Follow Lois

Behind her, Lois heard Jacinda Blood moan...but she couldn't afford to wait and see how her erstwhile ally was handling the gatekeeper. The demon-dicked reporter stiffened her spine and walked into the club, determined to make the most of the opportunity that Jacinda's pussy had bought her. The mission: find Blaze.

Most of the club was dominated by a stage. Something gyrated around one of the polls, like a cloud of black smoke, occasionally manifesting as arms and legs, breasts and hair. The reporter watched, alongside the other punts who were sitting at small tables, drinks at hand. Sparks burst in the cloud as it swirled, and Lois caught flashes of a smiling face, dark lips, a black nipple on a grey breast, a cunny spread by two fingers, the dark cavern sending sparks out to play against the poll...

Lois **** herself to look away. Most of the topless waitresses serving the drinks looked mostly human; small dark horns curled up from their brows, and their skin was of every color from a light emerald green to a deep sallow yellow, and twisting tattoos marked bare arms and legs, asses and breasts, each one unique. The punters in the seats were human, or so they seemed to Lois. The reporter moved over to the bar on the left side of the room, where a demon with red skin and slightly larger horns was mixing drinks.

"What'll it be?" The accent was exotic, something Mediterranean but unplaceable; it could have been the voice of any woman tending bar from Jerusalem to Madrid. This one lacked any tattoos, and her breasts were smaller. Instinct told Lois that this was a potential contact.

"The special," the reporter said, automatically.

"It'll take a few minutes," the bartender said. "I make them fresh."

"I'll wait," Lois replied, casting her gaze around the bar. The red-skinned demon grunted and began fiddling with something beneath the counter.

There were black curtains over all the wall, and the floor was black carpet. A few people were smoking, but beyond that there were little antique incense-burners here and there, filling the place with an odd, almost sacerdotal scent. It reminded Lois of university, where people would burn incense to cover the smell of marijuana. She couldn't see any other doors or exits except where she had come in, not even a bathroom.

The red-skinned woman was beginning to grunt softly beneath her breath.

"Been here long?" Lois asked.

"Since we opened," the demon said. Her stare was glassy, far away. Distracted. Lois wondered what she was doing beneath the bar.

"Ever met the owner?"

"Of course."

"I don't suppose she gives private audiences?"

A big grunt, and the bartender's whole frame shook, her face screwed up in an expression of supreme effort. There was the clink of glass, and then the red-skinned demon brought up cocktail glass, in which a grey-white ooze sat, steaming slightly.

"Your special. Why do you want to meet the owner?"

Lois picked up the cocktail. It looked like the ones she'd had up above, just...warmer. She brought it to her lips and sipped. Hot...very hot...but runnier than above, saltier, the tiny ammonia flavor exploding in her mouth as though she had just bit into a block of overripe cheddar. The reporter tilted her head back and swallowed quickly, letting it slide down her throat. It gave her time to think of a reply. Why would anyone want to see a demon?

"I'd like to sell my soul," the reporter said, after she set the glass down. "If the price is right."