Chapter 29 #3
Georgie looked at me, a softness in her bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know what happened today, and you don’t need to tell me until you’re ready, but I do know I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way Karson looks at you. He looks at you like he would jump in front of a bus to save you.”
Her words struck the charred pieces of my heart. She patted my hand. “I can’t believe I just defended a vampire. I must be drunk, take no notice of me. Watch my purse.” She placed her purse on the bar and stood up. “I need to pee.”
I watched her as she zigzagged around the crowd, stumbling as she moved down toward the toilets.
Distract yourself, Amy, don’t think about it.
Don’t think about him. I could cry later, I would cry later, but for now I needed Monique to believe I was coping.
I looked around, seeking a distraction. On the dancefloor, two slender women in their forties, fake hair, fake boobs, and fake lips were dancing seductively.
A few younger men nearby watched them with keen interest.
“Are they thinking they might be an easy pick-up?” I nodded in their direction.
“I don’t know, mind reading is not one of my skills, but if the tent pegging in that guy’s pants is any indication I would say so.”
I glanced at her line of sight. A tall, nerdy-looking boy with sandy hair and freckled arms, anatomy pointed like a fire hydrant in their direction. He shuffled on his feet and tried to cover his erection with his jacket.
I chuckled and it was genuine. “I actually almost hope that’s a pistol in his pocket.”
“It’s a pistol alright and it’s ready to shoot.” Monique grinned.
“Oh, that’s gross.”
Monique laughed and it lit up her whole face. A few eyes drew her way; she was stunning when she laughed.
The singer began to strum his guitar and sing a Keith Urban song.
Fucking great, just what I needed to hear about some poor heartbroken guy being drunk and alone and wanting to cry when the one person you loved in the world betrayed you.
I snorted a bitter laugh out of my nose, slammed down the rest of my drink, and reached for another.
Monique sighed. “I don’t know what he said to get your panties in such a twist, but he told me to tell you he’d talk to you later.”
I drew in a shuddering breath. “He didn’t twist my panties. He twisted my heart. And I don’t know why you’re bothering. I know how much you hate me.”
“I’m bothering because he asked me to.” She frowned and glanced casually around the room. “I don’t hate you exactly, although you are excessively annoying.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I return the sentiment.”
Monique twirled a ring on her finger. “I won’t lose any sleep over your feelings for me.” She straightened and looked back around the room. “Where’s that friend of yours?”
I glanced at my watch—almost ten minutes had passed. “She’s probably being sick. I’ll check on her.”
Monique’s brow furrowed. “No.” She stood up abruptly. “Wait here, I’ll check.”
The crowd parted as she walked through. I should go now; I could dash out of the front door and be gone before she came back.
I stood; the room was a little fuzzy, and the lights seemed to sway.
I didn’t drink that much, but it had gone straight to my head.
I glanced at the hallway Monique went down.
Standing at the entrance was a dark-haired witch.
Now that I knew about them, they radiated an energy I could feel, and sometimes if I concentrated, I could see their auras, which were white, or gold, or purple mostly.
Her arm was covered with tattoos—flowers and outlines my vision couldn’t make out.
She caught my eye, nodded in my direction, and turned back to talk to the group she was with.
I needed to go now. I turned to leave. A girl with long straight dark hair blocked my path.
“Having a good night?” she asked. Her eyes were off kilter.
“Yes, you?” I shuffled left to get around her.
“I’m about to,” she answered, smiling.
Something uncomfortable stirred in the back of my mind, something about the way she spoke and grinned. Then I realized the girl was higher than a giraffe’s balls. She pivoted and walked away. Behind her disappearing form, Monique was scanning the room.
My stomach dropped. My chance was gone. And where was Georgie?
I grabbed my jacket and her bag, slung it over my shoulder, and walked through the room looking for her.
I stood up on my tiptoes, seeking a glimpse of her long dark hair.
My eyes met Monique’s. She looked annoyed.
She had to be here. I hadn’t felt any threats.
I would feel them, that was my gift. With Monique’s bat hearing, she would have heard something.
And yet for some reason, my heart began to thump in my chest.
Fuck, where was she?
“I lost her scent in the hallway,” Monique said, still scanning the crowd.
“Did she even go to the ladies?”
“Yes.”
“Have you checked the men’s?” I asked.
“No, would she?”
