The storm came up fast.  One second, there were just dark clouds moving in as the sun was sinking past the empty horizon.  Then the rain began to come down.  It splattered gently against the truck window as Jordan drove, rocking out to Aerosmith on his cassette tape player.  His glove compartment hung open, full of tapes, ready for the next one to be popped into the tape slot.  He was 18, young, and the world was his oyster.  Or more specifically, the world was his cheap shake from the local burger joint.  He could afford one of those.  Oyster was a bit pricey and he just never had the money to spare. 

               As Jordan listened to “Walk This Way,” the rain started going from a vertical fall to an angle.  The gentle spritz started to become a bass thudding against the window, and Jordan’s windshield wipers began to move like a metronome, swish-swash swish-swash.  He turned to check on his guitar, still safely secured in the passenger seat, both in case and seatbelt.  Excessive?  He would argue that it wasn't.  This was his baby.  It was a Gibson Firebird III Electric Guitar that his dad had gifted him when he had turned 18.  His dad had said it had been given to him by his pappy, back when he had tried to pursue music.  The gift of music handed down from generation to generation.  His old man used to joke that music ran in their blood.  For Jordan, it wasn’t a joke though.  He lived for the music.

               He focused back on the road as the track changed to “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” arguably one of the best pieces that Aerosmith had ever done in his opinion.  If he hadn’t been so caught-up in the music, his fingers strumming along the steering wheel like it was his guitar, he might’ve noticed the sign that said, “Last Gas Station: 80 miles.”  He may have even noticed the visibility going down as he passed an exit from the freeway to a gas station and a cheap motel.  Instead of noticing, Jordan kept on driving. 

The rain was quickly going from a slant to as close to horizontal as it could, thudding against the front of his windshield and messing with rhythm of the song.  It was no longer drumming, but almost angrily beating against the glass.  Jordan sighed and popped the tape out, tossing it to the floor of the passenger side.  He could move it back to the glove compartment later.  The absence of music made him curse as he realized just how bad the storm really was.  His truck, a 1976 Chevrolet Silverado, was a beast, but with his high beams on, he was getting maybe eight feet in front of him for reaction time.

He decided to look for the next freeway exit as the truck began to actually rock as the wind hit the sides.  He drove for maybe 10 min., not seeing any signs or exits.  He barely slowed down to grab a new tape and pop it in.  Alabama came on, playing “Mountain Music.”  With a good steady drumbeat, he hoped it might help the time pass a little faster.  Another 10 min. and he hadn't seen anything.  Not a single light in the distance, just darkness across the horizon as well as the white lines of the freeway blurring past.  A sign on the side of the freeway whooshed past, something about an exit in 2 miles.  He pumped a fist in the air, hitting the roof of his truck.  He could pull off, find somewhere to hunker down until this storm passed.  It wouldn't be the first time he'd tilted his chair back a bit and passed out until the sun rose the next day.

The track changed to "Dixie Land Delight" as he finally found the exit.  Visibility had gotten even worse, the rain not even letting up for a second.  Jordan hadn’t seen a single sign labeling the name for the exit, but he didn’t really care.  As he followed the road off the freeway, he saw what looked to be some lights on his right.  It came to a T-intersection, the road branching off in two directions.  Jordan stopped and looked left.  Nothing.  He looked right again and saw something in the distance.  Lightning flashed and he thought he saw the shape of a large building.  He shrugged, glancing down to check his gas and noticing it was nearing the meaningless ‘E’ on the gauge.  ‘E’ never really meant empty.  Still, lights meant civilization, which meant gas.  He spun his steering wheel and headed right. 

Jordan drove slowly on the road, not hitting more than 40 mph.  He wanted to be able to react if something jumped out of the darkness at him.  The truck may be a beast, but it was his baby too.  He tried to do right by her.  The lights seemed to get a little nearer, but the deep darkness of the empty Texas desert along with the pounding rain created an illusion that the lights could be 2 miles or 20 away.  Lightning popped off again, just as the current song was ending.  The outline was clearer, still a good distance, but also off to the right, and looked to be a large building.  Fairly long too.  He drove on, slowly down to 35 mph and kept his eyes out.  Large buildings usually signified something a bit too fancy for his wallet, but maybe they had some kind of cover he could park under.

