The limo pulled up to the entrance, and if it weren't for the crimson glow of CLUB DUSK cutting through the darkness, we might have missed it entirely. Nestled between two ancient brick buildings, the club was nearly invisible—swallowed by shadows, tucked away like a secret.
Large, ancient wrought iron gates stood tall at the alley's entrance, black as night and open inward towards the alley, as if in invitation. There was no grand façade, no flashing marquee—just a narrow alleyway and the restless line of partygoers stretching down its length, their anticipation the only sign that something existed beyond the gloom.
At the alley's end, stone stairs plunged downward, disappearing into the earth like a passage to something forbidden. The entrance, framed by an archway of weathered stone, bore carvings that time had worn but never erased. Instead of angels, grotesque demons sneered from above, their hollow eyes following each willing soul's descent. The iron-wrought gates stood open, an unspoken invitation from the underworld itself. The whole structure was like a mausoleum misplaced in the middle of an alley, a doorway to something that had been waiting far longer than we had.
Buzzing strips of light lined the stairway, flickering at unreliable intervals, offering just enough glow to guide the eager and the inebriated alike. Fog curled at the edges of the steps, slithering around the ankles of those making their way down. My breath hitched. The swirling mist—it looked just like the wispy tendrils from my vision. My limbs stiffened, heart pounding in my ears.
No. Don't be silly, Elena. I forced the thought away. It was just a fog machine. A dramatic effect. Nothing more.
The red neon sign pulsed defiantly against the aged brick, its glow painting the crowd in hues of sin and indulgence. For fleeting moments, faces shifted—desire, excitement, recklessness—before they vanished into the dark heart of Dusk.
Yet, as I stared down into the depths of Club Dusk, I couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't just stepping into a nightclub.
We were about to descend into something far older. Far darker. And it was waiting.
"C'mon, Elena, this way," Val said, pulling me from the red glow of the sign. Her voice made me jump. That's when I realised, she was guiding me away from the entrance. It was only then that I remembered the long line of people waiting to get in.
We trudged through the cold, biting air, having left our jackets back at my house in the mad rush to catch the limo. We huddled close, trying to hold onto each other in a desperate attempt to fend off the chill.
It wasn't until we had circled the block, reaching what I assumed was the back of the club, where the faint thrum of music echoed, that we finally reached the end of the queue.
"Ugh, the queue's so long… I hate waiting like this," Val sighed, crossing her arms. She glanced at the line, muttering, "If only there was a way to speed things up."
Iah's eyes practically lit up. She stood on her tiptoes, eager to whisper, "What if there was?"
Val raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "I'm sorry darlin, would you like to repeat that?"
Iah smirked, clearly enjoying the idea she had just come up with. "What if we did try to sneak in? There must be a- a- back door or a delivery point or something—all clubs have one!"
I couldn't help but raise my hands in alarm. "Woah, Iah, we could get kicked out and barred!" I loathed the wait as well, but I wasn't going to get myself in trouble for the sake of a queue.
But Iah wasn't fazed. Whatever was in that rosé had given her the confidence of a mastermind—but the senses of a drunken frat boy pulling a prank.
Val wasn't convinced, though. "Iah, it would ruin our night if we got caught. Elena's been waiting forever to get in there."
Iah scoffed, rolling her eyes. "She is waiting forever to get in there." She folded her arms and turned away from us in a huff. Val and I exchanged glances hopeful that the subject was dropped.
We shuffled forward in the queue, but just as I was about to get distracted by the thought of Iah's plan, I saw a guy emerge from a back door, carrying an empty crate of bottles. He tossed it into a large bin before heading back inside.
That was when Iah groaned, her discomfort suddenly evident.
"Iah, are you alright?" I asked, turning to her.
"I REALLY have to pee!" she hissed, now hopping from foot to foot.
Val scrunched her nose in mock disgust. "Really, Iah? Do we need to know about every...bodily function of yours? Surely you can spare us the details until we're inside."
But Iah wasn't having it. "NO, I can't wait, princess! You practically drowned us with all that rosé. It has to come out at some point, you know!"
Val was visibly affronted.
I glanced around, trying to find somewhere safe for Iah to relieve herself. But every spot seemed even dodgier than the last.
"I can't take this anymore!" Iah suddenly declared, before bolting off toward some stacked crates behind the club.
