Endless Night (Dylan Hart Odyssey of The Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  Just as quickly as it happened the first time, the music began with another drum beat and the girls lifted themselves upright and began climbing back up the fabric. Wrapping hands and legs around the silky, flowing fabric, each girl maneuvered themselves upward. Our eye contact broke and she was gone, back up her curtain, and I was left standing there like a lovesick school girl. Only, I had no idea who she was or why in the hell I had any interest in her. Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate a pretty girl when I saw one, but never in my life have I been so intrigued by a woman.

  The girls continued their dance on the curtains. They wrapped themselves in the long fabric, flipped and turned, and slid. It was an awe provoking dance. The agility and fearlessness those girls had baffled me. Granted I’d killed people, but that was nothing compared to plummeting to your death half naked in front of a crowd of people dressed like they were on their way to a macabre renaissance faire.

  “Dylan, let’s go,” Tatum called to me from a few feet away. She and Malcolm made their way toward a set of spiraling stairs hidden in a dark corner. Cyrus waited cordially for my attention.

  The man in black stuck his arm out for me, but I ignored it. I let my ass wiggle back and forth as my disgustingly tall heels hit the tile floor with a stomp. I wanted to stay and watch the girls wrap and hang.

  I made sure to calm myself before I hit the expanded metal staircase. A spike heel meeting a holey surface and a girl could be done for.

  Tatum and Malcolm had almost disappeared up the stairs by the time I reached the foot of it. I forced myself to take it one step at a time. I tried to ignore the sudden fear that crept up my spine knowing I was by myself, even if only for a minute, in a room full of blood drinkers. No matter how fictional they were, drinking someone’s blood was no bullshit.

  I felt Cyrus at my back after a few steps up the stairs. The music was so loud there was no hearing someone sneak up on you, but after so many years spent at the bar, I’d grown accustomed to not being able to hear myself speak let alone anyone else.

  Perched atop the treacherous stairs was a loft area that stretched the length of the room and jutted from the brick wall a few dozen feet over the floor below. A large man stood at the entrance to the area stopping all who should attempt to cross the line. He stopped me with an open hand at my chest. I scoffed before I realized he’d never hear that, and then I pointed at Malcolm’s fiery red mane. Cyrus came up behind me and the man moved aside to let us through. I couldn’t resist and I made a childish face of victory at the dumb guy on the stairs. For once in my life, I was with the in-crowd.

  Blood drinkers or not, they sure as hell know how to party.

  Huge lounge chairs and sectional sofas laid sporadically throughout the open area, each a different color. Some blue, some red, some black, but all over stuffed and made for beauty as well as comfort. Small cube shaped tables sat in front of each seating area that allowed a place for drinks or butts. Gorgeous people lounged on every available spot. Some lounged on another person, but no one seemed to mind the closeness.

  The upper deck, as I’d dubbed it in my own head, seemed a far cry from the mundane open floor below. It appeared as though they grouped all the beautiful people up the stairs of death where the big couches were and all the idiots in ruffled shirts and top hats were forced to mingle below. Such as peasants or peons maybe. It reminded me of Diego, or Philippe, pathetic little boys in the presence of less pathetic little boys. Everyone in the room, to the general public, would seem as just another Goth kid with low self-esteem and a mommy complex, but amongst themselves, they are amazing creatures. They had their own hierarchy and set of rules in place that didn’t touch the world I lived in, the real world. But it worked for them. Someone like Malcolm, a short red-headed boy with freckles who thought himself a vampire would have been teased mercilessly in high school. Even as an adult, in a crowd made up of Billy-Bobs, he’d be eaten alive. In fact, I couldn’t believe these people didn’t get more grief than they did. If they did.

  I had to say, it felt nice not being on the floor with the commoners. Even if I was surrounded by the head honchos of the vampire club.

  The four of us made our way through the crowd that took up the upper deck, toward a black couch in the shape of a half-circle. It was all the way in the back, stuck in a corner, but it was the only available spot.

  “Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” I quipped. “Why are we all the way back here? You can’t work your Primus mojo and get us a better seat?” I wasn’t trying to complain, honest.

