I watch an especially foolhardy frat-boy in a tilted cap and sagging jeans walk up to the woman and say something. He’s obviously confident, flashing a bottle of Dom Perignon as, what, a bribe? A lure? A show-off? Whatever it is, the woman ignores him coolly and sips her Tom Collins. Instead of shrinking away the frat boy puffs his chest out and starts shouting. I can barely hear him over the music. The woman locks eyes with his furiously yelling face, but her expression is calm - more amused than it is surprised. The blonde man instantly stands, his full height coming between the frat-boy and her. He’s gotta be at least 6’3, maybe 6’4. His face doesn’t change either, keeping a chilly expression as he leans in and says something to the frat-boy.
It’s a split-second change. The frat-boy’s red face drains to white, and he goes still, rigid, and darts back into the crowd, nervously looking over his shoulder the entire time. The blonde man settles in his seat, and the woman smiles at him not with gratitude, but with pride. The kind of pride reserved for rich old men looking at their hunting dogs.
“Who’re you staring at with those goo-goo eyes?” Ellie throws her arms around me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Christ! You scared me!”
She leans down and follows my eyes to the blonde main. She sighs dreamily. “I always knew you had good taste, Mia. You should go talk to him.”
“I should go talk to him. I should also file my taxes on time, remember to floss regularly, and inherit seven million dollars. But I won’t. Ever.”
“Oh stop being so sarcastic. I’ve never seen you look at a guy like that before, not even in high school. It’s worth a shot.”
“In case you didn’t notice, he’s already romantically occupied,” I nod to the beautiful woman. Ellie buzzes her lips in doubt.
“She’s not that pretty.”
“Compared to you. But compared to me, she’s gorgeous,” I insist.
“She looks like she’s boring.”
“She could have a moldy onion for a personality, and not one guy in here would care.”
Ellie laughs, and leans her head on my shoulder. She smells like the milky White Russian and the vanilla perfume she’s used since ninth grade. It’s comforting, a reminder of a happier time. We watch the strobe lights flicker through the smoke in ruby and emerald shards. A man walks by with his buddies, screaming violently. I flinch instantly, the reaction ingrained and visceral. Ellie squeezes my hand.
“It’ll be okay,” She says. “You’re safe.”
She knows just what to say to someone who’s been through years of male abuse. Tears blur my eyes at her gentle words, but I keep my head high and force them back in. She’s right. My scar throbs with phantom pain. He can’t hurt me anymore.
But he can still haunt me.
Every burly man in the crowd with a beard looks like him, in my mind’s eye. Every person who passes me with whiskey in their hand gives me shivers - the smell alone enough to make my body go into fight or flight mode. My muscles ache with tension, my head pounds with the irritatingly heavy bass. I keep my eyes on the exits, just in case I need to run or hide. Old habits die hard.
Ellie stands, and grabs her purse. “C’mon. This place sucks. Let’s go home and Netflix our brains out.”
The rush of gratitude I have for her is heady and strong. I follow her through the crowd, and look back one last time at the blonde man. His gold-spice eyes are staring right at me, his handsome face focused entirely on me, like I’m an interesting curiosity. Blood rushes from my head to my fingers, and it feels like my skin itself is buzzing. The room is suddenly ten degrees hotter, and I radiate with it - from my chest, my face, down to my very core. For the first time in my short nineteen years, I’m incredibly turned on. Is it me? Have I always been this…wanting? No - it’s this guy. I want to be with him, beside him, on top of him, consumed by him.
And then, all at once, it’s cold.
Ellie throws the front door of the club open, and frigid air rushes over me, breaking the spell of the man’s eyes. My body stops buzzing the farther we get from the club. Ellie’s happy, bouncy chattering about her school fills the empty, quiet sidewalk.
“You should really sign up for a class or something, Mia. It’s a really good school.”
“I’ll try,” I say, still struggling with the remnants of my attraction. “I need to find a job, first.”
