Absorbed into a narrow tube-like corridor of more black-painted steel, we walked slowly toward the riot of flashing lights ahead. Bodies gyrated in the distance. Music wrapped itself around us, flowing into our pores.
“Wow, so many people out on a school night,” I said, but my voice came out wispy soft. My companions, whether they heard me or not, were both too captivated to form a response anyway. As we neared the arched end of the walkway, the curved mouth that would lead us out into the club itself, a black light spun, sending its beam speeding around the whole hallway, lighting up scribbles on the walls. Finally, it landed on a patch of the wall to our right. In a luscious script that looked like cake icing, this four-foot-long swatch had been painted with the word Lust, which glowed iridescent and alive.
“Nice,” Dante said, pointing at it.
Aurelia had explained on our tour that the seven deadly sins were on a shuffle here, and each night a different one would be celebrated. She said it was about branding—a gimmick people would go for, an excuse to serve expensive, signature drinks.
“That’s definitely the best of the seven,” I said. What did I know, really? But lust is surely more fun to think about than sloth or gluttony. I bet it was lust night often here. Lust was probably good for business.
The light went out as fast as it had flared up and within a few steps we emptied out into the expanse of the club. It was like landing on another planet. For a moment, we were rooted in place, taking it all in as the action swam and spun around us in all directions. The place was easily the same sprawling size of the ballroom but without any of the stuffy formality. Down here, it looked like a cavern and gave the impression of something wildly, alluringly primitive, carved out by nature, yet all with the surface of shiny black licorice. Everything, floor to ceiling, was bathed in this oozing black, but given an infusion of shimmer by the undulating lights in a palette of reds and oranges that danced off everyone’s skin and reflected a distinctly devilish, sinister glow. The walls bulged out, lumpy as though riddled with rock formations. A smoky dance area, packed tight with bodies, was cordoned off toward the back. Behind it, a flame roared, running floor to ceiling like a waterfall. From here it looked to be a screen projecting this giant fire, but who could tell?
Horseshoed around the dance floor were layers of seating and places for cozying up and carousing. Oil-black stalagmites reached up in huge, menacing cones from the floor. Some were carved hollow, with crushed-velvet-cushioned benches inside for couples to rest their weary feet after dancing or to find other ways to set pulses racing. Stalactites in an array of lengths and widths and girths dangled like giant daggers and slim-fingered claws from the ceiling. Tables and banquettes along the outer periphery were recessed back into the walls and aglow in ruby-hued light.
But all of this was nothing compared to the detonated dynamite at the center of the room. A circular platform, raised at least ten feet up with a waist-high wall, had been perched atop another of these rock formation–like structures, and was large enough to seat nearly two dozen with its own nook of a bar and room in the center for dancing. The area teemed with Outfit members. You could just watch them for hours, dancing, drinking, draping themselves on each other. And if that wasn’t enough to capture the crowd’s collective attention, there was this, which I saw only after noticing the Outfit members: a low flame burned around the entire circumference.
“This is probably what hell looks like. Like, in a good way,” Dante said finally, when we had been silent for longer than I realized. The three of us were standing there like we were waiting to get picked for teams in gym.
“Yeah, not a bad place to visit,” I said.
“But would you want to live there?” Lance offered.
“Depends on how the night goes,” I said.
Dante elbowed me. “This from the girl who didn’t want to go out at all.”
“I know, I know.” I shook my head. I was all talk.
“So . . . what now?” Lance said, hands plunged in his pockets, like this was just another day at work.
“I know,” Dante said, a hint of trouble ringing his voice. I peeled my eyes from the whirlwind swirling around us and looked at him, following his line of vision.
“No, Dan, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
He was staring straight at the platform with the Outfit.
5. Welcome to the Ring of Fire
Let’s just try to go up there,” Dante said. Not waiting for an answer, he took off, a bullet straight to the heart of the room. Lance had taken off his glasses, wiping the lenses on his Cubs shirt, and could only squint in the direction of Dante’s destination.
“Shall we?” I asked him.
Lance shrugged and smiled.
Waves of revelers, drinks in their hands, coursed around me as I darted between them, in and out, almost jogging to catch up to Dante. I looked over my shoulder and caught sight of Lance, glasses back on now, his head peeking out over most everyone else’s. He kept his own easy pace, looking around, taking it all in. Dante was already halfway up a spiral staircase hidden amid the rocky mass leading to the platform.
“Hey!” I called up from the bottom.
“What’re you waiting for? Get up here!” he called back, his grin wide and his perfect white teeth gleaming pink in the light.
I climbed the coiled steps and grabbed for his arm when I got close enough, halting his ascent. He looked back at me with impatient eyes.
“I know you think I’m no fun, but seriously, do you think we’re allowed up there?”
“Only one way to tell.” He beamed. “C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure? Honestly, Haven, the worst thing that happens, they say no.” He continued upward and I let go of him.
He was right; I was making too big a deal of this. We had already gotten into the club, after all, so it didn’t seem anyone was too concerned about our presence here. I followed him twisting up and up and up. I spotted Lance just below; he hooked my eye with a quick smile.
