There was a wide selection of women's clothes in various rooms of my dad's apartment, much of which would have been suitable for a night out in a Greenwich Village club, and some of which fit me, but there was no way I was touching any of it. The idea of wearing a dress that might have belonged to one of my father's 'women' made me feel queasy.

Instead, I went out to buy the first new dress I had bought in a long time. Nico went with me as my personal bodyguard and I could see the other shoppers staring and trying to figure out who I was and if they might have seen me on TV. Generally speaking, I didn't buy new clothes much, or at least not 'nice' clothes, stuff you might wear on a date or to a club. I had a few 'date dresses', old standards that I'd had for years and which usually seemed to get results, but other than that, my wardrobe back home was split between practical everyday wear, and the stuff that I thought of as my 'work clothes'. I didn't like spending that sort of money on clothes just so I could get into a bar, but as the four of us lined up to get in and I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored window, I couldn't help thinking, I looked pretty damned good.

We were all dressed to kill, because this was the type of club that if you weren't, then you didn't get in. The guys looked amazing. Christoph was in uniform black, his shirt clinging silkily to the ripped muscles of his torso, the jacket so dark that it seemed to swallow light. Nico's enormous muscles were contained in a burgundy shirt with one too many buttons open to reveal a glimpse of his just-enough-hair-y chest. Alexei had gone with a full suit that fit him like a glove, assuming that glove was just a little too tight in some key areas, so that when he bent down to tie his shoe, every eye in the line - and certainly mine - turned to his ass.

I found myself consciously talking to all three guys and suddenly being more tactile than I usually would have been; straightening Alexei's tie, brushing imaginary lint from Christoph's jacket, touching Nico's arm. It wasn't flirting, as such, I just wanted everyone in the line to know that we were all together; them and me. My reward was jealous looks from every woman there, and most of the men. When we reached the velvet rope, the bouncer let us through without a second glance; we obviously 'belonged'.

From the outside, the club was drab and dim and almost silent, just a faint buzz of music and chatter suggesting what was inside. The place must have been impressively soundproofed, because inside and downstairs was a riot of noise and color. The decor looked like someone had watched Moulin Rouge one too many times, the music sounded like five different bands were playing at once, and the dancing looked like Gene Kelly had been asked to choreograph an orgy. Men ground themselves against women, women kissed other women, men who were dressed as women slow danced with men who were barely dressed at all.

There was a constant stream of toing and froing from the dance floor as more people joined the throng. An explosion of silvery confetti showered the dancers, followed by a light spray of champagne as, somewhere, a cork popped.

At the far end of the room was a stage, crowded with dancers who were doing a more stylish and coordinated version of what was happening on the floor. They spun, they gyrated, they high-kicked and then dropped into impossible splits. I was just wishing I had legs as good as the girls on stage when I remembered they weren’t all girls, which made the splits even more impressive.

We had come to the right place.

"Who wants a drink?" asked Nico. His toes had been tapping in time with the music since we had entered, and he had a grin on his face.

"We're here for a reason," reminded Alexei.

"So, just me?"

"I'll take a Manhattan," I said. "Think we can get a seat?"

It seemed a long shot in this crowd, but Alexei and Christoph had little trouble in getting us a table just by smiling and being their gorgeous selves.

"This place is remarkable," said Christoph, with an academic sort of interest. Christoph did not strike me as one for the bar scene, but he was fascinated by everything he saw - it was like another world to him. I noticed that his foot had started tapping in vague time with the music as well and I had to suppress a smile. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"Dionysus's new year's party?" suggested Alexei.

"Exactly. Although this has less sex." He scanned the room. "Marginally."

“And it’s probably safe to assume tonight won't end in a blood sacrifice," ventured Alexei.

As they chatted, comparing modern New York club culture to the good old days in ancient Greece, when love had no boundaries and gender was even more fluid than today, I returned my gaze to the main stage. The dancers with the great legs had now been replaced by more elegantly dressed drag queens in long flowing gowns, with mile-high heels and gorgeous wigs. And tiaras.

Would a tiara count as a crown? I had to hope.

"I got everyone drinks," announced Nico as he returned. “We've got to fit in, haven't we?"

Onstage, the drag queens started to sing some musical theatre ballad song. I love to sing - in the kitchen, in the shower, in my car on long journeys, basically anyplace where there's no one to ask me to please, please, for the love of God, stop. I have no voice at all. I'm completely tone deaf. Remi has compared my singing of Abba's Waterloo to the noise a cat makes when it's being declawed, or the sound of wolves mating. These guys on stage were currently busting out Don't Cry for Me Argentina, hitting every high note in ways that basic biology ought to have precluded.

"One dance,” I heard Nico demanding flatly.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you better than that, Nico. It's never just one dance. Once you're on that dance floor we'll never get you off it. You have no self-control when it comes to throwing shapes."

"Is it my fault that Dolos made me with the grace of Fred Astaire, the rhythm of Bo Jangles and the hips of Shakira?"

"You're starting to scare me,” Alexei shot back.

The drag queens drew back onstage into an inverted V shape, at the apex of which the curtains parted to admit a new figure, taller and more statuesque than any of them. His heels looked a foot high, his wig at least twice that, he had a figure that most women would have killed for, and perched on top of this mountain of masculine femininity was a crown.

