Starblood Trilogy

by Carmilla Voiez

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…Hey, you’ve thought this through, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s okay. I know you’re thinking it’s only a matter of time before I’m assimilated, worn down and altered by the force that is Raven. You’ve probably placed bets on how long it takes me to dye my hair or get piercings.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Donna cuts in, squeezing Sarah’s hand. ‘We all love you, just the way you are.’

  Freya frowns and returns to her beer. Silence settles over the room. Sarah realises she is shaking. Her throat feels as though she’s swallowed something big and sharp and it’s caught half way down. Taking another sip of absinthe, she watches Freya through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Here,’ says Raven, shimmying into the room in her PVC corset and buckled hobble skirt. A powdered arm, heavy with silver bracelets reaches out and lifts the bottle of vodka. Raven uses a straw to preserve the perfection of her painted lips. The woman looks incredible. Her figure and height scream power and beauty. Realising she is staring, Sarah looks away.

  ‘So Star, spill the beans, how did it go with Satori?’ Raven’s tongue licks the front of her teeth then she smiles at Sarah.

  ‘Okay I guess,’ Sarah answers.

  ‘Okay? I don’t believe you, Star. Satori is heavenly. Don’t spare any of the details. You know, since he who shall remain nameless, I’ve been living my love-life by proxy. You have to tell me everything.’ Raven towers over Star.

  Sarah shudders. Images of the unnameable man flash through her mind. The bruises Raven inflicted, the broken nose and torn earlobe, stand as testament to an act of violence Sarah struggles to comprehend. How could a person tear another apart like that? Tilting her face, she looks again at her friend - five-foot-ten in bare feet with a generous hour-glass figure. It is true that jealousy turns love to madness, and Raven’s height and Amazonian build lend strength to her fury. Never cross her, Sarah thinks, shaking her head.

  Sarah cannot control her shaking hands. ‘It wasn’t like that, Raven.’ She doesn’t want to say what it was like. Even if the details were less confused she wouldn’t want to share them.

  Raven looks disappointed for a moment. She sucks her straw then checks her watch. ‘I have something Ivy needs for her set tonight. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to get to the club early. Drink up, girls.’

  Sarah always wants to get to the club early, in spite of Raven’s assurances that only the pathetic ones arrive before eleven; the “beautiful people” swan in after the pubs close. Club Midian has two resident DJs, one of them plays Trad Goth, the likes of The Sisters of Mercy and The Cure, the other plays Industrial and EBM music, Combichrist, Covenant and VNV Nation. Sarah loves the Melodic, dark and slow Trad Goth. Johnny O who spins these disks for her listening pleasure is on from ten until eleven then twelve until one. He always starts the night with the dark eighties music she adores. Poison Ivy, the other DJ, plays the floor fillers from eleven until twelve and one until the club closes at two.

  Most nights Raven insists that they arrive later. ‘We are the uber-goobers, the goddesses of Goth. We have to show them that we’re cool. We’re not going yet.’

  Without complaint Freya, Donna and Sarah stand up. They tidy away their bottles and glasses in the kitchen and shrug into their coats. Sarah gasps as she sees Raven’s new jacket. It is black satin with a luxurious fur trim around the collar and hem. Raven smiles and picks up her coffin-shaped handbag. Together, the four of them head towards the club.

  Chapter 21

  A queue has formed outside the club door and Raven stares at the end of it, a look of horror on her face. Sarah scans along it, searching for familiar faces. The kids are here, their faces hidden behind long fringes. There are more t-shirts and jeans than she would like to see, although there is the glint of PVC under some of the jackets and coats. She has to admit that Raven is right though. In the club hierarchy, these patrons are definitely on the lower tiers. The idea that Raven might actually know what she’s talking about amuses Sarah and she has to stifle a giggle.

  ‘I can’t queue,’ Raven declares. She shakes her head as if trying to dispel the memory of a nightmare.

  Raven walks across to the door, Sarah and the others follow her. Two doormen stand by the closed entrance; both have shaven heads and their bare arms are crossed over their sculpted chests. She approaches the nearest man. His arms are covered in tattoos and his ear lobes have been stretched by thick, black plugs. He is tall, but in her heeled boots Raven’s height is equal to his. She leans forward to whisper in his ear. Sarah watches her friend’s forefinger gently stroke the man’s bicep as she speaks to him. She turns back to her friends smiling as the bouncer opens the door.

