THE WITCH'S BREW

I reached downtown Cleveland, more specificly the 9th street theatre district. The plaza was filled with older buildings, revamped and brightened. A half dozen or so marquees were brightly lit with their fronts seperated by a variety of upscale shops and eateries. It was a pleasant blending of old and new, a melding in a way of a world that was and a world that is. Traffic was moderate on the streets and the only available parking I saw was in a multistory garage. I pulled in. took a ticket and found a space 2 stories up. Upon securing my vehicle I found I had the option of stairs or elevartor for my descent. I opted for the stairs.
I exited the parking garage and stepped into the brightly lit realm of Euclid 'Avenue. Half a block down was the meeting spot Marchell had mentioned, The Witcj's Brew. I entered the light midweek flow of people, all adult apes of various ages. though there was a lack of children. Here, now, was, apparently a place for the congregation and enjoyment of adults.
Past the large plate glass windows and through the etched glass double doors, I entered The Brew. It was a large room, seating maybe 120. To the rear and on the right were several private booths curtained off. In the center was the service island where servings were prepared. The room was perhaps 50% occupied and a half dozen wait staff were scurring through the maze of tables delivering and taking orders. The low murmur of conversation provided a low base undercurrant to the music that was playing through the sound system. Adult Contemporary, I believe they call it. A heady, almost overpowering aroma of coffee assaulted my olefactories.
The sun behind me was just now setting. I was early, giving me a chance to scope iut the place. Seemed pleasant enough, not the dank amd dreary spot I had imagined a vampire rendevous would require.
The seating to my left had more open tables. I crossed the room and took a table toward the rear. I sat facing the door and prepared to wait. A she ape from the staff, crossed over, baring her fangs in greeting from under a shag of blond fur.
'Hi, she greeted, handing me a menu. "Can I get you anything or do you need a few minutes?"
"I'm waiting for a friendm" I explained. "We'll order when she gets here."
"Sure thing, " she acknowledged. "I'm Josie. I'll be your pussycat for tonight." She gigled and turned away. I sensed I had missed a joke of some sort.
I slid the menu aside and turned my eye to the door. Tick Tock. Time passed. Maybe 15 minutes. Then the tall and sleek form of the vampire Marchell, dressed in the almost prerequisite black pantsuit, crossed the threshold, descending into the Witch's Brew with a walk that was almost a glide. Behind her came two males. Tall, head shaven, muscular, in sleeveless tees, black. Emblazoned in silver scross the front of the shirts was the legend "Vlad's Lads." Somehow, I didn;t think that was referring to a punk rock group.
I took a deep breath. This was feeling bad, like a trap. I reached into my pocket and took hold of my destabilizer. but if they wanted trouble I doubted I could handle three. As Marchell and her entourage approached I prayed that this was far too public a place for a vampire to seek an altercatiion.
She took the seat across from me. Her eyes were bright, intense, and went right to mine. " Hi, spaceman," she said in a chipper, almost playful voice. Male number one sat next to her. Male number two slid into the seat nest to me. Both afixed their gaze on me. Marchell continued. " The Bishop would like to meet you."