Okay, take it easy, Charlie. Relax. Just act like you do this sort of thing every day. No pressure.

Charlie stood at the entrance to Twilight, the club pulsing with a beat that seemed to shake the very walls. She scanned the crowd, mentally noting the few exits and the quickest routes to them. She didn’t have to look long to find her objective - a door at the back marked “Employees Only,” where she caught sight of the man who’d tipped her off about this place slipping through. The guy had been charming enough at first, all smiles and bravado, happy to play the big man on campus. But the second she’d mentioned her brother, Jacob, he’d practically frozen up and couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

Gotcha.

His reaction had told her all she needed to know: he worked here, and he knew something about Jacob’s disappearance. The way he’d shut down told her more than his words ever could. The fact he was ducking through that “Employees Only” door just confirmed it.

Of course, there were two serious-looking bouncers standing sentinel on either side of the entrance.

Great. Now what? How exactly do I get past those two without causing a scene?

She glanced back to the dance floor, noting a strange haze that seemed to hang in the air above the crowd. Everyone swayed hypnotically to the beat, the music only partly to blame for the entranced movements.

What the hell?

Charlie opened her senses, paying closer attention. But whatever weird vibe she’d felt wasn’t giving up any secrets, so she shrugged it off. One problem at a time, Charlie. Let’s make this up as we go. She started wading through the undulating sea of bodies on the dance floor, grimacing as she pushed through the crowd.

Ew.

The haze she’d noticed before now felt like it was reaching out to her, brushing against her mind in a way that made her instincts scream. The longer she stayed, the foggier her senses became. It felt like she was sinking into a trap, tendrils of smoke winding through her mind, clouding her judgment. She needed to get out of this mass of people, and fast.

With her attention fixed on the door, she tapped into her natural abilities to help navigate through the crowd. The human body, after all, was just another animal form, and she had a unique way with animals. She couldn’t control minds or force people to do things they didn’t want, but she could nudge them just enough to help clear a path. It was subtle, but it worked.

At the edge of the dance floor, she studied the two guards posted by the door, big guys with the expression of bulldogs on high alert. Clearly not the type who could be nudged like the partygoers. Think, Charlie. I need a distraction.

She focused, reaching out with her senses, and found that while Twilight looked sleek and modern, appearances were deceiving. Beneath the glitz, the club was crawling with life - tiny, nasty, chitinous life.

Bugs. Lots of bugs.

Perfect.

She reached into their primitive little minds and gave them a simple directive: swarm the guards, bite them, and make it count. Within moments, she watched as a carpet of beetles, roaches, and crickets emerged from the cracks, creeping up the goons’ legs. As they squirmed and slapped at their bodies, trying to brush off the swarm, Charlie slipped past them into the cool silence of the corridor beyond.

The club’s booming music cut off so abruptly, she felt like she’d just stepped into a tomb. The corridor was dim but practically luminous compared to the strobe-lit floor she’d just left. It was clean, with crates stacked along the walls, but otherwise unremarkable. The hallway stretched in both directions, each path looking exactly the same.

Charlie closed her eyes and extended her senses, searching for any hint of where she should go. Unfortunately, the back rooms were better maintained than the club floor, so they were mostly pest-free. The only mind she found was faintly furry, small, and slightly feral.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A rat. A big one.

She called it over and waited as it scurried down the hallway toward her. When it arrived, she took an involuntary step back. Whoa, now aren’t you a big one. This was no ordinary rat; it was nearly two feet long - not counting the tail. It had white fur, red eyes, and a disapproving twitch to its nose, as if it wasn’t thrilled to be summoned.

“Yay me,” she muttered. “Not a fan of rats.”

The rat looked up, its little pink paws lifted as if in prayer, and a long, black, pill-shaped patch of fur stood out on its belly. Charlie sighed. “Alright, little one. I need you to do something for me. But first, you need a name.”

She glanced at the fur patch and smirked. “I’ll call you Polly. What do you think?”

Polly’s response was an unimpressed sneeze.

