Secondhand Heart (32 page)

“Here.”

Keisha’s eyes widened but she didn’t correct me.

“Don’t you know what kind of show this is?” He raised an eyebrow at me. I didn’t look like the rest of the girls here in my eyelet tank top and tie dyed skirt. “You know you have to be twenty-one to get in, right?” This was the first time I had a chance to try out the license someone had left behind at my mother’s restaurant. If someone looked at it quickly, they might think it was me.

“Thanks. We’ve got it all under control.” I assured him—and myself—as we walked away.

“Nice work!” Keisha high fived me.

My hands trembled as I examined the ticket in my hand. I walked straight into some lady and muttered an apology. I couldn’t believe I was here.

The usher glanced at my ID, ripped my ticket, and stepped aside.

We were in.

A group of girls next to us jumped up and down and squealed. I was doing the same thing on the inside.

The Sin City Vampire Club looked like a modernized Victorian theater. A giant chandelier twinkled above a grand staircase. Fans perched on red velvet Victorian couches and chairs, ornate silver metalwork hung on the dark wood walls, alternating with large gruesome paintings of sacrificial rituals or something like that. Built in curios housed skulls and jars full of gross things suspended in goo. Tinny, haunting music from an antique Victrola piped in over the PA system. We headed upstairs to our seats. An off white and faded red striped curtain hid the stage.

I’d never expected to see so many velvet and lace jackets and gauzy tutu skirts in one place. Some wore fangs, others had their faces painted like skeletons, and still others had fake blood dripping from their mouths.

Keisha started talking to the girls next to us, a dark-haired girl with too much black makeup with her perfectly put together red-headed friend. “Have been to the show before?”

“We come all the time,” the redhead gushed. “First time here?”

Keisha nodded, her head on a swivel. This was so not her thing. She’d rather be out dancing. “It is.”

“The TV show does it no justice. It’s like pure sex.” The redhead licked her lips.

Some fans considered their attraction to the band to be a paranormal connection they referred to as Bloodlust, but I never believed it. They liked the music, the guys were hot. They could hide behind all the supernatural garbage they wanted to try to justify their obsession, but they couldn’t feel what I felt. After all, Tristan was the first guy I ever kissed.

A ballerina came on to the stage with no fanfare. The curtain didn’t rise and the lights didn’t dim.

She moved so delicately, she could have been dancing on a cloud. Her severe bun had been powdered, and her ribs showed through the plain white leotard. As she spun around, trapeze artists flipped above her. Two other performers peddled on tricycles with giant front wheels. The music became more and more frenzied and the spotlights pulsed and strobed on each performer.

So entranced by the ballerina, I didn’t notice the man step from the shadows until the music stopped. The other performers had disappeared. With one arm clamped around the ballerina’s waist, he pulled her head back to the side, exposing her neck. She held still, graceful, even under siege. Then, almost too quickly for me to see, he pressed his mouth to her neck until her body went limp.

The house lights fell and the crowd went wild. Everyone around me rose to their feet, screaming and crying, jumping up and down. Emotion pulsed and throbbed through the room like the lights overhead.

The beat of the drums ripped through room like fireworks. Heat exploded through the theater, burning my skin even back in these crappy seats. The rest of the band rose up through the floor on giant pedestals, and the whole place shook with the crowd’s screaming.

Tristan commanded the left side of the stage. His long, dark hair flowed free, and he’d painted his face in some sort of elaborate skeleton design that was almost pretty. Under the guitar he wore a red fuzzy coat, open, no shirt underneath, and black shiny pants that must have been poured around the shape of his body. Standing on the pedestal, he played his guitar with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, swaying to the beat. Eerie, peaceful, yet somehow still beautiful, drenched in red light.

The pedestals lowered and Tristan sprang onto the stage. Roaming like a predator and whipping his hair around, he teased the fans by leaning over them with his guitar but staying just out of reach. He smiled wide, showing those horrible, horrible fangs. I hated that part of his costume.

I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Tristan. The singer strutted around the stage, his spiky hair sticking out above old fashioned goggles. He danced with the burlesque dancers on the riser, singing to them and running his fingers down their bare, bloody arms. They shimmied in front of huge screens playing old horror movies. The bassist painted himself silver, and he moved like a robot.

All the songs all sounded the same to me. As much as I tried to like them, Immortal Dilemma just wasn’t my thing. Too heavy. Tristan was my thing. When the singer stopped and hoisted his microphone stand over the audience, the crowd screamed out every word.

A single, red spotlight framed Tristan as he began his guitar solo. He shed his jacket and an audible gasp escaped from the audience. A sleeve of brightly colored tattoos decorated his left arm. That was new. I wanted to trace my finger along each line, to understand its story.

I needed more. So much more.

He plucked and pushed the guitar strings, almost making it cry. A hush fell over the crowd when his solo came to its finish. He walked up to the microphone and paused.

“I’ve waited so long to see you again.”

I swear that’s what he said, even with the echo
again…again...again…
rolled through the theater like a wave. The crowd swooned. I couldn’t breathe. My imagination had to be playing tricks on me. There was no way he could know I was here. Impossible.

Keisha grabbed my arm so hard she bruised it. She heard it, too.

It had to be a coincidence.

The rest of the band came back out for the encore. I stood there in my Tristan-induced daze until the band took its final bow.

“What did you think?” the dark haired girl asked, jarring me from my trance.

“It was amazing.” My voice sounded as far away as the rest of me was.

“You girls should totally come hang out with us.” Her friend grabbed my hand, way too familiar. “We’re headed to an after party. There will be all sorts of hot vampire guys there.”

“You really think they’re vampires?” Keisha barely got the words out without laughing.

“We know they are.”

“Okay.” Keisha turned to me and rolled her eyes.

“I think that sounds great.” I needed to move fast to make my plan work. Whether or not the hot guys were really vampires, these girls might know how I could find Tristan.

“Are you sure, Callie? You don’t want to stick around here?” Keisha didn’t seem convinced.

“Why would we want to hang around with a bunch of tourists?” I extended my hand to our new friends. “I’m Callie, and this is my cousin Keisha.”

“I’m Amanda.” The redhead squeezed my hand again. “And this is Janelle.”

“When you say hot vampire guys,” I ignored Keisha elbowing me in the ribs. “Do you mean Immortal Dilemma will be there?”

I mean, how many
vampires
could there possible be?

“Yeah, Callie’s hoping to spend some quality time with Tristan,” Keisha added, now it was my turn to elbow her.

Both Janelle and Amanda laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

S
ummer has finally arrived, along with a boy who will forever change the life of fourteen-year-old Callie. After growing up hearing stories about Tristan Trevosier and his famous family, Callie finally meets him when he spends the summer on Martha's Vineyard. Seventeen-year-old Tristan is a hurricane of destruction and rebellion, and he quickly blows a hole right into Callie's sheltered life. Callie sees a side of Tristan that he doesn't show anyone else. She's determined to make everyone see what she sees in him.

Callie defies her parents by leaving the island with Tristan. But when his ugly habits rear their head, Callie realizes maybe she's the one who's wrong about him. He's beyond her help. But it's too late for her to walk away. This summer, she learns that love can be stronger than reason.