Lailah (The Styclar Saga) (31 page)

“Well,” Jonah said, gathering himself. “If anything I think it’s only improved your section of the tree!”

*   *   *

S
EVERAL HOURS AND FAR TOO MANY
mince pies later, I lay on the sofa, hand on belly, trying desperately to come down from my sugar rush.

Ruadhan finished drying the plates and bobbed over to me. “You certainly enjoyed those mince pies, love!” He beamed as I nodded. “I’ll make you some more!”

I suddenly wished I hadn’t looked so satisfied. That would cost me later, I was sure.

“Listen, Jonah’s got to go out this evening,” Ruadhan said, his voice quieting. “He needs to … well, he needs to refuel. And I was thinking of going to the Église de rupestre de Vals. It’s a remarkable church in a small village, about forty minutes from here by car. This near to Christmas there’s a midnight Mass and I thought perhaps you’d come with me?”

I understood. Ruadhan didn’t want to risk even a remote possibility of me being alone with Jonah.

“Actually, I think I’d rather just stay in if you don’t mind. No need to worry about me, I’m fine. Jonah can go out, Brooke and I can just watch a movie. I promised I’d call Gabriel later this evening as well,” I lied.

“Hmm. Well, as long as Jonah’s out. And you’ll stay indoors, yes?”

“Yup.”

“No more midnight strolls?” His words hung in the air for a moment. He knew I had left the house; nothing seemed to get by him.

“If you insist.” I smiled.

*   *   *

B
ROOKE AND
I
SAT ON THE SOFA
sorting through the massive DVD collection, when Jonah appeared from nowhere. I did an internal gasp when I saw him. He was dressed in dark jeans that were turned up at the bottom, showing off military-style boots; a deep V-neck T-shirt that allowed his collarbone to jut out; finished with a rich leather belt, which sat low on his waist. His jacket was black leather, and he wore several cross-shaped pendants on long worn cords around his neck. He hardly looked ready to race through the woods.

Leaning in to Brooke, he handed her a business card and shook his phone at her. She huffed in reply.

“Cessie, I’ll be back in a few hours.” He winked at me and several DVDs dropped off the coffee table and hit the floor as a gust of wind blew through the door when he left.

“What’s on the card?” I asked Brooke, who was already on her feet.

“Oh, in case of emergency. Only the name and address of the club Jonah’s gone to.” Springing over, she yanked me from off the sofa. “Come on, we need to get ready!”

“I thought he was going out to, you know … feed?”

“He is, he’s gone to a club to find some dark souls, and we’re not gonna sit here and let him have all the fun! Besides, Ruadhan won’t be back till the early hours, he’ll never know. Now go take a shower, you’ve got fifteen minutes and then we’re out of here!”

She left me to contemplate my options, though I doubted I had any choice in the matter. So I made my way to the basement; as I did a message buzzed on my phone.

ROOK ON THE RIGHT FOUR SPACES FORWARD. I MISS YOU

Grudgingly, I moved the piece on the board but didn’t reply to his message. The hurt that I had briefly burrowed away hit me with full force and suddenly I felt rebellious.

Ten minutes later Brooke was in my room, eyeing up my jeans-and-white-top ensemble. “No! No! No! We’re going to a
nightclub
, Cessie! Here.” She flung a pile of clothes down on the bed and said, “But first we need to sort out your makeup.”

Within minutes she had painted my face, caking me in a layer of white foundation and creating a smoky look across my eyes by adding thick eyeliner and layers of mascara to my lashes. She smudged just a hint of blush on my cheeks and colored my lips with a bright red liner and lipstick to match. She let me leave my hair down but straightened my bangs, making them sweep across my eye so that I could barely see.

I didn’t protest. I’d let her have her fun; at least that’s what I had decided until I saw the clothing she had selected. “Oh, no, come on!” I protested. “I don’t want to look like a dominatrix!”

“What do you mean?” she asked, adjusting her own leather outfit.

“Trust me, the type of clubs Jonah goes to, you’ll look out of place if you don’t wear what I’m giving you!”

I looked over the low-cut black top that gathered just below the belly button (with no back to speak of), the tiny leather skirt and stiletto heels, and shook my head. “Compromise: I’ll wear the top, but can’t I wear that other skirt you got me? You know, the floaty black one?”

