Dead Girls' Dance tmv-2

by Rachel Caine

  “Ian Jameson invited me!’” she screamed back. “Ian Jameson!’”

  The security guys had a list. They checked it, and nodded. “Upstairs!’” one yelled. “Last door on the left!’”

  She didn’t intend to find Ian, but she nodded anyway. She and Eve pressed between the two security guys—who were maybe a little too close—and stepped over the threshold into the wildest party Claire had ever seen in her entire life.

  Not that her experience was wide, but still…she was pretty sure Paris Hilton would have classified this as wild. Despite the fact that alcohol was banned on campus, she was also pretty sure the punch that was being ladled out of gigantic coolers was alcoholic (it also had severed hands, eyeballs, and assorted plastic gross-outs floating in it, and was bloodred). A lot of the people at the party already showed the telltale signs of being wasted—stumbling, laughing too loud, making wild gestures. Spilling drinks all over themselves and others, which really didn’t seem to bother people because, hey, zombies! Not neat freaks. Everybody wore white makeup, or had some kind of rubbery disgusting mask (though that was mostly the guys).

  The main room was kind of a dance floor, people pressed up against each other and swaying. Claire stood in the doorway, frozen with sudden dread. It looked like a room full of dead people. Worse—dead, drunk, horny people.

  “Come on,’” Eve yelled impatiently, and grabbed her by the hand. She plunged into the crowd without hesitation, craning her head to look around. “At least he’s a redhead!’” Because most of those at the party were wearing black wigs, or had dyed their hair like Eve’s. Claire’s had suffered a temporary blacking from some kind of spray-on stuff Eve had assured her would wash right out. Claire tried to shield herself from unnecessary body-to-body contact, but it was pretty much useless; she was closer to a whole bunch of guys than she’d ever been in her life.

  A hand tried to go up her skirt as she pressed through the crowd. She yelped and jumped, moving faster. Somebody else swatted her on the ass.

  “Faster!’” she yelled at Eve, who had slowed down to get her bearings. “God, I can’t breathe in here!’”

  “This way!’”

  Claire felt filthy—not just from getting groped, which continued to happen, but because she was sopping with other people’s sweat by the time Eve squirmed them through to a small clear space on the other side of the room, next to the stairs. It must have been the Wall-flower Corner; there were some shy-looking girls, all dressed in mock-Goth finery, grouped together for comfort and (Claire suspected) protection. She felt an instant sympathy for them. “Great party!’” Eve screamed over the pounding beat of the music. “Wish I could enjoy it!’”

  “Any sign of Sam?’”

  “No! Not in here! Let’s try the other rooms!’”

  After the chaos of the main dance room, the kitchen felt like a study hall, even though it was still filled with people talking too loud and gesturing too much. More punch-filled coolers in here, which was driving Claire crazy; she was thirsty, but no way was she adding being drunk to her problems just now. Too much was at stake.

  Her ears were still ringing. At least, in here, there was room to breathe. Claire reflexively searched for her cell phone, remembered it getting crunched under the wheels of the white van, and cursed under her breath. “What time is it?’” she asked Eve, who consulted her own black Razr (decorated, of course, with skulls).

  “Ten,’” she said. “I know. We have to hurry.’”

  Somebody grabbed Claire by the arm, and she recoiled in fright, but then she recognized him under the makeup—Ian, the guy who’d told her about the party. The one whose name they’d used to get inside. “Claire?’” he asked. “Wow. You look great!’”

  He looked less geeky now, more edgy, with spiked black hair and vampire-style makeup. Claire wondered uneasily how many actual vampires were infiltrating this party tonight. Not a pleasant thought. “Oh—hi, Ian!’” Eve was scanning the room, and as Claire glanced at her, Eve shook her head and mimed going to the next room. Claire begged her not to go, at least with her eyes, but the thick makeup probably disguised her desperation.

  “I’m so glad you came!’” Ian said. He hardly had to raise his voice at all to be heard over the roar; he just had that kind of voice, and plus, it was a blessedly dull roar in here. “Can I get you some punch?’”

  “Um…do you have anything that’s not, you know…?’”

  “Right, yeah. How about some water?’”