Steps away from the top, I saw Dante already seated on the black crushed-velvet bench that ran along the rim of the circle. The Outfit members we’d seen earlier danced in the center and gazed out onto the dance floor, making eye contact with some of the partygoers. Dante waved me over, patting at the sliver of an empty seat between him and a table stocked with all manner of partially drained bottles.
“Looks like we’re in,” I said.
“Nerds’ night out!” He thrust both arms in the air, cheering. Then stopped abruptly, resuming his party pose, slouching back on the cushy bench.
“Right, because the important thing now is to play it cool and look like we belong,” I joked.
“It goes without saying.”
“So how’d you get us in?”
“I asked and they just gave me that look.” He did it now, the vacant stare over my shoulder. I let a quick laugh escape and glanced around to be sure no one noticed. No one was looking at us at all.
Lance appeared at the top of the steps. Since we were hemmed in by the table beside me and a gaggle of the long-limbed Outfit girls beside Dante, he found a seat across the circle from us.
“We need some props,” Dante said. “Switch with me, I’m going to familiarize myself with the bar.” He got up and I shifted over to his seat.
“Um, I don’t think we should—”
“Relax, I’ll keep the cocktails strictly virgin for you. Hey, Lance!” he called out through the sea of milling Outfit members. Dante made a motion with his empty hand, like he was drinking something, then pointed back at Lance. “Anything?”
I shielded my face behind my hand, on reflex, as though this small action could hide me. I thought the idea was to not draw too much attention to ourselves. I had the feeling that Aurelia would find out about anything that happened tonight. Drinking was probably not the best idea.
“Sure, thanks. Surprise me,” Lance called back. He leaned back into his seat, content to watch the electric current travel between all of these
figures around us.
Dante, bobbing his head to the music, looked like he was doing an experiment in AP Chemistry—holding up his glass as he poured in each new liquid, touching his fingers to his lips, deep in thought, deciding what to add next. I had to laugh watching him: he didn’t really know what he was doing. This just wasn’t something we ever did. We had decided early on that we didn’t want to be those kids who got wasted and sloppy on weekends, and then we had really sealed our fate by getting elected co-presidents of the Students Against Destructive Decisions chapter at school. So that was that. I had had no more than a few sips of alcohol in my entire life.
Recipe complete, Dante weaved between the beautiful people to deliver to Lance his concoction, a tall glass brimming with an amber liquid. He nodded in appreciation and Dante crossed back toward me. “You’re next!” He pointed, making pistols out of his hands.
Across the way, I spied Lance’s taste test. He tossed back his head, taking his first gulp, then spit it right back in the glass. He made a face and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He caught me looking and shook his head at me. I chuckled to myself. Dante, who missed the response to his bartending skills, parked himself on the other side of the table and began mixing some more. Another amber-colored libation took form, and he allowed himself a healthy guzzle. He looked at me, rolling his eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking. When in Rome, okay? Let’s have some fun for a change. No one here knows us, it’s amazing! Reinvention, baby!”
I put my hands up, surrendering. “I didn’t say anything.”
A song with a throbbing Tommy-gun beat cranked up and everyone who was standing in our area began swaying, moving. Dante hopped up from his seat, drink in hand, and took to the dance floor, in his own world now. I was on my own. I watched the bodies around him. Some of the men had rolled up their sleeves, while those in jackets had taken them off, revealing muscles that were perfectly formed and rock solid. The girls looked so at ease, dancing in the highest heels I’d ever seen. I studied everything: the cut of their dresses, the way they parted their hair, the length of their eyelashes. A girl twirled, finishing her move with her back to me. She wore a one-shoulder plum dress that came to a screeching halt midway down her thigh. She swung her glossy auburn locks and I caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder: it seemed to be looking back at me. Branded there was a tattoo of an open eye so vivid I thought it might blink. The iris was black with a white pupil and a pentagram inside it, and it was fringed with lashes of orange and red, resembling a burning flame. It looked oddly familiar. And then, a glance at the crowd before me showed me why: I spotted another tattoo on the bicep of one of the guys, peeking out just below his sleeve; and one on the ankle of a blond woman with miles of wavy hair.
The girl with the ankle tattoo and all the hair drifted off from the group, appearing at the table beside me. I tried not to stare as she lifted an open bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and pulled a crystal champagne flute from the neat rows of glasses lining the back of the table. Bubbles frothed as she poured. I recognized her from my Googling: Raphaella. She was a model and socialite, always going to the best parties and photographed with important people. I had seen a few of these faces show up in my search, now that I thought about it. The one with the shoulder tattoo, Calliope, had been written about in an art magazine or something like it.
With delicate fingers, Raphaella held the glass out to me. “Cheers,” she said. “This is liquid gold. Aurelia’s favorite. The best you’ll ever taste.” The gesture was warm but her tone wasn’t so much; it felt a little like she was doing a job. I caught myself before getting too hung up on it: Haven, try to be a little less sensitive for a change, please? I took the glass from Raphaella’s hand.
“Oh, wow, thanks.” Her chilliness aside, I was still oddly touched. It was kind of nice to feel included, even if I didn’t plan to drink it. I looked over at Lance. He hadn’t touched his drink. He sat there, almost invisible, taking everything in from behind those glasses, his hair still messy from his nap. He and I were like bookends, fencing in this party that raged between us.
