Chapter One

The bells and whistles of the slot machines warred with the beat-heavy dance tune coming from the little dance floor that separated the bar area from the casino at Club Fantasy. A mirrored disco-ball hung from the ceiling, spinning slowly and reflecting the neon lighting from behind the bar and from the casino alike. Men drank, danced and gambled, laughter and conversation adding to the cacophony. Clothing ranged from barely there to three piece suits with silk ties, Bermuda shorts in bright, vibrant patterns and skin tight black jeans with equally tight white t-shirts.

It was loud and bright, except in the corners where the shadows lived. It was in one of these shadows that Michael leaned against the wall, wings folded neatly behind his back, glamoured away while he was in public. He watched as a pocket cowboy at the bar fended off the advances of a blond stud, looking rather relieved when an older man with salt and pepper hair and a lovely little moustache tapped Blondie on the shoulder and made him move on. The two clinked longneck bottles together, laughing and smiling, clearly well-matched.

On the dance floor, two strangers in the crowd of dancers were slowly moving closer together, gyrating and boogying until they were rubbing up against each other. Another one night stand in the making. How romantic.

The casino section had its own brand of hooking up, though, unlike the bar, more people were there to gamble than to make a match, and many arrived already coupled, ready to toss their savings away on the chance of a big win.

Michael glanced at the fantasy slots, wondering idly if they’d have jackpot a winner today. It had been a few days -- they were due. It was unlike Chance to let them have as many quiet days as they’d had. One or two, sure, but four? It worried him a little. Chance had something up its sleeve, he had little doubt of that.

It made him itch a little and he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, tapping one out of the pack and putting it in his mouth. He sucked on the filter, tongue wetting the tip. He had to pat himself down to find his lighter, and then it proved to be out of juice, refusing to flame long enough to light his butt.

That was all right, he had his own personal lighter in the back room, and it had been hours since Seth had waved him off with an impatient “I’m working on the books.” Surely the little devil would be done with the tedious accounting.

Michael made his way to the door at the back of the casino marked “Private”, and let himself in. The noise and lights of the Club were left behind the moment the door closed behind him, the oak panelled office sound proof. This room was as quiet and old-fashioned, understatedly luxurious as the Club was noisy, modern and gaudy. The walls were oak-panelled, matching the heavy furniture: a large filing cabinet, a huge desk with two chairs in front of it, and a coat rack next to the door. A computer sat on the desk, along with a rotary telephone that never rang, they had used cell phones since they’d first begun to run the Club.

Seated behind the desk, frowning at the computer was his lover. Little horns poked up from the short, dark hair, and Seth’s tail peeked out from the side of the chair. What made Michael smile though, as he went to sit on the edge of the desk and Seth looked up at him, was the scent of sulphur.

Continued in First Section