moment.
Daniel got off the bike, and I followed. He rested his arm on my shoulder and steered me up the sidewalk and through the doorless entry of the apartment building. My heart thumped so hard as we went up the stairs I feared that Daniel might hear it. The thumping grew louder and heavier as we climbed, and I realized there was music coming from behind a door on the third landing. Daniel put his key in his pocket and tentatively pushed open his door. Sound engulfed us. Gyratingdancers packed the front room, and Zed—looking much more lively than he had before—sang (i.e., screamed) into a microphone while a few other guys banged on musical instruments with reckless abandon.
Daniel led me into the throng. I choked on the sickly sweet smoke wafting in the air. I was coughing and sputtering when this person, who looked more woman than teenage girl, emerged from the crowd. She came toward us, moving and convulsing to the indiscernible beat of Zed’s song. Her short hair feathered out like she was some type of exotic bird, and her bleached white bangs made three perfect triangles on her forehead—the tips of them were dyed a garish shade of pink.
“Danny Boy, you made it,” she said in an Eastern European–sounding accent. She turned her thick kohl-lined eyes on me and plumped her blood-red lips.
Daniel released my shoulder.
“Oh, look”—she took me in from head to toe—“you brought treats. I hope there’s enough to share.”
“Grace, this is Mishka. We knew each other a long time ago,” Daniel said about the female clad in a black leather mini and what I think is called a bustier.
“Not
so
long, Danny Boy.” She leaned her breasts up against him. “But you were more fun then.” She traced a long, red, talonlike fingernail down his cheek. “You must come with me now.” She pulled Daniel away from my side. “You have kept me waiting, and Mishka is not a patient woman.”
“Come on, Grace.” Daniel held his hand out to me. I was about to slip my fingers into his when Mishka scowled.
“No!” she said. “I do not perform for an audience. This one stays here.”
“I won’t leave her behind.”
Mishka leaned in even closer to Daniel, her gleaming teeth brushed his ear as she spoke. “You and I are the only real players here. Your
girl
will be fine without you for a few minutes. Mishka will not wait for you any longer, Danny Boy.”
She pulled on his arm, but he didn’t budge.
“Do you need a reminder of how I get when you disappoint me?” She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips.
“No … but Grace …,” he protested halfheartedly.
Mishka turned her glare on me. The irises of her eyes looked jet-black in the apartment’s murky light. She brushed my arm with her talons, and her teeth seemed awfully sharp as she smiled. “You do not mind if I borrow my Danny Boy for a few moments,” she said, but I could have sworn that her lips never moved—like I’d heard her voice inside my head.
“Um … no,” I said, suddenly not minding much of anything. Maybe it was just the sick sweet smoke engulfing the room, but as Mishka stared into my eyes, I couldn’t think, let alone care, about anything.
“That’s a good girl,” Mishka said. She looped herarm through Daniel’s and led him away from me.
Daniel glanced back and said, “Stay put. And don’t talk to anyone.”
At least that’s what I think he said. My brain felt too fuzzy and my tongue felt too heavy to say anything back. I stood there in bewilderment until I was almost knocked flat by someone. I blinked at her through my fog. All I could make out was a girl with green hair and more piercings than face. She stopped “dancing” and leaned in close, squinting her seemingly too-large eyes. She said something I didn’t understand, and I tried to ask her if we knew each other from somewhere. But what came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like words. She stumbled away, laughing hysterically to herself.
I retreated to
Daniel got off the bike, and I followed. He rested his arm on my shoulder and steered me up the sidewalk and through the doorless entry of the apartment building. My heart thumped so hard as we went up the stairs I feared that Daniel might hear it. The thumping grew louder and heavier as we climbed, and I realized there was music coming from behind a door on the third landing. Daniel put his key in his pocket and tentatively pushed open his door. Sound engulfed us. Gyratingdancers packed the front room, and Zed—looking much more lively than he had before—sang (i.e., screamed) into a microphone while a few other guys banged on musical instruments with reckless abandon.
Daniel led me into the throng. I choked on the sickly sweet smoke wafting in the air. I was coughing and sputtering when this person, who looked more woman than teenage girl, emerged from the crowd. She came toward us, moving and convulsing to the indiscernible beat of Zed’s song. Her short hair feathered out like she was some type of exotic bird, and her bleached white bangs made three perfect triangles on her forehead—the tips of them were dyed a garish shade of pink.
“Danny Boy, you made it,” she said in an Eastern European–sounding accent. She turned her thick kohl-lined eyes on me and plumped her blood-red lips.
Daniel released my shoulder.
“Oh, look”—she took me in from head to toe—“you brought treats. I hope there’s enough to share.”
“Grace, this is Mishka. We knew each other a long time ago,” Daniel said about the female clad in a black leather mini and what I think is called a bustier.
“Not
so
long, Danny Boy.” She leaned her breasts up against him. “But you were more fun then.” She traced a long, red, talonlike fingernail down his cheek. “You must come with me now.” She pulled Daniel away from my side. “You have kept me waiting, and Mishka is not a patient woman.”
“Come on, Grace.” Daniel held his hand out to me. I was about to slip my fingers into his when Mishka scowled.
“No!” she said. “I do not perform for an audience. This one stays here.”
“I won’t leave her behind.”
Mishka leaned in even closer to Daniel, her gleaming teeth brushed his ear as she spoke. “You and I are the only real players here. Your
girl
will be fine without you for a few minutes. Mishka will not wait for you any longer, Danny Boy.”
She pulled on his arm, but he didn’t budge.
“Do you need a reminder of how I get when you disappoint me?” She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips.
“No … but Grace …,” he protested halfheartedly.
Mishka turned her glare on me. The irises of her eyes looked jet-black in the apartment’s murky light. She brushed my arm with her talons, and her teeth seemed awfully sharp as she smiled. “You do not mind if I borrow my Danny Boy for a few moments,” she said, but I could have sworn that her lips never moved—like I’d heard her voice inside my head.
“Um … no,” I said, suddenly not minding much of anything. Maybe it was just the sick sweet smoke engulfing the room, but as Mishka stared into my eyes, I couldn’t think, let alone care, about anything.
“That’s a good girl,” Mishka said. She looped herarm through Daniel’s and led him away from me.
Daniel glanced back and said, “Stay put. And don’t talk to anyone.”
At least that’s what I think he said. My brain felt too fuzzy and my tongue felt too heavy to say anything back. I stood there in bewilderment until I was almost knocked flat by someone. I blinked at her through my fog. All I could make out was a girl with green hair and more piercings than face. She stopped “dancing” and leaned in close, squinting her seemingly too-large eyes. She said something I didn’t understand, and I tried to ask her if we knew each other from somewhere. But what came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like words. She stumbled away, laughing hysterically to herself.
I retreated to
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