Rest of the steps are a blur and then gone.
Feel like I’ve hit a staggering herd of cattle as I smack into the mass of bodies that stumble, some of them to the beat of the song and some to the pounding of the arrhythmic alcohol rushing through their brains.
Push with my hands—a sea of human waves—trying to swim through them. Some spill. Some shout. Most just get the hell out of my way.
Two bouncing strands of blue. Her hand grasps a drink from the bartender—takes a sip—looks around. Can almost see the liquid light up her eyes. Heartbeat races through her—two of them.
See something moving near the stage. Emergency door opens wide.
Ambrosia spots me coming toward her. Pulls cup from her lips. Nervous lips.
Roderick steps off the edge of the stage onto the floor. Followed by goons.
She turns away from me toward the dance floor, with the look of a child swimming away from a parent, not ready to get out of the pool.
By the stage, Edgar is the last one through the door, letting it slam closed behind him—the noise covered completely by the music, unheard even to my ears from this far away.
Unknowing that the four of them are ahead of her in the crowd, Ambrosia bops toward the stage, a wave in the sea of bodies, sliding through them effortlessly, while they crash into me angrily like a rock on the California shore.
I shove through the people, struggling to catch her without hurting anyone.
Someone shouts behind me. Hostile voice. Very. Not familiar—not a vamp. No time to look. Must be someone I pushed out of the way.
She slides through the crowd like she’s truly liquid, keeping ahead of me like an object you can’t catch in a dream.
Crash and splash explode against the back of my head. Bits of brown, beer-bottle glass shatter and fall down the front of my shirt and down my back.
Keep walking. Faster.
Roderick looks in my direction. Grinning. Looking ahead of me in the crowd—he discovers her.
Feel blood drip down my neck onto my shirt.
Rush toward blue hair. People jump out of my way—must be the blood.
Roderick steps closer to her.
Facing the left corner of the stage, Ambrosia starts dancing with a guy, her back turned to us. Oblivious. Death a few dance partners away.
Roderick’s closer than I am. Just a few feet to go.
A red-haired girl stands in front of Roderick and starts jamming her finger into his chest. Looks familiar. Girl from the other night—one he called fire crotch—it’s her. Three tattooed guys stand behind her, one of them bald, tall, and meaty. Seen them at the metal bar down the street before—regulars here—bouncers there.
Roderick shoves the angry and red hundred-and-three pounds out of his way. The group of guys attacks Roderick—largest one grabbing his throat.
Roderick smiles—diving his fangs into his lower lip, striking his own blood. Carvelli rushes to help him. Quint’s nowhere to be seen. Lost sight of him. Damn it. Edgar’s gone too. Not good. Not good at all. Better fly out of here.
At least Ruby’s upstairs.
Reach out and grab Ambrosia’s wrist. Duck down low. Turn my back to her and pull her arm until her torso is across my shoulders. Hook my other arm around her knee—stand up with her draped over my shoulders.
Only two of the tattooed protectors still stand—missed one being knocked down. Carvelli has one staggering from punches he’s just landed.
Ambrosia slaps my face to put her down.
In a fast burst just a few feet away, Roderick slams his hands into the sides of the face of the meaty guy who tried to choke him. His fingernails drive deep into the flesh of both cheeks. Agony is the big man’s face as he falls to his knees. Roderick stares at his victim a moment, absorbing his anguish—savoring it, then quickly dives his fangs into his adversary’s forehead.
Ambrosia stops slapping—must’ve finally seen what’s going on.
Exposing himself again. In front of all these people. Roderick wants something in Ambrosia more than his own life. Never been this reckless. Desperate.
People run to the exit. Jamming the doorway. Not gonna be easy.
Would normally wait my turn, but they’re in no danger—just my blue passenger and Ruby. God, Ruby. Get to her. Shove people out of my way with elbows. No one fights—all push to the door. Force my way in front of them.
Finally the stairs. No one coming down. They may not’ve even seen up there—in their own little world—can’t even see out the window if they’re sitting down. Even if they did see the mayhem, they may think staying up there is the safest place for them to be. Might be right.
No safe place for us.
Three steps at a time. Have to keep at an angle to keep Ambrosia’s head from hitting the wall. Into the dark blue room in a flash. Not here. Scan room again. Gone. She’s gone!
Dashing toward the bar, I scream, “Where the hell is Ruby?”
“Left after you did, Simon—not her babysitter.”
“Mother—”
Don’t finish my cursing. Dash back downstairs. Heart lunging.
“Ruby!” squeals Ambrosia from my shoulders, realizing her friend was here and is now missing.
Eardrums rumble with my pulse, thundering with the storm that’s my fear. Flashing—rumbling—pouring over me.
I look at the area between the stairs and the exit—no sign of her. Maybe missed her in the main room—look fast—deserted. Except for the DJ frantically unhooking some gear up on the balcony.
Outside—she might be outside.
Sprint to the exit. Nudge past the last of the stumbling evacuees.
Outside’s crowded. Sidewalk, street, and opposing sidewalk—all cluttered with people. Looks like a street party—Bourbon after a parade.
People are panicked—terrified as individuals, yet enticed, enjoying sharing the event as a group—somehow gaining coolness points like they’re witnessing Woodstock. Few leave. Stand around. No idea how fast Roderick and his three minions could rip them apart if they felt the urge to.
Madness.
Lucky for them, Roderick is so obsessed with the package on my shoulders that he cares for little else.
Scan the area.
Scan left—nothing.
Scan right—nothing.
Push through people.
“Simon!” shouts Ambrosia over my shoulder, trying hard to wiggle free.
Just as her voice invades my ears, I see Ruby. Above the crowd. Eyes lock. My heart leaps, but then it crashes back in panic—too high—she’s too high above the crowd—she’s not that tall. Terror runs in her eyes.
“Simon!” Ambrosia shouts again over my shoulder.
“Shh! I see her. I see Rub—”
Sting shoots into my shoulder blade—the bottom ridge. Eyes try to roll back. Ambrosia falls from the tops of my shoulders. Sharp pain rushes through my veins.
Sickness.
Spreading.
Struggle turn around. Fall to one knee.
See Carvelli just as he punches my face, syringe still in his hand. Needle jabs into my cheek and tears out as he pulls away.
Visions of Ruby being dragged away by Roderick send me into a rage. Fling my fist into Carvelli’s groin. He bellows as his breath leaves him. Grab his head—diving my fingernails into it. Slam my knee at full force into his face—feel his nose break and go flat beneath me.
Again and again—slam my knee into his mess of a face. Let him drop to the ground. Hands cover his face, but he doesn’t move except to breathe.
Frantically look around. Ambrosia, holding her hip as she gets to her feet, turns to run away. Crowd has backed away from us.
Rush at Ambrosia, grab her shoulder and yank her to me. Having trouble keeping my balance. Growing dizzy.
Blackness behind eyes becoming heavier.