Among Us: A Supernatural Novel written by Carver Edlund

The Demon in the Church

From the corner of her eye, Lemara watched her lipstick inch its way off the bathroom counter, followed closely by a tube of mascara. They clattered on the warped linoleum floor.

She stared at them where they lay. If she didn't know better, she'd say both had been batted off by a territorial cat.

"Okay." She set down her heated straightening brush and bent to pick up her things. "The lipstick I get. It's round. This room tilts. Happens all the time. But the mascara?" She turned it between her fingers. It was shaped like a toothpaste tube, kind of square at one end. Warily, she studied the bathroom: The corners, the tub, the space behind the toilet, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Latte?" she called hesitantly. "Is that you?"

She felt stupid even saying it.

There was no answer. Of course not. She was letting Aya's childish sense of wonder get to her. The girl believed in unicorns, but honestly, that was part of her charm. The way her smile lit up at the simplest things! Aya was a lot like a kitten. Maybe that was why she pretended her cat was still around. Haunting the bathroom.

Whatever. Lemara was done in there, anyway. She packed her cosmetics into the basket on the left side of the sink, checked her hair—no longer coarse but chin-length and sleek, perfect for a night at the club—and then rushed out of the bathroom. She didn't like to leave her dates waiting.

In a corner of the mirror, a coffee-and-cream cat lay with her single front paw hanging over the edge of the counter. She watched Lemara leave the apartment, her tail curling from side to side.

..::~*~::..

The Church looked abandoned from the weedy sidewalk. Housed in a former Episcopal church, the nightclub, like much of historic downtown Denver, was made of brownstone, pitted and crumbling. It was a small, insignificant building crouched in a small corner lot, but the music pounding from the spacious interior and cramped basement below tickled the bones in Lemara's feet. The stained-glass windows glowed with a hellish magenta light. Beckoning. Promising fun and something a little naughtier.

Hanging on Desmond's arm, she took her place at the head of the dressed-up, slicked-up, glittered-up line of partygoers. The bouncer's gaze crawled over her like a physical touch. She took his constipated deadpan as permission to enter the creaky front doors.

While he bought admission in the vestibule, Desmond's dark brown eyes stayed aimed at her face. Sweet, but she wouldn't have minded if they had strayed downward. She'd worn this tight coral pink number for just that purpose. On Aya, it was a dress. On her, well . . . she wasn't going to get carded tonight. She might not even have to pay tonight. Desmond admired her arm against his lighter one as the chick at the ticket counter wrapped their wrists with paper bracelets. The Church was printed on them in purple ink in a wicked, spiky font.

"You ready, beautiful?" he asked, loudly to be heard over the DJ's set.

"After you," Lemara said with a smirk. In flat, sparkly, tasseled sandals, she had him by two inches.

And Desmond, bless him, didn't give a hoot. His brilliant smile flashed. He strutted, preceding her into the club while she held the door. After she followed him in, laughing at the expressions of the white couple behind her, he leaned up and gave her what could only be described as a kiss of pure, hot sensuality in the dark foyer.

Okay. If he kept that up, they might not make it to Happy Hour at the sushi bar downstairs.

"Gorgeous as the evening sky, you are," he breathed against her lips.

"You're not so bad yourself," she breathed back. Then the couple entering next, and the one after, and those after them, pushed Lemara and Desmond into the nightclub proper.