By the time the tape needed to be turned over, Jordan saw what looked like a road branching off.  There was even a sign, though it looked worn out.  "Ratatoskr Inn".  Jordan studied the sign, shrugged, popped out the current tape and pulled out another.  The Beach Boys came on, crooning “Good vibrations” as he turned onto what he hoped was the driveway leading up to the big building.  He got back into his musical ‘zone’ as the building started to get larger and larger.  It was clearly a massive place, making him doubt his choice.  He had just been paid for a gig, but he couldn’t afford anything too expensive.  He still had gas and other bills to pay.  Nonetheless, he didn’t turn around.  He was committed by this point.  Maybe he could offer to play something for his room, he wondered.  When the situation demanded it, he could play some more ‘refined’ music, though it always came out sounding wrong to him on his electric guitar.  His mom had once asked him to play for some church event and her church friends had seemed to appreciate his playing.  He didn’t turn his nose up at any gig he could get, but he loved the seedier spots where he could just let loose on his strings and even improvise from time to time. 

"I Get Around" had just come on when he came into what was clearly a massive parking lot, much bigger than he had expected.  His heart plummeted when he saw it was full of vehicles.  A feeling began to grow when he saw how nice the cars were, the kind of feeling that settled in the stomach when you made a wrong choice, but couldn’t take it back.  A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down.  He could salvage this by just parking and sleeping in his car, he thought.  He found a spot and turned off his engine.  The inn and its comforts were right there, looming over him, almost mocking him.  A Ford Mustang on one side and a Lamborghini Countach on the other joined the derision.

He gave a sigh and noticed that a door-shaped light had appeared in the front of the building.  It went out quickly, a door opening and closing.  Jordan strained his eyes, trying to see why the door had opened and wondering if he should leave.  Before he could make up his mind, there was a knock on his window, starting him.  How had he missed the guy walking up to his truck?  He rolled down his window, “Uh…”  The guy outside was dressed fancier than Jordan ever could, even if he put on his hand-me-down suit from his dad. 

“Are you here for the event, sir?”

"I don't think...I mean, if there's room and they'll have me...?"  Jordan managed to stammer out a reply, despite feeling way out of his depths. 

The man nodded, "Very good, sir.  Please grab your things and hurry in.  We're about to start." 

Jordan nodded once, rolled up his window before his truck became soaked, then unbuckled himself.  He reached over and unbuckled his guitar case and grabbed his backpack, which was sitting under the passenger seat.  “Music, don’t fail me now.”  He opened his truck door and found the other man standing there, in the midst of the pouring rain, seemingly unaffected by it.  Oh, sure, his outfit was getting wet, but the man himself didn't seem the slightest bit bothered.  Once Jordan locked his truck and pocketed his keys, the fancy butler type walked off without a word, leaving Jordan to trot after him.  His wide eyes took in more ‘luxury’ cars and muttered under his breath about the money the guests clearly had. 

               When the butler figure got to the front of the inn, the doors opened without any touch or prompting.  The light from inside stunned Jordan, his eyes blinking as he tried to let his vision adjust.  The other gentleman walked in, did a very precise spin on his heels, then swept his arms inward with a bow, “Please.” 

               Jordan walked past and managed to get out a quiet, “Thank you,” before his eyes adjusted and he was actually able to take stock of the room he was walking in to.  His head swiveled wildly at the sheer scope of the ‘lobby’ he was walking in to.  The space felt like he was walking into a forest instead of a building.  The walls had life-like branches extended out overhead, complete with leaves that created patches of light coming down.  Ahead, the space opened up and Jordan noticed that the carpet he was walking on was sloping downwards.  He froze up as the doors shut behind him with a resounding BOOM.  He glanced back and saw that the inside of the doors was carved like vines were growing up (or down?) it.  The effect was that he was in some kind of a grotto in nature and not an inn in the middle of nowhere.

