Tonight is a night to rebel.
A night to do, rather than wait.
To decide and never again be told.
My headlight is off and my reinforced leather motorcycle pants tight around my bike. In the distance, I see Clark’s taillight. I’ve been trailing them for ten minutes, headed south, parallel to the I-5 Express. A chilled breeze blows from Lake Union, cooling my nerves. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but have always refrained for Xave’s sake. I don’t want James to kick him out, too. As much as I’d like to know my boyfriend is safe, I also respect his decision to fight. Today, though, I’m done holding my breath, waiting for James to call me or for Xave to return from one of his missions.
The guiding red dot of Clark’s taillight turns right toward Belltown. I turn, too, keeping my distance. They drive onto Aurora Avenue, all the way to the waterfront, smack against Elliott Bay. To my right, lights sparkle on the waterfront and tall white masts signal the presence of unseen boats. In the distance, the Ferris wheel shines blue and pink against the dark sky, each gondola giving its passengers a sight of the bay and the Bainbridge Island ferries. We pass several restaurants and bars that would be inviting, if they weren’t so busy. In spite of the cool March weather, many occupy outside sitting areas and enjoy glasses of wine or something stronger to keep themselves warm. Couples walk arm in arm along the tree-lined sidewalks, the women dressed in fur coats and tall boots, the men in warm coats, all appropriate for the ongoing party that Belltown seems to be.
What can IgNiTe possibly want in this area of town?
Clark continues onto the main strip and parks his Harley. I stop forty yards away and watch Xave cross the one-way street, while Clark stays behind. A long line of people stretches the length of a black-painted building with strips of golden lights along its outline. They’re waiting to enter … what? A new restaurant? A club?
To my surprise, Xave joins the back of the line. He’s clubbing? No. Xave wouldn’t lie to me like that—not that I could call it a lie when all he did was let me assume that this outing had something to do with IgNiTe.
Shaking my head, I push my doubts aside. I know he didn’t lie.
After a moment, Clark rides down the street and disappears around the corner, leaving his little brother behind. What the heck is going on?
I get off my bike and, from across the street, move in Xave’s direction, ducking under the bright signs and streetlamps. When I reach the front of a small coffee shop, I stop, finally able to make out the name of the place. My hands go cold. I push my back into a recessed wall, hiding under its shadow.
Shadowstorm Nightclub.
The same place Luke chose over our family dinner.
I rub my fingers together for warmth, thinking this has got to be a coincidence. Or is it? Is James after Luke? Has he discovered something I haven’t?
The faint sound of dance music reaches my ears. Anxiety ripples through me, making me restless. My hands twist and twist against each other. My feet march in place. My eyes scan the waiting crowd—women in tights and miniskirts, their sequin clutches twinkling as they gesticulate in conversation, along with men dressed mostly in black, like it’s a uniform. I go up and down the line, from the bouncer at the door to Xave, until I spot a familiar face. A red-headed bombshell wearing a tight, black minidress and four-inch heels. In spite of the wig, I recognize her. It’s Blare. And next to her, Aydan, also dressed in a black uniform, his matching pale, pale skin making him look like Blare’s brother, not her date.
I nervously scan the crowd again, trying to spot the rest of the crew. I search for James, Oso, Rheema, but they’re not there—a least not in line, though they could be inside already.
Xave fidgets, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for someone. He looks my way. I push deeper into the shadows. The clip-clop of high heels comes from my right accompanied by a sharp buzz inside my head. An Eklyptor!
Fumbling in my pocket, I snatch my cell phone and press it to my ear. There’s no hiding, but I manage to obscure my features a little more. A woman wearing a blue glittery skirt and silky black blouse walks past without minding me. She crosses the street and heads straight for Xave. They acknowledge each other with a showy kiss on the cheek. He wraps an arm around her waist. She leans into him, looks my way and shakes her head at me.
Rheema!
She knows I’m here. Great. I stare bullets into her brown eyes. Jealousy tastes like bile—something I never knew. But I guess there’s a first time for everything, even if it’s unfounded. They’re here on a mission, doing what needs to be done. I know a lot of pretending goes into these situations, like Blare and James acting all cozy at Elliot Whitehouse’s party. I have no reason to feel this way, even if my boyfriend has been spending a lot of time with the cute blond, playing mechanics.
The feeling simmers to a slow boil as I struggle to lower my heated reaction, chanting “this is just a mission” inside my head over and over again. No matter that he changed into his best gray button-up shirt and the black jeans that hug his butt like no one’s business.
Just a mission.
I wait as the line slowly moves forward, the bouncer at the door accepting or dismissing patrons as if they were cattle. Blare and Aydan are a few yards ahead of Xave and Rheema. They ignore each other entirely. I wonder if they’ll let them in, if they have a plan. Or maybe they’ll just bribe their way in. But heck, Aydan and Xave are minors. There’s no way they’ll get through, is there? Not that Eklyptors respect the law, especially lately.
