to go upstairs—it’s a narrow, unevenly constructed, wooden staircase that is dilapidated and dimly lit. It turns at 180 degrees in the center, offering no view to those on the bottom floor of what it leads to.
The dark blue upstairs room itself is tiny, about the size of a large bedroom, with a one-person unisex bathroom. Getting to use that closet-sized bathroom, locked in and alone while Simon stood guard outside, has been the only small joy of the day. But, it’s hard to enjoy regaining my feminine mystique that I so crudely lost under the trees and moonlight—because my friend’s in danger, and we could all be killed trying to save her. That kinda sucks all the joy out of reclaiming my dainty appeal. Never been too big on that frou-frou stuff anyway, but the incident in the woods was a bit much even for me.
Most people don’t come up here—most don’t know it exists—and some of the ones that try don’t make it all the way up here on their drunken, creaky stairway climb, crashing to the uneven steps beneath them or onto their annoyed friends who came along on their ill-advised and inebriated expedition.
As crowded as it’s been downstairs, it’s been calm and steady up here all night. Simon found right where to put me. Safest place in the unsafe storm, perched above the raging waters below.
Suddenly Simon’s eyes light up—jolting from complete stillness to furious intensity, shocking me as if a statue has just reached out to grab me.
My eyes follow his stare down to the dance floor—sure enough, it’s Ambrosia, bopping her way up to the bar, smiling and strutting like it’s just another night out—no fear of creatures of the dark on her face, just a mischievous smile welcoming the energy of the night.
Before I can take my eyes off her, Simon’s whispering in my ear.
“Stay here—I’m going to get her.”
“Okay,” I say, filled with fear and relief at the same time.
So close to getting her and us out of here.
So close to being away from the beasts that want to tear us apart.
But so close to being caught.
So far from the exit.
Simon rushes into the crowd to grab the only blue-haired girl in the joint. He stands out like a man among children—a tiger among kittens, and Ambrosia…well, she’s Ambrosia. Can’t be hard to spot—even for the bad guys…if they’re here…
God help him. Crazy dancing people better part a path for him. In the name of love and all that’s good, let us get out of here.
Maybe I should wait at the bottom of the stairs. Makes no sense for him to have to come get me and then go back down the stairs again to the exit. But then I won’t be able to see him. Can see Ambrosia here. Will see him going after her here. Wait till he has her then run to the bottom of the stairs.
He’ll want to kill me for leaving here before he gets back, but I’ve got to help. Only thing I can do.
Always thought Juliet was foolish—immature and infatuated. But now, I feel that wherever Simon is at the end of the night is where I want to be too. I’d rather it be here, but couldn’t live with myself if I knew I let him slip to the next life without fighting alongside him.
Wait. There’s something below. Something awful. Is that…
Body slams off me—crashes into the wall—and starts to slide toward the ground.
Didn’t see him coming round the turn.
Catch him by his arm with one hand and his bebop hat that has fallen off with the other. Steady him quickly on the stairs—toss his hat on his head—give him a nod but not a word and rush down the second part of the stairs that squeak beneath my boots louder than the booming music flooding from the dance floor and into the narrow stairwell.
Rest of the steps are a blur and then gone.
Feel like I’ve hit a staggering herd of cattle as I smack into the mass of bodies that stumble, some of them to the beat of the song and some to the pounding of the arrhythmic alcohol rushing through their brains.
Push with my hands—a sea of human waves—trying to swim through them. Some spill. Some shout. Most just get the hell out of my way.
Two bouncing strands of blue. Her hand grasps a drink from the bartender—takes a sip—looks around. Can almost see the liquid light up her eyes. Heartbeat races through her—two of them.
See something moving near the stage. Emergency door opens wide.
Ambrosia spots me coming toward her. Pulls cup from her lips. Nervous lips.
Roderick steps off the edge of the stage onto the floor. Followed by goons.
She turns away from me toward the dance floor, with the look of a child swimming away from a parent, not ready to get out of the pool.
By the stage, Edgar is the last one through the door, letting it slam closed behind him—the noise covered completely by the music, unheard even to my ears from this far away.
Unknowing that the four of them are ahead of her in the crowd, Ambrosia bops toward the stage, a wave in the sea of bodies, sliding through them effortlessly, while they crash into me angrily like a rock on the California shore.
I shove through the people, struggling to catch her without hurting anyone.
Someone shouts behind me. Hostile voice. Very. Not familiar—not a vamp. No time to look. Must be someone I pushed out of the way.
She slides through the crowd like she’s truly liquid, keeping ahead of me like an object you can’t catch in a dream.
Crash and splash explode against the back of my head. Bits of brown, beer-bottle glass shatter and fall down the front of my shirt and down my back.
Keep walking. Faster.
Roderick looks in my direction. Grinning. Looking ahead of me in the crowd—he discovers her.
Feel blood drip down my neck onto my shirt.
Rush toward blue hair. People jump out of my way—must be the blood.
Roderick steps closer to her.
Facing the left corner of the stage, Ambrosia starts dancing with a guy, her back turned to us. Oblivious. Death a few dance partners away.
Roderick’s closer than I am. Just a few feet to go.
A red-haired girl stands in front of Roderick and starts jamming her finger into his chest. Looks familiar. Girl from the other night—one he called fire crotch—it’s her. Three tattooed guys stand behind her, one of them bald, tall, and meaty. Seen them at the metal bar down the street before—regulars here—bouncers there.
Roderick shoves the angry and red hundred-and-three pounds out of his way. The group of guys attacks Roderick—largest one grabbing his throat.
Roderick smiles—diving his fangs into his lower lip, striking his own blood. Carvelli rushes to help him. Quint’s nowhere to be seen. Lost sight of him. Damn it. Edgar’s gone too. Not good. Not good at all. Better fly out of here.
At least Ruby’s upstairs.
Reach out and grab Ambrosia’s wrist. Duck down low. Turn my back to her and pull her arm until her torso is across my shoulders. Hook my other arm around her knee—stand up with her draped over my shoulders.
Only two of the tattooed protectors still stand—missed one being knocked down. Carvelli has one staggering from punches he’s just landed.
Ambrosia slaps my face to put her down.
In a fast burst just a few feet away, Roderick slams his hands into the sides of the face of the meaty guy who tried to choke him. His fingernails drive deep into the flesh of both cheeks. Agony is the big man’s face as he falls to his knees. Roderick stares at his victim a moment, absorbing his anguish—savoring it, then quickly dives his fangs into his adversary’s forehead.
Ambrosia stops slapping—must’ve finally seen what’s going on.
Exposing himself again. In front of all these people. Roderick wants something in Ambrosia more than his own life. Never been this reckless. Desperate.
People run to the exit. Jamming the doorway. Not gonna be easy.