                 In complete and total awe, he kept walking forward, appreciating the craftsmanship that went into this place.  It wasn’t until he heard someone speak that he stopped admiring the walls and ceiling and looked at what was right in front of him.  Four other guys, roughly looking like they were his age, stood looking ‘down their noses at him’.  “He’s the last representative,” one of the four asked in apparent contempt, dressed from head to tow in a black tuxedo that made him look like some kind of James Bond-wannabe.  The emphasis on the ‘He’ told Jordan all he needed to know. 

One of the others gave a small ‘tsk’ sound, “How far they’ve fallen.”  This one wore what appeared to be a black robe with a thick red line down the middle and a puffy hat.  Jordan felt like it was related to college or something, but he didn’t know for sure.  Without thinking about it, Jordan glanced down at his own outfit: a red flannel top and denim jeans that he’d had for at least four years.  They were a little worn around the knees, but they weren’t bad.  When he glanced back up, three of the four had turned away from him and were looking forward. 

The only one left looking at him smiled and waved him forward.  He wore incredibly bright tie-dye colors and looked more like a hippie flower child than whatever the others were.  “Groovy outfit, little brother.  Welcome back to the Ancestral Home.  We were worried your clan wouldn’t show up, what with the feuds and all.” 

Jordan felt like he’d somehow just gone from the rain and into the frying pan, “Feuds…?” 

The other guy smiled, “Right on, right on, we’re all family, right?”  He pointed to a spot on the carpet next to him, on the far left of the line-up, “Stand right here.  They were just waiting on you.” 

Jordan walked to the spot, “They…?”  He paused and glanced upwards, his heart plummeting to his toes.  The ‘foliage’ was gone and the open space revealed scores of balconies stacked up multiple floors, all overlooking the large almost amphitheater space.    From the outside, the inn looked like it had been maybe five or six stories up, but with the way the floor had steadily descending, Jordan was looking up at maybe nine or ten floors of balconies.  Each of them was full of people.  These balconies were filled with men and women, dressed in fancy tuxedos and expensive dresses of all types.  Each of them was wearing what appeared to be masquerade masks. 

               Jordan’s heart was hammering in his chest, utterly lost and confused.  He took a deep breath and let “Carry on My Wayward Son” begin to play in his head.  He let the jam calm his nerves as the guy on his right started talking with one of the others.  In the middle of the lobby, Jordan noticed a strange black table sitting, white flowers laid out on either side of it too.  It was a pretty long table and could probably hold five people on either side of it easily. 

               From the other side of the lobby, a large ornate set of double doors were opened and a hooded figure slowly ambled out.  Every sound in the room stilled, even the song playing in Jordan’s head, and he suddenly wondered if he had just somehow found himself in the middle of a cult.  He was not going to take a single drink from anyone here, he thought to himself.  The figure, a good 40 or 50 feet away from him, appeared to be hunched over, like his grandpa had been in his last years.  He wore what looked like Catholic priest vestments, if they were black and gold with a red cloth hanging on either side instead of…  Jordan’s brain skipped a beat, uncertain if all Catholic priests wore just black and white, but he knew they didn’t wear hoods.  He noticed there was something dragging behind the figure though, appearing to be some kind of thick rope or maybe root. 

               The figure, whom Jordan firmly believed was an elderly man, stopped in front of the black table.  He reached up with both his hands, which looked very weird from a distance, and pulled the hood back.  Instead of a face, Jordan was surprised to see a long mask of some kind.  It reminded him a bit of those plague doctor pictures he had seen in his history books.  As if this moment wasn’t already weird enough, the rope-thing seemed to be moving despite the old man standing still.  Jordan began to go through the notes of “Dust in the Wind” to try to calm his nerves, because he felt like he was about to become some kind of cult sacrifice at any moment here.  He glanced behind him, debating the pros and cons of just trying to book it out of there. 

