Crimson by Ben Wise

the dance floor is a free standing bar around which a few people are seated on stools, seemingly paying attention to only their drinks. The bar and dance stages visually reflect the building’s previous industrial history; repurposed piping and steel panels, all in various stages of rusting. The room has kept its cold concrete floor and, despite the light show, the inadequate lighting fails to illuminate the corners beyond twisting shadows.
    It’s from those shadows that most of the attention is directed at us. Heads turn to stare at us as Calix leads us across the room. I swear it seems like some of their eyes are glowing in the darkness. Word spreads of our arrival like a ripple. By the time we reach our apparent destination, it feels like we have the undivided attention of everyone in building. Even the dancers have slowed to watch us. Some people start moving to leave. The atmosphere in the place chills.
    My skin crawls, like dozens of people are caressing me all over. Thinking on some of the things I’ve learnt this past day, it’s easy to suspect that some of them are. The thought of it sparks a fire of aggression that swells through me against such a violation. I’m ready to lash out.
    “Come on, before you hurt yourself. They’re waiting for you. You are totally unprepared for a place like this,” Calix says, looking at me.
    The feeling stops suddenly, snapping me back to reality with a shiver that runs through me. Calix laughs derisively at me. In a shadowy corner sit a small group of three, occupying a set of couches set up in a u-shape around a coffee table upon which sit the remains of a few drinks. They watch us intently as we’re lead to them.
    Only as we get close does Cara’s sister become identifiable among them, sitting on the left. Despite the blunt, more aggressive cut of her bangs, the resemblance is obvious. Her expression makes her seem genuinely curious about our presence. If anything, she seems happy to see her sister. Cara stands back, reluctant to step closer.
    Calix takes a seat on the right. Pushing past us, a younger man returns to take up a seat next to him, bringing with him a round of drinks. His outward appearance is messy, unkempt; his motion’s erratic and fidgety. He takes up one of the drinks and hides behind it.
    In the centre seat is a man, slightly older than the rest. While the others are wearing functional clothing, his is clean cut and expensive. Everyone in the group defers to him. While he sits back with relaxed authority, his face is nothing but hatred. From that I can tell this isn’t going to go well.
    Standing to his left is a young woman not much older than me, with long flowing blonde hair and steel blue eyes set to cut right through you. Currently they’re staring directly through me. While Cara’s sister shows curiosity and the man in control shows hatred, it’s impossible to read the expression on her face. It also wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if she’s turns out to be a kine. And judging by the way where she stands behind the man, she’s probably his bodyguard.
    “This is Logan.” Cara starts introducing, beginning with the man in the centre.
    The man, Logan, cuts her short, speaking with venom in his voice. “Cara, I cannot believe that you of all people would be stupid enough to bring her here,” he says. “Word spread pretty quickly about the girl who brings down death upon every place she visits. What the fuck was going through your head when you thought to bring her, who is quite obviously being actively tracked by the Templars, into the single biggest underground psychic establishment in this city? Those same Templars which have decided lately to actively start hunting us down again.”
    You know, I’m starting to get sick of being spoken about as if I’m not here. I turn to Caitlin directly, distinctly turning away from him. “I need your help. I’m told that the people tracking me are doing so through a bond with my sister and