  Great job Raven. They pay for their entry as the first group of misfits swell in behind them. Their coats are checked and their first drinks purchased before anyone else reaches the top of the stairs.

  Sarah sits on a sticky vinyl seat, swaying her torso in time to the gentle music. Raven leaves her drink on the table and marches towards the DJ’s pulpit. Johnny spins a Dead Can Dance track, a beautiful song, but it reminds Sarah of Steve. She takes a large sip of her drink and prays to the goddess he doesn’t come tonight.

  The intro to Lullaby chimes through the foggy club air and Sarah leaps up.

  ‘Come on,’ she mouths at her friends. Freya shakes her head. Donna stands up and follows Sarah to the dance floor.

  ‘What was all that with Freya earlier?’ Donna shouts into Sarah’s ear. The noise is dampened by the heavy bass of the song and it takes a moment for Sarah to understand the question.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah says although as she finishes her sentence she already knows.

  ‘All that crap about dying her hair. What’s it to you what Freya looks like?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sarah says, frowning. ‘I guess it bugs me. Why is she so immune to Raven’s pressure?’

  ‘Ah, what you really mean is why aren’t you.’

  Sarah nods.

  ‘So why aren’t you?’ Donna asks, staring at Sarah’s face.

  Sarah’s cheeks burn and her eyes sting. She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Okay, but you know you need to figure this thing out, don’t you?’ Donna says, squeezing Sarah’s fingers. ‘So, what about Steve?’

  ‘I’m not seeing him again,’ Sarah says, still shaking her head.

  ‘But you were with him today?’

  ‘Last Saturday and today,’ Sarah admits, nodding slowly in case her words are lost in the music.

  ‘Why? You know the guy’s bad news.’ Donna moves closer. ‘It’s Okay, Sarah. We’ll work it out.’

  ‘What?’ Sarah asks, twisting her neck to face her friend.

  ‘You’re pregnant,’ Donna says.

  In spite of herself Sarah laughs. She laughs so hard her body bends double. When she comes back up for air Donna is staring at her; a look of confusion has a stranglehold over her face.

  ‘I’m not,’ Sarah manages to say. ‘The truth is so strange, you’d never believe it.’

  ‘Try me,’ Donna insists.

  ‘Bathroom break,’ Sarah says, leaving the dance floor.

  Club Midian’s toilets are infamous. At best a den of vice even Vermelho Road struggles to match, at worst flooded with urine, vomit and faeces. As yet the night is young and the only patron is reapplying makeup.

  Donna and Sarah huddle into the corner. It is easier to talk in whispers here. Although the music can still be heard, it is an insubstantial echo - a Siren, enticing patrons back to the dance floor.

  ‘So,’ Donna prompts, when Sarah struggles to find the words. ‘You saw Steve, your ex-boyfriend; the man you fell totally in love with and who drove you half-crazed, psychotic and potentially suicidal, last weekend.’

  ‘And today.’

  ‘But that’s okay, because you’re not going out with him anymore?’

  Sarah smiles. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I guess when you put it like that there’s no reason
to fear for my sanity at all.’

  Donna hugs her tight. ‘You’re not insane. You’re hormonal,’ she says grinning.

  ‘I promise you, Donna,’ Sarah says, serious now. ‘There was no sex, no kissing even. I’m helping him.’

  Donna moves back and stands quietly. Sarah feels the physical separation like a bottomless chasm opening between them. The woman by the mirror shuffles a little then leaves the bathroom. They are alone.

  ‘Did I tell you about my vision?’

  Donna nods.

  ‘Well it really happened. Steve summoned a demon and she’s out there somewhere, killing people - at least one man, maybe more. That gruesome murder by the tobacco factory, did you hear about that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sarah looks around the room, realising how crazed she sounds. What was Donna’s word? Psychotic, I sound completely psychotic. She looks at her friend’s sympathetic face and feels more alone than she has ever felt in her life. Donna will not believe me, how could she? Demons don’t exist.

