How Not to Vampire - Season 2

5. The Hall of the Drunken King

Protip for Vampires #77: No, you don't have to be invited in order to enter, but you might consider knocking just in case you're greeted by a stake-wielding tween with a Twilight obsession.

There is only one way to exit a ridiculously expensive car after it has screeched to an attention-grabbing halt at the valet kiosk in front of the club: like a motherfucking boss. It doesn't matter if your heart is pounding in your chest like mine was, or that you're equal parts scared and excited that you're about to do one of the hardest things you've ever attempted: murdering the dude who murdered you. It doesn't even matter than just seconds ago you had been staring at the photo of your ex-girlfriend, wanting nothing more than to call her even though she hates your guts. None of that matters. The instant that door opens and you step out to an audience of curious and jealous party-hopefuls, you feel that thrill run through your veins, and in that instant, you become a badass.

Problem was that while I may have looked the part, on the inside I was a ball of nervous energy and anxiety. I was terrified of completely fucking up and Sebastien killing me in the most embarrassing way possible, and that this time it woud be for keeps. Even if I did make it back, Beatrice wouldn't want anything to do with me after that big of a fuck up, but that was already a pretty big if to begin with. Face it: on the vampire scale from Lestat to Edward from Twilight, I was Count-fucking-Chocula.

"I hate this place already," I muttered as Beatrice came around the back of the car and slipped her arm into mine, a scowl on her face.

"I agree," she murmured. "I was thinking of killing everyone and burning the place to the ground."

I shot a panicked look at Beatrice, unable to tell if she was joking. A chill might have run down my spine, but the wind chose that moment to whip at my legs, cold and biting with the promise of snow. My newly-acquired top coat flared dramatically, adding to the badassery of the moment.

Behold the Hall of the Drunken King! Known as HTDK, it was the most exclusive club in the city. Despite the common knowledge that only members and their guests could enter, a line of hopeful partiers snaked out for blocks. As if they thought they had the connections or some magic formula to beat the impenetrable LIST. I know, because I've been one of those suckers. Tonight was no different.. The poor suckers donned their sexiest clothes, hoping for a night of paying too much for booze and the privilege of partying with the city's upper crust. Sure management had installed standing heaters six-feet apart to make sure their well-placed props didn't freeze, but freezing winds and sub-zero temperatures are nothing to a human in search of a good time.

The building itself was four floors of brick walls and steel beams. The entrance boasted a pair of gigantic wooden doors that would have looked more at home on a castle. They were in turn flanked on either side by a wall of thick glass bricks that distorted the fortunate people already inside into twisted demonic versions of themselves.

Standing guard outside the door was the bouncer, a large black man with a shaved head who wore the standard bouncer uniform—black jacket over a black t-shirt and the obligatory "fuck you" scowl. He had an iPad instead of a clipboard, but it sent the same message, that this was THE LIST and no, you were not on it. I couldn't help but notice the diamond stud in his ear, a metaphor that was working way too hard for relevance or a bad joke.

Beatrice stepped in front of me and leaned uncomfortably close, pretending to adjust my tie as we stood on the short red carpet that led into the club.

"I don't see any vampires," I noted, scanning the throng of people as a way to distract myself from Beatrice's violation of personal space. Had she always smelled this good?