The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [24]
I am in a far more destructive, reckless mood than ever. I remember the stories I have been told about Jager — how he flirted shamelessly with the virgin followers of Hestia in the Greek era, danced in a fairy ring at midnight under the full moon, and spiced up a ceremony performed by a few modern-day Wiccans by making the elements called actually appear. I am in that kind of mood. I have nothing left to lose, and I want to change something. Destroy something.
I spin the mirror so that it faces away from me. I know what I will see if I look into its reflective illusion.
I bring myself to a small town in upstate New York that is hidden deep in the woods, beyond the sight of the human world, called New Mayhem. New Mayhem — the Mayhem Ather showed me three hundred years ago was nearly leveled by a fire a few years after I was first there.
I have been to New Mayhem several times, but I am the only one in my line who does not sleep within its boundaries. Aubrey has his home inside the walls of New Mayhem, and so I have always made mine elsewhere.
Even with the new hotel suites that house the mortals, the new bars, the new gyms, and the paved streets, New Mayhem is still an invisible town. The bartenders never ask for ID, the hotel doesn’t keep records of who comes and goes, and the nightclub is as strange as an ice-skating rink in Hell. No one ever comes, no one is ever there, no one ever leaves — at least, there would be no way to prove it should anyone ever look for receipts, or credit card numbers, or any written record of those who were there.
The heart of New Mayhem is a large building on which is painted a jungle mural. Around the doorway pulses a glowing red light from inside the club. This is where I go, barely even reading the name on the door: Las Noches.
The red strobe lamp is the only light inside Las Noches, giving the room a spinning, blood-washed effect. Mist covers the floor. The walls are all glass, mostly mirror, but in places there are eyes painted beneath the glass. The tables are polished black wood and look like satanic mushrooms growing from the mist. Pounding music, bass heavy enough that it makes our bodies vibrate in time with the beat, slams down from a speaker somewhere in the shadowed ceiling.
At the counter, which is also black wood, is a black-haired girl called Rabe, one of New Mayhem’s few inhabitants who are completely human. This early in the night Las Noches has a mixed crowd — more human than vampire, actually — but Rabe works here even when the crowd is completely vampire.
I turn away from Rabe and scan the room for the one person I seek. I find him sitting at a table with a human girl, though they do not appear to be talking. I walk purposefully to the back of the room, and ignoring the human, sit on the table. Chairs? Not for me, thank you.
Aubrey’s eyes widen, no doubt wondering when I became so bold. I do not look at the human girl, though I know she has not left the table. She is sitting very still, but I can hear her breath and her heartbeat.
“Risika, why are you sitting on the table?” Aubrey finally asks me.
“Why not?”
“There are chairs,” he points out. The girl behind me is slowly standing, inching away as if I might reach out and grab her if she catches my attention. I almost laugh. I am already smiling — the slow, lazy, mischievous smile of a cat.
“It seems your date is leaving, Aubrey,” I comment, and the girl freezes. “Is she more afraid of me than she is of you?”
“Go away, Christina,” Aubrey says to the frightened girl, who darts off.
“You have no class, Aubrey.”
He frowns momentarily at my words but then decides to ignore them. “I forgot to comment on your new style of hair, Risika,” he says.