  “This is the better seat. This is the spot I choose every year. It has the best view and is the farthest away from gawkers and sheep.” Malcolm said this like he was so far above me and everyone else in the room he couldn’t stand to be near us.

  Letting out an irritated and totally childish sigh, I plopped unattractively on the big comfy couch. Malcolm rolled his eyes in disgust, as I knew he would, and I smiled sweetly at him. He was right, the view was spectacular. I could see the stage, the bar, all of the drapery girls, and all of the peons below.

  I glanced around the upper deck and noticed the group sitting within the seating area next to us. Two women and a man, all looking like they could be related to Cyrus with their pouty lips and thick eyelashes. The man wore a top hat and mask, made in all black silk: simple. The red-haired woman donned a dress that made me want to run to a costume shop and buy anything other than the plain black dress I had on. The shoulders were covered in shiny black feathers that trailed down the long sleeves and up her neck to create a collar that circled her head. Her skin was like milk, like Malcolm’s, but she pulled it off better. A woman with jet-black hair sat with them in a black leather dress that reminded me of Edward Scissorhands with all of its buckles and straps. Her eyes met mine and reflected the light emanating from the lower level in a way that reminded me of my first night with Cyrus. Glowing, almost as though they produced their own light, in a way so unnatural it looked computer generated.

  I’ve got to find out where they get those contacts.

  One of the women, the redhead, raised a deeply bowled wine glass to me with a nod of her head and drank. The thick liquid in the glass stuck to the edges as it tipped up and back down. It looked like syrup or oil…or blood. My breath caught and I let out a tiny gasp. I knew where I was; I knew who they were and what they thought they were. I just never thought that I’d ever see someone drinking blood from a wine glass only a few feet from me.

  “You know what they are, Dylan, darling.” Cyrus spoke closely to my ear. I felt his breath roll across the skin of my neck and shivered when it caused chills down my spine.

  I know what they think they are. Sometimes, when I’m alone and slightly drunk in my apartment, I think I’m Joan Jett. Do I flaunt that in public? Nope.

  “Yes. It was just unexpected. That is what I think it is, right?” I knew what it was. What else could it be?

  “Yes. Willing donors only, love,” Malcolm’s Irish brogue chimed in with an answer. “Every year a select group of donors is given free pass to the event in exchange for their…donation. What you see there was collected days ago and chilled for the occasion. Be prepared, that’s not the first or the last. Masque de Sang has been celebrated for years without instance. It won’t change now. I would suggest you order yourself a drink and try to have fun.” He smiled at me for the fifth time since I’d met him. I didn’t think he liked me much. Good.

  A scantily clad waitress shimmied over to our group with her tray in hand. Her hair was ratted up into a twist over her head that looked straight out of a Tim Burton movie and her eyes had smudges of black makeup around them that made it look like she’d been crying. She looked a little scary, but I loved it. I ordered and she flashed a fanged smile at me. I laughed nervously and she winked at me.

  “You know, Maxwell is fitting custom teeth at his booth tonight. We should get a pair.” Cyrus smiled too and I pictured him with his shiny white fangs from my dream so many months ago. A quick batt
le of emotions occurred in my head as I struggled over whether the idea was terrifying or sexy.

  “We, as in you and I?” Sexy won.

  “Oh, I want to go too.” Tatum piped up from the other side of Malcolm. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet for so long I’d forgotten she was there. Which was not entirely a bad thing. She still hadn’t acknowledged the fact she was shackled permanently to her Sanguinarian candy cane looking boyfriend, or that I’d finally said it in public, to more than just her.

  “Let me get a few drinks in me and we’ll see,” I said with a fake smile. I fought hard not to scream. To grab her by her stupid blonde face and tell her she was acting like a love sick fool. It wasn’t like her to fall all over herself for some guy and why the first time it happens it was with Ginger Spice, I’d never know.