“You printed out all those resumes before we left, right?” She tilts her head. “What are you going to do with so many?”
I shrug. “Hit up every grocery store and cafe around here, probably. I don’t have a lot of savings, so I need to find something, and quick. I’m not picky.”
“You should be,” She frowns. “You’re really smart - you got into the University of Washington! You could do way better.”
“I flunked out, El.”
“You can go back! There’s lots of grants at USF and stuff.”
I’m about to argue with her when I see him. The frat boy from the club earlier - the one who tried to seduce the beautiful woman with Dom Perignon - is standing directly beneath a streetlight. His head is down, his cap shading his eyes. The amber light bathes him in an eerie orange glow. My instincts make me walk faster, and Ellie jogs to catch up with me.
“Hey! Slow down!” She spots the frat boy and grabs my arm. “It’s okay. He wouldn’t try anything when we’re together. Just relax.”
I know I should be relieved, because her words make perfect sense. But my body is on point, my guts screaming at me to hurry and get away from him. It’s exactly like the wrong feeling I got from the club at the beginning of the night, but it’s more intense, concentrated - like a shot instead of a mixed drink. I don’t slow down. Ellie holds onto my arm and tries to keep up with me. Her weight is comforting, and then it’s ripped from me, her screams replacing it.
“Get off me!”
I whirl around. The frat boy’s grabbed Ellie, his eyes glinting manically as he chokeholds her in the crook of his elbow. I know that look better than anyone - it’s the same look Dad would get in his eyes. A look of impending violence, of pent-up anger and a vicious need to inflict pain on someone, anyone.
It paralyzes me for only a second; a second that lasts forever until I see Ellie’s tear-stained, panicked face.
“Let go of her, you creep!” I scream. I run over and swing my purse at him, but he ducks. Ellie yelps as he forces her to duck, too. I dodge behind him and kick him with all the force I can muster right in his balls. But he doesn’t even flinch, the smile on his face growing wider.
“Nice try. But I can’t feel anything anymore, you bitch,” He says. His voice is gravelly, too gravelly, like an old man who’s smoked from cradle to the grave, but he can’t be more than twenty. It doesn’t make sense.
“Let her go,” I say between clenched teeth, my hand reaching for my phone in my purse. “Or I’ll -”
“Call the police?” He laughs, the sound almost demonic. “They won’t listen. My masters are everywhere. They practically controls your pathetic justice system.”
“P-Please,” Ellie begs. “Just let me -”
The frat boy punches her, the sound of bone cracking blowing a hole in my chest. Ellie cries out, and I lunge forward. The frat boy raises his fist warningly.
“Ah, ah, back off.”
I slow, glaring daggers into him. Why is this happening? Why us? Why now, when I moved to escape all this? Disgust and fear well up in my stomach - if I lose Ellie, if I lose the one person who stood by me after everything -
“What do you want?” I seethe.
“I want you,” He says slowly. “I want the blood inside you. I want you to bleed, and I want to bathe in it, sink in it, I want it to caress my flesh and give me life -”
Over the frat boy’s shoulder, I see a figure in a dark sweater walk up. His platinum hair glints in the light, face carved in shadow and anger. It’s the man from the club. The frat boy sees how shocked I am and turns his head. The man makes a throwing motion, graceful
and quick, and there’s a sickening ‘thunk’ noise. The frat-boy turns his head back to me, a silver knife embedded deep in his forehead. My blood runs cold. Ellie screams as the frat boy goes limp, collapsing on the pavement. She runs over to me, and I hug her tight.
“Mia, M-Mia I was so fucking scared -”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, my own voice nearly as shaky. “He’s…he’s dead.”
“Not really,” A deep voice resonates, svelte and smooth. The platinum-haired man bends over the body, looking up at me. “He was never really alive to begin with.”
