FRANKIE'S WAS THICK with smoke. A smattering of regulars swayed to the slow music of the band. The bandleader was a dead ringer for Duke Ellington. He should have been playing the glamorous Hollywood Club or Cotton Club, not a dingy dive on the Lower East Side.
She sauntered up to the bar, taking her corner seat as usual. She couldn't bear to have her back open to strangers. No Nativum socialized here, but she couldn't take any chances. The blue-skinned demon tending bar slipped her a pig blood without prompting. Thank the gods. She had only been to the demon neutral space a handful of times, but he knew what she was and what she needed.
Demons made for better company these days than her own kind. She didn't care for the company of humans anymore either. The world was simple when she was
