I woke up in my own bed, I was confused, horny, and hung over in the way you can only get after a night of serious drinking. All metaphors of carpets and steel wool aside, my throat felt like hell, my head felt like hell was only a warm up, and I could taste blood in my mouth.

I lay still letting the sounds of the day filter through my cotton-swaddled head. I rolled over and punched the keyboard that was propped against my bedside table. My knuckles hurt too apparently. I squinted my eyes against the light from the monitor and saw that it was either three in the afternoon or three in the morning; I had installed blackout curtains over my windows as soon as I started staying up later than midnight. There is nothing like a beam of sunlight in the bloodshot eye to make you want lick the nearest available light socket.

I collapsed back and stared at the ceiling. My first impulse was to close my eyes and go back to bed, that was the first sign of how bad I felt. I'd woken up in the middle of the night before to replenish my blood/nicotine balance, now I was at a loss to imagine doing anything but- something stirred in the back of my bruised and battered mind. Cigarettes, something about cigarettes. I sat bolt upright, quelled the urge to amputate my throbbing head and looked for my jacket. It wasn't on the floor where I usually left it after a late night. It wasn't on the hook by the door where it usually ended up when I was awake enough to care. I checked my shoulders, nope; I hadn't fallen asleep in it, again. That thought led to another. I wiggled my toes. I was still wearing my boots. I threw back the covers and realized I was still fully dressed, and I reeked of alcohol sweat.

I glanced across the room one more time as the last pieces of the night began to fall into place. I remembered the last shot with RG, after that, I was fading fast. I knew someone had drugged me because I remember hearing Sketch asking someone how much they had put in my drink. I never heard the answer, but evidently, it wasn't enough to kill me. I grabbed a spare pack of cigarettes off my desk and tore into it. Once I managed to get both of my shaking hands in alignment long enough to light the cigarette I made for the shower.

I turned on the water to heat up while I stripped, but when I got to my shirt I froze. I had only unbuttoned the shirt halfway but already I could see something red on my chest. I looked down to get a better view, but only saw a blur as my brain shifted across the sandpaper of my brainpan. I snubbed out the cigarette, removed the shirt and stepped up to the full-length mirror. There in all it's reversed glory was the message dlof eht ot emoclew, and an email address I had never seen before. It was written in lipstick. My heart beat triple time and as I wondered if Dream's disappearance last night had been an act, or some kind of initiation. I had no way to find out until I replied to the email address, so I tromped back to my room, got out a pen and transcribed the address from memory. I brought pen, paper and body odor back to the bathroom to double check my transcription in the mirror. I scratched out and fixed the few letters I had transposed, and then just to be on the safe side I turned the paper over and pressed it to my chest, the lipstick stuck and when I turned it to the mirror, it matched the handwritten version on the front of the page.

After the shower, I felt more human. I carried the paper with me while I made coffee and kept clear of the fridge. I had what amounted to my own wing of the house to myself, so I hadn't bothered to dress between the shower and the coffee pot. After all the mystery of last night I almost expected to find someone sitting on the couch when I came into the living room, but my exhibitionist nature was not to be fulfilled. I got the coffee brewing and peeked under the curtains to find out if it was AM or PM. The blinding light told me it was definitely three in the afternoon, I was in no mood to face that kind of abuse yet so I let the curtain fall and went back to dress.

By the time I was dressed and caffeinated, I was feeling almost human again. I sat down at the computer to send an email to whoever had so kindly delivered me home. I thought about pithy wording, I thought about cries of outrage, I thought about my headache and got an aspirin. When I picked the keyboard back up, I typed out a simple message and hit send. "Write backwards next time." I decided that it was too early to go out and too late to go back to sleep so I put on the Cure's Pornography with the volume way down and grabbed a cheesy vampire novel to wait for a reply.

Half an hour later, riding the crest of a wave of spam telling me all about farm girls, came the reply. One word: "Squint" I started to type something pissed off and paused. I started to ask who it was, and paused again. I finally wrote back two words "tsriF uoY". I picked up my book and settled back in to wait. This time the response came faster, ten minutes and only two advertisements for life insurance later I read "Behind Denny's 30 minutes". The time stamp from the note was five minutes ago, that gave me about two seconds to call a cab, or five minutes to spare if I ran.