                The masked ‘priest’ spoke, “The King has passed.  His reign has been long and blessed, but his time is no more.  From Glory to the Earth.”  Everyone on the balconies above echoed the ‘From Glory to Earth’, like a church congregation when the pastor said ‘Amen’.  Jordan’s heart began to beat so fast that he could feel it in his ears.  “We mourn the passing of our King,” the priest continued, placing his hands on the table.  “As all good things end, so too must a new good new thing come into being.  From the darkness, new light.” 

               Was this a funeral?  If so…  Jordan felt his breath catch in his throat and the guitar playing in his head cut off with a squeal.  The long black table was shaped a very particular way.  Like a giant coffin.  Jordan’s eyes danced around the room at all the people, who were all looking down at the ceremony going on.  “Fuuuu…” he managed to mutter as his brain shut down.  He could hear the priest speaking, but comprehension was a good ten seconds behind the words.   

               “The Five Families have gathered once more.   The Immortal Queen, the Mother who birthed the Families, must have a young and virile King.  In this place, where the Ancient Elements run the strongest, where our Clan set down the warrens of our Ancestral Home, here is where the choosing must transpire.  Our candidates!”  He swept his hand in Jordan’s direction and a cheer went up from above him, echoing in the large space. 

               “I’m having a bad trip,” Jordan whispered.  “I’m having a really bad trip.”  He reached up and pinched his cheek, feeling the pain sharp and clear.    He wasn’t tripping.  Oh god, he wasn’t tripping at all.  He needed to find the nearest bar and have a shot of something fast, but his legs seemed rooted to the spot.  “Smoke on the Water” began to play in his head, as Jordan was left wondering if they would accept a ‘misunderstanding’ at this point or if they’d kill him on the spot. 

               “The Immortal Queen will witness the offerings of the prospective Family’s Chosen!”  The old priest turned his head, the root shifting behind him, and turned to face the double-doors.  “She approaches,” he hissed, his voice filling the room despite it being hushed.  Silence descended immediately.  Jordan felt his eyes inexplicably drawn away from the creepy cult leader, who was now prostrating himself on the floor, to the double-doors, which began to slowly open.  The only thing that was missing from this scene was some drums and some deep voices chanting in a language no one understood and this would be an Indiana Jones movie.  Jordan half expected a giant gorilla to appear, and he felt a small smile grow on his face, finding strange amusement in the midst of this sheer lunacy.

               From the doorway, a massive figure stepped out.  “Hail the Rat Queen,” was shouted from all the balconies, the shouts reverberating in the air.

               “Can we just get this trite over with,” came the harsh reply.  Jordan felt himself sinking down to his knees, his body acting on its own accord, no conscious thought put into it.  He was wrong.  He hadn’t been drugged, he had died and been sent to some kind of hell.  The kind with a sexy devil woman that was clearly wearing just enough, but too little at the same time. 

               The ‘Rat Queen’ stood around 9 feet tall and was clearly broad of shoulder and hip.  Whereas everyone else wore fairly formal attire, this giantess had chosen a visibly different route.  She was sporting a red and black checkered flannel top with only half of the buttons actually buttoned.  Whether this was out of fashion preference or due to the immense bulging behind that shirt wasn’t immediately obvious, but the plunging cleavage and the quarter moons of her breasts were.  The shirt was somehow tied in the back directly under where her bust clearly hung to, judging by the way everything shifted under the top as she strutted out.  While her bust was excessive beyond what should be feasible, it only held Jordan’s eyes for a few moments, because each step she took, unhurried and deliberate, showcased her glorious gams.  She wore a pair of denim Daisy Duke shorts, little threads puffing out right where Jordan expected the fabric to be, but instead there was fur and somehow restrained power.  Her muscles were probably the right size for her dimensions, but it didn’t stop Jordan from staring.  Each legs stepped, somehow daintily, in front of the other, the fur rippling as thick cords of fiber shifted under it.  A head full of thick black hair cascaded down over one shoulder, then hung down to her backside, an area that Jordan wasn’t sure if he was ready to see flaunted yet. 