We watched stunned as she disappeared into the shadows, a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity hanging in the air. We heard a few muffled giggles nearby, though it was impossible to tell if they were about her or something else entirely.
The queue crept forward, moving excruciatingly slow. Then I caught sight of Iah again—this time, she was quietly walking towards the back door.
"No!" I whispered, my heart dropping into my stomach.
Val glanced at me, confused. "Pardon?"
I grabbed her arm and subtly pointed toward Iah, who was trying the door. Val's eyes widened and she gasped in horror.
Iah hesitated for only a moment before gripping the handle. The door creaked open, a whisper of invitation. She glanced back at us, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
With a cheeky wave, she slipped inside without a second thought.
"FUCK," I whispered trying not to gain attention. Without missing a beat, I pulled Val forward, hoping we could catch up with Iah before we all got into trouble. Maybe we could make up some story, apologise, and beg our way back into the queue.
We reached the door, and I hesitated. My hand hovered over the handle as doubt crept in. Despite seeing Iah walk through without issue, something in me resisted—like the door itself was pushing back. After a beat, I reached out again, and to my surprise, the door opened easily.
I couldn't understand why I'd ever thought it wouldn't. Before I could process it, Val had already shoved me through.
We were met with stark, light grey concrete walls and a staircase descending below, modern neon lights hanging overhead in harsh contrast to the aged, weathered brick outside. The air reeked of stale alcohol, a cocktail of scents that stung my nostrils and made my head spin. I felt lightheaded and nauseous, craving fresh air, but Val shoved me forward and whispered anxiously, "We need to find Iah, fast, before she does something impulsively stupid."
I muttered under my breath, "Like this wasn't?"
As we neared the bottom of the stairs, a long hallway stretched ahead, with faint music drawing us forward. As we inched closer to the end, the music grew louder—a mix of punk and dance beats, perfectly crafted to pump up the crowd for the themed night. I could feel the beat thudding in my chest, and instinctively, I placed a hand over my heart to steady the strange sensation. The hallway began to splinter into others, with doors leading in every direction. We searched desperately for Iah, hoping she was close by.
Then, we spotted her standing in front of a door where the music was the loudest. She looked frustrated, and impatient, her arms crossed as we approached.
"Iah, what the hell were you thinking?" I spoke in a normal voice, knowing she wouldn't hear me otherwise, but I wasn't about to shout.
"Relax, Elena, there's no one around. This door leads to the club. We're in, baby!" she said, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
Val pointed a finger at Iah's chest, her face a mix of frustration and anger. "Iah, do you have any idea—any idea—what would've happened if we were caught—"
But Val's tirade was cut short. She froze mid-sentence, her violet-blue eyes widening as she stared past us.
The door in front of us swung open abruptly.
A large, muscular man stepped out, dressed in a white, unbuttoned shirt, his long blond hair tied in a low ponytail. He was holding a girl who looked unconscious.
For a second, nobody moved.
We all just stared at each other, a tense silence settling between us. Then, in true Iah fashion—equal parts fearless and reckless—she actually spoke.
"Holy shit, what's wrong with her?!"
She pointed at the girl, who was dressed in a ripped red shirt, a black leather skirt, and fishnet tights. Her peroxide-blonde curls were a tangled mess, and her skin looked eerily pale.
The man's gaze flicked to Iah, and I saw a flicker of emotions cross his face—confusion, curiosity, and then unmistakable irritation.
"The real question, sweetheart, is what the fuck are you doing back here?"
His voice was smooth, carrying a lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place.
Iah opened her mouth to respond, but Val was faster, stepping ahead of her with a practiced, easy charm.
"Sorry, darling, we seem to have gotten lost looking for the ladies' room."
Smooth, Val. Real smooth. She was laying it on thick, every syllable dripping with honey.
The man cocked an eyebrow and smirked. Oh no. That was not good. This was backfiring fast.
I could tell he was about to call us out when, from behind him, crimson nails appeared—one by one—pressing gently onto his shoulder.
The man froze. His jaw tensed as he closed his eyes briefly before glancing up at the ceiling, as if offering a silent prayer for patience. Still gripping the unconscious girl, he turned slightly, revealing the woman behind him.
And God help me, I had never thought to describe a woman like this—but she was exquisite. The kind of beauty that felt unnatural, almost painful to look at.
