Dance Macabre

By Wendy Dalrymple

Strange things happen every night at The Château, Ybor City’s most popular goth dance club. Mortals and creatures of the night twist and writhe together under the strobe lights, blurring the lines between light and dark, good and evil, and day and night.
Cordelia has just been expelled from her coven, and is licking her wounds at The Château, her favorite Ybor City goth club. Even though she has cast a protective spell spell around herself and just wants to be left to drown her sorrows, she finds herself charmed by the sweet smile of a mere mortal man. Can Cordelia leave her magical inclinations behind just this once to enjoy a night of desire?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781094412337

Wendy Dalrymple

Wendy Dalrymple crafts highly consumable, short and sweet romances inspired by everyday people. When she’s not writing happily-ever-afters, you can find her camping with her family, painting (bad) wall art, and trying to grow as many pineapples as possible. Keep up with Wendy at www.wendydalrymple.com!

Book preview

Lacy LaBree

Lacy LaBree had a secret.

Every Thursday night, Lacy would open up the bottom drawer of her dresser and find the flowers, frills, and tassels she used as part of her physical transformation. It was always easier for Lacy to get halfway ready at home before she left for the evening, since a lot of effort went into changing into her alter ego. The day before a performance, she went for her wax, facial, and mani-pedi, but the rest of the weekly beautification ritual was up to her.

First she rolled her fishnet knee-high stockings on, one leg after the other, and then secured her stockings to the custom-made garter belt around her waist. With her hair up in curlers, she brushed a liquid adhesive onto a set of glittering skull pasties, then applied them to her nipples and waited a few moments to ensure that her glue job stayed put. Once she was happy with her handiwork, Lacy began to secure herself, one eyelet at a time, into her matching custom corset, which was intricately embroidered with black vines and embellished with black flowers.

With her ensemble nearly complete, Lacy slipped into her denim cutoff shorts, a T-shirt, and her signature combat boots. Time was running out; she would have to finish her hair and makeup at the club. She grabbed the garment bag with her black gown, located her favorite high heels, and headed out the door and down the three flights of stairs en route to her destination.

It was a typical hot and humid evening in Ybor City, and Lacy was more grateful than ever that her apartment by the college was only a quarter mile away. If the club were much farther, she wouldn’t have been able to walk out of fear that her hair would fall flat and her makeup would melt completely off. Lacy felt a pang of guilt every time she passed the main entrance to the nearby college campus; it had been months since she had gone to class, and she wasn’t even sure if she was going to return. But quitting school wasn’t even her biggest secret.

Lacy picked up the pace and rounded the corner, her destination now in sight. There in the waning summer sunlight was the silhouette of The Château, Ybor City’s premier goth dance club. At one point in time, it had been a cigar factory and warehouse, as many buildings in the historic party town had been. Someone had cleverly renovated the exterior of the building to look like a gothic-style castle, complete with a turret, stained-glass windows, and a heavy wooden entryway door. In the daytime it seemed a little cheesy, but at night The Château was a magical realm, a beacon of hope for outsiders, a place where people like Lacy could go and leave their inhibitions behind.

It was still a half hour or so before the club would officially open but, as usual, Lacy was let in through the side door. Silas, the bouncer, gave Lacy a nod as she was led down the familiar back hall toward her dressing room. Her friend Marquise was already sitting at her dressing table waiting, wearing nothing but a G-string and pasties.

Hey, girl. You’re late, she said, scrolling through her phone. She looked up and waved a greasy paper bag at Lacy. Want some?

Lacy peered into the bag of french fries and made a face. How can you eat before the show? she asked.

Calms my nerves, Marquise said, shrugging and licking the salty grease from her fingers. I got a new act tonight.

Marquise rose from her perch at the dressing table and produced an intimidating-looking torch. She flipped the safety switch and a flash of heat and light filled the room.

You’re gonna set off the sprinklers with that thing! Lacy said with a laugh.

Don’t worry. Silas and Mark already helped me test it out. Marquise said, putting the torch away. It’s gonna be badass. Marquise’s attention drifted to her phone again and she let out a deep sigh. Silas wants me up front, she said, pulling on a satin kimono. I’ll be back.

See ya, Lacy said, and sat at her own dressing table, looking down at her own phone for the time. 8:15 p.m. It would be a while before it was time to go onstage.

Lacy decided to settle in with her book to distract herself from her upcoming set. It was going to be a long night.

Section Break

By 9:30 p.m., patrons began to rapidly filter into the club. Thursday was Industrial Night, drawing a more diverse crowd than usual: older goths, bikers, skaters, curious sorority girls, metal heads, pinup models, body-mod enthusiasts — everyone came out to play on Industrial Night. Mark, the DJ, was in fine form that evening, rotating his usual playlist of gritty, haunting tracks from the ’80s and ’90s. Lacy watched from the rafters, trying to calm and ready herself for her ten o’clock set. Marquise would open for her, and Lacy would be followed by a set of contortionist twins.

Lacy realized that time was running out, and she hurried back to her dressing room to put the finishing touches on her stage ensemble. She wiggled out of her denim shorts, pulled her T-shirt over her head, and unzipped her garment bag. Every time she