               Beyond all that, she was also a literal rat.  Not the kind that scurried on four legs, as she clearly stood on two powerful-looking appendages, but the face tapered down to a muzzle that somehow managed to look bored despite being a face type that Jordan had never encountered before.  The thick tan tail that dragged plainly behind her.  Jordan’s eyes darted back to the elderly priest.  The ‘root’ moved back and forth slowly on the floor.  Tail.  It was a tail.  The mask?  It wasn’t a mask.  That was his face.  Jordan’s body had probably lost all muscle control, but no one seemed to take note as the other four men had also taken a knee or fallen to the ground in some manner, a clear sign of respect. 

               Jordan glanced back towards the Queen and saw that she had settled into a massive chair, her tail curled to the side of her body, but more importantly, one leg crossed over the other and showing much more of her calves and thighs.  Her feet looked almost human, just around triple their size and with extra points at the end of them.  Jordan’s mind fell into an old habit as “Brick House” by The Commodores began playing in his head.  The priest had stood and was saying something about ‘powers’, but Jordan’s brain had finally had enough and gone completely haywire.  His ears heard mostly static, but in his head he clearly heard, “She’s mighty, might, letting it all hang out…!”  The priest turned and gestured to Jordan and the others, which seemed to be a known cue, as the one on the far right, furthest from Jordan, stood and walked to the center of the room. 

               While trumpets blared in Jordan’s head, the first of the young men pulled something out that glimmered and sparkled.  He held it aloft and a strange beam of light shot up and exploded like little sparklers, all trialing downwards to the floor.  In his hand was a massive diamond, clearly bigger than the guy’s fist, cut like some kind of Bond supervillain cliché.  Jordan failed to suppress a small giggle as he wondered which doomsday device the diamond powered.  The Queen was not impressed, waving her hand with a visible sigh, her shoulders sinking.  The young man glanced around, the diamond still held aloft, then shouted something, incensed. 

               Jordan’s mind began to drift back together as “Shake it down” repeated in his head.  Two of the butler type figures appeared, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and grabbed the young man before dragging him off.  “Do you know who I am,” broke through the static as he was taken away.  Jordan saw that the diamond was sitting on the lobby floor, where it had fallen, and no one seemed to be paying it a second glance. 

               The next in the line-up, the one wearing the college stuff, stood and walked to the middle of the room.  He pulled out a brown leather-bound book that looked like it belonged in a museum judging by its worn appearance.  He held it overhead with one arm and whispers filled the room immediately, but they didn’t come from anyone’s mouths.  Letters seemed to slip out of the pages of the book and dance in the air, promising something more meaningful that could last far beyond anyone’s life.  The Queen glanced at this, but as Jordan watched, she rolled her eyes and waved her hand, gesturing to leave.  This didn’t seem to bother the young man, as he slipped the book carefully back into his robe, took a respectful bow, and then left. 

Jordan realized something as the third went up, his anxiety skyrocketing.  They were all offering something up.  A diamond?  Some ancient tome?  What was he going to offer?  No, better question, what was he doing here?  How had he even gotten to this place?  What the hell was going on?  All he had with him was a backpack full of clothing, half of which were dirty, and his guitar.  What did he have to offer other than a song? 

               When it was his ‘hippie’ friend’s turn, he flashed a peace sign at him before he stood and walked off.  As Jordan watched, he reached the middle of the room and pulled out a necklace that was made up of black pearls.  He held it aloft, as the others had, and the room turned a shade of deep blue, the sounds of waves crashing.  Jordan watched as the shadowy shape of a fish swam past him.  The illusion broke when the Queen waved him off as well, her eyes shifting further away, her chin coming to rest on one hand, as though completely bored with the whole affair.  The fourth smiled, nodded his head, and put the pearls away.  He pirouetted perfectly, throwing a thumbs-up Jordan’s way, before he walked off. 