Biting my thumbnail, I pay attention to who gets in and who’s given the slip. My mind flies through the attributes of those who are allowed inside. There seems to be no rhyme or reason. Clothes, looks, race, age, height, nothing seems to make a pattern.
A pattern?
I know a pattern, and the Blare/Aydan and Xave/Rheema combos just happen to fit it perfectly. I move closer to confirm my hunch, making sure to stay hidden, even if my cover is blown—with Rheema, anyway. At least she doesn’t seem to have mentioned my presence to Xave. She was always nice and friendly, was even rebuilding a Harley engine for me last time I was at The Tank. Another reason not to be jealous of her, right? Because this is all in my head.
As soon as I get within fifteen feet of the nightclub, my head begins to buzz, divulging the presence of way too many Eklyptors—monsters that I could believe human from a few paces away, but that might hide some terrible deformation under their clothes or might one day grow claws. I take a deep breath and stretch my neck from side to side, my thoughts jumping like bunnies on steroids.
Dance music.
Clustermess.
Glitter.
A couple is let in. She’s a victim; he, a predator.
Next comes a girl. She’s by herself, looking hopeful, bouncing on the balls of her feet and sucking in her stomach. They turn her down. Too young? Too short? Too human? Too alone?
Lucky, lucky girl.
A tall guy in jeans and a black leather jacket walks right in. One less buzz thrills through my head as he disappears behind the large doors. Another girl walks up, alone like the last one. She’s also human through and through, except the bouncer lets her pass.
No!
Unlucky, unlucky girl.
Why? Why? Why?
Then it hits me. They let the guy in the leather jacket in. He went alone, so she’s meant to balance the ratio. One to one. Victim to predator. Human to monster.
It’s Elliot Whitehouse’s party all over again—another venue for Eklyptors to bring in a human they can infect, to contribute to the growth of their species—and Xave is about to go in, which is a terrible idea considering what happened last time. At least Rheema won’t freak and scream her head off when she sees the creatures, so he might be all right. She knows everything about the monsters already. Heck, she’s half of one, neurotoxin-ridden fangs and all.
Another couple steps up to the front of the line. Now that I’ve figured out the pattern, my attention focuses on other details. They’ve paused in front of the bouncer. He asks them something. The freak half of the couple answers. The bouncer—a massive hulk of an Eklyptor—nods and lets them in.
There’s more than a pattern. There’s a password, too.
I move closer. My head vibrates like a piano string out of tune. I stare at the lips of the next Eklyptor in line, trying to make out the words. I get nothing. Super hearing would be nice at the moment.
Blare and Aydan are next. The bouncer puts a hand up, asks for the password straight away, without carding Aydan. Cold sweat slides down my back. Aydan’s lips move, speak the words and must deliver the right ones because he goes in, his arm intertwined with Blare’s, his slender body stiff and elegant, made more so by the bombshell walking at his side. Whatever he said to the bouncer starts with an “A” or an “E,” I think. Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn’t read lips to save my life.
Squinting at their mouths, I watch people get processed by the bouncer. I’m trying very hard, but I’m getting zero. My hand flies into my hair in frustration, ready to uproot it. I need to get in there. My brother’s inside and my boyfriend is about to make it to the bouncer. I can’t stay out here waiting, waiting, waiting until I’ve eaten all my fingernails and the crud beneath them.
A night to rebel rather than wait. Isn’t that how it went?
Frustration bubbles up my chest and I want to scream. I’m pacing in place, thinking about crossing the street to try and overhear the password, when my cell phone vibrates with a text message.
Unknown: You look desperate there :)
I jump, press my back to the coffee shop window with its huge display of mouth-watering treats. My gaze darts in all directions until I catch Rheema giving me an amused smirk. I look down at my phone and consider a reply.
“Bitch”?
“Go to hell”?
“That’s my boyfriend, you skank”?
I rub a hand across my mouth, considering. The buzzing in my head gets worse, incited by stress. I take a deep breath that seems to get oxygen to my bone marrow. My cell phone vibrates again. I blink my eyes open.
Unknown: “Hailstone Reign” will get u in. Ur welcome.
Hailstone? The faction fighting for territory against Whitehouse’s faction? Oh, shit.
My gut twists with a strange feeling, something I can’t quite put a finger on. James says I have ESP abilities. We’re yet to agree on that, but if this is what being psychic is like, the hell with it. Half-baked premonitions are about as good as half-baked baguettes.
My eyes cut to Rheema, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She and Xave have made it to the bouncer. Like Aydan, Xave isn’t asked to show an ID. Rheema’s mouth moves very slowly, enunciating every syllable, leaving me no doubt as to what I need to say to get in, giving me more than what I need to look after my boyfriend. And my brother. That’s if I’m not here to find out something that will cause me to lose him again. Because what the hell is he doing in a place that belongs to an Eklyptor faction strong enough to challenge Elliot’s?