Her hair was jet black, impossibly sleek, with soft bangs that framed her forehead perfectly. Her face, all sharp angles and delicate curves, was a masterwork of contrasts—angelic yet wicked, porcelain-pale yet sultry. Ruby-red lips curved into a knowing smirk, and her light purple eyes—unnerving and otherworldly—fixed on us with lazy amusement. Contacts, surely. They had to be. But somehow, they suited her, making her presence even more unnerving.
She was dressed like she had stepped straight off a high fashion runway—bold, commanding, and effortlessly regal. A scarlet corset cinched her waist, the sheen of a patent belt accentuating her waist. Burgundy leather straps secured the bodice to her shoulders, a contrast of elegance and restraint. Her skirt, sheer and striped, clung to her legs like a whispered temptation, revealing flawless skin beneath. And completing the look—patent ankle boots, sharp as her gaze, clicking ominously against the floor as she shifted.
Power radiated from her.
And judging by the way the man clenched his jaw and slouched his shoulders in defeat, she wasn't just here to look pretty.
"What do we have here, Bastian?" She purred, she actually purred! Bastian looked uncomfortable and then glared at us.
"A couple of smart arses who thought they could sneak in the back." The woman's eyes widened and she smiled at us in awe, but it still felt predatory.
"Really! Oh now, this is a treat." She looked us up and down and smirked. I felt exposed and wanted to cover myself up. I looked at Val and Iah and they both looked as uncomfortable as me. Val just kept her head down, but I could tell she was angry and feeling guilty at the same time. Iah looked full of remorse, but she kept glancing between Bastian and the woman.
"We need to take care of this." Bastian said through gritted teeth. His deep blue eyes looked at all of us but settled on Iah a bit longer. Valda waved him away as if he was nothing more than an annoying fly.
"Sweetie, don't be dramatic. Just take care of that" she gestured at the unconscious woman, "and these three? They're coming with me." Bastian made to move between us and the woman.
"Valda, I cannot let this go-" The warmth drained from her face so fast it was like the temperature in the whole hallway dropped. She went stiff, her entire posture shifting in an instant. And suddenly, despite being shorter than him, she towered over him. She didn't need height to command the space – her presence alone did that. She lifted a single crimson-tipped finger and pointed it at his chest, voice silk-wrapped steel.
"Bastian," her voice was quiet and husky, her smiled slow and dangerous. "You're so adorable when you think you have any say at all."
He clenched his jaw again.
She leaned in just enough, and I could see how uncomfortable he was, her violet eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Now, be a good boy and do what you're told." she let the words drip like honey but sting with venom. Bastian stood his ground for a bit, but then he exhaled and stepped back, his grip tightening on the unconscious girl. Defeat.
Valda turned back to us, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Well then," she said brightly. "Come with me, my little rule-breakers. You'll be joining me tonight."
We all glanced at each other unsure. Val shrugged and made to follow Valda. I tailed behind her, but Iah stayed back and looked back at Bastian's figure walking away.
"Hey! Is she going to be okay?" Iah shouted back at him. He paused, turned back, and looked at her again, almost trying to figure her out. A small smirk appeared as he replied.
"Aye, this one had too much fun. I'm poppin' her in our first aid room until she comes to. She'll need to sleep it off. I don't envy the thumping her head'll have in the mornin'."
Iah smiled at him, the faintest trace of mischief in her eyes.
"You better keep up, wee rebel, Valda doesn't like to be kept waitin'." He rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at his lips as he walked down the hall and disappeared. I grabbed Iah by the hand, and we followed Val and the mysterious Valda through the door.
But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something. A figure—masked and cloaked—sticking its head out from a door to the left. I froze, my heart skipping. Was I imagining it? I blinked, but the figure had already vanished, as if swallowed by the shadows.
I shook my head, unsure whether I had seen anything at all.
As we followed Valda deeper into the club, the air thickened, the pulse of the music vibrating through our bones like a fast-tempo heartbeat. We could hear the crowd now—people singing along to the music, wooing, and whooping in unison. Then we emerged into the flashing coloured lights of the dance floor. But the dance floor wasn't in front of us—it was far beneath our feet!
We stood on a balcony that overlooked the chaotic swirl of movement below. I took a moment to look away from the crowd and drink in the full view of the club. It was like an underground den, drenched in indulgence, the air vibrating with raw energy. A sensory overload, but in the best possible way—wildly seductive, gritty, and luxurious all at once.