Charlie bent down, locking her gaze with Polly’s gleaming red eyes as she focused, establishing a mental link. The rat’s mind was surprisingly strong, almost disturbingly intelligent, and it took more effort than usual to push her rat instincts aside and communicate through impressions and images. Once she was certain her instructions were understood, she slipped behind a crate, crouched down, and closed her eyes to focus on seeing through Polly’s.

Through the rat’s vision, the corridor stretched ahead as Polly scurried along, navigating the dimly lit hall before turning a corner and disappearing from Charlie’s sight.

Being connected to the rat was… strange. At first, it felt like trying to play tug-of-war with an oil-slicked rope - just when Charlie thought she was in control, Polly managed to wriggle out of her mental grip. Eventually, though, they reached an understanding. Polly would handle her mission, and Charlie would stop trying to micromanage.

Glad that’s settled.

Charlie relaxed, letting Polly’s instincts take over, letting her do what rats do best: poke her nose where it didn’t belong. She sent Polly an impression to follow her nose and report back with whatever she found. It didn’t take long for Polly to weave her way to the club’s back office, where her sensitive senses were hit by a cocktail of smells - cigar smoke, the sharpness of whiskey, the greasy scent of a half-eaten sandwich, and the unmistakable metallic tang of fresh blood.

Polly crept closer, approaching a door that was slightly ajar. She poked her nose into the crack, taking in the darkened room. Though her rat vision wasn’t great, her sense of smell and hearing more than made up for it. The space had a large oaken desk, a high-backed leather chair, a few mismatched chairs scattered around, a trash can in the corner, and an overburdened coat tree near the door.

The blood was coming from the top of the desk, its smell tangled up with whiskey and something sickly sweet that had Polly sneezing in distaste. She ducked back, pressing herself flat against the wall, ears straining for any sign that the occupants might have heard her. After a few tense moments, she crept forward again, her attention focused on the man sitting behind the desk. His scent was thick with sandalwood, mint, and anger.

Interesting, Charlie thought, sensing Polly’s exasperation at her curiosity.

Alright, alright, relax. Get closer.

Polly skittered into the room, taking cover behind the open door, her senses on high alert. It didn’t take long to pick up the real reason for the cologne-soaked man’s anger. Another man stood in front of the desk, nervously wringing his hands, his body language as tense as his scent.

“You mean to tell me,” the man behind the desk said, his voice a smooth, cold drawl, “that not only did someone start asking questions, but that you let your mouth slip and actually told them real information? And pointed them here? To me? Do you expect me to clean up after you?” He swirled the glass in his hand, the liquid inside as red as freshly drawn blood.

“B-Boss,” the nervous man stammered, until a raised eyebrow cut him short. “Uh, I mean, Mr. Ice, sir… I didn’t mean to…”

Polly’s nose twitched as the man’s fear became so thick she could almost taste it. He stopped wringing his hands and tried to clasp them in front of him, as if that would stop the shaking.

“Oh, shut it, will you? I’ve heard enough of your pitiful excuses. You haven’t just led her to the club, Lester; you’ve led her straight to me.” Mr. Ice sipped from his glass, dabbing his mouth with a pocket kerchief before taking a deep sniff of the air, his nostrils flaring in distaste.

“B-but, Boss, I didn’t,” Lester stammered, his scent swinging between fear and confusion.

“Lester, my poor, incompetent boy, of course you did. Now be a good lad and fetch her for me. I’d like to know exactly how much she thinks she knows.”

Charlie felt Polly tense, an almost animalistic panic seizing her as Lester walked toward the door. Whoa, girl, calm down. It’s okay. They don’t even know you’re here. Relax. Breathe.

But Polly was practically vibrating with terror, and the closer Lester came, the more panicked she became. Charlie worried Polly might actually have a heart attack. The rat's heartbeat thudded erratically in her chest as Lester paused beside the door, taking a slow, deliberate inhale.

His eyes narrowed, flashing with a predatory hunger. Suddenly, he swiped at the door, trying to slam it shut - but Polly was faster. In a white blur, she darted between his legs and shot out of the room.

What the…? How did he know?

Charlie struggled to hold on to the fragile connection, sending a frantic directive: Come back, Polly. Come back to me.