Page 5 of The Arbiter

“Evening, Mistress.”

I incline my head to his greeting and make my way to the small bar to get a drink. As much as I love the spotlight, the nerves still hit me each time. The only show I dance in is the first, almost like a ‘welcome to Hell’ kind of greeting for all the patrons.

This private bar is a mini version of the one downstairs. The room has to be dark, so as not to be seen through the glass that faces out toward the sea of people below. Shiny obsidian tile floor reflects everything almost as perfectly as a mirror, and the walls are painted black. The only lights in the entire area are floor standing candelabras and spotlights in violet and blue colors.

There are high tables scattered around up here, with a few black couches against the walls. My chair is the most prominent one,facing the glass with only a few feet between the two. Like an antique throne, the wood is lacquered black and shiny, and silver filigree winds around the arms, legs, and twin twisted spindles that frame the head rest. The cushions are made of the most expensive black leather money can buy. The majority of my spare time is spent in this seat. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no queen, but the array of people that step through the threshold of my club are mine to watch over. If anyone wants to chat, I don’t consider myself too high and mighty for them not to pull up a seat next to mine.

As I reach the bar, I notice one of my dancers finishing her duties before we hit the stage. She’s a Strige named Jaminesta. We just call her Jamie, though. The other way is just a bitch to pronounce sometimes.

Her straight, pale blonde hair is pulled halfway up and away from her face. She’s wearing one of her usual dominatrix costumes and is already sporting her shifted form. Thankfully, she keeps her nails retracted. Creator knows, we don’t need her accidentally slicing any of us up while she dances.

Her fangs glisten when she smiles at me, and her glowing red eyes gaze at me with humor. “What will you have tonight, Mistress?”

I’m not one for changing up my routine before a show, so she was already expecting me. Now, I just need to take a random shot of liquor, and I’ll be good.

“Absinthe tonight. I’ve had a rough day and just need a pick me up,” I tell her.

She frowns as she prepares my shot. “I heard about that. Felix and Cedric said you came back covered in blood. Want to talk about what happened?”

Cedric is Jamie’s husband of sixty years, so it doesn’t surprise me that he told her. However, I’m going to punch Felix in his big Lupin snout if he doesn’t learn to keep quiet.

“I was attacked by four humans with some blessed blades and a net. I’m still not sure whether they were aiming to wound and capture or maim and kill me,” I answer honestly.

She drops the bag of sugar cubes onto the bar in surprise and leans forward with her hand resting on mine on the counter. “Humans? Who knew how to hurt you? That’s insanity! How could they have known something like that?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know, but I handed them over to the Rites. Hopefully, they can pull something out of their asses on this one and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

She releases me and lets out a vicious hiss at my mentioning the Rites. She’s not a fan of them and openly shows her disdain with me when one wanders into the club.

“It’s probably their fault that the humans knew the secret,” she grinds out. “The Damned would never tell how to kill us, but a Rite wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

I understand her thought process behind that, but I can’t say that I fully agree. Not all Rites are good, and not all Damned are bad. Both just don’t bullshit around. I believe in my pretty little Damned heart that Rites may not point due north on the moral compass, but they are above using petty means to take out their enemies. I’m not arguing with the fact that they’re mostly emotionless assholes, but Iwillsay that they do have honor.

Jamie is one of the many who hate Rites with a passion but keeps to herself when in their company unless provoked. I am her only exception and the only reason she doesn’t outright express physically how she feels about them.

“I don't think it’s them,” I assure her.

She groans, already knowing that I’m about to debate her theory. “Nocturna,” she says, switching from employee to friend, “I know that you’re half Divine and have it instilled in you to see the best in both sides, but I think it clouds your judgment sometimes.”

“You might be right,” I tell her honestly, “but I’ve always had good instincts, and there’s something in my gut telling me that this isn’t them.”

Jamie sighs and nods. “You do. And for all our sakes, I hope that you’re right. Them doing something like that could incite another war that not even the Arbiter could mediate.”

She’s not wrong there.

Our current Arbiter, Cassia, is a stone-cold bitch whether having a casual conversation or in her job as mediator between the two sides. There are also rumors that her loyalties are tipping to the side of the Damned. I’ve heard Rites claiming that she’s excusing Damned for their crimes, even with indisputable evidence brought before her that they are guilty. She’s going to get the boot from her place of power if she isn’t careful. And by boot, I mean she’ll most likely be killed. Can’t say I’d blame anyone who offs her. I’d probably buy them a round of drinks, actually.

I shake off the chill that shoots up my spine at that thought. It feels foreboding to even think about her death. Grabbing my shot, I throw it back and slam the glass upside down on the bar once it’s empty. Damn, it burns so good sliding down my throat.

“Enough doom and gloom shit. Let’s go dance our sweet asses off for our waiting audience. Shall we?” I hold out my hand, and she doesn’t hesitate to take it as she giggles. The other girls wait by the staircase for us. We have an order in which we walk down, so they make way for us to take our places.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” my bartender announces through a mic downstairs, “welcome to another night of blood, sweat, and sexy ladies at the infamous Apothecary Bar and Night Club. Have a seat, grab your drinks, and let’s hear your roar of applause for our burlesque dancers, led by our very own Mistress Nocturna!”

The thunderous sound of clapping and shouts can be heard before I even open the door. We make our way down the steps and out onto the dance floor, the spotlights turned away to shroud us in darkness as we take our spots on stage. Waiting for the applause to die down, I switch to my second form before exiting the steps.

We keep our eyes closed to hide the glow until the last second as we wait for the music. “Homeostasis” by Nostalghia begins to play softly at first then slowly picks up the pace. When the eerily dark dubstep starts, our eyes pop open simultaneously, gaining a gasp from the humans.

As the female singer’s voice begins, the lights flash on, and we dance. Lip syncing the words as we move around the stage Hips swaying as our sultry eyes scan the crowd, our hands feel their way up our bodies in the most sensuous of ways.

---