               The eyes of the entire room shifted to Jordan.  He felt sweat begin to pour down his forehead, creating a sheen that he felt.  The muscles in his legs seemed to not want to work.  His hands found themselves grasping for any lifeline they could and their nervous movements touched his guitar case.  His legs responded at last.  He drew strength from his hold on his guitar case, taking a deep breath.  He stood, holding his case, and began to walk.  Some part of him asked why he was going through with this.  The Queen was clearly bored and he probably could just bow and leave, but some little voice that wouldn’t shut up said this was an audience and he WAS a performer.  Each step was a thought, racing rapidly through his mind.  He could play, “Stayin’ Alive,” but that was a stupid idea.  “Free Bird?”  Eh, that guitar solo was a pain.

               As he approached the Queen, he felt the awe renew itself.  She was, in a word, magnificent.  Her body was sheer power and there was a magnetism to her that drew the eyes in a way that said she would not be ignored.  She was power and authority incarnate, with an overabundance of sexuality pouring out of her.  Even the way she drew breath did interesting things to her upper body, causing it to roll up, reminding him of the waves he had just heard.  And like a riptide, Jordan was being pulled towards her.  Jordan thought this must be what it was like to be a mythical hero in the presence of a god.  He was miniscule before her, laid bare by her stare. 

               She turned to look at Jordan as he finally stopped in the center of the room.  Jordan repeated a mantra in his head, ‘Just a performance, just a performance…’

               “And what gift do ya offer,” she asked him, eying the case. 

               Jordan licked his lips once, “The gift of music, your Majesty.” 

               She scoffed immediately, her head turning away, “I’m tired of hearing harps and flutes.  You wasted my time and probably wasted your own.”

               The words left his mouth before he had time to consider it, “No.”  It wasn’t loud, but it was firm.  Final. 

The Queen’s head turn paused and a few gasped from above him.  She slowly turned to look at him again, an expression hidden behind her black eyes, “What was that?”

Jordan felt a weight somehow placed on him, like the gravity of the room had somehow doubled, but she had struck a chord in him and it reverberated, “No.  I did not waste my time, your Highness.”  He took a deep breath, “I dedicated myself to the music, as my father did.  It never was a waste of our time.  And it never will be.” 

“Oh, please,” she gave a small terse laugh.  “An emotional plea and the gift of music?  How far has your Family fallen?  When compared to jewels, knowledge, and…”

Jordan felt something growing in him.  “These things come and go,” he interrupted, causing the Queen to shift back in her chair.  “But Rock is forever.”  He popped open his case and pulled out his Gibson Firebird, feeling the strings with his calloused fingers. 

The Queen gave a small sound, her full attention on him, “Rock…?”

Jordan took a deep breath and began to play the first few chords.  The entire room fell into a stillness as the chords started off quiet, but began to fill the space.  This was no classical music.  This was the epitome of music reaching down and grabbing hold of something in the very soul of a being.  He began to move his fingers along the chords, playing an irreverent song that somehow felt right to play in this moment, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye.  When he hit the end of the bridge, he opened his mouth and sang.  He was no professional vocalist, but he was decent enough to not sound off-key.  He didn’t have a microphone or a sound system, but somehow, each note filled the room like this was a performance hall.  He glanced up at the Queen, barely seeing her face past her bosom this close-up, watching her reaction.  A single hand went to the Queen’s mouth, covering it, but there was a hidden smile growing there.  Jordan had stepped into the deep end of the pool and he was sinking, surrounded by music that seemed to grow past himself. 

He found the perfect spot in the song, a small lull, and he shifted the tempo, switching to James Brown, “Get On Up”.  When the song changed, from somewhere in the lobby, other instruments seemed to join his guitar, keeping up perfectly with him.  Jordan didn’t see any other musicians playing, but it was like the song in his heart was somehow being played on the strings of his electric.  An unseen pianist was tickling those ivory keys while the bass kept the song’s heartbeat thumping.  The Queen’s other hand came up to her face, covering her expression entirely, but Jordan could see her thick tail tip dancing back and forth, in time to the music. 

