Skinwalker

While it isn’t rare to see the subhuman aura in this club, it is rare to see a patron with one. To humans it’s a simple ring that plainly hugs the iris; it isn’t special or abnormal, and its nothing they can use to recognize us. To subhumans, though, it’s a completely different story. To us, it’s a metallic silver halo of recognition. At least, that’s the case for most subhuman auras.

This woman’s eyes are different, they’re the color of honey on a hot summer day and her aura glints gold with the pulsing lights of the gentlemen’s club. Because I’ve spent time studying our kind, I know she’s a hybrid, the rarest type of subhuman there is. There are only a few dozen alive at any given time throughout history. The colored aura is generally accepted as a flaw to our kind, something that’s easily looked over. When her eyes meet mine, the recognition of my own forest green aura is legible on her face but only for a moment. It’s almost impossible for 2 hybrids to run into each other; in the twelve years since I became one, I’ve never meant another.

“What can I get for you, love?” I greet in the same manner I would any other customer. While I’m just as curious about her as she is me, the last thing I want to do is draw unwanted attention to either of us.

At Tails Gentlemen’s Club, everyone on the payroll is some subhuman breed or another, and what we all have in common is anonymity. We aren’t interested in advertising what we are or being involved in the developing subhuman culture. We believe it’s better not to broadcast our nature despite our kind going public about two years ago. There are still large pockets of humans who have strong aversions to us. It’s easiest to hide in plain sight, just like we always have.

Noah Maze, the owner of the club and a werewolf in the Benally pack, opened the club intentionally staffing it with subhumans only. Female werewolves have a natural ability to attract men and, in order to keep them safe, he chose to surround them by other non-humans so their nature would be kept secret. Since then, over half of the positions here have been filled by people from the pack he belongs to. He unironically named the club Tails, a euphemism for a woman ass that also happens to be what a female werewolf of breeding age is called. Hiding them in plain sight.

The hybrids’ gaze falls to my nametag, Amber. It’s my middle name and even though it’s not very inventive, it’s also my stage name. No one, at any gentlemen’s club ever, has gone by their real name. Mine is Piper Amber Monáe. Inside of the club I’m Amber, or just as cleverly, Red because of my long copper colored hair. Outside of the club I’m Piper.

“A dirty martini.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

I make my rounds, getting drink refills and casually flirting with the clients as I pass. While they don’t necessarily come to see me, clothed in a burlesque costume that never comes off, the extra attention benefits my tips. Mostly, our clients mean no harm. They’re lonely people who want to fantasize about exotic women with an unusual allure.

We stroke their egos and let them touch safe zones on our bodies when they ask for permission. We sit on their laps, whisper into their ears, and bend over far too often. When a client crosses the line, we give them a firm warning; if it happens again, the wolves remove them. Luckily, that doesn’t happen very often.

On the tablet at the bar, I submit my orders to be made before closing out a tab I collected for one of the other waitresses, Tanya Singh. For a Thursday night Tails is busier than two waitresses can handle without helping one another out. It’s after 8PM and every time a table leaves, someone comes in to replace them.

“I wonder what she’s doing here?” Levi Egan, the bartender, asks. His standard silver aura glints as the club lights pulse while he looks out at the hybrid.

“As long as she tips, who cares?”

“People are paying attention to her.”

I hadn’t noticed the occasional glance in her direction the way he’s been able to from back here but he’s right. The stranger is out of place and uncomfortable, and it makes her a point of curiosity to the clients and earns her an occasional glance from an entertainer who all expeditiously decide the woman isn’t worth their time. The last thing any of us needs is for one of these humans to mistake her discomfort for the actions of a vampire. It isn’t a far leap with how still she is or how fair her skin appears under the lighting of the club.

“Get her order ready and I’ll go talk to her,” I say.

“Darlin’, I got several drinks in front of hers; you’re either gonna wait or learn to make it yourself.”

“I know how to make a martini.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t think I know how to make it?”

“No,” he says lightheartedly. “I really don’t.”

I reach for the bright green bottle of gin from the liquor shelf behind us. “I haven’t worked around a bar for the past two years and not learned a few things.”

He continues working on the order in front of him. “I can’t wait to see this.”

While I don’t navigate the bar as easily as he does, I do eventually find the dry vermouth and bottle of olive brine. “Tell me I have something wrong; I dare you.”

