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  “Who was that?” Chloe asked. Mariane did not respond. She repeated her question, but the thumping music of the dance floor swallowed her voice. She grasped Mariane’s shoulder. Mariane’s bright blue eyes were hard-edged, a cross look on a normally carefree face.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Chloe asked. “Do you know that guy with the mask on?”

  Mariane nodded, her blonde hair swishing over her shoulders.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said with a bite in her voice that startled Chloe. “And he’s not the kind of guy you should be flashing your tits at, Chloe.”

  Chloe took a step back. She had seen Mariane lose her temper with people before, seen that nasty glint in her eye, but her anger had never been directed at Chloe herself.

  “Mariane,” she said carefully, “why are you so upset? Did I do something?”

  Mariane sighed, shaking her head. She patted Chloe’s hair. “I’m sorry, sweets. I’m being a bitch. I was hoping you’d get some tonight because God knows you need it, but I never thought…look, I know things about everybody in this bar, and Demetrius-” she jerked her thumb at the patio, “-is fucked up. Just trust me on this.”

  Chloe raised an eyebrow. “What, is he a serial killer? I should have known from all the black clothes.”

  Mariane did not smile at the joke. She glanced behind Chloe. “He could have been one of your mom’s patients.”

  Chloe’s smile died. Her mother had been a therapist for maximum security inmates in a Cleveland prison. The stories she had told Chloe throughout her life had given her nightmares. She was still too frightened to read any of her mother’s case studies.

  “That’s not funny.”

  Mariane fixed Chloe with a steady stare. “I’m not joking. Look, I’m not saying he’s going to kill you in the alley or anything, but he’s just…fucked up with women.” She sighed, running a hand through her long hair. The sardonic smile Chloe had seen on her lips countless times returned. “There are plenty of hot goths around here who aren’t clinically insane, sweets. Just forget about it, okay? I’m still in charge tonight, and I say it’s time to dance.”

  Mariane took Chloe’s arm and dragged her back onto the dance floor. Chloe tried to shrug off the one blip in an otherwise fantastic night out, which soon blurred into streams of pounding bass, cheers, and writhing bodies. Every now and then, Chloe scanned the crowd for Demetrius with a strange combination of dread and anticipation, but she did not see him amongst the eclectic Oryx hoard. Eventually she lost her worries in the excitement of the club. Chloe secretly savoured the accidental brushing against strangers on the dance floor. Summer had been solitary, and the first month back at Hollington University had been solitary as she recovered. On top of that, she had been single since spring, when things with her casual boyfriend had come to an anticlimactic fizzle. She hadn’t realized how lonely she had been until tonight. She found herself less shy than usual as Mariane introduced her to fellow regulars and she chatted casually with exotic strangers.

  Later into the night on the dance floor, the music dissipated and did not immediately start up again. Chloe stopped moving. She glanced at Mariane and found a wicked grin painted on her friend’s face. Her heart sank. Shit. It was midnight, wasn’t it? She had forgotten about the dreaded surprise Mariane had refused to explain. Mariane took Chloe’s hand and pointed toward the elevated DJ booth at the front of the dance floor.

  “He’s up there, but don’t worry about it. He won’t come down,” she said. “Just go with it, okay?”

  Chloe tried to peer into the booth. An ominous beat rumbled through the crowd and everyone on the floor began to stomp. The energy at the Oryx entered her like a contagion and ate away her anxiety.

  “It’s that time of night,” came the now familiar low, growling voice of the DJ. Bright light burst through the booth so suddenly that Chloe jumped, thinking something had shorted out, but the crowd cheered. The masked face in the booth made Chloe’s heart jolt. Demetrius, the stranger on the patio, stood in the booth, his long fingers curled around a mic. He raised his fist in the air and the crowd mirrored him, screaming. Chloe stared at Mariane, who shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. Demetrius’ voice drowned out her words.

  “Bring the virgins to the wall,” he said, his voice reverberating through Chloe’s body. “It’s time to welcome them to the Oryx.”

  A new song burst over the crowd’s cries, pounding steadily like a military march. Mariane slung an arm around Chloe and pulled her toward the long glass wall that separated the bar from the dance floor.

