The Sisters of Indiscretion

The sign above the door glowed soft pink: The Sisters of Indiscretion. It blinked every third beat, like it was trying to wink. Or flirt. I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.

The bouncer was massive—six arms, two tusks, and gold-rimmed sunglasses, even in the dark. He nodded once and waved me through without a word, like we knew each other. Like everyone knew me now.

I wasn't sure if that was comforting… or horrifying.

Inside, the bar was thick with smoke and bass. A haze curled beneath the ceiling like lazy ghosts, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. Spotlights sliced through it in rapid, colored bursts—blue, red, gold. It smelled like perfume, heat, and something faintly electrical.

Two dancers writhed on stage—twins, anthropomorphic cats, sleek and velvet-soft under the lights. Their movements were slow and hypnotic, mirror-perfect. Their tails coiled like question marks behind them as they danced, hands sliding down their own bodies like they were teasing themselves for the crowd.

I caught myself staring—hard—and snapped my gaze away like I’d touched a hot stove.

Note to self: Do not learn a skill from the stripper cats.

The bar curved around like a lazy river, tucked in the back beneath a hanging sculpture of rotating glass moons. I slipped onto a stool and caught the bartender's eye.

She was tall, striking, maybe thirty, dressed in something that technically qualified as an outfit but looked like it had been conjured straight onto her skin. But what really caught me were her eyes. Or more specifically—her makeup. Dramatic black winged eyeliner, blended at the edge into a smoky shimmer that picked up the light like moon dust. Perfect contour. Matte finish. Probably a setting spray that smelled like figs.

Without thinking, I knew exactly how she'd done it.

That was new.

"I'm—uh, I'm Tooru," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I know."

She poured something deep red into a low crystal glass and slid it across the bar. "He's waiting for you in the back."

She nodded subtly toward a door behind a curtain of black glass beads.

I hesitated. "Thanks."

She paused mid-wipe of the counter and gave me a strange look, like I'd complimented her tax returns.

"You're welcome?" she said slowly, like the words felt foreign in her mouth.

I gave her a crooked smile, picked up the drink, and made my way through the beads.

They clicked against my shoulder as I passed, and something about the sound made my skin prickle.

What kind of man's life am I stepping into?