He’s enjoying himself enough that he’s stopped mixing just to watch. “So far, so good.”

I grab a shaker, fill it with ice, and mix the drink half and half before adding a bit of the olive brine to the concoction. Then I put the lid on and shake it before pouring the drink into a chilled glass.

“Make sure she knows I didn’t make that.”

I stab three olives with a toothpick. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“No?”

I tray the drink. “Absolutely not.”

“Babe, no, stop,” he grabs my forearm laughing. “Please, you need to add more gin, that isn’t the drink she ordered.”

I pour a bit more gin into the glass without measuring it. “There.”

“You’re going to want to stir that.”

I stir the drink with the toothpick of olives, careful not to slosh the liquor over the rim. “Maybe the extra liquor will help loosen her up.”

“Don’t forget, I didn’t make that.”

I tuck the black leather fold for the tab I closed into my apron and as I leave the bar I hear Levi mutter, “She’s going to love that.”

I cross the club toward the hybrid’s table, ensuring I don’t spill a drop of the overfull drink. I set the glass on a napkin before placing my hand on her back and leaning over her shoulder. “Enjoy the drink and let it do its job,” I advise.

There’s no pause for thought or argument, she simply takes a drink from the glass and understands my meaning. As I leave the table to give Tanya her clients bill, I catch they hybrid look at the martini glass, knowing the mix is wrong but also debating if it’s good enough to finish.

Leaning across the table, I hand Tanya’s client, his billfold.

Tanya and I are the same height, and her black hair is almost as long as mine, falling to her shoulder blades. Her full cheeks, round face, and shallow curves betray her age, making her look a little too young to be working in a strip club even though she is twenty-one. Despite everything that’s working against her, she still has the natural allure every tail possesses, and the clients love her for it.

As the gentlemen scratches his signature across the receipt, she continues to earn the tip she’s about to receive. He stands, adjusting his tie while reminding himself of her name by glancing at the tag over her left breast, Sunshine, and then tucks a 50-dollar bill into her corset.

As she says goodnight to the generous tipper, I take away the empty glass on the man’s table, collect a few more throughout the club, and head for the kitchenette attached to the bar. There’s a curtain separating the club and the show from the behind-the-scenes action is hung in such a way to hide the door that always swings shut behind you.

The room attached to the bar is drastically different from the rest of the club. It’s brightly lit and painted a powdery yellow color with tiled floor that hasn’t been white since the day it was installed. The space is multipurpose: there’s a dishwashing station immediately across from the door, storage along the far wall with a flatscreen television above the racks and an employee refrigerator in the corner. In the nook on the right, next to the door, is a table with two chairs. It’s all crammed into a space large enough for about four people to occupy comfortably.

“I was wondering if you would be able to cover a few hours of my shift tomorrow?” Tanya asks, pushing through the swinging door.

“What’s going on?” I’ll say yes even if she tells me she just doesn’t feel like working. Two hours can earn a girl a lot of money if she plays her cards right.

“I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Is everything alright?” Subhumans don’t make doctor appointments; we don’t get sick and even significant injuries heal themselves in just a few weeks.

She pulls the rack from the dish washer and glances around the room. “I’m pregnant.”

“What? Cong…”

Abruptly, she covers my mouth with both of her hands, effectively silencing me. “I don’t want anyone to know yet.” Last time Tanya was pregnant she lost a set of twin boys about ten weeks in, it was a huge blow to her and the entire pack. It was only a few months ago. “I’m waiting to make the announcement at the next cycle.”

She means the full moon cycle; three days that require complete pack presence on sanctioned land. I have no idea what happens there, no non-were does, its sacred. What I know is every wolf and tail will be off shift and nowhere to be found. The club doesn’t shut down, it would be too suspicious, which is why a portion of the staff isn’t pack. We operate at full capacity, Wednesday through Sunday, and all major party holidays, with or without them.

I remove her hands from my mouth. “Of course, I’ll cover for you.” Then I pull her into a tight hug.

I feel her body relax and after a moment’s relief, she hugs me back. “Thank you.”

“What time should I be here?” I move on like the wind; we’ve had our moment and for her comfort, I let it go as quickly as it came.

“Does 2PM work?”

“I’m free all day.” I slide the rack of dirty dishes into the industrial washing machine and close the door.

“1PM really would be better.”