  Chloe’s nerves spiked. Oryx regulars pressed giggling newcomers against the wall, pinning them playfully. She was being singled out, as she’d feared. Mariane must have been able to read the apprehension in her face. She smiled, ruffled Chloe’s hair, and took her shoulders.

  “Relax, sweets,” she shouted over the din. “Just go with it!”

  Chloe tried to comply. She pressed her back to the wall, a cool shock against her hot, sweat-tinged skin. She exchanged glances with the other “virgins” who seemed just as clueless as she was, though they were smiling. Chloe took a deep breath. Mariane was right. She needed to lighten up.

  A pale figure appeared behind Mariane as the music swelled to a climax. Chloe’s heart stopped. Demetrius took Mariane’s shoulders and brushed her away as if he were parting a curtain. Mariane released Chloe, her face pale beneath the veil of her blonde hair. Her eyes darted from Chloe to the masked man, wide and near panic. Chloe stood up from the wall and reached out to her companion, but Mariane had disappeared into the crowd. Only Demetrius stood before her, close enough to touch.

  The music grew frantic as if taking its pace from Chloe’s heartbeat. The crowd wailed reached toward the ceiling. Chloe could not look away from Demetrius. He seized her shoulders and lifted her off her heels as effortlessly as plucking fruit from a branch. He pinned her against the glass wall with his legs, pressing his thighs to hers. She did not know why she didn’t struggle. Her mind went blank the moment he touched her, consumed by the flex of his hands, the heat of her skin quenched by his cool fingers.

  The crowd erupted into ecstatic cries, and a deluge of warm liquid flowed from the top of the glass wall and rained down upon Chloe and the other newcomers. Chloe gasped, her hair drenched, her eyes swimming red. For a moment, she thought it was real blood, but when it reached her lips, she tasted a sharp, artificial cherry flavour. It seeped into the crevices of her fishnet top and ran in warm rivulets down her breasts, her stomach. Demetrius’ grip stayed firm on her shoulders in spite of the slippery mess. She saw him through a haze of red, leaning toward her, his face looming near. She found herself leaning toward him as much as he would allow, as if they would kiss in spite of his mask. She felt him near, as if the air just around him was palpable, raising the hair on her arms and calling her closer. He leaned into her ear, his voice deep and clear behind the mask, and murmured a simple command.

  “Say yes.”

  A spike from his mask grazed her cheek, the smallest sensation in a storm of sensations, yet it made Chloe’s spine bow. Her lips parted, slick with the stage blood pouring down her body. She answered reflexively, as if responding were as natural as breath.

  “Yes.” Chloe closed her eyes and threw her head back into the rush of blood. Her breasts grazed his chest. The contact ignited her skin with sweet heat as if her bra weren’t there. She repeated the word every inch of her body screamed, a plea erupting from some dark, hungry part of her she had never known.

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, Chloe felt the brush of his fingers along her left cheek, and then her feet returned to the floor. Demetrius slipped away and melted into the crowd like a phantom. The wall stopped bleeding. Chloe’s awareness of the world around her returned slowly, as if she had just woken from a dream. Sound returned; the throbbing pulse of a new song, the laughter of the other newcomers and their dry companions. Chloe stood, numb and dumbstruck, her short hair dripping with stage blood
. She still felt his grip on her shoulders, lifting her so effortlessly, the weight of his thighs against hers. Her skin tingled in a way she didn’t understand. Mariane reappeared. Her wide eyes broke Chloe from her spell.

  “It’s okay,” Chloe said quickly. “Nothing happened. He just-”

  Mariane grabbed her arms with a startling grip.

  “Are you okay?” she demanded.

  Chloe frowned. “Yeah, I’m fine. I told you-“

  “What did he say to you? Did he invite you anywhere?”

  “Mariane, what-”

  “Don’t go anywhere with him, okay?” Mariane’s frantic tone sped Chloe’s heart. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t say anything. He just held me against the wall.”

  Chloe surprised herself with the lie, but Mariane gave her no time to think. She tugged at Chloe and dragged her off the dance floor. Chloe nearly crashed into a bouncer with a mop, ready to clean up the stage blood from the midnight theatrics.

