The Dark Side by M. J. Scott Page A

voice came through the intercom. “This is as close as I can get, sir.”
    I fought the temptation to snarl. I didn’t want to walk down a dark alley in this part of town even with a couple of vamps as bodyguards. For one thing, I was bound to get something disgusting on my shoes. But it wasn’t as if we could change the laws of physics and make the limo suddenly skinny enough to navigate the alley.
    Reluctantly, I climbed out of the car. The darkness beyond the thin light from the streetlight seemed to press around me and the smell of trash was overwhelming. Someone hadn’t been emptying their dumpsters.
    I wrinkled my nose and tried not to breathe. Wolf senses aren’t always a good thing. The only thing that made me feel better was the matching expression of distaste on Marco’s face. “So where is this place?”
    Jase pointed toward the darkest end of the street. “Down the alley.”
    From where I stood, the mouth of the alley had a faint reddish glow as if there was a neon sign or something lighting it from within. About as inviting as the gates of hell. But I had no choice but to walk straight into them. “Let’s get this over with.”
    “Stay close to me.” Jase headed down the street and I took his advice, hugging his side like a puppy following its owner. As we neared the alley, the smell of trash was joined by an equally charming mix of stale alcohol, vomit and urine. I stopped, half-gagging. Stupid wolf nose.
    Though you’d have to be a human without a nose not to notice the stink. Maybe Esteban was losing money because this place was a total dump.
    “Gee, Jase,” I said. “You take me to all the best places.”
    “Hey. You’re the one taking me.” He smiled down at me and offered an arm. “Shall we?”
    “I guess.” It had to smell better inside the club. At least, I hoped it did. We rounded the corner, Marco at our heels, into the dull glow of red neon spelling out Infradark over a nondescript doorway in an equally nondescript brick building. Spilling down the alley in the opposite direction from us was a long line of people dressed in black, black, and more black.
    Maybe black cut off your sense of smell. If so, I was obviously wearing the wrong shade of black.
    Marco ignored the line and headed for the bouncer. Happily for my nose, the bouncer seemed to know who he was. The threadbare black velvet rope barring the door was lifted at warp speed and before I had time to really think what I was about to do, I crossed the threshold.
    The interior of the club wasn’t any more appetizing than the exterior. Shabby was putting it nicely. The dim lighting wasn’t dim enough to hide the dingy paint and battered looking tables and chairs. Each step I took, my shoes stuck to whatever the hell had soaked into the carpet. Whatever Esteban was spending his money on, it wasn’t this club.
    The place reeked of half-smoked cigarettes, sweat and stale beer. The stink wasn’t as bad as the alley but still not pleasant. But it didn’t reek of blood and fear like Maelstrom so maybe Jase was right, maybe this was a wannabe club. Fine by me. Maybe we’d get out of here all in one piece after all.
    Marco scanned the room with one quick lookand apparently he didn’t see or sense anything that upset him because he gave me a small nod.
    Permission to proceed, I assumed. “Jase, what was the name of the manager?”
    “Arthur Dempsey.”
    “Okay, why don’t you go to the bar and ask where we can find him?” No point trying to do it myself, Jase and Marco would both just protest.
    Jase nodded and headed into the gloom.
    Which left me alone with Marco. I tipped my head in the direction Jase had gone. “He won’t be long.”
    “I do not mind.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “This is hardly the sort of place I’d expect you to enjoy.” I tried to decipher his bland expression. Despite the seemingly uninterested face, he seemed just a little too...satisfied, that was it...to be here. “Why did you insist on