Jameson’s pale flesh turned pink as he wheeled back our dinner plates.
“There is so much to do while we are here,” I said excitedly, digging into my dessert. “You’ll have to meet Aunt Libby. Then there’s Hot Gothics. And of course the Coffin Club!”
Alexander gave me a stern look. “Not the Coffin Club.”
“Don’t worry, I can get in. I have a fake ID.”
“That’s not what I meant. A club like that is not a place a girl like you should frequent.”
“A girl like me?” I laughed in disbelief. “It’s a goth club. It was made for me! Ever since I visited it last time, I dreamed that we could return there together. What could possibly happen?”
“A girl in a bar?” he asked, like I had two heads. “Don’t you watch the news?”
“I know,” I said, rolling my eyes like I was getting scolded by my parents. “It’s not the safest place…but—”
“Last time you met Jagger. Remember?”
Alexander had a point. I didn’t have the greatest track record with my decisions. My curiosity had drawn my boyfriend’s nemesis right to him, creating a lot of danger for him and my family.
“All right,” I finally admitted. Disappointed, I chiseled away at the burnt sugar topping stuck to the inside of the bowl.
Alexander placed his ghost white hand on my pale one. “We will go, but together.”
“Can we go tonight?” I asked, perking up.
“How about tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting company, remember?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I remembered intruding on him. Then I furrowed my brow skeptically and challenged him. “You don’t have a hot date, do you?”
“Yes. I do, as a matter of fact.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and it is almost ending.” Alexander glanced at an antique marble clock sitting on the mantel of the unused fireplace. The clock was barely ticking, and the minute hand was broken. I didn’t want my evening to end, but I knew of course it had to. He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and then grabbed my hand.
“I’m so glad you did come,” he said adoringly. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“You surprise me, too…” I took a deep breath, then asked, “Why are you both still here?”
Just then Jameson returned to collect the dishes.
For the time being, Alexander was off the hook. “Allow me, Miss Raven,” Jameson said. Alexander and his butler placed the dishes on the top shelf of the cart.
“Jameson will drive you back to your aunt’s apartment.”
I glanced at the broken clock, still struggling to figure out the correct time.
“Jameson can drop me off at my aunt’s drumming class. It’s much closer. I believe you may have met my aunt Libby. She works at Happy Homes.”
“That beautiful woman is your aunt? I should have known. She is quite charming…just like her niece,” said Jameson.
“I look forward to meeting her,” Alexander said. Then with a whisper: “Although you’ll have to make a few excuses for me not being seen in the daylight.”
“Excuses? I wrote the book! I’ve got one for every occasion.”
Like a Victorian gentleman minus the top hat, white gloves, and British accent, Alexander escorted me out the door and down the rock path while Jameson brought the car around.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked my boyfriend as I snuggled in his arms.
“Of course.”
“I miss you already.”
“I do, too.”
Alexander leaned into me and gave me a long, luxurious good-night kiss. He graciously opened the back door of the Mercedes and helped me step in. As we drove off, Alexander stood in the driveway, the mammoth-sized manor house looming behind him like a medieval monster.
Jameson was kind enough to chauffeur me to Hipsterville’s Old Town Folk Music Center, but the short five-mile drive from the manor house to the hippie school of music seemed to take longer than the journey from Dullsville to Hipsterville. If I’d pushed the car myself, we’d have made it faster.
Now that Jameson and I had some quality time, I figured I’d make the most of it. I tried to pump the Creepy Man for info on Valentine and Jagger, but he was as evasive as Alexander.
“That was so kind of you and Alexander to reunite Valentine with his family,” I began when we drove past Gerald’s Gas Station.
“It was the right thing to do,” he said sweetly.
“Did you see Jagger?”
I waited on pins, needles, and piercing, bracing for his response.
“No, I didn’t. I left that to Alexander.”
So much for the facts on that conversation.
“I bet Ruby misses you,” I said, referring to my former boss who was now dating Jameson.
Jameson’s bulgy eyes brightened in the rearview mirror and his pale face flushed bright red with the mention of her name.
“Has she come for a visit?” I pried.
“Oh, no. We are hoping to return to the Mansion shortly.”
“Really, then why did you rent the manor house? You could have just stayed in a hotel.”
“I don’t stay anywhere that already has a housekeeper,” Jameson joked.
I felt as if I were playing a game of tennis with my dad. With all my might, I lobbed the ball over the net only to have it returned so hard I didn’t have a chance to swing. Frustrated, I always had to take a moment to collect myself. Time for another serve.
“Do you miss Romania?” I asked.
“Oh yes, it’s so beautiful there. But I am also quite happy here, in America. I’ve met some people that I am quite fond of, Miss Raven.”
I knew he was politely referring to Ruby and me.
But I wanted more. What were Alexander’s and Jameson’s plans?
“Do you think you’ll marry Ruby?”
“Uh…”
“If so, will you live in the manor house? Or in the Mansion?”
“I’m not planning…”
“Well, if you did.”
“I suppose…it would be up to…Why all of the questions, Miss Raven?”
We were volleying steadily now, and it was time for me to end the match. I paused, then asked, “I’m just wondering, what are you and Alexander doing here?”
Jameson pulled the car to the curb in front of the Old Town Folk Music Center. I’d swung too hard, hitting the ball over the fence. The match ended, Jameson the obvious winner.
The rain had subsided and the streetlights and lampposts were dripping wet. Jameson climbed out of the Mercedes and kindly held the door open for me, like I was an A-list starlet arriving at a premiere. The only thing missing were the paparazzi. I waved good-bye and was heading for Old Town when I noticed something flashing at the end of the block—the flickering neon red sign of the Coffin Club. As Jameson puttered down the street, I paused. The sounds of banging drums pulsed out of the music center.
It was as if the blinking neon coffins were drawing me to them, like a vulture to a corpse. No one would be the wiser if I just popped my head in for a nonalcoholic bubbly Execution…or two.
4
Return to the Coffin Club
I held my breath in wild anticipation of seeing the Coffin Club up close once again, but when I approached the underground club, I was shocked. More than a hundred young goths were anxiously awaiting admittance to the club—twice as long a line as I remembered it being last time. The procession of clubsters, dressed similarly to me (except sporting different-colored streaks, tattoos, piercings, and shoes), wrapped the block like a line at Disney World. I’d be lucky if I gained entrance before summer break was over.
Frustrated, I began walking toward the end of the line. I was about halfway down the block when I noticed a guy with a cape and vinyl pants bent over, adjusting his monster boots. I snuck in the space before him and tried to appear inconspicuous. I avoided any trouble by standing with my back to him and gazed at the stars and then a few birds flying above the roof of the club. When the birds began to hover instead of fly off, I realized I’d spotted a cluster of bats. How wicked—bats at the Coffin Club!