  “We have to go,” said Mariane, throwing glances over her shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

  Chloe’s stomach flipped. Mariane’s panic was infecting her. She tried to slow her down.

  “Hold on, hold on, okay?” she held Mariane’s arm. “Mariane, just talk to me. Why are we going home? What’s wrong? Nothing happened, he’s gone.”

  For a moment it looked like Mariane would burst into tears. Chloe could not wrap her mind around her friend’s panic. Even if Demetrius was as bad as she said, he had disappeared, probably back into the DJ booth. He hadn’t asked for her number or invited her somewhere. He had just…

  “Chloe,” Mariane said. “You don’t get it. I already told you. You caught the eye of the worst guy in this place.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m freaking out. I never thought he’d be interested in you. Otherwise I would have…we should call it a night, sweets. He’ll move on to the next when you’ve gone.”

  Chloe didn’t know why those words stung her. She shook her head, calming down now that Mariane was no longer near panic. A night that had begun so well had certainly taken a turn. Mariane gave Chloe a shadow of her usual sly grin.

  “It’s all right,” she said, leading her past the bar. “We’ll get you laid at some point. Just…not by a psycho. Okay?”

  That made Chloe smile.

  “I guess I’m lonelier than I thought,” she said. Mariane nodded with a small laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Chloe’s anxiety ebbed with the return of Mariane’s humour.

  “I have to close my tab,” said Mariane. She released Chloe’s hand. “Hang on.”

  Chloe waited. Beyond the red streaked glass wall, the dance floor continued to thrive. Was Demetrius back in the booth, leading the mass of skin and sweat to new ecstasy? She fought not to think about the way his gaze held hers, the magnetic pull she felt. Mariane’s reaction was so strong, and she seemed to know everyone at the Oryx intimately. Chloe would be a fool if she dismissed Mariane’s fears.

  “Hey. You in the fishnet.”

  Chloe turned. A young woman holding a tray of tube shots flashed Chloe a smile dotted with piercings.

  “Have a shot,” she said. She rotated the tray, revealing a single shot glass among the tubes. “It’s on the house. Our DJ said to tell you, ‘thanks for the fun.’”

  Chloe looked down at the glass. It was a layered shot, green mixing into red, the same one Mariane had ordered for her earlier in the night. But this one had come from the man that Mariane was afraid of. She hadn’t seen the drink made, and though the young woman was an employee of the bar and Chloe might be able to trust her, she couldn’t ignore the dread creeping into her gut.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a step away, “but I’ve had enough to drink tonight, I think.”

  The young woman smiled again and tossed her shoulders. “Okay. Have a good night.”

  Chloe nodded as the woman left. She stood alone between the dance floor and the bar. She took a deep breath. For the first time that night, she felt eyes on her; perhaps the judgmental gazes she had feared all night…perhaps something darker. She was relieved when Mariane reappeared from the bar and led her toward the open doors into the night.

  XXI

  Chloe startled awake with a racing heart. For a moment she thought that her mother had called to her like she used to in the middle of the night toward the end. Lingering sleep faded, and she remembered that she was in her off-campus apartment with no one there to call to her. Her bedroom was thick with the dead stillness that only existed in the first hours of the morning. Nothing looked out of place; her cheap posters of classic art pieces hadn’t come off the wall. The picture of her parents hadn’t fallen from her nightstand. What had woken her? She listened for any foreign sound. There was only the distant and familiar hum from the old radiator in the living room. She swallowed back a tense lump in her throat and pulled back her covers. Maybe a picture had fallen in the living room. She knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she made certain she wouldn’t be waking up to a mess. Her apartment was old, and as October neared, it grew draftier. She folded her arms over her chest. Soon it would be too chilly to wear her favourite nightgown, a short slip of pale blue satin and lace. Her legs were chilly, as were her feet on the hardwood floor.

  No sooner had Chloe reached for her living room lamp than the full force of a stranger’s body struck her from behind, grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrenching her head back. Chloe screamed, her legs buckling beneath her. The intruder clamped an arm around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. Chloe kicked and struggled, but the body against her back was as unyielding as stone. She screamed again.

