Amidst the general desolation of Bank Street after dark, The Pleasure Dungeon pulsed like an artificial heart.

         “If I told you why we were here, you wouldn’t go any further,” Nat warned, sensing Zak’s hesitation. Clad in a black leather dress and combat boots, the journalist looked like a sick joke. Staring beyond her at the grim façade of the sex club, Zak did indeed turn back. But where would that leave him – and Lila, for that matter? Dead in a ditch and unavenged.

         Nat gestured towards the entranceway. “Après-vous.”

         The knob was antique, ornate in an art nouveau style, but the door itself was the solid steel of a government prison cell. Grateful to be wearing gloves, Zak pulled it open; it was even heavier than it had first appeared. “Ladies first,” he said.

         “Sexist,” she replied, entering the Dungeon.

#

         The wave of sound was propulsive but tuneless. The crowd bobbed mindlessly as strobes rendered the room a series of still photographs, flashing once and never again, while red stage lights glinted off piercings, creating tiny sparks that danced across bare flesh. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors took up most of the walls, making the room appear infinite.

         Zak was struck by the number of hands, swaying above heads, stroking hair, migrating from lower backs to butt cheeks, reaching out to grope strangers. One grabbed his elbow, and a pair of lips brushed his ear before Nat dragged him away. “You see why I didn’t want to come here alone.”

         Elbowing her way through the revellers, the journalist shouted at the bartender. “Yo – I need to talk to Cockroach!”

         A burly Ukrainian man sauntered out from a backroom. “Natalie, my friend” he said, his tone suggesting the opposite. “What brings you here this fine evening?”

         Nat leaned over the counter. “I need access to the Castle Keep.”

         Roach started. “I thought we were done with this.”

         “We are, Roach. This has nothing to do with your establishment, and I promise to be discreet. I just need to talk to some…creatures of the night.” She smiled winsomely. “Come on now, you owe me a favour.”

         He sighed. “I wish I could help – truly, I do. But the Castle Keep is a place where a nice lady like yourself shouldn’t be.”

         She gestured towards Zak. “Not to worry, I have a gentleman-friend escorting me tonight. So, if any of your clientele need a blood offering, he’s their man.”

         Zak blurted out, “A what offering?” Natalie elbowed him in the ribs.

         Cockroach waved his arms. “No need to use that kind of language down here.”

         “My apologies. I wouldn’t want to make a scene,” she replied, fixing him with an icy glare that suggested she would, in fact, make a scene if it helped her get her way.

         “Fine – I’ll have Medina let you into the elevator. Fourteenth floor, down the hall, to the left. The password is ‘Brandon Lee.’”

         “Thanks, Roach. By the way – your subscription lapsed. You should get that fixed.”

         The owner glared as a girl in a hijab guided them through the crowd and ushered them into an old service elevator, painted black on the inside. “Roach gave you the directions, I assume?”

         “Yes,” Nat replied. “Anything else we should know?”

         “They’re having a Crow theme night.”

         “Darn,” Nat said. “We should have put Zak in make-up.”

         Medina laughed. “Wait ‘til you see all the half-assed get-ups. It’s sad, man.”

         The number pad inside the elevator jumped from the first floor to the eighth, and skipped thirteen entirely. Nat pressed the button for fourteen; the doors closed with a disconcerting screech of metal.

         “The Castle Keep,” Nat explained, “caters to vampires.”

         Zak looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “It’s a shared delusion – mass hysteria. They’ve convinced themselves that they’re allergic to the sun and that they need to drink human blood to survive. And some actually do have light sensitivities and blood disorders. The others, though – it’s all in their heads. Fascinating, actually.”

         The elevator chirped as it ascended another floor.

         “So, you’re telling me there’s people running around town drinking blood?”

         “They mostly just come here,” she replied. “Drink each other’s blood, dance to eighties goth-rock, hook up in the bathrooms.”

         Zak gagged at the thought of all the fluids that must be on the walls and floors. He’d packed hand sanitizer for the trip to The Pleasure Dungeon, but he was beginning to think it wouldn’t be enough. “Is it safe?”

         “Safe enough,” Nat shrugged. “It’s better we’re here in twos.”

         “How do you know about this place?”

         “A few years back I started writing an article on this whole scene. Roach sometimes buys ads in my paper, so when he found out he begged us not to run it. My editor started charging him what he called an ‘enhanced subscription fee.’”

         “Then, we are you back here? And what does this have to do with Lila?”

         With a groan, the elevator opened onto a long grey hallway. At the other end, Zak could hear the subtle pulse of music reverberating through the walls. “Someone sent me a copy of the autopsy report today,” Nat whispered. “She was bitten.”

         Zak gasped.

         “That stays between us,” she warned, leading him towards the music. “Have you seen The Crow?” He shook his head. “Movie’s okay. Comic was better.”

         At the end of the hall there was no door, but an oversized poster of Bela Lugosi that swung open when Nat knocked. An off-brand Eric Draven poked his head out, his face caked in greasy white make-up, black circles lining his eyes. “There is a man, playing a violin,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for his small stature.

         “And the strings are nerves in his own arm,” Nat replied, finishing the quotation.

         The Draven smiled, showing off a pair of artificially sharpened incisors. “Welcome to the Castle.”

#

         “Roach isn’t long for this world,” Nat observed once they were out of earshot. Zak’s eyes widened. “The world of vampire clubs,” she clarified. “These people don’t trust him – see how they changed the password without him knowing? I wouldn’t be surprised if they open their own place soon.”

