Blood on the Moon

by Jennifer Knight

  I watched her turn and walk toward the building next to mine.

  “What time?” I called out.

  “An hour! Meet us out here.”

  “Okay,” I grumbled. I thought briefly of calling Derek, so I wouldn’t have to endure a blind date, but I knew that would be wrong. I didn’t want to lead him on.

  I went upstairs and found Ashley sitting on her bed, talking loudly on her cell phone—to Mark, probably. Giving her a wave, I threw my bags under my bed, which I had raised to its highest setting so that I could fit all my junk underneath.

  After showering, I stood in front of my tiny closet, doing the I-don’t-have-anything-to-wear-that-looks-good thing. I did that for ten minutes before deciding on my low-riding jeans with the accidentally-on-purpose hole in the thigh and a dark red shirt that had little veins of sparkly thread in it. I straightened my hair so that it lay in a glossy sheet down my back and took care lining my eyes with makeup. I grabbed my black leather boots and a small purse to keep my keys and phone in and shrugged on my jacket.

  I entered the courtyard outside my dorm and spotted Heather and Pete hugging near a bench. As I reached them, their vibes mulled over me, both excited and warm.

  “Ready to go?” Heather asked.

  “Yep,” I said briskly.

  “Cameron’s meeting us at the club,” Heather explained.

  Oh, goody.

  We took Pete’s car into Old Town and parked on the side of the road in front of a small park, a few blocks from the club. I jumped out of the back seat and wrapped my arms around my body, freezing. Heather and Pete walked hand in hand down the brick sidewalk; neither of them were wearing jackets.

  I could feel my teeth chattering.

  Heather must have heard it too because she laughed and said, “It’s only fifty-five degrees outside, Faith. It’s not that cold. Wait until winter hits. Now that’s cold.”

  “I’m not cold,” I said.

  “You’re a bad liar.” She looked backward at me and I gave her a strained smile that took an enormous effort to carve out of my frozen face.

  As we approached Zydeco’s, I saw a large crowd out front where people were squashed together, trying to get in. Heather, Pete, and I pushed our way into the throng. It wasn’t more than five minutes before a male voice in my ear made me jump.

  “Sup, girl?”

  I turned and felt a wave of revulsion roll over me.

  Mark.

  I turned away without saying a word.

  “What’s your problem?” Mark asked.

  I was so outraged that he was acting like he never threatened me that I actually gave him a response.

  “You know exactly what my problem is,” I said, edging my way closer to the entrance. Mark was pressed up against my side, jostled by the crowd. I elbowed him away.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” he said pleasantly.

  Then I whirled around on him and whispered fiercely in his face.

  “You threatened me and punched me in the stomach. Don’t think I forgot just because I never reported you to the police for assault.”

  Mark was unfazed.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t report me,” he said. “Because you have no proof. And as far as I’m concerned the whole thing never happened. Maybe you had a nightmare.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “If I’m not going to get you arrested, don’t you think you at least owe me an apology?”

  Mark turned his ugly face toward mine. He had this aggravating look of innocence as he said, “Apologize for what?”

  I just about smacked him right then and there, but Heather grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the entrance of the club. I heard Mark guffawing as the bouncer stamped our hands to signify that we couldn’t drink. I was seething as we walked inside.

  The room was decked out in Mardi Gras colors, green and purple lights streaked across the crowds and unnecessarily loud techno music blared. But the blob of rhythmically throbbing bodies dancing did look inviting. I hoped this Cameron guy would dance with me—at least that way we wouldn’t have to have that awkward first-date conversation.

  “I wonder where Cameron is!” Heather shouted over the music.

  Heather took my hand and led me to a table at the back of the club. There were only five or so tables, so we were lucky to find one available. All three of us sat down and scanned the room for Cameron.

  “Oh, there he is!” Heather yelled after a few minutes. “See him, Faith? With the curly hair?”