I shrugged. “She’s pretty drunk, she might have gone in there by accident.”
Monique sighed and threaded through the crowd toward the men’s. I went to follow her, but if she was in there Monique would bring her back. If she wasn’t, it was better to continue searching the room. I wound through the tightly knit crowd, searching every nook and cranny. Nothing.
Monique appeared and shook her head.
I turned, searching for Georgie amongst a sea of bodies, trying to catch a snippet of her. And that’s when I spotted the blue of her blouse, raucous laughter all around her.
I found her.
I darted toward her, called out her name, and snagged her arm. Georgie twisted back; she stared at me blankly.
It wasn’t Georgie.
My face flushed as I mumbled, “Sorry.”
A girl screamed over to the right. I swung to look, when the bar went black.
Someone else screamed, and someone laughed a crazed sound.
Sam stopped singing abruptly. My skin prickled as silence descended over the bar, the air growing thick with the sound of heavy breathing.
The glass windows let a pale swell of light into that part of the bar, at least.
Someone made a ghost noise and a guy laughed.
“Ammmy.” I was sure I heard my name, the sound straight out of a nursery-rhyme nightmare.
An ice-cold hand gripped my arm.
Sarah.
I almost screamed, but fear kept my throat devoid of sound.
I snapped my head in her direction, bobble-eyed and terrified, but the blackness made it impossible to see anything.
I tried to yank my arm away, but she was too strong.
I was stuck, trapped like an animal. My mind whirled.
I could lift my other hand to throw her, but she wouldn’t let go and I would fly too.
My body would break when we slammed up against a wall, and if I moved, she could snap my neck or tear my head off and splatter it across the room.
Whatever she was going to do to me would be gruesome, painful, dramatic.
The knives sheaved on my waist would be my only hope. My fingers slid toward my blade.
“Stop, it’s me, you stupid fool.” Monique’s voice broke through the roar in my head.
The lights flickered back on, and laughter and talking bubbled around the room once more. I blinked to adjust to the sudden change.
Monique let go of my arm.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Monique said. “Stay here, I’m going to check the back alley.” She threaded through the crowd once more.
Sam started playing again. Above the music, I was sure I heard my name being called.
“Amy.”
Someone giggled; it sounded like a child.
Chills rolled over my shoulders. I swung my head and watched, transfixed, as the dark-haired girl who had spoken to me before walked through the room.
There was nothing unusual about her, nothing beyond her hollow, drug-drawn eyes, and yet I couldn’t pull my gaze away.
She rubbed Sam’s name off the black board with her fist, smearing the chalk across like a foggy, soundless broadcast.
The hairs rose on my neck.
I squinted. She had something in her other hand, but I couldn’t make out what it was. People crossed in front of my path, and I lost her for a moment, but when they moved off, the girl had written something in red chalk. I made out only a T behind her hair.
Where the fuck was Georgie? I needed to find her, but some force I couldn’t explain compelled me to watch the girl.
She turned and looked straight at me. Her hands were tucked behind her back.
Her lips moved into a smile. Too wide for her petite face, it held all the friendliness of a killer clown.
Behind her legs, crimson splashed to the floor.
Blood. There was so much blood.
A girl nearby staggered back and screamed. A few around her turned to see what the commotion was and froze, staring. Sam stopped playing, his eyes filled with horror. A man fought his way through the crowd, trying to help the girl, yelling at people to move.
The girl stepped to the left and pulled her hands to her sides. In her right hand she held a knife, the blade, covered in red, sparkling under the lights.
“Knife!” someone yelled. Gasps and cries filled the room as the crowd scurried back. The man rushing to help paused. But it was her other hand that drew my attention. From her other wrist, blood pumped from a deep slash running down her forearm.
And behind her on the black board written in blood it read:
Tick-tock.
The girl’s eyes stayed locked on me with that manic smile on her face.
My head spun as horror shot through me. This girl wasn’t on drugs, she’d been mind-controlled.
I couldn’t lift my hand to pin her arm so she couldn’t stab anyone—there were too many people in the way.
I couldn’t do anything but stare. She held eye contact and kept grinning at me with that deranged smile. And she—
She lifted the knife and drove the blade into her throat.
People screamed. The room tilted and the walls closed in. I knew two things at that moment.
Sarah was in Portland, and she had Georgie.