At first it sounded like nonsense.
A few of the more serious Goth types near the dance floor began chanting something low and rhythmic, their voices swallowed by the darkness and the heavy thrum of bass. I paused my scan of the crowd, distracted despite myself. The chant spread, picked up by others until it rolled across the room like a wave. The word still wasn't clear—just a sharp syllable repeated over and over, something like "tat" or "teth"—but the energy behind it was undeniable.
The lights stayed off. The band shifted into a new song without warning, a punishing beat that rattled the metal rail beneath my hands. The regulars erupted, screaming and pumping their fists. Every balcony and railing filled shoulder to shoulder with people leaning dangerously far forward, all of them hungry for whatever spectacle they knew was coming. A girl with neon pink hair and her pock-faced boyfriend shoved in beside me, elbows digging into my ribs as they tried to get a better view.
Then, as if choreographed by an unseen director, the center of the dance floor cleared. Bodies peeled away, leaving a perfect circle of empty space below. Two figures stood there, motionless silhouettes in the dark. The music built higher, louder, until it felt like the air itself was vibrating—
And then it stopped.
Three heartbeats of total silence.
The sound exploded back into existence, and a column of white light crashed down from above, illuminating the lead singer on stage. But the true focus wasn't her. The spotlight slid, centering instead on the two women standing in the middle of the floor.
I'd never seen anything like it.
They didn't just dance, they moved in a way that didn't quite belong to the human body. The blonde wore a crimson dress that hugged every curve, slit high along one leg. She spun with bright, predatory confidence, eyes sweeping the crowd as if choosing prey. Her partner was dressed in white, raven-black hair cascading down her back, head bowed as she turned in tight, fluid circles. When she finally lifted her face, electric blue eyes flashed beneath the lights, and the breath left my chest in a rush.
The blonde was stunning. The brunette was something else entirely—so beautiful it bordered on unreal, like looking at a painting that had decided to step off the canvas. And I knew her.
She was the girl from my vision.
Their dance was impossible to describe without sounding ridiculous. It was athletic and graceful, yes, but also primal, intimate, hypnotic. Every motion flowed into the next without hesitation, without wasted effort. No ballerina, no professional dancer I'd ever seen, moved with that level of precision and abandon at the same time. The crowd watched in stunned silence between bursts of cheering, as if afraid blinking might break the spell.
It took real effort to drag my attention away. Now that I'd found the potential victim, the Hellbourne had to be close. Visions never came without reason.
I closed my eyes for just a second and let my awareness stretch outward, opening the door in my mind only a crack. I felt for that familiar presence—the slick, tar-like wrongness that clung to the demon-ridden. It didn't take long.
Below. Near the bar.
My eyes snapped open and I scanned the main floor, letting my gaze skim over clusters of patrons. Nothing. I went back again, slower this time.
There.
He was so average he almost vanished. Dirty blond hair, medium height, thin build, forgettable face. The kind of man you'd pass on the street and never recall a second later. That was what made him stand out to my Sight. That, and the oily black smear of his aura that looked like smoke trapped under glass.
The people around him laughed, drank, flirted—completely oblivious to the most dangerous thing in the building standing three feet away. Most of them had their backs to him. I pushed away from the railing and headed for the stairs, slipping between bodies.
Movement to my right caught my attention. My muscles tightened, expecting a second demon. Instead, it was Lydia, our eerie waitress, watching me with a puzzled crease between her brows. I gave her half a glance and immediately snapped my focus back to the man at the bar. Panic flared when I didn't see him right away, but then he shifted slightly and came back into view, still staring at the dancers like everyone else.
I leaned against a support pillar, pretending to be absorbed in the performance while keeping him in the corner of my vision. It was harder than it sounded. The brunette's movements tugged at my attention like gravity, and it took discipline to look away. I'd learned that lesson the hard way in Albany—a bar, a moment of distraction, and a Hellbourne's blade carving a permanent reminder across my stomach. The scar still ached in cold weather.
The dance ended as abruptly as it had begun. Applause thundered through the club. In the chaos, the bland man moved. His motion was wrong—too fast, too jerky, like frames missing from a film reel—and nobody noticed. That was their gift: a psychic nudge that made eyes slide past them, memories blur, awareness dull. Everyone forgot them the instant they looked away.
Everyone except me.
The demon slipped toward the rear of the stage area. Ahead of him, I saw the brunette dancer push through a metal door marked Staff Only. The Hellbourne followed without hesitation, gliding past two bulky bouncers who didn't even glance his way. I hurried after them, close enough to stay within his cloak of forgetfulness. If people couldn't remember seeing him, chances were good they wouldn't remember me either.
The door swung shut just as I reached it. I caught it before it latched and slipped inside.
The corridor beyond was stark and institutional—white fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, cinderblock walls, supply crates stacked in uneven towers along both sides. The air was cool and smelled faintly of dust and cleaning chemicals. Footsteps echoed ahead, quick and light. I jogged forward, turning sharply at the next intersection just in time to see another metal door swinging closed.
Instinct pushed me through before my brain had time to argue.
I ran straight into my vision.
The scene froze for half a heartbeat as recognition slammed into me. The brunette was pinned against the cinderblock wall, arms spread, each shoulder transfixed by a silver bolt that gleamed under the harsh lights. A strange double-barreled weapon clattered across the floor at her feet. The Hellbourne shrugged out of his plain tan jacket with calm efficiency and drew a long silver blade from the sheath hidden along his spine.
The future I'd glimpsed wasn't coming.
It was already here.