by Jen Klein
I craned my neck to see what he was looking at. “Wait, is that my phone? Why are you on my phone? Get out of my email!”
“Relax. I was checking to see if Norbert sent anything else.” He made a mock tsk-tsk sound. “Although someone is really concerned that you’re not satisfying your partner—”
“Stop it.” I reached over and snatched my phone out of his hands, nearly causing us to swerve onto the sidewalk. I straightened out the car. “We’re done. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Sure it is,” he countered. “We’re narrowing down our options.”
“By cruising around Little Tokyo and looking for places where female demons hang out?”
Sky nodded. “Look for bars with ‘fire’ in the name. Or ‘moon.’ Or ‘smoke.’”
“Or ‘delusional’?”
Suddenly Sky grabbed my arm. “Pull over!”
I skidded to the curb in front of a club with a blazing sign out front: full moon. Silhouettes of overly busty women were painted on the windows.
“Sorry, never mind,” said Sky. “Girly bar.”
“Can we be done now?” I asked. But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t completely want the night with Sky to be over. His questioning, his intensity, his insistence that I was different—it might all have been part of an act, but it wasn’t enough to scare me away. After all, I was accustomed to acts. I had grown up in a sideshow world, and most of the time, I was still living there. The way Sky danced on the edge of truth—it felt familiar. Comfortable.
Normal.
And—let’s be honest—there was something about the way his messy blond hair fell over his forehead.
Sky snapped his fingers. “Hold on.” He picked up his own phone and started stabbing at the screen.
“What are you looking for?”
“Vampire clubs. I know, I know, it’s not succubi, but websites—crowd-sourced reviews or something—they might not know the difference.” He ran his finger down the list he’d pulled up. “The Iron Bar . . . Toothy Dance Den . . . Blood Lust . . .”
“Fang You Very Much.”
Sky frowned, scanning the screen. “Where do you see that?”
“It was a joke.” I exaggerated his frown back at him.
He broke into a smile. “Good one.” He held my gaze a second too long before turning back to his phone. “Here!” he said, tapping the screen. “If that’s not a succubus bar, I don’t know what is.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
I should have called it a night, but I didn’t. Maybe I wanted answers about Todd Harmon for Corabelle’s sake. Maybe I was happy to be distracted from thoughts of the obituary, from the sister I might have. Maybe I couldn’t help myself because I was already falling for this mysterious, green-eyed boy who believed in all the nonsense my father had built a career on.
Or maybe I just didn’t want to go back home to an empty, dark apartment.
At the very least, I thought following Sky Ramsey couldn’t hurt.
But as I found out later, everything to do with Sky Ramsey could hurt.
It could hurt a lot.
Fifteen
The club at the far end of the alley was marked only by a hand-painted sign over a door: lilith’s bed. There was a moon over the lettering. Sky nudged me. “Lilith is supposed to be one of the originals,” he said. “It’s a succubus bar, all right.”
The nearby streetlights were out. Honestly, it was a little eerie. I turned to Sky. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a fake ID on you.”
“Nope. But I can’t imagine this is a place that strictly follows the rules.” His eyes traveled down my body and back up again. By the time they had reached the level of my own gaze, heat was rising in my cheeks. I covered the only way I knew how.
“Seen enough?” I snapped.
“Just trying to figure out if they’ll let you in.” He nodded toward my car. “What do you have in the way of costumes?”
I opened the back door and made a sweeping gesture toward my stockpile of thrift store items. “Knock yourself out.”
A few moments later, Sky emerged. He’d spread some clothes out on the seat, but it was too dark to identify any item in particular. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but you actually already kinda look like you belong in a succubus bar.”
That brought me up short. Did he mean that I looked like a succubus, and if so, was it a compliment? And did it mean he wanted to sleep with me? I was positive that in all the history of uncertain teenage relationships, there had never been one so fraught with questions as this thing between Sky and me.
Sky cocked his head to the side, looking over my ripped jeans and black boots. “Your shirt could be sexier. You know, so you look like you dressed up to go to a club.” I squinted down at my black T-shirt. It was formfitting and emblazoned with one word written in yellow block letters: hater.
“Do you have a suggestion?” I asked.
“How about scissors?”
“I have a pocket knife.”
Five awkward minutes later, the size of my shirt’s neck hole had been greatly increased, and the sleeves were nonexistent. The shirt now fell off one shoulder. I had a moment of gratitude when I realized I’d worn my pretty red bra and not one of the ratty old tan ones. Sky helped me yank the shirt material to the side so we could knot it against my torso. His knuckles grazed my skin, and I hoped he wouldn’t register the goose bumps rising to the surface.
When a good-sized slice of my midriff was visible, Sky reached toward my head. I pulled away.
“Come on,” he said. “Just a little adjustment.”
Fine.
I held still as he gently tugged the rubber band from around my ponytail. My hair tumbled down like a messy waterfall. Before I could reach up to compose it, he had already slid both hands past my cheekbones and into the tangled strands. I froze, staring up at him. I think he was supposed to be doing whatever one does to hair—fluffing it or something—but instead his hands curved around to cradle my head, his fingers moving in gentle circles against my scalp. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t tell when his eyes drifted down to meet my own. He swallowed and pulled away.
