“That’s a bloody mimosa.” Marty puts an arm around me. “That’s
Rhine, the bartender. She’s a pixie. The guy bartender, Adam, is just
human. He’s part of the Coney freak show upstairs.” He points to a guy
covered in tattoos, from the top of his bald head, down his shirtless
torso, and down to the tips of his fingers.
We weave across the dance floor. Behind me, a girl with feathery
wings and owl eyes is bouncing around and twirling Layla under her arm
in that cute way girls do when they dance together. Kurt hunches and
scowls more and more with everyone who bumps into him.
Layla dances around me now. We’re on the outside of the dance
floor. Something slimy brushes against my hand, but it’s too dark to
really make out anything that isn’t right in front of my face. I feel
a pinch on my butt. “Hey, now.” But my insides are bursting because
it’s Layla. She cocks her head to the side, moving her shoulders up
and down to the poppy guitar rock. She traces her finger along my
cheek, and I can’t help it: I wrap my hands around her waist. Maybe
it’s the atmosphere, or maybe she sneaked something to drink while I
wasn’t looking, but she laughs in my ear.
Then something in my gut turns. I breathe in her hair, and it
doesn’t smell like anything. It smells clean, like air conditioner. I
hold her face, and a grin that is very un-Layla spreads on her face.
Her eyes aren’t the honey I’m used to. I look around. What if
something is possessing her? Behind me, Layla and Kurt finally pull
through the jam-packed dance floor.
The Layla in front of me cackles in a way that sounds so wrong
coming from her pretty face. The Layla behind me stares, eyes wide.
She closes the gap between the three of us so that the two of them
stand facing each other in front of me. I grab the other Layla’s
ponytail and bring it to my nose. Lavender.
“What the-”
Layla touches un-Layla’s nose. “Does my nose really do that when I
smile?”
The un-Layla starts stretching, her hair shortening and darkening,
jaw squaring, shoulders broadening until Marty’s form returns. I jump
back.
“Surprised?” Marty the shape-shifter asks me.
“Dude, you pinched my ass.”
“You’ve got that whole merman prince thing going for you. What can
I say? I’m a social climber.” He walks backward down the tight table
aisles. “I’ve got some people I want you to meet.”
“Is the seer going to be one of them?” Kurt asks, all business all
the time. I’m having fun down here. I can’t remember the last time I
felt fun. Like reliable Tristan Hart who’d take any dare, who could
get any girl. Me. Fun. Before the storm, those two things were
supposed to be synonymous.
“One thing at a time,” I say, following Marty and letting my
friends fall in line.
•••
In a corner where there are not twinkling floating lights, but
brass gas lamps fastened on the walls, is a group of guys who look
like they should be on the cover of one of my dad’s ’80s rock records.
They have the long tousled hair, the leather, the ripped jeans, and
the perpetual look of amused boredom. I feel awkward here, the
uninvited kid at the party who just stands there. I have never been
that kid until right now, and it sucks.
Marty walks up to a tall blond guy who wears a white undershirt
and a black leather vest. They talk to a guy who looks about my age,
maybe eighteen. Although that doesn’t mean much in a place like this
if Kurt is 103. The second guy has brown hair that comes to his
shoulders. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and has a predatory slouch. The
sunny outfit contrasts with his pale skin, and my senses scream-
vampire .
“Why does everyone seem so serious?” Layla asks.
Marty shrugs. “You try being immortal. You get to be seventeen and
human, and your problems are bad enough. Then when you’re seventeen
forever, you have bigger things to worry about.”
The vampire in the Hawaiian shirt focuses on me. His eyes aren’t
exactly a spectacular color. I’d think they’d be red or super black,
but other than the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, I’d
figure he was just a really white kid who never slept.
He lifts his chin at me and holds out his hand. It’s like grabbing
something out of the freezer.
“Frederik Stig Nielsen,” he says with a slight accent. Not
British, but from somewhere over there. “I heard your grandfather
liked my asphodels.”
I look to Marty with my best what - the - fuck - is - he - talking
- about face.
Marty pats Frederik on the back. “You found a name you liked! Good
for you, buddy.”
Frederik shoots a menacing look at Marty. Then again, his
pronounced brow makes him look like he’s always scowling.
“Oh, yeah, he thought they were awesome.” I’m not exactly lying.
He did seem interested in them, but what else am I supposed to say to
him? Hey, is there any Type O on tap?
Frederik points to the tall blond guy watching us with bemusement.
His eyes twinkle in the kind of way that musicians’ do. “How rude of
me. This is Rцaan Recklit.”
We shake hands. Good grip, good grip.
“Sorry,” he says, releasing my hand. “I forget my own strength.”
“Tristan,” Frederik starts, “the boy today at the beach, the
disappearing boys around the city. It’s not human-related, but it has
nothing to do with us either. I don’t want the alliance hurt because
there is no Sea King until the next full moon. I don’t know anything
about you, but Marty deems your character worthy. I trust him
implicitly.” He turns to Marty with a grave face. “You forgot my order
of Andes Picante.”
“Bro, there was a mangled human body on the boardwalk. We can go
back for it, but Tristan’s looking for someone right now.”
“My teacher, Olivia Pippen.”
Marty rolls his eyes when Frederik shrugs. “You know, the seer who
can read voices? She has the decade of bereavement at Thorne Hill? Is
it too much to ask that you pay attention to my ex-girlfriends?”
“Oh her . I saw her dancing a minute ago. She doesn’t like me
much.”
“How come?” Since you’re such a charmer.
“Because she can’t read me.”
And hopefully also not a mind reader. “Why?” I feel like I’m two
again.
“I’m a man of few words.”
Right, glad I asked.
I turn to plead with Marty once again. “Do you know where she
would’ve gone?” He holds his hands up, and I know what he’s going to
say. I’m neutral. My heart beats a little faster. I’m fucking this up
utterly. “Kurt, let’s try-”
“Kurt’s gone,” Layla says.
“What do you mean, Kurt is gone ?”
She shrugs. “I mean, he was standing right behind me, and now he’s
not there anymore. He’s gone.”
I scan the crowds for him, but it’s so dark. Where would he have
gone? Why now? I mean, I know I’m a little hard to get along with,
since he’s all serious merman guy, but come on. I thought we were
getting past that.
The Vampirettes have put away their instruments and are walking
toward us, shaking hands with some people. They smile with ruby-red
lips and fangs that glisten in the gaslight.
“Frederik,” one says in her high soprano voice. “You up for some
moonbathing?”
Frederik shrugs. “Sure.”
Two of the girls jump up and clap their hands. “Rцaan, you
coming?”
“Nah, I have some scouting for next Friday’s show.” Rцaan turns to