This was the queen of drag queens, and as he - or she? I'm never sure what the protocol is and I don't want to upset anyone - stalked to the front of the stage with long, languid steps, I knew I had to take that crown. More accurately, I had to find a way of making her give it to me. As the queen began her solo - Let it Go from Disney's Frozen - I turned back to the guys, who were still bickering about whether or not Nico should be permitted to dance.

"There's our crown."

They all looked.

"That's a queen's crown, alright," said Alexei.

"You think Zeus will allow it?" I asked, uncertainly.

"I don't see why not," Alexei shrugged. "I mean - I can see why he might not want to, but Zeus plays by the rules and that is literally a crown belonging to a queen."

"How are you going to get it?" asked Nico. "Perhaps I could challenge her to a dance off?"

"No dance offs," said Alexei firmly. "Cat has to be the one to get it."

"If she is going to be busy, I don't see why I shouldn't go dance,” he reasoned.

"I think I might be better off doing this by myself," I said. Grifting is not easy to pull off with three large and very noticeable people staring over your shoulder. And however much the fate of the world hung on it, what I was about to pull off was nevertheless a grift.

"You do the talking, of course," agreed Alexei. "But you know that we have to come with you."

"Oh, come on, what can happen to me here?"

Alexei took in the chaos of the room. "Seriously?"

"Fine, come along. But you keep out of my way, okay?"

This was going to be a challenge. Onstage the song finished, and my queen stalked back the way she had come.

Talking my way past the guard on the backstage door was easy, even with the guys in tow - if you can't do something like that then you've got no business calling yourself a grifter. I found my way to a dressing room with an ostentatious star on the door, which someone had augmented still further by sticking sequins and feathers around the outside. This had to be the right place. The name on the door, written in a florid cursive hand, in what appeared to be hot pink lipstick, said 'Madame Noire'. I knocked.

"Come in."

Even offstage the voice retained its applied feminine lilt.

I entered and Madame Noire, now with a smaller blonde wig on, looked up sharply.

"You're not Roger."

"No." There seemed little point in denying it. "My name is Cat. I'm a fan."

Madame Noire held up a hand with an elegant flick of her wrist. "Everyone's a fan, honey. I don't have time for all of you."

"I was hoping you could help me. I need your crown."

Shit.

The pressure of what I was here doing had voided my mind of every rule learned from years of grifting and I’d choked. Hard. In my very first sentence, I had let the mark know what I wanted - which is the single dumbest thing you can do when executing a con - and I had done it in such obvious fashion that anything I said now was going to sound like a lie. That was the worst opening to a grift pretty much ever and as Madame Noir’s winged brows rose up into her faux-hairline, I scrambled to think of how to get my footing back.

"You what?"

“Um…it’s for a good cause, and I really need it.”

I was just making things worse.

"Do you know what I did for this crown?" Madame Noire asked and I shook my head dumbly. "Sure, it comes from a tacky costume shop and cost a few dollars, but I had to earn the right to wear it. Anyone can wear a tiara, but you gotta earn the crown. I mean, anyone can wear it - don't touch!” she snapped as I inadvertently reached out a hand and then snatched it back at her words. She gave me the stink eye and then continued. “But to wear it? You gotta earn it. And I earned it through ten years of hoofing and singing in every joint in this town. Now I'm the queen. You show me a queen who's going to just give up her crown to anyone who asks, and I'll show you someone who ain't no queen at all."

She was right, of course, and in more ways than one. I couldn't buy the damn thing because then she wasn't 'willing to sacrifice' it. I needed to start being clever and my brain was currently letting me down big-time.

"Are those with you?" Madame Noire's gaze had slipped past me to the open door. I turned to see Alexei, Christoph and Nico waiting in the hall outside, trying to be inconspicuous and failing on a truly spectacular level.

"Yes."

"Kudos, girl,” she said, eyes wide.

And with that, my grifting brain finally kicked into action. "The thing is," I said, stepping closer and dropping my voice lower. "They're mine, and they're not. I've got a chance with all three of them - as in; together."

Madame Noire nodded knowingly, her interest clearly piqued now despite her initial annoyance with me. "Everyone should try it at least once. Especially with hunks like that.”

"But there are some conditions."

Madame Noire shook her head. "Straight guys, huh? You gotta jump through so many hoops to have a bit of fun."

“Right?” I said with an eye-roll. “Anyway, they have me on this crazy scavenger hunt for my birthday- which is today, by the way- and this is one of my tasks…the last one, and if I complete it, they’re taking me to Vegas for three days. And we all know—”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby!” Madame Noire said with a bawdy chuckle. I watched, breath suspended, as she reached for her crown and gently pulled it off. “I can grab another one tomorrow. I’ve been thinking the gold clashes with my skin tone anyway. I think I’ll go for platinum this time.” She held the crown out and then paused. “Promise me one thing, though, doll. Don’t go easy on them. You make sure you get yours."

"I will." I grinned, taking the crown from her with trembling hands. “Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Happy Birthday, girl. And don't be afraid to get a little freaky, if you know what I'm saying. Men all say they don't like it, but one clever index finger and they’re licking the walls.”

I nodded solemnly and Madame Noire took another glance into the hallway.

"Damn. If I wasn't spoken for, you'd have some competition for that trip, though.”

I smile and wiggled my fingers at her in thanks before I rejoined the guys with the crown in my hands and a beaming smile on my face.

"Let's get out of here before she changes her mind."

I made a beeline for the exit with wings on my feet.

"How'd you manage it?" asked Nico, once we reached the street again.

“I told her it was my birthday."