  ‘Did Steve tell you this?’ Donna asks, pronouncing each word with care.

  Sarah snorts with laughter, her eyes dart from side to side searching for truth.

  ‘I’m crazy, aren’t I?’

  ‘No, no my love, you aren’t crazy. Maybe a little … gullible.’

  Yes, of course. Sarah tries to remember whether she mentioned her vision first. Is it all an elaborate lie to get me back into his bed? What about the room, the markings all over Steve’s body?

  ‘Aargh!’ she screams, pounding the heels of her hands hard against each temple, trying to squeeze out the confusion.

  ‘Shh, it’s okay,’ Donna says, moving Sarah’s hands and gently stroking her face. ‘Men, they fuck you up. Come and dance it all out.’

  Sarah nods and follows her friend back to the dance floor. When they return Raven has finished with Ivy and is scanning the room for them. She nods when she spots them and goes back to her drink. Looking across at the table, Sarah calculates it’s probably her third drink of the evening, if you don’t include the half bottle at home of course.

  Alice is playing. Sarah loves this song. She mouths the words as she dances to the Sisters of Mercy track. Goth music: the soundtrack to her insane life. The music resonates in the deepest parts of her. It tells her she isn’t the only person who feels this way.

  Chapter 22

  Tonight Lilith feels free. Her time in canine form and her latest conquest leave her feeling alive.

  She is surprised the magician still hasn’t found her. What’s keeping him? Is he hiding somewhere, terrified to see me again? Surely he hasn’t given up already – time perhaps for a change of tactics.

  She concentrates on the image of her outfit. It must be perfect tonight. As the picture forms in her mind so her body changes to reflect her will. Clothes wrap themselves around her thighs and stomach. Her skirt is dense silk fitted to the knee then flared below. The heavy, liquid looking material hides her feet completely. Above, she creates a highly polished latex corset with curved horn shapes framing the tops of her exaggerated breasts. The corset is black and reflective, an obsidian mirror. Opera gloves, the same material as her skirt, encompass her slender arms.

  Her hair darkens until it reaches a deep blue-black, the colour of raven feathers. It thickens too, achieving an impressive volume. Her makeup alters. Deep red lipstick colours porn-star full lips, her skin a flawless alabaster, and her eyes drawn like Cleopatra’s with heavy thick lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Finally she stretches her neck and binds it in a latex collar which moves like her own skin.

  She admires the effect - pure villainess, the femme fatale.

  When she arrives at Club Midian the group of smokers outside halt their conversation and stare at her. They too stand tall and pale, black hair framing their own painted faces. Yet somehow the effect she achieves manages to eclipse their efforts. She hears them hold their breath as she glides across the threshold, up the stairs and out of their sight.

  The club is dark and full of a sweet smelling mist. Lilith cannot see the magician in the swarm of black wrapped bodies. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, she looks around the room. Dancers’ teeth glow, as do the white and neon flyers on every table. Shining drinks look like lanterns under the black light. It feels like home.

  She sees a man bouncing forwards and backwards across the dance floor. He wears a black coat and shiny jeans and the skin just below his mouth is pierced. A small metal spike juts outwards. Admiring the look, she adopts it as her own. Her spike is ebony and wags like a tail as she licks her lips.

  The music is fast, it pounds so furiously that her natural rhythm has to adjust to keep up with the beat.

  ‘I want to taste you, feel you, make you hurt,’rasp the deep vocals. Bodies and hair bounce in unison. In the centre of them all four girls dance together. One towers above the others. Her hairstyle is similar to Lilith’s, and she moves in an uncoordinated way—Raven. Another, the blonde girl from the rum bar with purple ribbons in her hair, sways slowly to the music, carefully moving out of Raven’s way whenever she staggers too close. The other two jump up and down with the rest of their tribe. Like a live volcano, swelling upwards and shrinking as one bubbling mass before finally exploding. One of the girls has short black hair, the other an abundance of dark ringlets, she is the one Lilith is interested in. The magician’s female—Star.

