Yeah, I’d traded the scent of mountain laurel for diesel fumes, and a ley line running under the mountains for a subway line running under the city, but New York had an energy all its own. The mountains had a heartbeat, a soul. Maybe it was the ley line, running under them, maybe it was something else.
I had the same feeling when I’d arrived in New York. It was alive. The city lived and breathed. It could also devour, but so far, it’d kept its fangs and appetite to itself. I hadn’t been chewed up and spit out in the general direction of the Mason-Dixon Line, so I considered my move north to be a success.
THERE it was, glowing in all its purple-neon glory over a door that was intended to look like something you’d find at one of those medieval-themed places that served dry turkey legs and cheap beer in even cheaper plastic tankards.
Fairy Tails.
Oh Lord.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Ian replied.
The bouncer was predictably huge and surprisingly human. He was also dressed like the Jolly Green Giant complete with a club that I hoped was as plastic as the tankards inside; though when he set it down to open the door for us, it made a disturbingly solid thud on the sidewalk.
Inside was even more kitschy, if that was possible.
Ian and I were arriving first, to be followed by Mike, Steve, and Elana in a few minutes. Ian said we didn’t want to attract attention by arriving in a group. I had news for my partner—in this place, no one would have noticed.
Fairy Tails looked like the set of a low-budget fantasy movie. Really low. The walls had been painted—badly—to look like castle stone. And every few feet were “torches” made of yellow bulbs and those yellow/red/orange strips of parachute fabric cut to look like flames. There was an air source coming from somewhere that made the flames flap around like the arms of those inflatable tube people you see at used car dealerships. What I assumed was the VIP section had thrones for seating. And yes, behind the bar were the expected plastic tankards and goblets. And to top off the themed experience, the bartenders were Little Red Riding Hood and the Big, Bad Wolf. The guy in the wolf suit was plenty big, but there was nothing little about what was about to pop out the top of Red’s red leather corset. Those couldn’t possibly be real.
I had to say it. “Maybe you should bring Yasha here for his birthday. He and Red might hit it off.”
My partner didn’t dignify that with a response.
We were seated by Tinker Bell.
She was made up and dressed just like the Disney version, that is if Tink was about to shoot a porno with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. I didn’t think Pete and his boys would have been quite so lost if Tink had been flitting around in what the hostess was mostly not wearing.
Moments later, our Disney parade continued when Snow White showed up to take our drink order. Her getup was the familiar Disney version except the bodice was way lower, and the skirt cut so much higher as to be virtually nonexistent. I guarantee Snow would have had a whole different relationship with those seven dwarves if she’d been sashaying around their house in that.
I don’t think Snow even realized I was there. Though it was obvious she had no trouble seeing Ian, and was making it abundantly clear that drinks weren’t all she was offering. I told myself right then and there that if she offered him a lap dance, leprechauns on the lam be damned, I was out of there. Though I really couldn’t blame her; most of the men in this place wouldn’t have been called prized bulls on their best days.
Ian ordered a beer—thankfully without a side order of Snow.
Pursing her red lips in a disappointed pout, she turned to leave.
I cleared my throat loudly. “I’ll have a Coke, please.”
“Will that be diet?” Snow White asked sweetly.
“No.” I forced myself to smile. “Thank you.” Where was an evil queen and poison apple when you needed one?
Snow flounced off, and I closed my eyes and briefly pondered the insides of my eyelids. Maybe the caffeine would help my headache, and keep me from having to prop my eyes open with those little plastic swords Fairy Tails probably used to spear the olives in their martinis, though from the looks of their clientele, they didn’t get many requests for those.
Snow brought our drinks, Ian’s came in a faux pewter stein, and apparently Coke warranted a goblet. Though after baring her teeth in a smile frosty enough to give the Wicked Queen a run for her money, I decided to leave that Coke right where she put it. Caffeine was overrated, and if I needed help staying alert, I’d just pinch myself occasionally.