  I turned and looked in the direction of Heather’s waving. There was a mildly attractive boy walking toward us with dark curly hair that fell to his chin and a thick goatee. He had a nice smile, very white and sparkly, like a toothpaste ad.

  He walked up and smiled at me.

  “You must be Faith,” he said. He had a deep voice, even and steady.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re Cameron, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. He looked over at Heather and Pete and waved.

  “You mind if Pete and I go dance?” Heather asked eagerly.

  I shot a furtive glance at Cameron. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  I watched Heather and Pete abandon me and then meld into each other on the dance floor.

  I kept my eyes on them to avoid looking at Cameron as he sat down next to me. I felt his vibe and I could tell he was sweet, a nice guy. Like Derek.

  “So,” he said. “Where’re you from?”

  “San Diego.”

  “Aw, cool!” he said. “You surf?”

  I tried really hard to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “Nope,” I said shortly. “Where’re you from?”

  “Denver.”

  Suddenly I perked up and turned toward him. If he was from Denver, maybe he’d heard something about the murders.

  “Denver, really?” I said, sounding as friendly and interested as possible. “You go there to visit a lot?”

  Cameron shrugged his skinny shoulders and said, “Yeah, I just went to visit my . . . my ex-girlfriend last weekend. We broke up.”

  “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

  Cameron looked away and fiddled with the chain hanging around his neck.

  “No biggie,” he said. “I’m all moved on.” He smiled stiffly. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

  I forced a laugh out. “So did you hear anything about those murders while you were there?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cameron said, nodding solemnly. I watched his hair flop into his eyes as his head moved. “Five so far, right? My dad’s a cop, so he’s got all this inside info. But that’s all classified.” He laughed a little. “Man, I feel like such a nerd saying ‘it’s classified, ma’am.’”

  I laughed too. This time it wasn’t fake.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “You can tell me the classified stuff.”

  He bit his top lip for a moment and then said, “Aw, what the hell, eh?”

  I leaned in, eager to hear this classified info.

  “They have a special investigator on the case. He’s seen all the crime scenes and says that it’s impossible to drain a person of their blood without leaving traces of it around someplace.” I must have made some kind of confused expression because Cameron said, “There wasn’t even a single drop of blood from the victims at the crime scenes. Not a single drop. My dad said the special investigator’s never seen anything like it. The whole thing’s got him stumped.”

  “Wow.” I shivered.

  Cameron looked away. “I feel bad for those girls. I get worried about Alex sometimes, my ex. She still lives in Denver.”

  I put my hand over his bony arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. The skin to skin contact zapped me and I stifled a surge of annoyance.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure. I was worried for Alex now, too.

  He looked up at me, blind hope in his eyes. “Yeah?” he said hoarsely.

  I smiled and nodded.

  “
Listen,” I said. “I can tell you still like your ex—”

  “No, I—” Cameron sat up straight and started to interrupt me, but I held my hand up and he stopped.

  “It’s okay. I can tell you still like her, so we don’t have to make this a thing. If you want to go, that’s fine, too. I’m not looking for anything here.” I gestured between our bodies, to show I meant us.

  Cameron made a face like he was impressed.

  “Wow,” he said. “No girl’s ever been so cool about stuff like this. They usually get all crazy and go off on me.”

  I let out a puff of laughter. “Well, I guess I’m just easygoing.” I’m stubborn as hell, but whatever.

  Cameron smiled this little half-smile and he stood up.

  “Thanks,” he said. He held out his hand and I shook it, feeling completely dumb and awkward. I watched him zigzag his way to the front doors and disappear.

  At least that whole thing was done with. I hadn’t been looking forward to putting up a happy façade all night long. This was better. Alone was better.

  But it looked like I wasn’t going to be alone for long because Heather and Pete came barreling back to the table only minutes later.

  “What happened to Cameron?” Heather asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

  “He had to take off.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Faith! I thought he’d be great for you.”

  “He was fine.”

  “Do you want to dance with Pete?” she asked.