Among the hypnotic flickering lights, dancers appeared in the boxes where, in the past, VIP theatre patrons would sit. But now, black gothic bars had been added across them, and the dancers—of every gender—moved like they were trapped in gilded cages. The lights shifted constantly, casting them in spotlight one moment and melting them into shadows the next, adding to the shifting, dreamlike quality of the entire scene. I noticed random Roman numerals above their "cages," each one marking a different dancer's stage, but I couldn't quite place their meaning.
In one cage, marked with the number VI, two dancers, barely clothed in 80s punk gear, were practically engulfed in pink lighting. They moved with raw eroticism, their bodies pressed together in an intimate, almost hypnotic dance. I held my breath, captivated by their passion. A fleeting sense of longing flickered inside me—something I couldn't quite place. Realising I was staring at a moment too intimate, I quickly looked away.
A flash of orange caught my eye, and another cage, marked with VIII, lit up in bright orange. In this one, a muscular man, his body adorned with golden chains, flexed his muscles as he danced with powerful, almost animalistic grace. He turned his back to the crowd, and with a shout, flashed a playful grin as his toned backside was briefly exposed. I couldn't help but admit—his physique was impressive. I waited for the next cage to light up.
Then, to my right, a cage marked with XI revealed a woman standing in soft grey-blue light, a white bandage over her eyes. She danced with quiet strength, flowing through poses that reminded me more of yoga than a typical club dance. There was something serene and almost otherworldly about her, like she was moving to a rhythm only she could hear.
Ahead of them, the centre stage stood, framed by dark velvet curtains and neon strip lights. There were no performers there yet—Howl by Night hadn't arrived.
Val tapped me on the shoulder, pulling me from my gaze, and I saw we were following Valda further up the balcony. There were different booths tucked away here, upholstered in dark, plush fabrics and lined with cushions. Each booth had a heavy, dark curtain that could be drawn for ultimate secrecy, I imagined. Iron sconces flickered with real candles, adding a soft glow to the otherwise intense atmosphere.
Valda led us up some steps to an opulent booth that had a large, decadent chair in the middle of it. It was a throne room in every sense: dark tapestries and crimson velvet draping the walls. The centrepiece was an intricately designed gothic seat, both regal and menacing, surrounded by dark mirrors that made the space feel infinite and intimidating. From here, anyone could observe the entire club, keeping a close eye on who entered and exited.
Iah looked to Val and whispered, "It's the VIP room!" Val gave her a quick, almost wary glance. We followed in single file into Valda's throne room, and just as the last of us entered, the curtains were pulled closed behind us with a swift, almost calculated motion. I froze, startled, trying to remember if anyone had been standing outside to do that.
She grabbed a cigarette holder adorned with an intricately carved wolf's head at the tip from the table next to her chair. With a smooth motion, she picked up a fancy silver lighter, flicked it, and lit the cigarette. She puffed, letting out a swirl of smoke. The whole time, we were silent—her very presence commanding obedience. And since we were in the wrong, we gave it. She rested one arm on the arm of her throne, the other holding up the cigarette holder, the wolf's eyes now flashing purple in the light. They must have been amethysts.
Her posture was perfect and unwavering as she looked at each of us with piercing eyes before her gaze settled on Val.
"The great fashion model, Valerie Woods," Valda drawled, her voice cutting like a whip. "Couldn't go one day without being VIP, huh? Sneaking in your idea?" Her eyes locked on Val, daring her to respond. Val stayed silent, lips pressed tight—defiant, but unable to speak.
Then Iah spoke up, cutting through the silence. "Normally, I'd agree with you about Val's self-importance, but the idea was mine. So, if anyone's getting kicked out, it should be me. Val and Elena came after me to stop me. Don't make them suffer because of me."
Both Val and I glanced between Valda and Iah. Valda let out a low, amused laugh, clearly enjoying the look of determination on Iah's face. She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray.
"Oh, don't be so gallant," she purred. "I'm not kicking anyone out. You three are going to be a lot of fun."
We all exchanged confused looks.
"So, we can go into the club then?" Iah asked, her voice tentative. Valda leaned over, resting her chin on her fist, her eyes glinting with amusement. She puffed on her cigarette again and blew another swirl of smoke.
"Yes," she drawled, her smile widening. "On one condition: as soon as I call for you, you need to leave the dance floor and come with me."
"Where?" I shocked myself with the question.
Valda's predatory smile shifted to me, a cold glint flickering in her eyes.
"That's for me to know and you to find out, 'Lil Red."