CHAPTER THIRTY
JULIANA THE DEMON HUNTRESS
Do not look directly into the eyes of the Brighidda, unless you wish to think of nothing else until the day you die.
Vampire Falls. Season three, episode twelve – “How Long Is Eternity?”
The lights go down, then coloured spotlights illuminate the sides of the stage. Roxy grabs my hand as the curtains open.
We jump when the guitar riff blares out of the speakers just above us, and Vivian is illuminated with a bright pink light, so she looks like she’s glowing.
She flicks her head round to the audience, her long hair flying around her like a cape, and throws her arms and hips out to each beat.
Roxy and I look at each other, simultaneously realising the aptness of her song choice.
“‘Wet Dream’,” says Roxy, mesmerised.
Vivian sets off on her skates to the front left of the stage where she spins, starting on both legs then lifting one up and crouching down as she goes round and round.
The audience roars.
She stops abruptly, blows a kiss, then skates backwards, like a sort of moonwalk on wheels, waving at the guest judges.
If I’m not mistaken, I hear a long whoop belonging to Dax St. James.
I bite my lip as she skates to the runway, her hips and all her other best parts exaggerated by the skating motion.
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” says Roxy, turning to me and shaking her head. “It’s just hair and wheels. Hair and wheels. She doesn’t have anything else.”
I look back at Vivian as she picks up speed down the runway, does a split jump with her hand on the side of her head à la 1950s pin-up girl, then lands on one of the ramps and casually rolls past the front tables, high-fiving everyone as she goes.
“No,” I whisper, swallowing a dry lump. “She has the audience.”
Frankly, I’m equal parts terrified and excited to see what Vivian does next.
She speeds down a ramp towards a table on the edge of the dance floor.
Charlie Chamberlain and Toby hold up a giant mirror with lightbulbs around the frame.
Everyone at the table, nay, in the room, goes wild when she skids to a stop and pulls out a (damn) lipstick from her cleavage and applies it perfectly.
She leans forward and kisses her reflection, then everyone at the table hurries round to her as she spins again.
They pull out hand-held fans, directing them so Vivian’s hair dances around her head, taking on a life of its own.
The girl is a shampoo, luxury chocolate bar and tampon advert all rolled into one.
She skates to the next table and picks up a metal tray with a tall glass of strawberry milkshake on it. I stare, open-mouthed, as she rests the tray on the palm of her hand and her shoulder, then with the ease of an Olympic skater (which I think she might actually be), glides over to the . . .
“No,” I whisper.
. . . judges table, where she stops right in front of Damon Van Schwartz, lifts the glass from the tray, and delivers him probably the best milkshake he’ll ever have in his life.
He beams at her, obliging when she encourages him to taste it.
He sips it through the straw then nods and claps his hands, his behaviour encouraging but professional.
Vivian high fives him, grabs the cherry from the top and pops it in her mouth as she skates off, expertly ignoring Dax St. James’s wolf-whistles and unprofessional looks of pure lust. I look at Roxy.
“It’s just,” she says, swallowing and shaking her head, “hair and wheels.”
I turn back to Vivian as the song starts to fade out and she’s back in the middle of the stage where she started.
Needless to say, the crowd goes absolutely wild.
Also, needless to say, I. Am. Fucked.