  I laughed at Pete’s horrified expression. “No,” I said. “Don’t worry, Pete, I won’t put you through the torture of dancing with me.”

  Pete laughed nervously.

  “Well—I feel so bad!” Heather said, grabbing my arm. “Do you want to leave?”

  “No. You guys go dance. I’m good here.”

  Heather gave me one last “I’m sorry” look and took off with Pete. I returned to staring at the table for a while, brooding over things I couldn’t change when I felt a presence standing behind me. I turned and saw a wall of blood red fabric. I looked up . . . and up and up . . . and saw a face grinning down at me.

  A sexy face.

  “Hello,” he said. “I noticed that you were sitting alone, and I thought I might keep you company?” He had a soft, gentle voice. Like harp strings plucking. But I noticed he had an unusually cold vibe.

  I nodded and stared as he lowered himself into the seat previously occupied by Cameron. He was holding two martini glasses, and he placed one in front of me. He didn’t look like he was twenty-one.

  “I am Vincent Stone,” he said. “What, may I ask, is your name?”

  I swallowed and tore my eyes from him. I looked at the table instead. The table was much safer.

  “Faith,” I said.

  “Lovely to meet you.”

  I glanced up into his eyes, which were deep, dark brown, like bitter chocolate. The tips of his chestnut- colored hair fell into them, and I smiled and blushed, looking away again. Why is this guy talking to me? He should be sitting on a throne somewhere with throngs of supermodels throwing themselves at him.

  “Why so sad, Faith?” Vincent asked, leaning in a bit so that his eyes were level with mine.

  I looked away yet again, this time to try and hide the truth in my eyes. He didn’t know my past, the reasons I had to be alone. Derek was the only one who knew about that and now I’d pushed him away. For good, this time.

  “You’d be surprised,” I said. I picked up the martini glass, stared at it for a second and then took a sip. I wrinkled my nose at the taste, but took another sip anyway.

  I felt Vincent’s eyes on me and I stole a look at him. He seemed to be waiting for something. Waiting for me to . . . what? Tell him why I was sad? Well, I wasn’t about to get into all that with a stranger.

  “My date took off,” I said.

  Vincent’s eyebrows twitched upward. “What an imbecile.”

  I laughed nervously. “It was a blind date. No biggie.”

  “I see,” Vincent said. “So, you are ... unattached?”

  I took another sip of the martini. “Yeah. I am so unattached.”

  “Wonderful,” Vincent said. He smiled widely and my stomach churned as I felt his cold vibe roll over me again. But that wasn’t all that made me feel sick. Vincent’s smile revealed something ... gross. He had abnormally pointy teeth, like shark teeth but less exaggerated. Strangely enough, they fit his handsome face, and I found myself thinking he’d look wrong without them.

  “So, unattached Faith,” Vincent said. “Are you a student?”

  “Yeah, I go to . . . to . . .” I couldn’t remember the name of my school. His cuteness must have been sucking my brain out.

  “CSU?” Vincent supplied helpfully.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Freshman?”

  I winced. “Am I that obvious?”

  “No,” he said, smiling. “Just young.”

  I nodded and stared into the blue liquid of the martini, thinking that Vincent wasn’t much older than me.

  I heard Vincent’s chair slide against the tile, and I looked up at him. He held his hand out and said, “Would you care to take a turn on the dance floor with me?”

  I smiled at his funny wording, figuring he was trying to make a joke. I debated for a second, and then thought, What the hell? I threw back the rest of the martini and jumped down from the chair. I tottered for a moment as the alcohol hit me and felt Vincent’s hand on my upper arm. I looked down and saw that he was wearing black leather gloves. I could understand that. It was cold in Colorado. But wearing them inside ...

  Vincent took my hand and towed me to the dance floor. There were bodies everywhere. Drunk, sweaty, stinky bodies. But I didn’t care. I loved to dance.