I called for a taxi. I grabbed some cash, a spare pack of smoke, my shades and a credit card I had swiped from my perpetually vapid mother and ran for the door. The cab was miraculously on time and I slid into the backseat giving directions the second I got in. The ride was short and uneventful; my arrival was even more so. I prowled the back of the restaurant for the five minutes it took for it to be exactly 30 minutes from the moment I hit send on the letter. I sat on the hood of an old car for another ten. I started walking around the front of the restaurant when the car I had been sitting on honked. I turned and there in the windshield was the transvestite from the club. She was wearing an olive green sweater and a pair of custom shades straight out of Transmetropolitan. I stared for a moment and then walked to the driver's side window.

Just as I reached the window, she opened the door and got out. I had to dance back to avoid losing a shin. She was shorter than I remembered from the night before, this time her spandex T-shirt read in tiny wording "If you can read this. I can reach your jugular" I realized I was staring at her left nipple and looked her in the eye. I waited for her to say something until I realized she was just watching me squirm. Then I realized she was enjoying it and I remembered my headache. "What?" I lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings in her general direction. She still didn't respond, so I tried a different tactic. "Are you really a trans?" I waved at her shirt with my cigarette.

"Are you really done playing macho?" She got into the car and unlocked the passenger door. Thoughts raced through my head starting with "Macho?" and ending with the psycho theme song. Finally, I gave up and got in. I decided if I was going to go at least the headlines would be interesting. 'Black-clad teen dies in...' I had no idea what I was getting myself into actually, but I was convinced the headlines would be interesting. She started the car and drove off. I tried to watch the road and guess where we were going, but when we passed the same donut shop for the third time, I gave up and tried talking again. "Why not just blindfold me and go straight there? We'll probably get there faster." It was a smart-ass thing to say, but I was bored and nervous and I had guessed by the circuitous route that we were going to end up at the club again.

She pulled over and turned to me with a grin like a hunting shark. "OK, close your eyes." I started to protest, but she pulled out a fleece-lined mask and popped it over my eyes before I could say anything; then she tied the blindfold down with something I couldn't see. Seconds later we were back on the road and she was laughing. "You should see your expression, you look like you're trying to see with your upper lip. And no, for the record I'm femme, born and raised. So, what's so special about you anyway? We get new members so rarely these days you must do something special."

"Oh, now you talk. All I had to do was close my eyes and then you open your mouth? I have no idea what's so special about me. By the way, what do I call you? Bitch just doesn't feel right in my position." Call me macho would she?

"Call me Bettie, and you're Xeno. That's introductions done." I felt the car swerve and heard her curse under her breath. "OK kid, here's the drill. I'm taking you back to the club for your second night. Dream is, well Dream is tied up at the moment so she asked me to bring you. You have to come ten nights before you can know where it is yourself, but I'm guessing Dream told you that already." I nodded. "I can't tell you anything more about what's going to happen tonight, but just relax and enjoy it. Before you know it, you'll be one of us and we can drop the cloak and dagger act."

She went silent again and we drove on in silence for a while, and I used the time to think. It was taking us longer to get there by car than it had to walk there, so I thought we had to be going to a second club. I knew I wanted to see Dream again, but I had no idea what to say to her. Was that other woman her lover? Was she Dream's master? I assumed last night had been an intentionally toned down version of whatever reality reigned in the club, but what was the reality? I had no idea and I wasn't going to figure it out blindfolded in the car.

I had just reached this conclusion when I heard the tires crunch on gravel and the car came to a stop. We were there, wherever there was. Bettie reached over and pulled the blindfold off my eyes. I blinked in the sudden glare and stared at the mansion in front of me. We were parked in front of the ultimate in psuedo-gothic architecture. The house sprawled in all directions. Gargoyles leered from every corner, and stained glass coated the front of the building like a psychedelic nightmare. It was Notre Dame scaled down to the merely huge. I took a deep breath, looked at Bettie, who shrugged and gestured me to the door. I looked at the arched door, steeled my nerve and walked in.

__________________________________

The first thing that hit me as I entered was the smell, there was no cliché incense burning in censors, no stale semen hanging from the rafters; not even the age old stale cigarettes and whisky. The house smelled like warm cedar. I felt enveloped and embraced by the scent. The walls were wood paneled but I didn't think that was the source of the scent, this house was too old for it to come from there. I remember thinking the house just exuded the scent because it was the right smell for the moment. The light from the stained glass windows made the room explode in vibrant color. I made it a few steps into the house before I froze and stared. The foyer was huge. Marble seating lined the wood paneled walls, the ceiling practically disappeared above us and I suppressed the urge to make strange noises just to see if they would echo. I couldn't tell from our footsteps, because the deep Oriental rug muffled our footsteps. A butler type stood unnoticed beside the door. When I saw him he nodded to himself as if this reaction matched his expectations, and stepped toward me. "If sir and madam would be so kind as to step this way?" Neither of us wore jackets but I was sure he would have offered to take them if we had been.

