope.

I start to walk by him and pause briefly. Below his earlobe is a tattoo, a crescent moon with a small cloud at the center. An odd tattoo. Not one I’d picture him having. It seems as out of place as me walking toward the front doors of this club. There is something about what he said that stands out to me, though.Stay away from the red room.Is this some exclusive part of the club I’m not allowed in to? No, it didn’t feel like he was giving a weird restriction where I could or couldn’t go. This felt like … a warning.

As soon as I reach the doors, he reclips the rope, and the rank-and-file clubgoers clamor at the front. Courtney never mentioned anything about a red room when begging for me to come here tonight. Certainly didn’t let me know how long it’d take to get through the line spanning an entire city block. Sheonly gushed about the hot entrepreneur she was meeting here for the third time.

Red room, I repeat in my head. Unable to think of anything else but a door opening to reveal some grand party the rest of us normal people aren’t invited to. It isn’t surprising. Most clubs have a special VIP area for celebrities and high-profile guests.Sure, I was one of many waiting in line but does that mean I can’t even catch a glimpse of how the one percent enjoy their night out in LA? Safe to assume the answer isyes. I shake off the nervousness coursing through my body and open the large doors of Völk.I am definitely going to regret this.

Fog flows at my knees and whips to the streets in one quick gust, casting an eerie mist over those still waiting for their turn. Unease settles somewhere low in my rib cage. I’m in. That means the hard part is over, right? I scan the packed club.Nope. Definitely not.Turning back, the Völk doors slam shut, blowing my curled brown hair away from my face.

Great.

Just. Fucking. Great.

Getting in here was one thing, but I have a sneaky suspicion what comes next will be more exhausting than standing in a line long enough to lose track of the time. Men circle the women on the dance floor like sharks smelling fresh chum in the water. There isn’t a line at the bar, that would be silly. It’s simply a wall of people blocking anything behind it from view. Christ, there’s even a game of snake leading to the only two bathrooms in here. I was right before.I am going to regret this.

I’m inside: I text her, craning my head for a better look. Music thumps steadily, pulsing through each of my limbs. Lights flash in sequence with the beat, highlighting the club’s patrons in individual strobes. There’s no way I can find her, not when I only see the shadows of each face in Völk change in brightcolors so sporadically. Courtney is in here somewhere, that’s for certain. My only hope now is she will check her phone and see I finally made it inside.

I take a seat at the far end of the bar, carefully smoothing the dress down my hips. It’s tighter than I expected it to be and far more revealing than anything I’ve worn before. “Thanks Court,” I mutter to myself, remembering how she insisted I wear it tonight toget back out there. Völk is not the kind ofout thereI imagined. Sure, the dating apps are a bust, but spending an evening worrying about how the back of my thighs look in a club at max capacity? Probably not the best idea she’s ever had. But I digress. Here I am.Out there, and this dress only manages to make me more uncomfortable than the judgmental stares I get when eating something other than a goddamn salad.

At the bar: I text again and observe the crowd. She might be in there somewhere, swimming with the school of intoxicated fish and intertwined with Roman, I think his name is. Court swore she wouldn’t ditch me for him tonight, but now? I’m not so sure.

The bartender takes notice of me while shaking a cocktail. He glances at the empty chairs on each side of me, and despite how he diverts his attention quickly, it’s difficult to miss the flash of pity in his eyes.

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