Raphaella poured a glass of champagne for herself and took a seat next to me, crossing her endless spider’s legs. She took a dainty sip from her slender glass. I decided I should try to be friendly.
“You’re Raphaella, right?” She nodded and smiled softly, her kohl-rimmed eyes two beautiful blank buttons. “I’ve seen you in magazines and things. You must have such an exciting life modeling and all. Do you hang out here a lot? I just started this internship. I’m really excited to be here.” I was rambling now. There was a long, painful pause.
“I would be nowhere without Aurelia and the Outfit,” she said, as if it were the most obvious and mundane of facts repeated emotionlessly millions of times, such as Chicago is cold in the winter.
“Aurelia said that being here can open doors. I guess she really meant it.”
“She did. I promise you.” This she said sternly, as though making sure I was paying attention. Then she smiled again, taking another sip.
“That’s good to know. Do you have any exciting upcoming jobs?”
“Yes, there’s the cover of the Chicago Tribune’s Sunday magazine next month, Chicago magazine’s special spring fashion edition, and spreads in Glamour and Seventeen.” She said it all much more flatly than I would have if it had been me with that news to tell. “I’m sorry,” she said before turning away to whisper something to the girl seated beside her with the pin-straight jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes.
I pretended to be fascinated watching the fizz of my champagne. The flames behind me breathed heat onto my neck. They were a tough group, these people, tough in a different way than the kids at school. There, they were just rude and hostile with no manners whatsoever, but here there was something else, an iciness I couldn’t understand. I wanted to know where all these beautiful people had come from that they were so oddly alike. Dante was dancing in the middle of the group, but by himself. I looked through the mob to Lance. He gave a sympathetic shrug—he had seen me literally get the cold shoulder. I answered him back with a shake of the head and felt the embarrassment dissipate, newly calmed. Raphaella looked over her shoulder, canvassing the grounds below. The thought of sitting any longer in silence seemed worse than having to try again. So I did. No one knew us here, as Dante said. I could be brave.
“I, um, like your necklace,” I said, sounding like a child. But it was pretty impressive: a stiff black-velvet ribbon choker holding what looked like an amethyst the size of a walnut. I glanced quickly again at that girl on the dance floor, Calliope—yes, she had one too. And I spotted one on another delicate swan-like neck or two on the other side of the platform. I pictured these women all shopping together, roaming the mall at Water Tower Place or perhaps ducking into some of those precious boutiques in Wicker Park that Joan always tried to get me into. I could imagine them walking down the street, shopping bags in hand, talking and laughing at inside jokes, and not even noticing the stares they got as they passed. Raphaella touched the stone with raisin-painted nails and smiled once more.
“Thank you.”
Calliope, finished dancing for the moment, appeared with a drink in her hand and Raphaella slid over to make room for her between us.
“I’m Calliope,” she said, holding out her hand for me to shake. Her periwinkle eyes seemed somehow slightly more alive than Raphaella’s. I shook her firm grip.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Haven, of course,” she said, surprising me. “Are they recruiting you?” She said it with a seriousness I couldn’t make sense of, leaning in closer to me. I didn’t quite understand the question.
“Oh, well, we were just—”
“There’s a lot to learn here,” Calliope said sincerely. Raphaella set her hand on Calliope’s forearm, and they exchanged a look that seemed to tell Calliope she was done talking to me, because she didn’t say another word. She simply nodded blankly at Raphaella and then they ga
zed over the low flames to scan the scene below us. I followed Calliope’s eyes until I saw her lock in on him. He wasn’t one of the Outfit; just another guy out for an evening with his buddies. And he saw her.
Calliope simply smiled, perfect and gleaming. She flicked her head and that was it. The man wandered over toward our platform, staring up at her. She beckoned him with her slim fingers. Then she and Raphaella looked knowingly at each other. I imagined Raphaella was equally skilled in this sort of mating call. I had always wished to be the kind of girl who could rely on simply a smile to ensnare anyone. Win anyone over. They knew they had an advantage: that they were desired, and that was half the battle, more than half, toward getting anything they desired. Instant confidence lay behind smiles like that. Others of us shared the burden of having to develop some personality, which actually took time and cultivation; it’s a much slower process wrought by trial and error.
“Have a good night, Haven. If you’ll excuse me,” said Calliope, as she rose gently from her seat and glided over to the top of the spiral staircase. In no time, he was there, looking nervous and thrilled.
I felt the champagne glass being pried from my fingers and I whipped my head around. Lucian.
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. What did he say? I think it was “Hello, Haven.” But I might have been wrong. Was it possible he remembered my name? He sat down beside me, in the space left blissfully vacant by Calliope. There wasn’t much room and his arm touched my shoulder as he settled into place. A wave of his musk and cedar scent enveloped me and made me lightheaded. He wore a black suit, white button-down shirt, and a skinny black tie. Everyone here was so dressed up all the time. His hair, which had been so smoothly slicked back earlier, was looser now, a blond forelock draping his left eye.
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 6