We followed the butler across the foyer and to the right where another set of double doors let into a library. I refused to be over-awed, but it was difficult as we passed towering bookshelves filled with leather bound tomes. I caught a few titles as we walked by and while many of them were related to the occult, I saw just as many reprints of ancient Greek manuscripts, and not a few science fiction classics. We rounded a corner and I stifled a laugh. Before us a bookshelf stood open, it was a real live secret passage way and it was actually in the library! I looked back to see if Bettie was as amused, but she looked bored as though she'd already been on the tour. I smiled and stepped through the portal.

The door shut behind us and a few lights came on to relieve the gloom. Bettie stepped ahead of me and led the way. I hadn't noticed the butler leave, but it must have been he who closed the secret passage. We walked between walls that were unfinished and the occasional crack in the outer plaster let in a breeze to stir the dust. I looked at the floor and saw that while it was clean, there were enough dust bunnies to challenge an industrial strength vacuum, and they were all huddled together against the walls. The hall ran in a straight line for nearly the length of the house and then cut right to dead end at another door. Bettie turned to me, the first hint of a smile playing over her lips and then she opened the door. I stepped back, unsure what to expect. Darkness lay behind the door, pure unabated darkness. Then I heard the thin strains of music and I smiled. Of all the songs to hear belting through the underbelly of a mansion straight out of the Addams family photo album, the last tune I expected was 'Hang the DJ' by Morrissey.

Bettie pressed a button I hadn't noticed before and light sprang into blinding existence, the darkness behind the door fled to reveal a stone lined stairwell leading down beneath the house. I was caught between a sense of delight and foreboding, this was the coolest thing I had ever seen, true; but what was I getting myself into? Bettie gestured for me to lead the way and I went. Who knew what awaited me, but I was damned if I was going to show my misgivings. I stepped down the shadows and the music grew in volume. I could hear a new song playing, this time it was Ministry's 'Angel'. I reached the bottom of the stair and stepped into the biggest club I had ever seen.

It must have spanned the entire underside of the mansion. Support structures were disguised with barbed wire and chain. Half walls split the area into smaller sections, and helped support bondage crosses, hanging manacles, assorted whips, chains, and other more esoteric tools of the erotic arts. To say I was intrigued would be an understatement. To say I was aroused would be a disservice to the enormity of my feelings. To say I was nervous would have been the worst of all. I was riding the edge of fear and eroticism. I was in heaven. I saw Bettie slip into the crowd and then I was alone. Alone in a crowd so large I couldn't see the edge. I forced my breathing to slow and began to focus in individual details. Directly in front of me, a woman crawled, naked except for a collar behind her master. The master was a huge man clad entirely in leather. The leather and his beard made him look like a biker, but his stride as he cut through the crowd made him look more like a member of royalty. To my left two women leaned against a chain wrapped column and slowly peeled strips of latex from each other's bodies. I caught myself staring just as one looked into my eye and smiled. I saw in her gaze not invitation, but acceptance of my observation. She was enjoying being seen. I looked away blushing and pushed my way into the crowd.

Here the scent of tobacco, cloves and alcohol ruled. I could feel the caress of a thousand breaths as I slipped between dancers, those who stood still taking in the crowd, and the occasional person who, like me, looked a bit lost. I caught someone gawking openly at my own rather staid attire. I wore my ever-present Docs, a pair of skintight black leather pants, and a black t-shirt so tight and so thin it might well have not been there. My hair was flowing free today, gelled into a semi obedient mane and my makeup was almost Egyptian in appearance. I looked back at the gawker and tried a smile. He blushed and disappeared into the crowd. My smile widened and I felt a bit more like I belonged; one of the locals instead of a gawker here on day pass. I picked a direction and headed to the first thing that stopped me.

My initial thought was to find the bar, but halfway there I ran into an open palm. I followed the palm to a wrist that was all that peeked out from under the Armani suit, one of the old ones before they went to hell I noted. I followed the black clad arm up to a face framed in black hair and a precision cut goatee. He looked like a non-threatening version of someone's personal demon. I backed up a step and excused myself. Gone was my cocky self-confidence, I had no idea why the guy had stopped me, but it was impossible to brush off as an accident. He looked me up and down, took a swig off his Heineken and spoke through gleaming teeth. "Hello Xenu. I wanted to get a look at the guy who nearly led our Dreamer astray. I wouldn't say you're a stunner, but you'll do." He reached out and held a suddenly lit match under the cigarette I had nervously fumbled out of my back pocket and stood up straight. "You'll do." He repeated himself and without another word, he disappeared into the crowd.