“You killed him,” I manage. “Why didn’t you just…you didn’t have to do that. You could’ve disabled him, or -”
A sick, hot lump rises in my throat. My scar throbs. Who am I to talk? Who am I to lecture someone else on hurting people? Ellie sobs in my arms, and I set my lip, pretending to be strong. Always pretending. My eyes flicker to the frat boy’s body. There’s no blood. Not even a drop of it around the dagger wound.
“He was never alive. And you two never saw this,” The man says, and pulls the dagger out from the frat boy’s forehead. Ellie yelps as the body dissolves in bloodless fast-motion, like he’s made of sand being blown away instead of flesh and bone. It takes a second, and all that’s left is a pile of pale dust. The man looks to me. His soft gold eyes are suddenly hard and sharp, like twin sabers, daring me to judge him, daring me to say something.
“That’s quite enough, Darius,” A woman’s voice interrupts the tension, the beautiful woman from the club walking towards us. Her silver dress slithers behind her, and her smile is benevolent.
“I apologize for Darius’ rude behavior,” She sighs, her voice like crystal bells. “He’s not very good with people.”
“We shouldn’t linger, Genevieve” Darius says gruffly. “More of them will come if they smell you.”
Genevieve just rolls her eyes and smiles at me. She walks over, patting Ellie’s head. “I’m so sorry. You must have been so scared.”
Ellie shivers against me in response, and the woman looks up at me.
“And you…you are quite the brave one. Not many would face down a homunculus with only a purse and their courage.”
Behind her Darius frowns, even that expression of his beautiful, if unpleased.
“Why did they attack these two?” Darius asks her. “Neither of them have Flamel’s blood, or I would’ve smelled them.”
Genevieve stares at me and Ellie, as if expecting something to happen.
“Do you mind explaining what the hell you guys are talking about?” I snarl. “My friend and I almost got killed by that…that thing!”
The woman smiles. “How inconsiderate of me. Of course we’ll explain everything. But first, you two should have something warm to drink. Your friend here looks like she’s going into shock.”
I look down at Ellie, whose face is so white it practically blends into her white leather jacket. I nod, and the woman pulls out a flask from her purse, offering it to me. I hold it up to Ellie’s pale lips.
“Hey, El.” I try to make my voice as comforting as possible. “El, stay with me, okay? Drink this. It’ll help.”
Ellie’s vacant green eyes look up at me, and then at the flask. She drinks slowly, and gradually a flush returns to her cheeks. Genevieve smiles wider.
“There. Much better. You drink too. You’re as white as a ghost.”
I lock eyes with Darius, who’s watching me intently. His whole body is on point, like he’s a tiger waiting to spring on the nearest weak thing. And right now, I’m that weak thing. The trembling of my hands is from a combination of his unnerving stare and my own fears come back to life. The violence, the thought of almost losing Ellie, it all shook me down to my bones. I smell the flask - it’s the strangest mixed scent, like pine sap and warm, milky coffee.
“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t drink.”
“It’s non-alcoholic,” The woman insists. “It will help you focus, darling. Let me call you a cab, shall I? I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to walk home after all this. I’ll explain everything in the car.”
She pulls out her phone and dials a number. Ellie looks to me. A dark, nasty bruise is slowly forming on her cheek from where the frat boy punched her.
“It’s okay. It helps, and it tastes good,” She assures me. I raise it to my lips and take a sip. She’s right - it tastes better than anything I’ve had in a while. It’s strong and hot and sweet, but with a tiny tang of bitterness that goes down smooth. I feel my stomach stop fluttering, and heat return to my fingertips. I try not to look at Darius, but I can feel his eyes riveted on me. What’s his deal?
“I’m sorry, El -” I start to apologize, but when I look over she’s passed out on the sidewalk. “Ellie?” I shake her. “Ellie!”
A sudden wave of weakness washes over me and I wobble. I’ve been drugged. The drink was drugged.
“You…bastards -” I grit out. Genevieve turns to look at me, and smiles apologetically.
“I’m sorry. But this is how it has to be.”