Something clenched inside me. Something I didn’t understand. Sky was charming but arrogant. Helpful but misguided. Smart but naïve. He was maddening. Yes, I was attracted to him, but I couldn’t trust him. He’d blackmailed his way into my life, and I still didn’t understand his end game. Which somehow fed the attraction . . .
Maybe I was mad at myself.
Suddenly I realized Sky was unbuttoning his own shirt. All the way. “What are you doing?” My question came out more harshly than I’d intended.
“We’re about to walk into a succubus bar,” he answered, yanking one arm and then the other out of his sleeves. Resolutely, I kept my eyes on his face and not anywhere near his now-naked torso. “We need to make everyone believe that I’m a present.”
My eyes narrowed. “A present?”
“A gift. From you to the succubus. You’re going to tell her that you want to be her disciple, that you’re hoping to learn at her lair.”
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond. “This is helping us find Todd how?”
“Because he’s probably already there. In her lair.” Sky once again spoke as if he were addressing a bright and well-meaning toddler, the tone he always seemed to adopt when frustrated with my lack of Dr. Lewis Cade pseudoknowledge. “We know she likes young guys. You offer me to her, and she’ll tell us the location.”
“Are succubi stupid?” I asked.
“Quite the opposite.”
“Then why would she tell us where her lair is?”
Sky sighed. “Because we’re going to slip her some truth serum.” He tossed his shirt into my car. “Do you have a belt in there?”
My grasp on t
he situation was growing tenuous. I felt as if I were missing chunks of the conversation, that I’d tuned in to some bizarre reality TV show halfway through the episode. “No . . . I mean, only this.” I hunted around until I found a length of steel chain links I’d picked up at a swap meet. Occasionally I would wear it around my waist and clasp it with a pin made from bent nails. It pretty much screamed badass.
“That is badass,” said Sky.
And there it was.
He looped the chain around his own neck and secured it with the rubber band he’d taken out of my hair. He handed the free end to me. Any passerby would think I was walking him like a dog on a leash. I cracked a smile.
“Nice,” I said.
“Don’t get used to it.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. This whole thing was insane, but hey, if I got to trot into an adult nightclub with Sky Ramsey on a leash . . . I was damn well going to enjoy it. At the very least, it took my mind off other concerns—namely, a sister I didn’t know and a death threat in the form of an obituary, both of which may or may not have been real.
We headed down the alley, skirting piles of broken glass and edging between overflowing trash bins and hulking dumpsters that smelled like someone had died inside. Judging from the part of town we were in, maybe someone had. Maybe more than one.
I squinted toward a person outside the club at the end of the alley—a shape, really, hidden beneath a hooded cloak, crouched on a stool that looked too small to support its weight. I could hear thudding music beyond the wooden door. As we approached, the shape lifted what I presume was its head. I couldn’t see its face, but the voice under the hood was not at all what I expected: silky and high-pitched, with a faint accent I couldn’t identify. I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.
“Are you members?” the voice asked.
I glanced at Sky, who was staring straight ahead. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“No,” I said. “Not members.”
The shape held out a hand. It was slender and the skin was a dark, dark brown. The fingernails were cut short and stained black. “Two hundred dollars.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could formulate a protest, Sky’s arm was already extended. The shape took the wad of bills from his palm and then gestured toward the door. “Enjoy.”
I didn’t know why Sky had that sort of cash on him, but I decided not to think too hard about it. I decided not to think too hard about anything. If nothing else, this night could go down in history as the world’s most expensive and weirdest teenage date (if it was a date?) in history.
I pulled open the door and paused to look at Sky. We didn’t say anything. No words were needed.
Sixteen
The music—Goth rock? Black metal? Psycho-industrial?—was deafening. Beyond deafening. The bass throbbed into my heels. It pounded up my thighs, ricocheted through my torso, and clogged my ears, disrupting my brain, making it impossible to think straight. Now and then, a deep voice moaned lyrics I couldn’t understand. It sounded like the kind of music I might tell people I liked while secretly listening to the cheesy pop I really did like.
Far above us, a midnight ceiling was pricked with lights. Torches burned on the walls (clearly fire codes were not a concern here). Sweaty, swaying female bodies were everywhere: dancing and smoking and drinking and groping. One woman dressed in what looked like black plastic wrap undulated against a pole. Another, her hands cuffed together, twirled on a trapeze. Everywhere I turned, there were whips and fangs and tattoos and piercings—and cigarettes.
That clinched it: this club was not on any official grid. The cops would have shut it down in a second.
Also: It was hard to feel like a badass here.
I steeled myself, forcing my way deeper into the crowd and tugging Sky along behind me.
There were some men, but not many. They seemed to be mostly clustered around the edges, watching. I peered at the one closest to us. He was slumped to one side, staring out at the dance floor. His fingers twitched at his sides; his eyes were glazed. Drool glimmered at one corner of his mouth.
Hawt.
I had to give Sky this: if there were such things as succubi, this totally looked like the kind of horrible nightclub where they’d hang out. I motioned for him to lean over so I could yell into his ear. “So you want me to believe all these girls are succubi?”
