From there, we wandered around the other neighboring stores and got Luna decked out in way too much cheap and thrifty alt-girl stuff. You know, black, gothic skirts but with pockets, evil fake leather boots that looked like someone had added heels to the ceremonial military dress of a fascist dictatorship, a weird, cropped jacket thing—it was all very emo, or goth, or alt, or whatever the hell you called that shit. Worst of all, it even looked kind of good.

By the end of it, Luna walked away with a dozen different ways to look like an anime Wednesday Adams, and by God did the price add up by that point. Sure, most of it was 'cheap' relative to the standards of anything more fashionable than a t-shirt and sweatpants, but filling out a full or maybe just half wardrobe of the stuff? Sure, it wasn't nearly as expensive as my own purchases, but it did just barely inch over the thousand dollar mark.

As for Katherine, well, I entertained myself by using her as my own toy doll. Capitalizing on the nature of the particular stores Luna's exploits brought us into, I did my best to find every possible cat themed product and see if I could attach it to my fellow 'Star Guardian.' By the time we left the clothes shops behind, Katherine was wearing a branded 'Hello Kitty' shirt, a silly, white on black tiger print skirt, knee-high socks with little Kitty Kat prints all over them, and even a choker that looked suspiciously like a cat collar. It even had a cute little heart pendant on it where the usual name tag would be.

But that wasn't all. I also found a cat-ear headband and some pink tinted cat eye sunglasses. By the end of it, my own outfit barely stuck out—if anything, I was the one getting overshadowed. Which was fine by me, because the whole point was to have fun creating a ridiculous abomination and sticking Katherine inside of it.

We were all rather hungry by that point—well, at least two of us—and so we stopped at an overpriced, vaguely 'Mediterranean' place to get lunch. They had outdoor patio seating, which I of course insisted we take before anyone else could debate the matter. That was because it was actually getting a bit chilly, now that fall was inexorably turning to winter. The day turning overcast and the arrival of an unusual wind blowing in from the Pacific served to exaggerate the admittedly mild temperatures of coastal California.

Basically, it was kind of cold, but not really, but I was the only one who had pants and a coat in the form of my lovely new suit. The other two had to suffer with their skirts and short sleeved blouses. While Luna at least had a jacket of some kind, unlike Katherine, it was rendered partially ineffective by the stupid midriff exposure. I also made sure to position us around the table such that I was the only one facing into the wind. Combined with my immensely stylish fedora, I had zero issues with my own hair blowing around.

The other two, meanwhile, were far less 'lucky.'

I snickered a bit as I watched both of them struggle to keep their hair from obscuring their vision, whipping into their faces, and getting blown into the drinks that the waiter had just brought to our table. Even with the stupid cat ear headband, Katherine wasn't able to get her long, dark brown hair to behave properly. Meanwhile, Luna had it even worse. Her straight black hair was unreasonably long, reaching well past the middle of her back when it fell normally.

At the moment, it was not falling normally.

"Why did we have to sit out here?" The other Anathema complained as her hair waved around like an angry grabber suckered onto the top of her head. Some of the strands even lashed all the way over to my side, forcing me to keep my own drink glass unusually close to the edge. "This is so annoying."

"And it's so cold, too," Katherine commiserated. She shot me a knowing glare. "I think Alex did that on purpose, the big meanie."

Hey, at least she said big and not little. I feigned confusion and disbelief. "What? Are you seriously saying I would choose to sit outside just to make you cold and have the wind blow your hair around in your face?"

Finally, Katherine finished looping her hair back around and under the headband in a way where it would finally stay put. "Yes, absolutely. You're such a bully."

Despite the way she pouted, I knew she wasn't truly upset with me. Bit by bit, I was getting a feel for how to play this new kind of instrument. The current back and forth was actually a strange, alien form of flirting, or maybe just the closest approximation of it. I didn't actually understand, not truly, but I also didn't need to. Understanding the method and purpose was more than sufficient for my own goals.

Speaking of which—it would still be a few more hours until it was time to meet with Dr. Jason DeVille. We'd pretty much concluded the shopping run, and I doubted I could extend our little outing in the same way again without completely forcing it. Yes, there was still time before our food arrived, and there would be a bit of travel time after that—but the fact remained. I needed to reevaluate the strategy and guarantee that I could pull things off without becoming socially encumbered.