“I’ll see you then.”

The two of us head back into the club and to my surprise, the table the hybrid was sitting at is empty. She left behind an empty glass with crimson lipstick prints on the rim, a bare toothpick, and $30 folded up under the glass. I slip the tip into my apron and walk the glass back to the bar.

“I’d wager she liked the drink.” I hang the glass upside down between my fingers in front of Levi to show just how much the hybrid enjoyed it; not even a drop falls from it.

“One of these days I’m going to teach you how to make a real martini.”

In the sink at the bar is a basin where I set the dirty glass. “I didn’t hear her complain, and I got a $22 tip out of it.”

“Oh, you got a tip, did you?” His finger hooks my apron, and he pulls me toward him.

I let him but smack his hand away when he goes for the cash. “What was it you said about that drink?” I pause for dramatic effect. “Make sure she knows I didn’t make that.”

“I still advised you how to fix it.”

“But you insisted.” I pout my bottom lip, teasing him. At the end of the night the bartender always gets a percentage of the waitresses’ tips for making the drinks we serve. He didn’t make this drink, which means he isn’t intitled to a portion of this tip. “You know, if you taught me how to tend bar, I’d never have to share another tip again.”

Playfully, he pushes me away from him. “Don’t you have tables to wait?”

Teasing him, I scroll through the list of drinks on the tablet. “Are you sure there aren’t any more drinks I could make?”

“Get out of here.” He throws his shoulder towel at me. I laugh, chuck the rag back at him, and as I walk away, I hear him mutter, “Saucy little minx.”

The lighting in the room changes from blue and green to red and purple. The main stage entertainers rotate to three of the clubs most desirable girls, Kendal Pul who is a tail, and the Sarko twins, Lacey and Sasha, who are sirens. The three spend their shifts at private booths or in the deluxe private rooms and are only brought to the main stage to spice things up.

The routine is choreographed and while the trio takes over the stage the handful of other entertainers work the floor, their dance sequence meshing with the stage performance. It’s a Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night special. The routine changes based on the night and the number of times they perform depends on the crowd. Aside from the three girls currently on stage, there are three others that present the Spotlight Show also. Noah found having six girls made the schedule easier to round out, especially when the cycle lands on Show nights.

During the performance the bar gets far enough behind that Noah, who is always good about keeping an eye on the flow of the club, emerges from his office to help. The werewolf is taller than Levi by several inches, far scruffier, and significantly more Eastern European looking with his dark hair and eyes. The two work seamlessly together, filling one order after another, while I tray drinks for Tanya and me.

“Where’s our third waitress?” Tanya asks Noah as she checks her tray.

“She’s out for the night so Lydia’s heading’ in,” he answers.

Lydia is the assistant manager; she runs the club from 11AM to 4PM on Wednesdays and Thursdays; she occasionally fills in at the bar whenever she’s needed and runs operations from open to close during the three days of the full moon cycle when Noah isn’t around. She’s also Levi’s older sister and a mute which means despite being born from mage lineage, just like her brother, she has no related abilities. The only two things that makes her a subhuman are her fractured metallic silver aura and the ability to recognize auras.

“You couldn’t find anyone else?” Levi complains.

“It’s not his fault you two work at the same place,” Tanya says.

“Actually, it is.” Noah did hire them both.

The employee entrance door echoes down the hallway when it slams shut. When Lydia appears, she’s dressed in street clothes and her thin, dirty blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun. She isn’t a woman with many curves, built more like an athlete than a burlesque girl, but her face is attractive, and her lips are large and pouty.

As the assistant manager, her job doesn’t rely on tips and the club doesn’t need her for her sex appeal. It’s helpful she’s easy to look at but it isn’t absolutely necessary for her role. She’s here because she’s a subhuman regardless of her abilities, she can be trusted, and she’s capable of managing a full staff, including werewolves, which is no small feat.

“I don’t have the uniform,” she tells Noah without greeting anyone.

Comparing her to Tanya and me, she’s closer to the tail’s build than mine, but I’ll be the one donating to her cause for the evening. I’m the only one who keeps extra uniforms stocked in my locker. “I’ll get something for you.”

“Something modest, please. I really don’t want is to see her prancing around like that.” He gestures at the corset and ridiculously short skirt I’m wearing.

I look back at him apologetically because modest isn’t part of the burlesque dress code.