Part 23 (1/2)

Which they probably don't.

Probably.

Hopefully.

”If it's another overnight trip, my dad's going to s.h.i.+t bricks.”

”Actually, it's a club.” He winks at her.

A club doesn't seem so bad. ”Where is it?”

Marty flicks the beak of his cap. Now that he knows we're not going to torture him for an answer, he's all chummy again. ”Let's just say, it's right in the middle of everything.”

The middle of everything is at Bowery and Twelfth Street.

Between Arcade Island and a long stretch of graffiti-covered wall is a door I've never noticed before. There's a black and red star over the metal door, which looks like it's been hit with a hammer too many times.

”What is it?”

”Like I said, a special club, lounge, bar. Whatever you kids are calling them these days. We call it Betwixt. Ground rules: try not to look people directly in the eyes, b.u.mp into anyone, spill anyone's drink, or make out with a girl who is someone else's date, Tristan.”

Layla elbows me a little too hard on the side.

”So it's just like being in the school cafeteria,” I say, and reach for the handle. Only there isn't a handle to reach.

”After me.” Marty bangs his fist on the metal once.

Nothing happens.

”Nothing-”

Marty puts his finger to his lips. ”Shh.” He makes like he's going to reach for a handle that isn't there. And then his hand goes right through, followed by the rest of him.

”Ohm-” Layla starts and finishes with a shriek as Marty's head pops right back through. ”Someone has to hold Layla's hand because, well, it's not her fault she's all human.”

Layla scowls at him. I reach for her hand, but she grabs Kurt's instead. He's standing closer to her, I guess.

Marty looks to me. ”Knock once, wait for the knock back. A headless monkey could do it.” He disappears.

”Here goes everything.” I knock. The wait seems even longer than when Marty did it. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid it's not going to work for me. What if half of me gets stuck because I'm half human? And if so, which parts- Then I hear it. The knock back. Only I can't seem to make myself move. I feel someone's hands push me forward at the same time I take a step in. For a moment, I feel weightless and cold. Two heartbeats later, the warmth rushes back. I stumble and trip down the steps. At least I land on my back and not my face.

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 b.u.t.ton. 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 pa.s.ses through. I can see her s.h.i.+ver 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 k.n.o.b. He steps aside. I hold on to the k.n.o.b, 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 cl.u.s.ter 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 ba.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s and slides it to a girl about my age.

”That's a b.l.o.o.d.y 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 s.h.i.+rtless 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 b.u.mps 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 b.u.t.t. ”Hey, now.” But my insides are bursting because it's Layla. She c.o.c.ks 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-s.h.i.+fter asks me.

”Dude, you pinched my a.s.s.”

”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.