The new solution was equally simple. Katherine and Luna would accompany me to the club, but they'd hang back and act like normal attendees. Now obviously, this Dr. DeVille and any other Bouquet representatives wouldn't be fooled. I doubted any of us had the experience and ability to do proper spy shit yet, and more importantly, there was a decent chance they could straight up detect that neither of them were ordinary humans.

Also, the doctor had literally already met Luna in person, and I suspected he'd easily recognize her, even without the inhuman jaws, extra eyes, or antennae. No, the point was to keep them off-balance and provide potential backup in case something went wrong for me. Initially, I'd concocted the whole scheme simply to make sure neither of them made it into the actual meeting, but as the plan developed, the more I appreciated that they would in some sense be present.

As for 'keeping them off balance,' the idea was that I would act like they weren't my associates, even though they quite clearly were. That would definitely come across as suspicious—like I was positioning myself as the distraction for the two of them to try pulling something. But we had no plans to do any of that. They were just going to hang around, keep an eye and an ear and maybe also an antennae out, and otherwise enjoy the evening.

So yeah, that was basically the plan

I already knew the name of the place we were going—as in, I knew about it before any of this had happened. It was at the top of a luxury hotel not too far from my own place of residence, and much like my own home, it occupied the top several floors of the building.

A mixture of dance club, bar, and high society whorehouse, Club Purple was exactly the sort of place that self-important rich social gamers either really wanted or really didn't want to be seen at, depending on the particular context—all of which left a bad taste in my mouth. It's all so stupid. Boring, too. I knew there was a certain irony in my attitude towards the place, but I didn't really care. It helped that I now had my own interest, since it seemed that Club Purple was much more than it... seemed.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

God, is that the reason for the name? That's bold. Purple was the color of incursions, after all. It was also a color associated with wealth and luxury, true, but I now suspected there was a brazen, 'hidden' alternate meaning behind the name. Not that I can really hold it against them, I mused while fiddling with the sleeve of my own violet suit jacket.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, indicating a new text from Katherine. Sighing, I fished it out of my delightfully spacious pants pocket and entered the code to see what was happening. I'd changed my new phone settings to only show the name of someone messaging me and not any of the contents, precisely for times like this.

How do we follow you? I looked it up and it sounds like you need an invite to get into the more exclusive areas?

Oops, gee, did I forget about that? I was sure I was grinning, not that there was anyone else in the back of the limousine to see it. Katherine and Luna were traveling in another vehicle—I, meanwhile, called a whole limo just for myself. I needed to arrive in style, even if it was just to the main lobby of the hotel, where I'd end up taking the same elevators as literally everyone else. Whatever. Regardless, it was true that much of Club Purple was off limits to anyone who hadn't been invited in personally. Perfect way to amplify the social status games, huh? That wouldn't be a problem for me, since I could have wrangled my way into most areas even without already having special, super illegal business with the Bouquet.

But Katherine? Ha, good luck!

That bitch wasn't getting three feet past the first bar room. I would be impressed if she could even muster the courage to talk to one of the interior bouncers.

I just texted her back reassurance that yes, they could make it inside, and no, it wouldn't be too far from where I'd be if something went dramatically and violently wrong, yes, it was possible someone might approach the two of them privately, blah blah blah. Finally, the driver pulled to a stop at our destination, opening the side door and taking the graceful and elegant hand of Ms. Alexis Huntingfield. After tipping him—if I was going to hire a whole limousine just for minor appearances, I'd better also tip—I strode up the steps and through the glass doors to the hotel lobby.

Cane in hand, I marched straight to the elevators and joined a thin crowd of snazzily and provocatively dressed socialites also headed to Club Purple. Oh, and also the hotel rooms or whatever. It was pretty easy to tell who was going where, even if they were the same kind of clientele in general. A few people definitely gave me looks, but they were mostly just naked curiosity. None of them seemed either impressed, amused, or truly questioning.

After all, I was literally standing two feet away from another woman who had a dress quite literally made out of feathers.

And of course, after entering the next available elevator with just slightly too many other people for my taste, one of them recognized me. "Alexis!"