  “Water would be wonderful.’” Where the hell was Eve? She’d ducked behind two tall guys and now Claire couldn’t see her, and she felt alone and very vulnerable just standing here in her fake Goth getup, and God, this makeup itched; how did Eve stand it? Claire wanted a shower, wanted to scrub her face clean, and wanted to put on plain jeans and a plain T-shirt and never be adventurous again.

  Shane. Think about Shane. She felt an uncomfortable twist of guilt that she’d ever let him slip out of her thoughts, even for a minute.

  Ian came back with a bottle of water, the top already off. “Here you go,’” he said, and handed it over. He was drinking water, too, not the punch stuff. “Crazy, huh?’”

  “Crazy,’” she agreed. In a town full of vampires, this was just about the craziest idea she could imagine, putting a bunch of drunk, horny college kids in a place where vampires could blend right in. “Did you see where my friend went?’”

  “Girls,’” Ian sighed. “Always travel in packs. Yeah, she went into the library. Come on.’”

  Claire gulped water as she followed him, stepping carefully over the legs of several people who’d decided the kitchen floor looked like a good place to sit down for a chat. And oh God, what was that couple in the corner doing? She blushed under the makeup and looked quickly away, focusing on the back of Ian’s neck. He’d missed a spot on the makeup. It looked pink.

  The next room had people, too, but not quite as many as the kitchen and it was practically deserted compared to the dance room. Library was a generous word. It had books, but not as many as Claire would have thought, and most of them were old textbooks. Some were being defaced by people wielding black markers and pens, giggling with one another over the results.

  No sign of Eve.

  “Huh,’” Ian said. “Hang on.’” He went to ask a question of another guy, taller, dressed in a silky-looking black shirt open halfway down to reveal a strong, muscular chest. It took a while. Claire swigged more water, grateful for the moisture because even the library was steaming hot, and almost wiped at her face before she remembered the careful makeup job.

  There was no sign of Sam in this room, either. While Ian was talking, Claire went over to one of the girls defacing books. She looked vaguely familiar—maybe somebody from chemistry? Anna something?

  “Hi—Anna?’” It must have been right; the girl looked up. “Have you seen Sam? Red hair…maybe wearing a brown leather jacket…?’” Although he had to have taken it off, in this heat. “Blue eyes?’”

  “Oh, sure. Sam. He’s upstairs somewhere.’” Anna went back to her book sabotage, which seemed to involve drawing devils and pitchforks. Upstairs. Claire needed to get upstairs, but most importantly, she needed to find Eve. Fast.

  Ian came back. “She went upstairs,’” he said. “She’s looking for a guy named Sam, right?’”

  “Yeah,’” Claire said. “Would you mind if—?’”

  “No, sure, I’ll go with you.’” He looked at the drained bottle in Claire’s hand. “Want some more?’”

  She nodded. He grabbed a bottle from an ice-filled cooler and handed it over. She cracked the seal and took another life-giving mouthful as Ian led the way to the stairs.

  The heat was making her feel slow and disconnected. She wanted to pour the cold water over her face, but realized just in time—again—about the makeup. Stupid makeup.

  The stairs seemed to go on forever, and it was like dancing around land mines; people were sitting on just about every step, some talking,
some mumbling to themselves, some passing joints back and forth. Oh man. She really needed to get out of here, fast.

  The upstairs landing seemed like a paradise of open space, and Claire clung to the handrail and breathed for a few seconds. Ian came back to get her. “You okay?’” he asked. She nodded. “I don’t know which room he’s in. We’ll just have to look.’”

  She followed him. He swung open the first door on the hall, and behind him she saw about ten people talking very intensely. They all looked at Ian with a definite Get out vibe, and as he shut the door, Claire realized that all ten of them were vampires.

  Not Sam, though, but given what Sam had told her, and what she’d heard from Michael and Eve, that made sense. He’d be hanging around the humans, right? The vampires didn’t want any part of him.

  “Wrong room,’” Ian said unnecessarily, and moved to the next one. She couldn’t see over his shoulder, but he closed it in a hurry. “Really wrong room. Sorry.’”