  Maybe it’s some kind of vampire power. He’s got Cyrus in his clutches…why not drag Tatum along too? Vampire mind control…

  “Is that all it takes?” he butted into my thoughts and startled me back to reality. Shooting me a wink that washed thoughts of Tatum away, he replaced them with naughty thoughts, and my weekend immediately became much better. A sly wink from that silly boy and I was melting in my control-top panties. While Tatum ruffled my feathers, Cyrus was right behind her to smooth them down again. “A few drinks?”

  “Usually.” I winked right back. This conversation was heading in a direction that caused serious turmoil in my little head. On one hand, Cyrus had driven me absolutely insane until the last six hours. But on the other hand, sexual frustration was a nasty bitch.

  Our drinks arrived and I sent mine careening down my gullet. Awkward situations are better handled intoxicated. Really, it was true.

  Ordering another drink, okay two, I secretly hoped I’d get drunk and lose all inhibitions. I knew I was my own worst enemy and tended to cut off my dick to spite my balls. Also, likely the sole reason for my recent celibacy. Somewhere in my head, the thought lingered that this might be the night to rectify this.

  Allowing myself to relax and enjoy the situation, I leaned against the cushioned back of the low-profile couch. My eyes closed lazily and my mind began to take in the music thumping in my ears. Low bellowing drum beats as there had been when the girls made their descent from the ceiling, but now there were other instruments added and a woman’s soprano vocals. The small amount of alcohol I’d consumed found a home in my stomach, making it warm with its fiery liquid. I opened my curious eyes and focused on the crowd below. Specifically the girls dangling precariously from the steel rafters on those fancy drapes. Each stretched and curled their strong limbs around the silky fabric. Legs, arms, winding and curling their way up, up, up. Then, without the slightest hesitation, they fell. Legs wrapped intricately around the cloth. The synchronization was intermittent, but I wondered if that was also choreographed.

  I’d been inside the building for just under twenty minutes and I was already sucked into the romance of it all. I noticed then how easy it must be to attract newbies. I, as a strong-willed adult, knew this was not the lifestyle for me and I had no intention of carrying on the façade beyond this extreme weekend. But, if I were some lonely neglected teenager, this moment would be the moment I accepted this as my new life. Luckily for me, I was not lonely, or neglected, or a teenager. Well, I wasn’t a teenager.

  The skinny waitress returned with a tray full of clear shot glasses filled with thick red liquid. Hesitant, I held one of my shots a foot or so away from my face. On any other day, if someone were to hand me a red-liquid filled glass the first thing on my mind would not have been, hey is this blood? But, when in Rome. Or, Transylvania…

  “What?” I asked, taking a sniff of the contents.

  “Not what you think it is. What would a vampire party be without bloody good drinks?” Malcolm laughed a full belly laugh. It was the first time I’d ever even seen him smile more than a simple grin. I never noticed his set of fangs before. They were kind of dainty and slightly hidden by his upper lip. It was a little bit of a relief to know he had some kind of human emotion, but the relief was halted when I caught a glimpse of those pointy things in his mouth. Primus or not, Malcolm did not seem the type to indulge in the dramatics of his “culture”. I always saw him as a businessman, not a vampire fashionista.

  Everyone in my group raised their matching shots in a silent toast. The four of us slung our drinks back and slammed them down damn near simultaneously. I laughed at the action and the others followed. Tatum’s laugh was a refreshing sound I hadn’t had the pleasure of in quite a while. Not saying she didn’t laugh, just that she and I hadn’t laughed together in for some time and I missed that. I missed her. It didn’t matter what I said to her.

  I figured then that I might as well forget trying to control the events of the weekend and just go with it. I told myself I’d learn more about this culture by being a part of it than observing it from the outside. Maybe I could even start to understand the odd relationship Tatum had going with Malcolm. Or not. Either way, short of boarding the next flight home, this was my life for the next few days. I figured I may as well make the best of it. Besides, Tatum had Malcolm, I might as well have Cyrus. Even if just for the weekend.

  Oh hell, I guess so.

  Alright, I was very much in the mood to have fun and the environment warranted specifically that. So I decided to let my bitch slide for the evening, sue me.

  “How ‘bout those fangs?” I smiled slyly.