She rolled her eyes, but found it for me anyway. It was short, maybe seven inches at the front, but it did have a longer, transparent train that wrapped around the back and sides. I reached for a slip and she snatched it off me in disgust. “As I said, less is more, believe me.”

“But…”

She’d grabbed me before I had a chance to move, tugging my T-shirt over my head. I grasped my bare chest as she began tying the two strips of the plunging halter top around my neck. She paused for a second as she brushed my hair out of the way of the sueded silk. “Crap. How’d you get that?”

She didn’t give me a chance to answer.

“Doesn’t matter, your hair covers it anyway. We don’t have time to argue, you’re wearing it and that’s that.”

I was momentarily grateful that Brooke was so impatient and self-involved; at least I didn’t have to explain myself. Throwing me the pair of six-inch patent black Louboutin stilettos, she was quick to remind me of her earlier statement. “Like I said, you’ll thank me later!”

She allowed me a quick glance in the full-length mirror in her room, and I was taken aback to see my reflection. This was so not me; I felt uncomfortable in such an outfit, and I could barely walk in the shoes. But Brooke was going to get her way.

I slipped my iPhone, credit card, and ID into a little black patent clutch, and then we were in the bumblebee car, speeding down the road.

“So where’s this club?” I asked her, fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

Brooke handed me the card from the dashboard. The top line simply read:
LE BARON, LIMOUX
.

TWENTY-TWO

I
TOTTERED NEXT TO
B
ROOKE
as we made our way from the car to the entrance of the club. The line to get in was long, but that didn’t faze Brooke. Walking straight up to the doorman, she whispered in his ear and locked eyes with him. Whatever she had said did the trick; he let us straight through, unhooking the black velvet rope and ushering us inside.

We wobbled down a corridor. Well, I wobbled, until blaring music filled my ears. It was a large space for a club outside the city. In front of me were a hundred bodies crushing each other on the dance floor and a layer of fashionable women and trendy men up against the bar.

Brooke pushed through to the front of the bar, every man in view staring at her. She was certainly something to behold—her petite figure hugged lovingly by the skintight leather, her flaming red bob tickling her jaw, and her perfect white skin creating a striking contrast. She made her way back to where I stood. I wondered why we were dressed so scantily.

Brooke handed me a Bloody Mary and said, “Cheers!”

“We’ll never find Jonah in here!” I shouted, trying to be heard over the Lady Gaga remix.

“Oh, he’s here. He’ll be in the basement,” she bellowed back, scanning the talent around us.

“Basement?”

“Yup. There’s a strip club below for members.”

I thought maybe I had heard her wrong.

It didn’t take long before a couple of local guys made their way over to us, offering a top-up on our drinks. Nodding, Brooke allowed them to buy us another round.

For over twenty minutes, she flirted and laughed, seemingly taking a liking to the dark-haired boy who was in his early twenties and dressed too trendily in an open black shirt and designer jeans. She soon abandoned me to go to the dance floor with him, leaving me with “the friend.”

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you!” I yelled back at him while bouncing to the beat. He tried again, but I only feigned interest.

Making my excuses, I strolled away, looking for some sort of entrance to this basement Brooke had told me about. Maneuvering around the gyrating, sweaty bodies, I finally settled my eyes on a tall, stocky man in the far corner. He was suited, booted, and guarding another velvet rope, only this one was a deep red. Fluffing my hair, I attempted a confident swagger over to him, though it was more difficult given the height of the heels I had been forced into.

“Membres seulement,”
he said, not even looking at me.

“Sorry.” I cussed myself for never learning French. “I need to go inside.”

I finally caught his eye and he studied me for a moment. Then he lifted the rope and ushered me through.

Carefully, I walked down the large concrete steps. When I reached the entrance I was taken aback. Brooke had been right; the basement was definitely a private member’s area. Music was humming and beautiful girls—dressed in corsets and thongs—were giving lap dances to elegantly dressed men.

