Fallen - Lauren Kate [96]
“Oh good, you brought it.” He took the necklace from her hands and spun her around. “Let me help you put it on.”
“No, wait—”
“There,” he said. “It really suits you. Take a look.” He steered her along the creaking wooden floorboards to the window of the bar, where a number of bands had posted signs for shows. THE OLD BABIES. DRIPPING WITH HATE. HOUSE CRACKERS. Luce would rather have studied any of them than gaze at her reflection. “See?”
She couldn’t really make out her features in the mud-flecked windowpane, but the gold pendant gleamed on her warm skin. She pressed her hand to it. It was lovely. And so distinctive, with its tiny hand-sculpted serpent snaking up the middle. It wasn’t like anything you’d see at the boardwalk markets, where locals peddled overpriced crafts for tourists, state of Georgia souvenirs made in the Philippines. Behind her reflection in the window, the sky was a rich orange-Popsicle color, broken up by thin lines of pink cloud.
“About last night …,” Cam started to say. She could vaguely see his rosy lips moving in the glass over her shoulder.
“I wanted to talk to you about last night, too,” Luce said, standing at his side. She could see the very tips of the sunburst tattoo on the back of his neck.
“Come inside,” he said, guiding her back to the half-unhinged screen door. “We can talk in there.”
The interior of the bar was wood-paneled, with a few dim orange lamps providing the only light. All sizes and shapes of antlers were mounted on the wall, and a taxidermied cheetah was poised over the bar, looking ready to lunge at any moment. A faded composite picture with the words PULASKI COUNTY MOOSE CLUB OFFICERS 1964-65 was the only other decoration on the wall, showcasing a hundred oval faces, smiling modestly above pastel bow ties. The jukebox was playing Ziggy Stardust, and an older guy with a shaved head and leather pants was humming, dancing alone in the middle of a small raised stage. Besides Luce and Cam, he was the only other person in the place.
Cam pointed to two stools. The worn green leather cushions had split down the middle, the beige foam bursting out like massive pieces of popcorn. There was already a half-empty glass at the seat Cam claimed. The drink in it was light brown and watered down with ice, beaded with sweat.
“What’s that?” Luce asked.
“Georgia moonshine,” he said, taking a gulp. “I don’t recommend it to start.” When she squinted at him, he said, “I’ve been here all day.”
“Charming,” Luce said, fingering the gold necklace. “What are you, seventy? Sitting in a bar by yourself all day?”
He didn’t seem obviously drunk, but she didn’t like the idea of coming all the way out here to break things off with him, only to have him be too trashed to understand it. She was also starting to wonder how she’d get back to school. She didn’t even know where this place was.
“Ouch.” Cam rubbed his heart. “The beauty of being suspended from class, Luce, is that no one misses you during class. I thought I deserved a little recovery time.” He cocked his head. “What’s really bothering you? Is it this place? Or the fight last night? Or the fact that we’re getting no service?” He raised his voice to shout the last words, loud enough to cause a huge, burly bartender to swing in from the kitchen door behind the bar. The barman had long, layered hair with bangs, and tattoos that looked like braided human hair running up and down his arms. He was all muscle and must have weighed three hundred pounds.
Cam turned to her and smiled. “What’s your poison?”
“I don’t care,” Luce said. “I don’t really have my own poison.”
“You were drinking champagne at my party,” Cam said. “See who’s paying attention?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Your finest champagne over here,” he told the bartender, who threw back his head and let out a snide hacking laugh.
Making no attempt to card her or even to glance at her long