The Sacrifice Club

[Millicent Grim]

The turn off Temple onto Dioscuri Blvd. was a game of shadow and light. The first few street lights blend a metaphysical and almost spiritual change to the transformation from electricity to fire-lit gas. It shimmered like fire-opal over the slick black paint of the Camaro, its masculine haunches choruscating like fish scales at dawn. It was a completely different kind of illumination. It went from cold, to warm... and then to darkness. Though there were a few shop windows with lights in them on the left side of the street, they looked out of time. The shop faces were old, like something from London or New Orleans. One was a coffee shop with a neon coffee mug in the Art Deco window frame. But he likely didn't have much time to survey the shops, because the right of the street was a little more strange and certainly much more busy. Almost as soon as the block started, a long line of people stood waiting. Every single one of them was wearing black, occassionally there was an accent of red or deep blue, but for the most part they were one long unit of black clad night-life. Living, breathing night. And they stretched down the longer-than-normal street, almost disappearing in the darkness on this right side of Dioscuri Blvd. Clearly this was where they were going, how could it not be?

As his car would prowl closer, the 5 story warehouse or 1920s looking bank-like structure loomed from the middle of the block. The club, itself, was black glass and stone. It was all obsidian and granite. The club had no markings on it, no words, no bills. But after he looked at it, only when he looked away, did he catch a spectre of words just below the first floor of the structure. When you looked back, looked directly at it, there was nothing there. But if you glanced at it from the corner of the eye, the words faded into view, just at the border of your subconscious. "The Sacrifice Club." The effect was like starlight. (Though certainly it must be some club wizardry in blacklight.) Captains of ships, long before technology and the world began to lack most of its mystery, knew how to navigate the world by the sky. The faintest stars could never be seen if you looked at them directly, and especially not if there was any light source in front of you or behind. You had to flirt with the stars, looking at them out of the corner of your eye. And you needed to master capturing this cool, ghostly glow to navigate the intricacies of the sea and the universe. If you didn't, you lost yourself, maybe forever.

Seduce or die.

In truth, many of the patrons of The Sacrifice Club felt that way about their haven.

There was a main entrance way that recessed into the building below this half-existing sign. The door was about 10 feet back from the wall, and in this out-cove was the obligatory tall and slightly burly (and very German) bouncer.

Though there was a long stretch of "NO PARKING," limo space in front of the Club, there were also 3 parking spots. Interestingly, the curb they were drawn in front of was red. A confusing mixture for most drivers. But these parking spots weren't for people who did not understand. Only one car was parked there, a midnight black GT Ford 500, looming like a darker shadow in the black of the night.