         This club was even dingier than The Pleasure Dungeon, and there were no mirrors. Dozens of wannabe vampires gyrated on the dance floor and reclined on the leather sofas lining the walls, the men dressed in their finest rivethead attire, the women in leather or corsets or nothing at all. A techno remix of a Cure song blasted from the loudspeaker.

         “So, do you have a vamp in mind?” Zak asked sourly. “Or are you just going to pass a survey around?”

         “I still know a bunch of them from my research.”

         Zak scanned the throngs of costumed revellers. “And how do you propose to pick them out of this crowd? Telepathy?”

         “That, I haven’t quite figured out,” Nat sighed, just as a pale hand clamped onto her shoulder. “Natalie!” a woman shrieked. “Long time, no see!”

         Nat spun around to face an emaciated blonde, her collarbone almost bursting from her pale skin. “Lucy! Just the mistress of the night I was looking for!”

         The vampire crossed her arms, her voice taking on a pseudo-sternness as she demanded, “Whatever happened to that story you were writing about us?”

         Nat forced a laugh. “You guys have a cool scene here and I figured publicity would wreck it. Every lame goth kid would show up and pass out as soon as they saw blood.”

         “You’re probably right,” Lucy admitted. “Still, woulda been cool to be in the paper.” Her eyes, artificially red, widened. “What are you doing here now, then – are you joining the tribe?”

         Nat chortled, her fingers digging more deeply into Zak’s arm. “I’m way too adverse to needles, unfortunately.”

         Lucy smiled; she, too, had chiselled her teeth to sharp points. “You get used to it.”

         Nat’s fingernails in Zak’s wrist were now close to drawing blood. “I’m actually here on some sad business,” she said quickly. “His friend Lila – an old colleague of mine – was murdered recently.”

         Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

         “The thing is –” Nat paused to weigh her words, acutely aware of the dozens of other disturbed blood-drinkers within earshot. “Please keep this between us, but they found her body drained of blood.” Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Nat went on before she could speak. “And I know you guys don’t do that, but I was just wondering if you’d maybe heard of anyone who might be pretending to be one of you, and using that to prey on women.”

         Lucy hesitated, lowering her voice. “There’s a guy who got banned from the Keep about a month ago. Not a vampire, but thinks he is. He followed this chick into the bathroom and tried to…bite her.”

         She locked eyes with Zak. “Everything we do here is consensual,” she stressed. “Stalking and biting people – not our scene. That freak took things way too far.”

         “Do you know his name, by any chance?” Nat asked, speaking as loud as she dared. The floor rattled with the drum machine beat of NIN’s “Dead Souls” cover.

         Lucy shook her head. “Anyways, no offense, but this is my song.”

         “Dance your ass off,” Nat replied. “Thank you for your help.”

         “Anytime, bitch.” Lucy grinned again, showing off those freakish teeth. “And Nat – remember, death’s not permanent; don’t let it get you down so much.”

#

         “Come on,” Nat commanded, her grip on his forearm loosening even as she pulled it insistently. “I want to ask the doorman about the bathroom creep.” Zak went along silently, hoping this would be the first step towards leaving.

         But he never made it to the door.

         They stuck close to the wall, where the crowd was thinner, as they made their way towards the exit. It was along this route that Zak stumbled upon the gaunt, shirtless man stretched out on a couch, his eyes shut tight, an expectant smile on his face.

         Standing above him was a young woman with dyed black hair and bright red lips, wielding a syringe. Zak watched in horror as she plunged the needle into his arm, drew blood, and, raising the needle above her head, squirted the fluid into her own mouth.

         It was too much. Zak’s legs gave out first; his mind embraced darkness.

#

         Zak woke up to find himself laid out on a blue plaid couch, his head uncomfortably propped up on the arm. Fearing he’d been spirited away by one of the vampires, he reflexively pressed his hand to his neck.

         Vampires would likely have better décor, he mused as he scanned the room. The occupant had a shortage of end-tables and a surplus of chairs; thus, wooden chairs had been arranged strategically as platforms for lamps and knickknacks. None of the lamps matched.

         Nat emerged from another room, clad in pajama pants and a Clash t-shirt. “So much for not embarrassing me,” she remarked.

         Zak sat up and rubbed his aching neck. “I never said I wouldn’t embarrass you.”

         She took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and crossed her legs. “I told you they drink blood there.”

         “I didn’t expect the needles.”

         “Shit, you didn’t think they actually bit each other, did you? Zak, hate to break it to you, but vampires aren’t real.”

         He shut his eyes. “Except for the one that killed Lila. You ever get his name?”

         “The doorman scanned me the guest book for that night, but it was no help. The guy signed in as ‘Dr. Acula.’”

         Zak looked crestfallen. Natalie’s tone softened. “I’ll identify him,” she promised. “No one that weird can go unnoticed for long. Do you need some change for the train?”

         He shook his head as he stood up and collected his wallet from the coffee table.

         “I can see why Lila liked you,” Nat called. “Be safe out there.”

         As he stepped on the street, even that seemed a tall order.

#

         On his way home, Zak passed by the Pleasure Dungeon, its heavy doors sealed shut, its patrons long gone and undoubtedly asleep.

         Nonetheless, he was grateful the sun was up.

Madison McSweeney writes horror and fantasy from Ottawa, Canada. She is the author of The Doom That Came to Mellonville (Filthy Loot), The Forest Dreams With Teeth (Demain), and Fringewood (Alien Buddha Press). Her website is madisonmcsweeney.com and she tweets from @MMcSw13.