  “Are you ready then?” Cyrus smiled and his pearly whites glimmered in the dim light.

  “As long as I can take them out in the morning…what the hell.”

  “Thank God,” he let out a relieved exhale.

  “What?”

  “I was terrified you were about to say YOLO.” This was said in utmost seriousness.

  I laughed as hard and as loud as was unattractive. Stopping just before a fart slipped out, I let out a heavy sigh of suspended laughter. “I don’t think anything could have appeared odder than watching a big tough vampire boy use the phrase YOLO. Not to mention how incredibly endearing it is that you were relieved I didn’t say it. Trust me, sitting in the VIP section of the plastic fang club is neither the time nor the place for a You Only Live Once moment. They might prove me wrong.” Laughter started again, but stopped when I saw the look on Cyrus’s face. A light smirk lingered on my warm and tingly cheeks. The alcohol was beginning to sink in to each cell of my body. A thought ran through my head and I worried maybe the drinks were spiked as they had been at Embrace.

  “I’m not a vampire boy,” his expression told me he was dead serious.

  “Well then, what else would you call the Secondus of the House of Malcolm’s bitch?” I was starting to feel a bit snotty.

  “House of Cailleadh. And just because I’m Secondus does not make me the same as those…people,” his eyes shot toward the dance floor below with disdain.

  “Then why do you do it?” I asked, taking the chance to look him dead in the eye.

  His gaze shifted to look at Malcolm sitting to his left on the rounded couch. I continued to watch him, trying to decipher his body language. It was obvious he was checking on Malcolm, but he gave nothing else away. After a few long moments of silence, I let it go. I assumed he wouldn’t talk with Malcolm so close, and though Malcolm was stuck up Tatum’s ass, it appeared as though Cyrus was afraid he might overhear. I could care less who heard what, but then again, I wasn’t stuck with the guy day in and day out. Or was that night in and night out?

  “Fine. I need a drink,” I said, short and to the point. I crossed one leg over the other and let my back relax into the soft cushion.

  Cyrus lifted his hand and waved his fingers around at someone I didn’t really see at the stair-end of the long loft area. Kind of annoyed, with Malcolm, again, for no obvious reason other than his presence, I chose to ignore the crew and stare at the crowd writhing on the dance floor below. Each in their own getup, sporting their own rendition of what a vampy looked like, looking lik
e they’d just entered heaven. Or wherever little vampire kids dream of being. Oh, New Orleans, I guessed. Makes sense.

  “You promised dancing,” I said to Cyrus without taking my eyes off the lower level.

  “Would that make you happy?” his hand grazed mine and the heat made me jump.

  An inner ironic snicker ran through my thoughts, for a little vampire boy, he sure was warm. “Does it really matter to you what makes me happy?” I let the snicker slide from my lips.

  “Actually, yes,” he said like it surprised him a bit too. “You intrigue me, Dylan Hart. You are unlike any other girl I’ve met in my life.”

  “Thanks. But I’ve heard that before. And trust me, it’ll pass. Eventually you’ll realize it’s really not that fun. Soon enough you’ll see. I’m a novelty, honey. You’ll love to play with me for a short time, then you’ll realize how much I am not what you’re looking for.” I never took my eyes off the floor below as I recited this spiel as I had so many times before. So far, the only person who ignored it with vigor was Mike. Even then, it didn’t work out.

  “We’ll see.” His resolve seemed strong, but I didn’t buy it. He was pretty enough and sweet when he wanted to be, but a relationship with Dylan Hart was a long row to hoe and I’d just as soon not put anyone through that torture. Besides, I just wanted to sleep with him.

  The pretty girl with the fucked up makeup was back and standing, so exquisitely in front of me. She carried her silver tray with a multitude of glasses perched atop the shiny thing. Expecting her to hand me one drink, I held my hand out, but instead she sat the entire tray on the small circular table situated in the center of our group. She had brought us, four people, twelve enticing alcoholic beverages. A few seemed a bit odd in color and texture, but I figured they were part of the experience. YOLO. Oh, fuck no, just kidding.