My legs give out, and through my blurry vision I see the headlights of a car pull up. My head lolls back and I fight to stand, to crawl - something, anything to get away. I have to find someplace to hide, someplace small and dark where no one can find me, like I used to when I was a kid. Strong arms lift me beneath my knees and back, and I try to dig my nails into their skin, but my fingers go weak. I’m good at fighting back. I have years of experience fighting back - but the drug is so strong.
I hate feeling weak. My hate burns a hole in my heart. Hate for these mysterious people, hate for myself. I couldn’t save Ellie. I can’t even save myself. What good am I? The past bleeds out from between my exhaustion and rage.
What good are you, you useless slut? I’ll teach you a fucking lesson. Don’t you hide from me! I’m your father! I’m your father! I can do whatever I want! I’m your father, you stupid bitch!
The world goes black.
PART THREE
THREE
Chapter 3
THREE
My head throbs, and morning sunlight stabs into my eyes. I sit up, my blankets falling off me. The white, bare walls and giant window with a view of the bay tell me I’m back in my room, in the new apartment. I groggily get off the air mattress, and notice I’m wearing the sparkly black dress Mom gave me. Where did I go last night?
I rummage through my backpack for fresh, more comfortable clothes. I put on a shirt and my oldest pair of torn jean shorts. One backpack of clothes, one box of shoes. That’s all I brought with me from Idaho.
Idaho. Dad. The club.
Suddenly it all comes rushing back to me - Ellie. I jump to my feet and swing myself around the doorway, throwing the door to her room open.
“Ellie!” She’s sleeping peacefully in her hardwood bed. I run over and shake her gently, checking her face for any signs of a wound. “Ellie! Ellie, are you okay?”
Her long lashes flutter as her eyes open, emerald irises focusing blearily on me.
“Mia? W-What’s wrong?”
“The club, the frat-guy! Remember? He grabbed you, and he got stabbed by that blonde guy, and then that woman drugged us!”
Ellie sits up, a confused look on her face. She laughs a little.
“What are you talking about? Did you have a nightmare?”
“We left the club, and the guy with the blonde hair killed the frat-guy! And that gorgeous woman was with him. She drugged us! Don’t you remember?”
Ellie puts her hand over mine. “Mia, we walked home from the club and watched Netflix until we fell asleep, okay? None of that stuff happened. Nobody got killed. You’re okay.”
“But…what about your bruise?” I point at her cheek. “That’s where you got hit! Don’t you remember?”
“I tripped on the stairs on the way up to our door, Mia. Nobody hit me.”
I stare at my hands, trying to piece the puzzle together. She inhales slowly, and exhales slower.
“I know some
times…people who go through what you did, they - they have bad nightmares. It’s okay. This is the real world. You’re in San Francisco, with me, in a new apartment, okay? You’re not back there anymore. Nobody’s going to hurt me, or you. I promise.”
I knit my eyebrows and study her face. She looks down at her dress, the same one she wore to the club, and giggles.
“Oops. Forgot to change into pajamas. I must’ve been seriously wasted. You can have the shower first. I’ll make waffles!”
She bounces out of bed and into the kitchen, leaving me to question my own sanity. It happened. I saw it happen. I saw Ellie crying, felt her tears on my arm, felt her shaking against me. I saw the violence in the frat-boy’s eyes, heard his voice taunting me, asking for my blood, begging for it. I saw Darius kill him. I saw the frat-guy turned into nothing more than a pile of dust in seconds. I remember Genevieve’s entrancing smile, and Darius’ intoxicating golden gaze locked onto mine like it all just happened, fresh and vivid. Did they drug us and bring us back here? No, that’s impossible. How would they know where we live? How would they get in? And that still doesn’t explain why Ellie doesn’t remember it.
I rush into my room and check my purse - my keys are still here. Everything is still here - my dinky, old school flip phone, my wallet with my painfully awkward ID and all of two dollars in it. Ellie doesn’t remember it at all. Which means it’s me. My brain. I hallucinated it? Dreamt all of it?