  “Help! Somebody’s in-”

  A gloved palm smothered her plea. The stench of the leather glove sickened her.

  “Your name,” a deep voice hissed too close to her ear. “Give me your name.”

  The intruder slid his hands from her lips for a moment. Chloe jerked against him, fought to free her arms.

  “Get off of me!” she screamed. “Get-!”

  Wild laughter erupted against her ear. The intruder dropped, wrestling her to the ground. He twisted her in his arms and pinned her legs beneath him. She managed to free one of her arms for a moment, but he caught her wrist before she could do any damage. Her mouth, however, was uncovered. She again tried to cry out, to alert anyone in the old, thin-walled apartment building who could possibly hear her, but a fall of black hair slipped across her face like a descending spider. She twisted to free herself from the web of hair, and her intruder’s face loomed above her. The sight paralyzed her. Even in the unlit living room, she recognized the harsh line of a mask cutting across the bridge of his nose. The kohl around his eyes made them cavernous pits in the darkness.

  Demetrius tossed his long hair away from Chloe’s face. Chloe couldn’t stop staring at him. She was too shocked to scream, to move. This had to be a dream, some nightmare brought about from the night’s events. There was no way this was happening. Chloe’s senses told her otherwise; the smell of him was utterly foreign to her; a sharp, sweet scent tinged with sweat. His grip on her wrist was as powerful as it had been at the Oryx. His weight seemed immense, as if his lean, muscular frame was carved from stone. For a moment, Chloe felt as though she were standing outside of herself, watching the scene before her and wondering why the girl on the floor was just lying there, staring, instead of fighting.

  “Your name.” Demetrius’ low and simmering voice was as startling as the rest of him, hollowed by the mask yet perfectly clear away from the noise of the club. His fingers curled around her neck and flexed, giving a brief squeeze just strong enough to threaten pain.

  “Chloe,” she whispered, trembling. Her name, so freely shared in any social situation, felt a far more important piece of information than it ever had. But why?

  A low, terrible sound came from Demetrius’ throat, some sort of growl or moan. The sound shattered Chloe’s strange moment of detachment, and now the weight of hi
m on top of her was all too real.

  “Chloe.” He spoke the word in a slow breath. “Chloe, Chloe. Perfect.”

  He struck, snapping an arm around her neck before she had time to scream. Chloe fought until she could breathe no more, until her living room darkened and faded into blackness.

  Chapter 3

  September 25, 2011

  Chloe did not normally have dreams of memories, however the lilac bush in which she lay from her childhood was unmistakable. She was four years old, and her father’s shouts roused her from her nap. She and the neighbor kids had been playing hide and seek, and young Chloe had crept into a hedge of lilac bushes. The sweet, heady fragrance of the blossoms had lulled her into a doze. She didn’t want to wake up, but her father’s voice, calling to her in his native French, dragged her from her dreams.

  “Réville-toi, Chloe.”

  She opened her eyes, still expecting to see her childhood sanctuary of leaves and white petals. Instead she saw not the dirt-stained digits of a four year old, but her adult hands, bound at the wrist with a zip tie. Chloe’s grogginess vanished in an instant. She sat bolt upright. Her head struck metal. She gasped and crouched back down. There were bars around her on all sides. Chloe was in a cage so small that she couldn’t extend her legs. She touched the cold bars, unable to comprehend. It was no bigger than a dog’s crate. Her mind was sluggish and slow. Thoughts drifted and faded before meeting conclusions. Where was she? What was happening? She looked down at herself. She was completely nude, save for something warm and snug around her neck. Her fingers flew to her throat, tracing what felt like a thick strap of leather with a metal ring in front and some sort of lock at the back of her neck.

  “God,” she whispered. Her heart sank like a brick in her chest. She was trapped. The moment the thought crossed her mind, she lost herself in a frantic scream. She kicked at the bars with all her strength, tried to force her wrists apart to break the zip tie until they bled. Her legs were weak, her body ached, but she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but escaping the cage. She didn’t care where she was or how she had gotten there. All that mattered was freeing herself from her tiny prison.