  Star bounces in perfect time. Her enormous boots look weightless. Lilith can only see the back of her. The thick black curls of her hair rise and fall as she leaps. Her shoulders and throat revealed in each descent. Her skirt lifts too, each time she falls back down to earth, like the petals of an exotic night flower, tempting insects to its core.

  The music changes, Star and her group leave the dance floor and cross to a table of drinks not far from where Lilith stands. The blonde and Raven fall onto the couch together, giggling. The other two stand behind stools and move their bodies in time to the music. They cradle drinks, but their movements are too controlled to spill the liquid.

  Violent lyrics repeat over a metallic drum beat. Lilith smiles, thinking back to the man by the factories: her first kill in this brave new world and sweetest so far. The others feel less exquisite in her memory, but the next one … She nods and smiles, watching Star enjoy the evening. She will take her time, become the corrupter of spirit rather than flesh.

  Three of the girls return to the dance floor as soft keyboards wash across the nightclub. The square of wooden boards fills and bodies crush together. Some stand still, others sway slightly as the soft vocals sing of regret and the passage of time. As the pace builds behind the voice, the movements of the dancers become more exaggerated then the bouncing starts again. Faces filled with joy blur with their rapid rises and falls.

  Star faces Lilith this time, her face as rapt as any other. Is this worship? To which god do these souls lay themselves bare, offering their tributes of sweat? Lilith does not join them. The music confuses her. She enjoys the role of voyeur for the moment.

  At midnight the music slows. The strains of a great organ replace the keyboard. The music sways as do the bodies still clinging to the wooden boards, after others have deserted them for drinks or rest. Star remains. Lilith watches as the woman’s body curves and arches, her thinly veiled arms rising above her head then twisting, like ivy, down to frame her face then descending further to cross her chest. The ritual is repeated again and again. Lilith looks at Star’s face; her eyes are closed and she looks as if in sexual ecstasy, writhing in pleasure at an unseen touch.

  Entranced, Lilith joins the dancers. She sways across the floor like a snake. Like the snake. Well it worked with Eve. When Star opens her eyes again Lilith dances beside her. Her body matching Star’s deep curls and twists, the pheromones in her scent mingling with the dry ice.

  Chapter 23

  Sarah stops bouncing and starts to sway her hips like a belly dancer on slow play. Johnny O has taken his place back in the
DJ’s booth and the harsh whisper of Moonchild fills her head.

  She closes her eyes and lets the melody fill her body. Her hands flutter around her face like falling leaves. She hears Freya move away to join Raven. She doesn’t have to check whether Donna will still be dancing beside her, she knows her friend too well.

  As she dances she feels her heart quicken. Her nostrils strain to grasp the meaning behind a heady new scent. She licks her lips. Feeling hot, she realises she is panting. She opens her eyes, trying to break the spell.

  It takes a moment to focus. Faces and bodies swim past her through the swirling mist. Donna is there; she too seems to be responding to something. Her hands stroke her breasts, lingering in ways not permissible in any other public place, but acceptable here in this safe haven.

  A movement to her right catches Sarah’s eye. The most beautiful woman she has ever seen moves so gracefully she could be liquid or air swirling and changing shape. The woman is tall, as tall as Raven, but slender. Her clothing reflects the purple glow of the lights and something else, some mystery upon which Sarah cannot quite focus. Her dark lips smile at Sarah. Blinking, Sarah smiles back and the mysterious woman moves closer. The scent gets stronger. It is incredible.

  Sarah has never felt attracted to a member of her own sex before this moment. She appreciates beauty whatever its source and can comfortably admire a woman’s figure or face, but never before now has she felt such an overwhelming desire to suck on a woman’s tongue or undress her and touch every part of her body with eager hands.

  The woman bends towards her and whispers in her ear. As she does Sarah stops breathing. She becomes a giant aural organ and lives only to listen. The woman’s hot sweet breath tickles her ear and cheek as she speaks.

  ‘Would you like to get a drink?’

  As she moves away again the sense of loss is profound. It takes a few moments for Sarah to understand the question. When she does she stretches up to whisper back. Her fingertips touch the latex collar wrapped around the woman’s throat. It feels like sensual quicksand, pulling her hands into the woman’s body.