He shook his head. “No, most are posers,” he yelled back. “It’s like the age-old adage: Just because the girl’s in black glitter doesn’t mean she’s a banshee.” Several other age-old adages leapt to mind—most of them having to do with being an idiot—but I kept my mouth shut. No use developing laryngitis just so I could insult Sky. He began pointing around, labeling people for me. “Poser, poser, wannabe, supplicant—”
“Whoa.” I stopped him. “Supplicant?”
“Like a slave,” he explained. “Or a pet. They’re girls who worship the succubi. They bring them men, like you’re going to do tonight.”
I nodded, feigning seriousness. “Where do you throw the twenty-sided dice to find out how many charisma points your orc gets?”
“There’s no such thing as an orc,” Sky said mildly.
Sky: one. Sarcasm: zero.
“Okay, here’s the plan.” He leaned in so I could hear him better. “We’ll disguise the truth serum in a drink.”
Maybe he hadn’t ignored the sarcasm. Maybe he was finally joking around himself. “Ah yes, the truth serum,” I repeated. “You mentioned it.”
“Succubi are notorious liars,” Sky explained.
I searched his eyes. Not good. He wasn’t joking at all. “I’m guessing you brought the six-pack of truth serum?” I shouted over the music. “I’m fresh out.”
“No you’re not,” said Sky without missing a beat. “Human blood. A tiny bit makes them so drunk they can’t help but tell the truth.”
“Nice. Well, you’re on your own with that one.” I curled the end of the belt around my hand and headed toward the bar, yanking him along. I figured it wouldn’t be long before we were noticed by regulars, at which point we’d get either threatened or kicked out. But I’d deal with that when it came. I was already here, and frankly, it wasn’t so terrible having Sky Ramsey on a leash. Besides, it wasn’t like I was worried about getting in trouble with my parents. Freedom from consequences: the only bonus to my family situation.
A chick wearing a glittery green leotard stood behind the counter. She didn’t look much older than me. Again I marveled at how so much of Los Angeles didn’t seem to care about the law. I waited to see how she’d react to our leash scenario. Her gaze traveled up and down Sky’s bare chest, much the way his gaze had traveled up and down my body.
“Tender,” she said.
“Thanks,” I told her. She looked at me, and I looked at her, and we stood there looking at each other for way too long before I realized she was waiting for me to order.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I was in high school, for crap’s sake.
Luckily for me, Sky pressed closer from behind. I heard his voice in my ear. “Three drinks,” he said. “Something red.”
“Three cranberry juices,” I said.
The girl looked surprised.
“With vodka,” I added hastily.
“Three vodka cranberries. Gimme a sec.” She started throwing glasses around and pouring things into other things. Being underage was definitely not a problem here. Not that I was surprised. She glanced up at Sky again. “Is he yours?”
“No,” I said. “Definitely not.” Even as I said it, part of me wondered how it would feel to respond differently, how it would feel if Sky could somehow be defined as mine.
I wrestled that part of me into submission and shoved it away.
“Tell her I’m a present for Misty,” Sky hissed. “Ask where she is.”
; Okay then. It was official: I was in Crazy Town. I just had to make myself at home. I leaned further over the bar and jerked a thumb back at Sky. “Actually, he’s for Misty,” I said. “Know where she is?”
“She doesn’t take gifts here.” The bartender sneered, plopping three glasses of red liquid in front of me.
Huh.
I pulled out some bills and flung them onto the counter. It was the least I could do after Sky dropped two hundred on admission. Then I jerked on the belt so Sky had to step forward. If the bartender thought he was a hottie, maybe showing him off a little would help. I held up my hand and pulled, forcing Sky to pivot. Then, hating it and yet kind of not hating it, I ran my hand down the smooth muscles of his torso.
Dear God.
I managed a tight grin for the bartender. “Misty will want this, don’t you think?”
Admiration shone from her eyes. “I would.” She jerked her chin toward the other side of the cavernous room. “Red throne in the back.”
A throne? Seriously?
“Thanks.” I passed a cranberry vodka to Sky, took the other two, and struck out onto the dance floor. It was hot. Humid. The music grew louder; it was all-consuming. Around us, bodies were grinding against each other. Lost in the beat, lost in each other.
Sky brought his mouth to my ear. “Good job back there!” he yelled.
“What about the truth serum?” I shouted.
We stumbled into a clear pocket on the dance floor where we were momentarily not in danger of getting hip checked by leather-bound women. Probably good Norbert wasn’t around to witness this. He’d have had a heart attack.
“Allow me,” Sky shouted back.
I turned to face him. I was holding a drink in each hand, so I had no way to fend him off when he danced (I use that word loosely) toward me. He set his one free hand on my bare wrist and slid it up my arm to my shoulder. I intended to wriggle away, but somehow I didn’t. I stood very still, holding those two drinks, letting Sky trail his fingers up my neck. His index finger traced the outer shell of my ear. I hoped he couldn’t feel the involuntary shiver that ran down my spine. He circled my ear lobe. I fought the urge to close my eyes.