I watched him go and tried to make myself feel better by noting that he wasn't as tall as he had seemed, but it didn't work. I felt deflated and decided it was definitely time to find the bar. I had no idea which direction I had been headed and I couldn't see past the crowd and the fake walls, so once again I chose a direction and set off. This time I didn't make it two steps before someone grabbed my shoulder. I turned ready for another confrontation, and it must have shown on my face because RG threw his arms up in mock surrender. "Hey! It's OK! It's just me. Would you like to join us? We've circled our cabins against the whirlwind over in that corner." He pointed. "C'mon, Sketch had procured her own bottle of Chartreuse and she's trying to convince us it's not just fancy mouthwash." He led the way and I followed happily. At least this was a familiar face in the sea of flesh. I felt as though I had stepped into a Roman debauch as we threaded our way through the crowd. The only pockets of open air were there because those inside had cleared the space to dance or show off. We stepped into one such space and I realized the man strapped face first to the cross in front of me was the same one who had intercepted me earlier. He had his coat and shirt off and a woman in a similar state of undress was vigorously applying a flog to his bared back. His arms were bound to the cross in front of him and I could see marks that said he must have stepped down from the cross to confront me. As we passed, he turned his face and smiled at me. Even bright with excitement and pain his eyes seemed cold to me.

RG led me out of that circle and into another, in this one a beautiful woman dressed in translucent white silk knelt on a small pad as two men bid for her servitude, a third man, apparently her master held her by her braided hair as they spoke. I must have made some small noise because RG stopped and with an impish grin, he offered to put in a bid for me. "She won't be cheap, but I think I could work something out if you want to own her for the night. Just be sure to ask the rules and the true price before you take possession." I shook my head and he laughed. We continued on and before to long we broke into yet another circle, this time we had reached an actual wall and there on a set of couches and chairs that neatly matched their silver and black outfits sat Sketch and Rose. Raven was there dressed in linen and silk and looking for all the world like a Pasha prince. Francis danced out of the crowd just as we arrived, bit my earlobe and laughed as I jumped. He landed on the couch with his head in Rose's lap and offered me a glass that glowed green in the dim light.

"Oh no, you first." I had just remembered my previous night and anger flared for just a brief second. I struggled to keep the anger, but it melted as Francis tipped his head back, rested the base of the cordial glass on his tongue and tried to draw it into his mouth. The glass tilted and liquor sloshed across Rose. She leapt into the air and tumbled Francis to the ground. He rolled, came to rest kneeling in front of me with one arm swept up, the glass in hand and still half full. He raised his head, looked me in the eye, sipped the green liquor; and held the glass out to me, his head bowed. I gave up and laughed. I took the glass by the stem and held it up to the light. I had no idea what it was but it smelled strange and minty. "Well, bottoms up." I knocked the glass back to a chorus of "No! Wait!"

Cold fire exploded in my stomach as I swallowed the mouthful. I tasted mint and moonlight, herbs whose names probably had something to do with maidens and enough alcoholic content to power a jet engine. I covered my mouth and tried to couch quietly but my throat felt glued together by the syrupy flavour of the liquor. RG thumped me on the back and Francis rolled on the ground laughing. Sketch took my glass and refilled it from a square bottle.

"This is Chartreuse, you're supposed to sip it." She told my bulging eyes.

Finally I let loose with a hacking cough. I reached for a cigarette with one hand and covered my mouth with the other. "Chartreuse?" I looked at RG who grinned back at me as he nodded. I watched as he accepted another glass from Sketch and made a show of sipping just a bit of I. His nostrils flared as he swallowed, and his priest's collar moved a bit, but other than that, he gave no sign of discomfort. I sat down on the overstuffed leather chair next to Sketch and sipped. This time I was able to appreciate the subtle flavours. Mint was still the overriding taste, like green mouthwash, but the liquid felt heavy on the tongue and tasted sweet. I swallowed and exhaled. The smell of the club mixed with the scent of the liquor on my palate and I decided I like the effect. I also decided it was time for a few answers.

"OK, it's good. And apparently not poisoned." I waved off Sketch's sounds of outrage. "Now, who drugged me last night?" Not exactly subtle, but I was tired of riddles and backwards messages. I wanted to know what was going on and I wanted to know now.