The bouncer at the bottom of the steps regarded me, and I thought for a moment that he was going to refuse me entry. Instead, he collected a glittering eye-mask from behind him. It shimmered with the red and white diamanté encrusted all over it. He gestured for me to place it over my face. I didn’t refuse. Feeling now a little like a sparkly version of Catwoman, I made my way to the bar.

Next to the bar was an elevated stage with a pole in the middle. A girl with legs up to her armpits was twirling around it, topless, showing off her finely toned midriff, her long brown hair flowing down past her bare bottom. I don’t think her thong actually knew what a thong was.

Casting my eye around the space, taking in the grand double vaulted ceilings, I quickly realized that all the women were wearing masks of different colors.

Leading to the stage was a small dance floor with a silver disco ball that caught the light, making me squint as it bounced back at me. Beyond the dance floor stood a grand piano, which was, for now, absent of a pianist. An abandoned full-face mask sat on its lid.

There wasn’t an empty seat in the house, so I leaned against the glass top of the bar, scanning the room. I couldn’t see Jonah.

The barman brought over a bright red cocktail without asking for my order and smiled at me. He was pleasant looking, only slightly taller than me, with fluffy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. They were a million miles away from Gabriel’s luminosity, but then he wasn’t an Angel.

I shook Gabriel from my mind. Tonight wasn’t about him; besides, he was probably cozying up to Hanora.

“Thank you,” I said, offering him my plastic, which he refused to take. Apparently if you were a member, which he seemed to think I was, you didn’t pay for your drinks.

I twisted myself back around, scanning the room, when my phone buzzed. I opened my clutch and read a message from Brooke. She was checking that I was okay and telling me that she was having a fab time with Pierre. I replied a quick,
YES
AM
FINE.
CALL
ME
IF
YOU
NEED
ME,
and went back to sipping my cocktail.

Just then, one of the lap dancers moved away from an older gentleman and I caught sight of Jonah.

A dark-haired girl with a heart-shaped face who was wearing virtually nothing sat on his lap. He was whispering into her ear and she giggled, pulling away from him teasingly.

My stomach jolted and I gulped hard. A fast shock of jealously streaked through me. It shouldn’t have—I wasn’t in love with Jonah; I loved Gabriel, despite everything I feared he was doing.

So why then did I want to throw up?

Jonah brushed his lips to the girl’s neck, but stopped as his eyes caught my own. I watched them enlarge as he met my stare. Could he recognize me, even with the mask? I turned my back to him and drained the remnants of my red mixture, calling the bartender over for another.

“Ah, vodka?” I forced a smile.

“English?”

I nodded in reply.

“And extremely beautiful…”

“Hey, you’re stealing my line!”

The barman poured a large, neat vodka and scuttled away quickly, surprised by Jonah’s sudden appearance.

His chin nudged into the crevice of my neck, and his breath tickled my bare skin. A flutter of excitement rose inside me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I didn’t flinch. “How’d you know it’s me?”

He inhaled long and hard before saying, “I can smell you a mile away.”

He lingered before finally removing himself and took a seat next to me. Cupping my cheeks with his hands, he nudged my mask to my forehead and grinned. “So, you felt like dressing up tonight?”

“Brooke thought we should have some fun.”

“She’s here?” he asked, gesturing to a different waiter to fill his tumbler.

“She’s upstairs with a guy named Pierre.” I trailed off. “She’s having a good time.”

His forehead creased with annoyance. I found myself nervously playing with my hair, caught behind the elastic of my sparkly mask.

“Maybe not as much as you though,” I added for good measure, not meeting his eyes.

His head tipped backward and he let loose a burst of laughter. “What’s wrong? Don’t like me spending time with other women?” he teased.

“No, of course not! You can do what you like.” I sputtered, barely in control of my own words.

There was a minute’s pause between us.

Jonah finally spoke. “You look, well, delicious tonight.”

I glanced coyly in his direction and, as always, had to stifle a small gasp as I watched his eyes sparkle for my benefit.

“But it doesn’t matter what I think, does it? Your interests lay elsewhere.”

He was testing me. It took me a moment too long, but I nodded.

As his fingers skimmed down the soft skin of my arm to my wrist, circling around and around, he said, “There’s nothing I can say, or do…” His voice lowered to a deep murmur as he ran the tip of his nose softly to my earlobe. “… to change your mind.…”