Page 15 of Devil Inside
I’m not going to say the crowd parts right in front of me, but I swear, for just a second, it definitely feels like it does. The mosh pit breaks open, the cellular walls of a living organism bursting, the swirling ring of bodies releasing one of its own.
It’s her again.
Her.
The woman from before. It’s bound to be her. Isn’t it? Do I know her? Have I seen her around? She’s upright now, standing on her own two combat-booted feet. Blue jean jacket. A black skirt and a web of fishnet stockings. A tattoo wraps around herwrist. A black rose on the back of her hand, its petals brushing against her knuckles. Thorns along her thumb.
Did her tattoo just move? Did her skin ripple?
I’m definitely seeing things.
There’s another tattoo on her right upper thigh, eclipsed by fishnets. I think it’s a feejee mermaid, but I can’t tell. It’s trapped in the net of her stockings. She’s wearing candy apple lipstick, reflecting what little light there is to shine. Her ink-black hair is cut in a bob.
But it’s her hazel eyes that make the biggest impression. Jesus, they’re endless. Absolutely bottomless. An abyss in each socket. What kind of sea life is swirling inside?
She peels away from the crowd, her back to the stage. The band continues to attack their instruments as she abandons that knot of bodies, like she can’t be bothered.
She’s heading my way.
We’re locking eyes and I swear the sound system immediately mutes itself. I can’t hear the song anymore. All I’ve got is my pulse. That staccato drumbeat pummeling away.
She’s walking right up to me. Eyes driving right through my chest.
To the bar.
Of course.Christ, what a fucking dipshit... I’m standing at the bar. It’s barely holding me up anymore. She’s not coming for me—she’s coming to order a drink.
Idiot.
There’s an oversaturation of red and orange light onstage, basting this place and everybody in it in a Halloween sheen. Her skin is the color of a blazing pumpkin right now.
A captivating jack o’ lantern.
Once she reaches the bar, she asserts herself by inserting her shoulder between me and the guy I’ve been standing next to for the last four songs. She leans over the wooden rudder of a bar, tacky with spilled beer, and immediately gets the bartender’s attention.
Of course she owns this place.
I glimpse her neck, the slope of skin, tracing the faint web of her veins, as she whispers her order directly into the bartender’s ear—this sleeved Harley honcho with a salt-and-pepper beard. He hears her over the din, nodding before going off to make her drink.
She leans back and finds me. I’m not at my finest right now, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Staring is bad bar etiquette, but from the way she’s holding herself, I don’t get the distinct impression she’s all that shy.
She stares right back at me, meeting my eyes without flinching. Smiling, as a matter of fact. Challenging me.
“I’ll swallow your soul,” she says.
There’s no way I heard her right. Must be the music. “Come again?”
She lets out a laugh. Her neck cracks back as she does it, too. I’m at an absolute loss for words. Even if I had some, I wouldn’t be able to use them. It’s way too loud in here to talk. The music is too much. It completely permeates the atmosphere, absorbing all my other senses. There’s nothing to do but succumb to the sound. Let it overwhelm us.
But this woman... I don’t know. She’s able to maneuver around the sound. Above it. On it. I don’t know how else to explain it. Explainher. It doesn’t overwhelm her, absorb her, like everyone else. It seems to drift off her skin, radiate all around her, oil swirling in water.
Resonates.That’s the word.
She leans into me this time. Her chin is only inches from my shoulder, her lips at my ear. Her breath spreads over my skin as her voice cuts through the music. “You drinking?”
I hear her so clearly. Almost as if she’s in my head. I hold up my own cup, empty now. Nothing but melted ice. “So I’m told.”
She lures the bartender back. Through some alchemy of eye gestures, she orders another round for me.