  After a while, Vincent placed another drink in my hand and I downed it. Now I was tipsy. Tipsy and trying to make myself forget about my issues with Derek, about my strange obsession with Lucas Whelan. Tipsy and throwing myself at Vincent. Sexy Vincent that talked funny and wore leather gloves inside.

  He moved like a snake, smooth and flowing, but seductive at the same time. It was fun to move with him, to dance with someone I didn’t know. I felt myself relaxing, succumbing to the dulling effect of the alcohol and Vincent’s too-cute-for-me smile.

  “Faith?” I heard someone yell from behind me.

  I turned around and my heart froze in my chest.

  Derek and Courtney were standing there hand in hand, so obviously on a date that I didn’t even register Derek’s expression at first. He looked like he’d never seen me before in his life. Like he couldn’t believe it was really me he was seeing dancing with Vincent. But as shocked as he was, it couldn’t have begun to compare with what I felt.

  “Derek?” I yelled over the music. “What are you doing here?”

  He blinked, glancing from me to Courtney and back again. “What are you doing here? And who is that?”

  I ignored his question. “Are you on a date? With her?” I was all but screaming at him. I knew I sounded borderline psycho, but I couldn’t make myself calm down. Something inside of me was protesting, raging at the thought of my disgusting suitemate dating my best friend ... or what used to be my best friend.

  Derek just stared at me, apparently unable to answer my questions, so Courtney took over. “Our first date ever!” she gushed. “Isn’t it fab? I wanted to tell you, but you’d already gone out.”

  Derek took a step closer to me. “Who is that, Faith?” His eyes shifted to Vincent. I heard the twang of envy in Derek’s voice—the same envy I suddenly felt—and all I wanted to do was make it worse. Make him hurt worse than I did.

  I slapped a smile on my face and drew in closer to Vincent, stumbling slightly in my high heels.

  “This is Vincent Stone!” I said with a sickening sweetness that rivaled Courtney’s.

  Derek scowled at me.

  “Are you drunk?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Vincent said, leering at Derek.r />
  Derek shot him a dirty look and said, “Faith, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “Oh, now you want to talk?” I said. “I’ve hardly heard from you in a month! Well, sorry but I’m busy.”

  “Quit it, Faith. Come here and talk to me.”

  “Why don’t you go talk to Courtney,” I said acidly. “She seems to be the only one you care about now.”

  As if on cue, Courtney bounced forward and thrust a clear plastic cup in Derek’s hand. “Come on, sweetie, let’s dance!”

  She pulled Derek away and I glared at him for as long as I could see him.

  Vincent put another drink in my hand.

  “Who was that?” he asked in my ear.

  “Nobody,” I said. I tossed the martini back. I was now drunk, which did nothing to tame my unstable emotions. And I had to go to the bathroom. I yanked Vincent’s shirt and pulled his face close.

  “I’ll be right back!” I hollered over the music. “Don’t go dancing with anymore strangers while I’m gone.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flashed a pointy smile and I tried to hide my grimace. Those teeth—I wondered if he’d had them sharpened on purpose. Some people did freaky stuff like that.

  I weaved my way through the crowd toward a hallway in the back of the room. I stumbled a little and grabbed onto the side of the brick wall. I’d just about made it to the bathroom when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It turned me around and I was facing another wall of fabric. But this fabric was black and shiny. Like leather. I looked up.

  “Lucas?” I shouted incredulously.

  Lucas stood over me, looking just like his normal sulky, good-looking self. He seemed totally out of place in this corny Mardi Gras club. I would have laughed, but I had to pee and I might have embarrassed myself.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. I reached up to remove his hand from my shoulder, but before I could touch it, he slipped it away. “What happened at lunch today? Why’d you run off so fast? I know you didn’t have a migraine because—”

  “What are you doing with Vincent Stone?” he asked roughly.

  I blinked and took a step back. “How is that any of your business?”

  “Because that guy’s a jerk. A major jerk, okay?”

  “Doesn’t seem like a jerk to me,” I said. “He’s a hell of a lot nicer to me than you are, that’s for sure!”