He decided to go for the finale, transitioning one last to Journey’s “Any Way You Want It.”  As he began to sing the words, two other voices joined his, like the back-up singers that a professional band would have on-stage.  Jordan didn’t look for them, as he was certain that whatever magic was carrying this moment was in the music and not in person aside from him.  His voice filled the room along with the instruments, a concert in the lobby of the Ratatoskr Inn.  Jordan’s heart and soul, his blood, sweat, and tears, and his years of playing were all being poured into this performance.  The performance of a lifetime.  When he finished, the music fading out, he felt like he had just run a marathon, involuntarily gasping for air.  He didn’t know if he could ever play that perfectly again.  There was no applause, but he didn’t need it.  It didn’t matter in this moment.

He began to laugh through the deep breaths.  The Queen watched him for a moment before lowering her hands, her face stoic once more, “Why do you laugh?”

“Because, your Majesty, that was my everything…and halfway through, it wasn’t even for you.  It was for me.” 

               A small chuckle escaped her lips, but it grew.  Jordan watched as the Rat Queen, this ‘Mother’ or whatever, began shaking with utter mirth, the kind of laugh that comes from the belly and clearly was shown on the entirety of one’s being.  In this case, Jordan could see a lot of her moving in that flannel top, jiggling and wiggling back and forth against each other.  As she let out a loud guffaw, whispers began to echo around the room from above them.  The Queen straightened after a moment and wiped tears from her eyes.  She glanced up and then back down, then spoke in a booming voice, “The other four came here, seeking only to give me their most valuable gifts, never realizing that I am not one to be swayed by baubles.  I have enough treasure to last ten lifetimes.  Yet this one stands before me, telling me that his gift was not entirely for me?”  The mirth disappeared from her eyes and a savageness came through, showing powerfully on her entire face, “Excellent!  I have chosen my new Rat King and it will be you!” 

               Jordan blinked, confused.  Rat King?  He had just performed to an audience, right?  Above him, he could hear the people chattering.  He turned to the Queen, the need to know burning inside him, “But why me?”

               The Rat Queen’s reply cut through the chatter, “Because the Rat King needs to be selfish, not a pathetic bootlicker.  I’ve seen it too much.  I want none of it.  You, on the other hand, will do perfectly.  Your name?”

               “Jordan,” he managed to get out after a moment, the guitar in his hands held in a death grip.

               “Does any dispute the coronation of King Jordan,” the Queen shouted up to the rafters.  Jordan glanced up and saw every face looking down at him, but there wasn’t a single protest.  “It seems I have taught you all well.  So be it!”  She stood up and walked over to Jordan, bending down without a word to him.  She slung him, his guitar case still clasped in his hands, over her right shoulder before announcing, “Then I go to consummate my new marriage!  High Priest, handle the rest.”  She turned and began to leave.  Jordan watched as the old man (rat?) priest was walking to the center of the room, looking up.  Jordan didn’t get a chance to hear his words as he was carried away without a chance to interject his own thoughts or wishes. 

               The brightly lit lobby area was behind him and gradually descending low-lit hallways seemed to proceed him, though Jordan couldn’t see exactly where they were going.  Feeling a nervousness overtake him, he began to hum.  Music always calmed and centered him whenever he felt lost, and at this very moment his only view was of a massive backside that jutted further back off her hips than he expected.  The Rat Queen spoke up without stopped, “What’s that song?” 

               He managed to answer without stumbling over his words, “It’s by a guy named Lou Reed, called ‘Take a Walk on the Wild Side.’” 

               The Queen gave a warm sound of enjoyment, “I like that, but it’s not going to be a walk.  You’re in for a ride…”  Jordan didn’t doubt it for a second.