  There were about ten doors on the hallway, but they didn’t get that far. Claire was feeling kind of light-headed—in fact, she was dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. She took another gulp from the bottle, but that just seemed to make her feel nauseous. As Ian opened the fourth door, she said, “I don’t feel so good.’”

  Ian smiled and said, “Well, that was fast,’” and shoved her into the room. “I thought I was going to have to work a little harder, but you’re pretty easy.’”

  There were three other guys in the room. She didn’t know any of them…. No, wait, one looked familiar.

  The jerk from the UC coffee bar, the one who’d been so mean to Eve. He was one of them. She turned toward Ian, confused, but he was locking the door.

  Her knees felt wobbly, and so did her head. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong…but she hadn’t had anything to drink. She’d been careful….

  Not careful enough. The first water bottle he’d brought her, he’d opened it first.

  Stupid, Claire. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But he’d seemed so…nice.

  “You don’t want to do this,’” she said, and backed up as one of the guys reached for her. There wasn’t a lot of space. It was somebody’s bedroom, most of it taken up by a bed, a dresser with the drawers hanging half-open. Dirty laundry piled in a corner. Oh God. It hit her hard that Eve had no idea where she was, she had no cell phone, and even if she screamed, no one would hear her over the music. Or care.

  She remembered what Eve had done that terrible evening after the biker shoved his way in. You need a weapon. Yeah, but Eve was older and bigger, and wasn’t drugged at the time….

  She nearly tripped over a baseball bat sticking out from under the bed. She grabbed it and took up a bleary, weaving batting stance. “Don’t touch me!’” she said, and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Eve! Eve! I need help!’”

  She took a wild swing at Ian, who was strolling forward, and he ducked it easily. She reversed and slammed the butt end of the bat toward him, and that one, he didn’t duck. It hit him squarely in the mouth, and he staggered back, bleeding.

  “You bitch!’” he said, and spit blood. “Oh, you are gonna pay for that.’”

  “Hold up,’” said the coffee bar jerk, who was leaning against the door with his arms folded. “You put the full dose in her bottle, right? And she drank it?’”

  Ian nodded. He fished around in the laundry pile and found a sock to press against his mouth and nose. Good. She hoped it was filthy. And had athlete’s foot on it.

  “Then all we have to do is wait a couple of minutes,’” the jerk said. “She’s not going anywhere except to la-la land.’” He high-fived his buddies. Ian continued to glare at her. They were all between her and the door. There was a window, but it was the second floor and she wasn’t even steady enough to stand, much less free-climb. Claire gripped the bat in sweaty, numbed hands, and saw sparkles at the edges of her vision. Everything looked bleary. She felt waves of heat sweep over her, and then an icy chill. Michael? Was Michael here? No, Michael couldn’t leave the house….

  Somehow, she was sliding down to a sitting position on the floor. The bat was still clutched in her hands, but she was tired, very tired, and she felt so sick and hot….

  Somebody rattled the doorknob. Claire summoned up whatever was left of her strength and screamed, “Help! Get help! Eve!’”

  Ian said, and grinned at Claire with bloody teeth, “Just somebody looking for a place to screw. Don’t worry, baby. We won’t hurt you. Not that you’ll remember, anyway.’”

  She pretended to be worse off than she really was (although truthfully, she was pretty bad) and, mumbling, let her eyes drift half-closed.

  “That’s it,’” the coffee bar jerk said. “She’s out. Get her on the bed.’”

  She’d never really done this before, but she was imagining hard how Eve would have handled it. She let the bat kind of wobble and fall to rest in her lap, aligned with her leg, as if it had gotten too heavy to hold up. (Not quite. Just nearly.)

  And when Ian walked up to grab her, she brought the bat straight up with as much force as she could manage. It smacked him right where it would hurt the most, and Ian crumpled with a high-pitched, breathless scream, huddled in on himself.

  Claire forced her legs to hold her, and slid back up to a standing position. She was leaning for support, and lucky to be in a corner, where the two angled walls let her look like she wasn’t about to topple over. Her arms were shaking, and the guys would have seen that if she’d tried to raise the bat, so she tapped it casually against her leg. “Who wants some?’” she asked. “I won’t hurt you. Much.’”

