“Fine,” Rudy said. “I’ve been seeing Dimitri, too.”
Slowly, deliberately, he turned and yanked up his sweater.
There, at the base of his spine, curled a dragon. “I feel great, Nat,” he said, over his shoulder. “I’m sleeping better, and I have more energy during the day.”
Natalie stared at the tattoo, the blood draining from her face. “And I guess next you’ll say you can quit anytime you like,” she shouted at his back. “Oh, no, that’s right, you
“Don’t be mad, Nat,” Rudy said, turning back around.
“Even the music is better. If you’d just keep an open mind, I—” Natalie leaned toward him, fists clenched. “So the music is better, is it?”
“What’d I miss?” Mose had returned, limping his way through the gawkers. “We’re back on in three, right?” Fault Tolerant returned to the stage, bodies stiff, glaring at one another.
This is exactly why I don’t like to go to clubs, Jonah thought. Too much drama. And since he only had four friends, this kind of drama seriously affected his quality of life.
Chapter Eleven
I’m in the Mood
Club Catastrophe was in downtown Cleveland, in a neighborhood of old warehouses and commercial buildings that housed restaurants, clubs, apartments, and condominiums.
Emma tried to keep her expectations low, but she couldn’t help it—her heart beat a little faster when she heard the music throbbing through the open doors.
Only Tyler seemed to be having second thoughts. “You know where you need to go to catch the Rapid home, right?” he said as Emma slid out of the car.
“I walk up Superior to Tower City and follow the signs to the trains,” Emma said. “Then I take the Green Line out to Lee Road.”
“You sure you have your RTA pass?”
Emma put her hands on her hips. “Are you hovering again, Tyler?”
Tyler leaned across the front seat toward her. “Maybe. Just remember—this area attracts all different kinds. And somebody’s killing the gifted. So be careful.”
“I’ll be all right.” She pointed down the crowded sidewalk. “See? There’s plenty of people out on the street. And it’s not like I came straight off the farm. I won’t do anything stupid.”
“You won’t be able to reach me by phone while I’m onstage. If you need to call, leave a message, and I’ll call right back during the next break. And be careful. Walk right home from the stop.”
“Don’t worry,” Emma said even as she was thinking it was oddly fine to have somebody worrying. On impulse, she leaned through the window and kissed him on the cheek. “ ’Bye now.”
Emma paid the cover, collected her drink tickets, and extended her arm for the under-twenty-one wristband. Then, summoning her courage, she strode into the club like she belonged.
The place offered seating for maybe two hundred people, and the permanent stage in the corner said it was a serious music venue. The tin ceiling and the battered floorboards were probably original to the warehouse.
The band, Fault Tolerant, had already taken the stage, and the dance floor churned with bodies. Emma threaded her way to the front to see what she could see. The band members looked to be young—high school age—but they had some skills. Especially the drummer. She put her whole body into it. The lead guitarist played a sweet Parker Dragonfly, sitting down, like one of those timeworn old blues players. He was seriously good.
More important: they all wore the glow that Tyler claimed was the mark of the gifted. In fact, there were splotches of light all over the room, like some of the dancers had individual spotlights built into their bodies. Why so many, all right here? Emma cashed in one of her drink tickets and looked for a place to sit. Once around the room and she was still on her feet. This band drew a crowd, that was for sure. The only empty chairs were at a table in the back, a table with one occupant, who sat shrouded in shadows.
Emma moved in close, trying to get a better look before she committed herself. It was a boy—focused on his phone, the light from the screen illuminating his face, bringing his features into sharp relief as his long fingers flicked through screens.
Two things struck her right away. One: he was the kind of boy that made your heart beat faster before you ever heard his name. And two: he was the kind of boy Emma would never, ever have.
He was all muffled up, in a black leather jacket, a scarf wound around his neck, his head turtled into his shoulders. He even wore thin leather gloves on his hands.
Maybe he has one of those diseases where you’re cold all the time, Emma thought.
Somehow, she found herself standing next to his table, a moth flinging itself into the flame.
“Are these seats taken?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, without looking up.
“Oh. Well, is it all right if I sit here until your friends come back?”
“No,” he said, still looking at his screen.
That got on Emma’s nerves. “Look, there’s no other place left to sit.”
He finally looked up. His skin was pale under a tumble of black hair, his brows dark and thick, his lashes, too. Up close she saw the lines of pain around his mouth. His eyes were a shade of indigo she’d never seen . . . eyes a person could dive into, without a second thought. Behind those eyes, beyond the reach of the light, lay the blues. A sad story that needed telling. A story she wanted to hear.
He studied her face, his eyes flicking up to her untamable hair, over her flannel shirt and jeans, her bitten- off nails. At least, that’s what she guessed he was looking at.
“I’m sorry,” Boy Blue said, returning to his phone. “That’s not my problem.”
Slamming her glass down, Emma planted her hands on the table and leaned toward him. He looked up, startled, leaning back and bringing both hands up to ward her off.
Up close, he was even more intoxicating, and she nearly lost her train of thought. Mentally slapping herself, she said, “You know what? You’re damn pretty until you open up your mouth. You ought to keep it shut.” Grabbing up her drink, she stalked away, feeling the burn of his gaze between her shoulder blades.
Eventually, she did locate an empty table far from the stage, back among the pool tables. She sat, tapping her foot to the music, watching the action at the tables, counting the drinks as some of the pool players grew more and more wasted. She’d spent a lifetime hugging the wall in bars. You could learn a lot that way.
Too bad they didn’t give out grades for those kinds of lessons.
Now and then she looked back at the boy in the corner by the door. He still sat alone. So did she. So much for making friends her own age.
When the band took a break, one of the guitarists—a girl—walked back to Boy Blue and sat down at his table. He didn’t shoo
So that’s how it is, Emma thought. He’s with the band. She thought of going back to the bar and using her second ticket, but was afraid she’d lose her table. Some of the pool players had been eyeing it for a while. She could give up and head home, but she’d been looking forward to hearing the rest of the set. Anyway, going home was too much like giving up.
Raised voices caught her attention. Turning, she saw that Boy Blue was now surrounded by members of the band, who were all waving their hands and hissing at one another. When the lead guitarist returned, they marched back onstage, leaving Boy Blue alone again.
He looked up, found Emma staring at him, and looked away.
What just happened? Emma thought as Fault Tolerant launched into their second set.
“Hey! Labrat!”
Emma twisted around, and saw that some of the gifted who’d been playing pool had formed a half circle around her table. Two were carrying pool cues.
They didn’t look much older than Emma, but none of them were wearing wristbands, and from the looks of things, they’d been taking full advantage of their legal status. They all carried beers, and they walked like people who’ve had a few already.