He was a mid twenties something guy who was the son of—shit. I knew I recognized him—I was pretty sure I knew his full name and also his sister, who—fuck. I knew his family from somewhere, and they were wealthy and relatively important in—oh, right. "In the flesh." I stuck out my hand, and he took it. "I suppose I should say good luck to your father's campaign, but frankly, he doesn't need it." We did the same simultaneous fake, polite chuckle. "Or if you've come around to a different opinion on things, then my condolences, I suppose."

Dillon fucking Tyson was the son of Derrick Tyson, you know, the current governor of the state of California. His dad was getting started campaigning for the next election cycle, and while there was never a sure thing in politics, it would be utterly shocking if he lost the gubernatorial race. Many people already suspected he'd subsequently take a shot at the big one, but the national arena was far less predictable.

"Thank you, thank you." Dillon shook his head and smiled. It was an obnoxiously wide and bright smile, too. "Frankly, I'm just here to celebrate." Leaning in conspiratorially, he lowered his voice. "And frankly, I'd rather not be here, but my Uncle's hosting an event downstairs, and slipping away to 'network' with other 'young people' seemed more tolerable. At least you don't have to sit still and clap at the right time."

Ah, so that's what it is. I understood his game now. He wasn't trying to network and he wasn't trying to seduce me—actually, those are basically the same thing, come to think of it. Basically, I was confident in buying what he said at face value, as well as deciphering the unspoken part. He wanted to know if I was in a similar situation and if we could both fuck off for an hour or two, giving the appearance that we might be courting each other for any of the 'adults' watching.

It was exactly the kind of shit I'd done on numerous occasions before, and if I were in an equivalent boat, I probably would have taken him up on it. Unfortunately for Mr. Tyson, I was here on my own terms.

After politely and implicitly declining the unspoken proposition, the elevator door chimed open and we exited. We soon went our separate ways, though I did briefly keep an eye on Dillon to see who he was supposed to group up with. Even if I didn't actually enjoy the upper class social games most of the time, it certainly didn't hurt to keep your eyes open and potentially catch something that might become notable or useful later on.

In this case, the only thing I observed was that he clearly wasn't very happy to be hanging out with Sonya Summers, even if his face made a meager attempt at saying otherwise.

Only several seconds after passing through the main entrance of the whole club, though, an exceptionally well dressed attendant—older and more polished than the rest of the staff, I noticed—cut through the mingling crowd to approach me. Rather than meet him somewhere in the middle, I planted my cane in front of my own feet and stood in the very middle of the walkway to wait for him.

The man did a slight bow. "Miss Huntingfield, I presume?"

"In the flesh."

A single, curt nod. "If you will follow me?"

I followed.

At first, I was a bit confused, because he seemed to be leading us deeper into the lounge rather than through to the next area of the club. However, I realized soon enough that he'd brought us to a private elevator of sorts, tucked away in the dark, dimly lit lounge itself. It was designed just right such that it could easily be overlooked yet wouldn't seem like an actual hidden passageway or maintenance doorway.

The lighting helped quite a lot with that aspect.

The interior of the elevator was much better lit, deviating from the usual violet theme of the club. I already knew from memory that the elevators inside the club itself were violet and pink lit, with sleek, mirrored walls. This one, though, was wood paneled and had more normal and reasonable lighting. Passing several floors, it seemed like we were headed straight to the top—and then one higher. Damn. I knew for a fact that Club Purple was only four floors in total, and that included the 'private rooms' where you could nonetheless find any number of 'escorts.'

But we'd gone up five. Interesting.

The doors finally opened into what looked much more like a floor of corporate executive suites or perhaps one level of someone's old money mansion. Gone was the darkness and the sultry, faux neon lighting. It was all soothing, yellow-white incandescence and rooms with actual normal shit in them, like an office kitchen area and a whole wall of locked filing cabinets. Finally, the attendant brought me to what was clearly the 'main' private office in the ultra private, well, office floor.

'Dr. DeVille,' the stainless steel plaque beside the pair of oak doors read. Before proceeding, the attendant pushed some kind of buzzer or electronic bell button. After a few seconds and nothing seemingly happening, the man nodded and indicated that I could go inside. Alright, then. Here we go. Lifting my cane, I pushed firmly on both of the massive wood doors and stepped my way inside.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.