  It was all show, and they only had to wait. Coffee Bar Jerk knew that, all too well, and she could feel the drug—what the hell was it?—stealing away her concentration, her strength, making her slow and stupid and all-too-easy prey.

  Shane, she thought, and forced herself to stand upright just a little longer. Shane needs me. I’m not letting this happen.

  “You’re bluffing,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said, and came around the bed. Claire took a swing at him, missed, and smacked the bat into the wood so hard it rattled her teeth.

  He grabbed the bat on the backswing and easily twisted it out of her grip. He tossed it to one of the other two guys, who caught it one-handed. “That,’” he said, “was really stupid. This could have been real nice and easy, you know that, right?’”

  “I have Amelie’s Protection,’” Claire said.

  He grabbed her by the throat of her sheer black skull-printed shirt, and dragged her forward. Her legs folded when she tried to pull away.

  “I don’t care,’” he said. “I’m not from this stupid town. None of us are. Monica said that was the way to go, to get around the dumbass rules, whatever they are. Whoever Amelie is, she can kiss my ass. After you’re done doing it.’”

  The door to the hall gave a dry, metallic pop, and swung slowly open. Claire blinked and tried to focus her eyes, because there was someone standing there. No, two someones. One had red hair. Wasn’t there something about red hair…? Oh yeah. Sam had red hair. Sam the vampire. Sam I Am. Michael’s grandpa, wasn’t that just too weird?

  The door no longer had a knob on the outside. The one on the inside fell out with a dull thud to the carpet and rolled under the bed.

  “Claire!’” Oh, that was Eve. “Oh my God…’”

  “Excuse me,’” Sam said, “but what did you say about Amelie?’”

  Coffee Bar Jerk let go of Claire’s top, and she slid back down the wall. She fumbled around for something to use for a weapon, but all she came up with was another set of filthy socks that had missed the laundry. For some reason, that seemed funny. She giggled and rested her head against the wall to let her neck relax. Her neck was working too hard.

  “I said that Amelie can kiss my ass, Red. And what are you going to do about it? Stare me to death?’”

  Sam just stood there. Claire couldn’t see anything about him change, but it was like the room just went…co
ld. “You really don’t want to do this,’” Sam said. “Eve, go get your friend.’”

  “Yeah, Eve, come on in, we’ve got a nice big bed!’” Ian giggled. “I hear you know how to have a real good time.’” He tossed the bloody sock he’d been pressing to his nose down on the floor and got ready to grab Eve if she came inside. Sam looked at the discarded sock for a second, then picked it up and squeezed it, drizzling blood into the palm of his hand.

  And then he licked it up. Slowly. Meeting the eyes of every guy facing him.

  “I said,’” he whispered, “you really don’t want to do this.’”

  Claire heard a great big buzzing in her head, like a hive full of bees. Oh, I’m going to pass out, because that was gross.

  “Shit,’” Ian whispered, and backed up. Fast. “You’re sick, man!’”

  “Sometimes,’” Sam agreed. “Eve, go get her. Nobody’s going to touch you.’”

  Eve cautiously edged past him, hurried to Claire, and gave her a fast embrace before she hauled her upright again. “Can you walk?’”

  “Not very well,’” Claire said, and gulped down nausea. The world kept coming in hot and cold flashes, and she felt like she was going to throw up, but somehow it was all smeared and funny, even the terror in Eve’s eyes.

  Not so funny when Coffee Bar Jerk decided to grab Eve, though.

  He lunged over the bed, reaching for Eve’s wrist—Claire was too fuzzy to know why he was doing it. Maybe he was hoping to use her as some kind of shield against Sam. But whatever he meant, it was a bad decision.

  Sam moved in a flicker, and when Claire blinked, Coffee Bar Jerk was up against the wall, eyes wide, staring at Sam’s face from a distance of about three inches.

  “I said,’” Sam whispered, “nobody was going to touch her. Are you deaf?’”

  Claire didn’t see it, but she imagined he probably flashed some fang right about then, because Coffee Bar Jerk whimpered like a sick dog.

  The other boys moved out of Eve’s way without even trying to stop her.