That's sixty kinds of not good. [Des massaged his temples.] Okay, so you have some Sally Lane Heiress looking for a new thrill. The drugs are old, the parties suck. She needs something new- so she hears this crap about 'dreamvites.' Kid's never even so much gotten near a spice rack in her life, but suddenly she's shelling out the cash for one of the golden tickets. So you've got a girl in the middle of powerful magic who thinks she's just partying it up and when it's all over? She can't remember. So she keeps going back. And again and again. Mystery's addictive- there's not a drug more powerful than human curiosity.

[He ought to know that. It was why he was in this business.] If the targets are just humans... Hell, they won't even question it while they're there. And shit, if it's not? The turnover rate of clubs catering to this kind of thing is off the wall. No one can keep one open in the public eye for too long without someone torching it because their girlfriend left them for a fucking drow.

But I'd bet my car on the fact that these chumps are doing a lot more than making a shitload of money. Souls, life energy, blood? They're getting something out of these idiots. And no one's gonna give a rat's ass until the first body turns up.