Marty’s talking with a guy who’s almost seven feet tall. His red

spikes graze the ceiling. He glances at me with a set of red eyes and

a nose that looks like he gets into a lot of fights. “More convenient

than a buzzer,” I go.

The red-haired giant looks away, bored.

“Tristan, that’s Ignacio.” Marty nods at the red-haired giant.

“And this is Lisbit, my future wife.” He leans against the wooden

podium toward a girl with a slender pale face. Everything about her is

pointy, from her chin to the upturned tip of her nose to the black

points she’s painted over her eyelids.

“The little merman,” she says. Her voice is deep and smooth. “It

is wonderful to meet you. Hang on.” A second knock echoes in the room.

It feels like it’s coming from everywhere all at once. She opens a

silver box in front of her and pushes the red button. I stand aside,

waiting for the tumble that never comes. Kurt takes one step in,

balancing perfectly at the top of the steps. He holds on to Layla’s

hands as she passes through. I can see her shiver with the sudden

coldness of the metal door. She gasps when she looks down the short

steps. She pulls herself up straight and they stand facing each other,

holding hands.

“How did you know not to fall down the steps?” I say,

unsuccessfully keeping the annoyance from my voice.

He shrugs. “It’s only logical not to rush right into unfamiliar

territory.”

Naturally.

Lisbit’s eyes flare as she stares at Kurt. She glances at Layla,

who lets go of Kurt’s hands and stuffs them in her back pockets. Layla

looks from Ignacio to Lisbit’s gold shorts to the lights floating all

about. They’re like the ones on the island but smaller. She reaches

out and touches one, then pulls her finger back with a jerk. “Ouch,

they’re hot.”

The corners of Lisbit’s plum-painted lips lift in a sly smile.

“Curiosity killed the human girl. Be careful you don’t go doing that

in there.”

Ignacio unlocks the door behind him. This one does have a knob. He

steps aside. I hold on to the knob, tense at the thought that my hand

might go right through.

I turn it.

I push it.

The music blares.

First thing’s the stage. Red velvet curtains are draped open to

frame the band. Hundreds of floating lights cluster above a four-girl

band. They are red and black and white versions of the Beach Boys-but

girls. In skin-tight polka-dot dresses, they ohhh and ahhh to the

swaying crowd. Their logo, “The Vampirettes,” is centered on their

bass drum, enclosed by a set of red lips with two glossy fangs.

“Are they really vampires?” I hear Layla ask behind me. Her voice

is a mixture of wonder and dread.

“What do you think?” Marty answers suggestively.

To the left are seating areas of couches and tall circular tables

with barstools made of a curling black metal. To the right there’s a

bar with hundreds of glass bottles in all heights and shapes. None of

them have labels on them. Some are full of a familiar fizzy green

liquid. A thin green girl with paper-thin wings retracted against her

shoulder blades pours a goopy red liquid and what must be champagne

into a tall, skinny flute glass and slides it to a girl about my age.

“That’s a bloody mimosa.” Marty puts an arm around me. “That’s

Rhine, the bartender. She’s a pixie. The guy bartender, Adam, is just

human. He’s part of the Coney freak show upstairs.” He points to a guy

covered in tattoos, from the top of his bald head, down his shirtless

torso, and down to the tips of his fingers.

We weave across the dance floor. Behind me, a girl with feathery

wings and owl eyes is bouncing around and twirling Layla under her arm

in that cute way girls do when they dance together. Kurt hunches and

scowls more and more with everyone who bumps into him.

Layla dances around me now. We’re on the outside of the dance

floor. Something slimy brushes against my hand, but it’s too dark to

really make out anything that isn’t right in front of my face. I feel

a pinch on my butt. “Hey, now.” But my insides are bursting because

it’s Layla. She cocks her head to the side, moving her shoulders up

and down to the poppy guitar rock. She traces her finger along my

cheek, and I can’t help it: I wrap my hands around her waist. Maybe

it’s the atmosphere, or maybe she sneaked something to drink while I

wasn’t looking, but she laughs in my ear.

Then something in my gut turns. I breathe in her hair, and it

doesn’t smell like anything. It smells clean, like air conditioner. I

hold her face, and a grin that is very un-Layla spreads on her face.

Her eyes aren’t the honey I’m used to. I look around. What if

something is possessing her? Behind me, Layla and Kurt finally pull

through the jam-packed dance floor.

The Layla in front of me cackles in a way that sounds so wrong

coming from her pretty face. The Layla behind me stares, eyes wide.

She closes the gap between the three of us so that the two of them

stand facing each other in front of me. I grab the other Layla’s

ponytail and bring it to my nose. Lavender.

“What the-”

Layla touches un-Layla’s nose. “Does my nose really do that when I

smile?”

The un-Layla starts stretching, her hair shortening and darkening,

jaw squaring, shoulders broadening until Marty’s form returns. I jump

back.

“Surprised?” Marty the shape-shifter asks me.

“Dude, you pinched my ass.”

“You’ve got that whole merman prince thing going for you. What can

I say? I’m a social climber.” He walks backward down the tight table

aisles. “I’ve got some people I want you to meet.”

“Is the seer going to be one of them?” Kurt asks, all business all

the time. I’m having fun down here. I can’t remember the last time I

felt fun. Like reliable Tristan Hart who’d take any dare, who could

get any girl. Me. Fun. Before the storm, those two things were

supposed to be synonymous.

“One thing at a time,” I say, following Marty and letting my

friends fall in line.

•••

In a corner where there are not twinkling floating lights, but

brass gas lamps fastened on the walls, is a group of guys who look

like they should be on the cover of one of my dad’s ’80s rock records.

They have the long tousled hair, the leather, the ripped jeans, and

the perpetual look of amused boredom. I feel awkward here, the

uninvited kid at the party who just stands there. I have never been

that kid until right now, and it sucks.

Marty walks up to a tall blond guy who wears a white undershirt

and a black leather vest. They talk to a guy who looks about my age,

maybe eighteen. Although that doesn’t mean much in a place like this

if Kurt is 103. The second guy has brown hair that comes to his

shoulders. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and has a predatory slouch. The

sunny outfit contrasts with his pale skin, and my senses scream-

vampire .

“Why does everyone seem so serious?” Layla asks.

Marty shrugs. “You try being immortal. You get to be seventeen and

human, and your problems are bad enough. Then when you’re seventeen

forever, you have bigger things to worry about.”

The vampire in the Hawaiian shirt focuses on me. His eyes aren’t

exactly a spectacular color. I’d think they’d be red or super black,

but other than the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, I’d

figure he was just a really white kid who never slept.

He lifts his chin at me and holds out his hand. It’s like grabbing

something out of the freezer.