Page 13 of Endless Terrors
But what if something did change? a voice whispered.
Another image blinded me—a memory of those strange, dog-like creatures I’d killed in the woods. Then I imagined the huge, twisted tree that had sprouted in the middle of my childhood bedroom.
A feeling popped in my chest, startling me, and the memories disintegrated. I was a Nightmare; I knew exactly what that sensation was.
Fear.
I switched gears abruptly, forcing myself to focus on the present threat in our lives. I still hadn’t come up with a reason why the devil had retreated for tonight. Evil didn’t rest, which meant I couldn’t, either. I frowned at the open sea, barely noticing that the moon had come out, along with a dusting of smaller lights. The dusky sky had been covered in a drape of deep velvet, like the petals of a black rose.
What are you up to, Lucifer? I thought. What are you up to?
The stars didn’t answer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clouds of hairspray filled the air around me, the scent and the taste of it going down my throat.
I held back a cough and reached for my makeup bag, eager to get out of the dressing room. Dancers talked around me, over me. We were in a town I kept forgetting the name of. I did know the name of the club, at least—Pink Paradise.
It was an accurate description, although the “paradise” part was debatable. Everything was pink, from the walls and the furniture to the lights and the costumes. I’d worked here for less than a week, and it was already getting old. This was not how I wanted to be spending my nights. I longed to be home, back in our warm loft, a fire crackling and the blue glow of the TV pouring over my family.
A sigh filled my throat, but I didn’t let it out. Suddenly I felt heavy, and so, so tired.
“We’re starting in five!” a voice rang out, sending a ripple of urgency through the girls. Our house mom, Shanice, appeared behind me in the mirror. She made an exasperated sound. “Violet, you’re not even dressed yet?”
“I’ll be ready in time,” I told her, my hand steady as I drew a dark line across my eyelid.
“And don’t forget, bags and coats go on the hooks along that back wall. I’m trying to keep a clutter-free dressing room.” Shanice shifted her attention to the girl sitting beside me, a redhead who drove the clientele crazy with her ample curves and coy smiles. “Layla, check in with the couple in the first booth. He wants to buy his wife a dance.”
Layla nodded, waving a makeup brush to emphasize that she’d heard, and Shanice bustled over to a dancer struggling with her G-string. The moment she was gone, I bent and took my gun out of my backpack. The hooks Shanice had mentioned weren’t exactly convenient if I needed to access it quickly. I’d have to store it somewhere else tonight.
“So, what’s your deal?” I heard Layla say.
I straightened, slipping the gun into my makeup bag. Thankfully, Layla was preoccupied with her reflection and didn’t notice. “My deal?” I repeated.
“Yeah.” She finished applying a layer of pink lipstick, then spun on her stool so she was facing me. She was so short that her feet barely touched the floor. “You intrigue me. First you walk in the door and Artie hands you a job without an audition. I’ve never seen him stammer like a high schooler before. Then there’s the mirror thing.”
“The mirror thing?” I knew I probably sounded like a moron, echoing everything she said, but it was the safest response.
Layla arched a perfectly-shaped brow. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she said, “You never look at yourself. Not really. You’ll use the mirror to put on eyeliner, or to make sure your butt glue is doing its job, but nothing more. Most women glance at themselves as they walk by, and you don’t even do that. So, what’s your deal?”
People didn’t usually notice details like that. Oh, they noticed me, of course, but few ever saw through the haze of lust to the person beneath. It meant that Layla was perceptive.
Perceptive people were dangerous.
“I’ve got bigger things to worry about, I guess,” I said. Things like being hunted by the oldest, most powerful creature in the universe, and figuring out how to kill him. I reached for a tube of lip gloss. “As for Artie, you’ll have to ask him. But with most men, their decisions just boil down to dick or dime. Usually they’re thinking about both.”
Layla laughed and got to her feet. “Oh my God. I’m totally stealing that.”
I gave her a small, tentative smile. “Steal away.”
She bent over to adjust one of her heels. After that, she straightened, took two steps, and paused. Layla’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “There’s a guy by the bar tonight, you can’t miss him,” she said. “He wears an orange and yellow windbreaker and only drinks vodka sodas. Don’t waste your time. He never has cash.”
I was so startled that all I could think to say was, “Thanks.”
Layla nodded, smiling. “Anytime. Oh, and don’t cover your beauty mark tonight. It gives you such a queenly look. Not that you need any help with that. Okay, see you out there.”
Before I could respond, Layla followed another dancer through the doorway. I watched her go, shocked she could see my real face, and also thrown by her kindness. In every club I danced in, the other girls despised me. Despite what most people thought, this wasn’t an easy job. We were competing for the same customers and the same wallets. And without fail, I always swooped in and took all the attention. Men fell over themselves to learn my name and get me into the VIP room. There wasn’t a single night I found myself with free time or the need to go looking for work. Hell, I’d hate me, too. Yet there Layla was, talking to me without a trace of resentment in her eyes, offering tips. In another life, maybe we could’ve been friends.
