Dangerous Creatures

CHAPTER 7 Another Brick in the Wall

We’re not lost. How big can Brooklyn be? And I got a nose like a houndog, remember?”

“Hound dog is two words,” Ridley said. “And you mean bloodhound.”

“Whatever.” He took a swig from the Coke can wedged between his seat and the door. Cars as old as the Beater didn’t have luxury amenities like cup holders or windshield wiper fluid, let alone both headlights.

“You sure you even know where you’re going? Where your apartment is?” Ridley looked at him suspiciously.

He spat the Coke back into the can with a sigh. It was as close as he could come to drinking one; like any Incubus, Link didn’t need food, or even want it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it.

Link sighed, rattling the can. “It’s not an apartment. Not exactly.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“A parking lot.” He stole a sideways look at her.

“Excellent.” She tried to look annoyed, but really, she wasn’t that surprised.

“I figured I’d sleep in the Beater. Seems to me we had some pretty good times in this old girl.” He patted the dashboard affectionately.

“Your plan was to move to New York until you made it big and you were going to sleep in your car the whole time?”

Link shrugged. “How long could it take? I’m a talented guy.”

Ridley pulled a slip of paper out of her bag and grabbed Link’s ancient and not-at-all-smart phone off the dashboard. She found the keypad and slowly typed in letters with the tips of her long red nails. “Never mind. I’ve got this.”

It was time for the next phase of her plan—time to meet the band, and Link couldn’t have made things any easier. The roadie at Suffer had given her the lead guitarist’s number and told her to call when they got to town. Here we are.

on our way address pls—Rid frm Suffer

“You have? Got what?” Link frowned.

“I know some people.” She patted his arm. “I always do.”

“Since when?” Now it was Link’s turn to be suspicious.

The next text was almost instantaneous, and incomprehensible.

puking clown myrtle duane

Ridley tried to decipher the message. “It seems like we’re staying with this guy named Duane,” she said. “And maybe a girl named Myrtle.”

“How come I never heard a these people?”

Ridley scrambled. “They’re friends of John’s. I texted him, and he hooked us up.”

“John’s supposed to be on a plane all night, remember?” Link said. “Who is this Duane guy for real?”

“They have Wi-Fi now on planes,” Ridley said smoothly. The lies are starting to come so easily. Even more quickly than usual. “Which you’d know, if you’d ever been on one.”

“Hey, I’ve been places.”

“The Greyhound bus to Myrtle Beach doesn’t count.” Rid didn’t even look up. “Speaking of Myrtle.” She kept typing.

what puking clown

The response came just as quickly.

puke on myrtle

What?

Link scoffed, and Rid forced herself to stop looking at the phone. He glanced away from the street signs long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “Why do I need a plane? John’s stupid for not Traveling.”

“That’s funny, because last time I checked we were sitting in a car for ten thousand hours driving all the way from South Carolina to New York City. Instead of Traveling.” Except for the part when we were, Ridley thought.

“That’s different. I couldn’t leave this sweet old girl home. She’d kill me.” Link patted the dashboard. “Isn’t that right, Sugarpie?”

“We have a place to crash with Duane and Myrtle. That’s the important thing. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Ridley almost believed herself as she said it. She tried the phone once more.

puking clown what the hell who is myrtle

This time, there was no response at all.

“She’s a street, not a person.” Ridley stood under the sign that said MYRTLE AVE. It was a miracle they’d found it, considering that it was the middle of the night and pitch-dark and every conceivable surrounding sign, wall, and surface was covered in layers of graffiti.

“I kinda picked up on that about Myrtle.” Link sighed. “Let’s get back in the car. That dude’s place has to be around here somewhere.”

Ridley shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? Duane’s screwing with us.”

“Actually, he’s not.” Link pointed, with a laugh. “But Duane really wants you to come in for your flu shot. Because he’s also not a person.” There it was, the sign announcing two-for-one vaccination day at Duane Reade.

Duane Reade, the drugstore.

Damn, she thought. They are screwing with me. Of course. Devil’s Hairspray. This band already sucks worse than Meatstik.

Link looked down at Ridley. “There’s no Duane, Babe. And no Myrtle. Do you have any idea where we’re goin’, or who we’re goin’ to see?”

“A puking clown.” She sat down on the curb. It was true, and all she had left to go on. Ridley was so frustrated she felt like crying. It didn’t help that the people they were looking for still wouldn’t answer her texts.

“Of course. Why didn’t you say so?” Link exhaled, trying not to lose it.

“That’s all the guy said. I’m so stupid for listening to some idiotic Caster I don’t even know and thinking he would help.” She caught herself. “Even if he is John’s friend.” Right. It wasn’t that far off. There were lots of idiotic Casters she never should have listened to in her life.

Damn Casters.

And damn that one Mortal roadie. If she’d never met him, she would never have gotten into the game of Liar’s Trade that landed her in this mess in the first place.

Damn Mortals.

“So who is this Not Duane guy? Dark Caster?” Link sat down on the curb next to her.

“Probably.” She shrugged, improvising. “If he’s one of John’s friends. He didn’t have the Lightest childhood.”

“Come on. John never had any friends, Rid. We both know that. Who is this guy, really?”

“Well…” Ridley took a breath and looked up at Link. “He’s in a band.”

“What?” Link stiffened. There was no way Ridley could work the word band into any conversation without Link knowing she’d been up to something.

The band was his thing, not hers.

She had pretty much avoided all other music since she and Link had gotten together. Considering the kind of music Link’s bands played, it was better if she didn’t have anything else to compare it to.

Now everything came tumbling out. Everything, up to a point. “I don’t even remember his name. He’s in a band and I saw him play at Suffer.” After we broke up. After I ran out on you. After I went on a bender through half of Europe. After I lost everything at one bad game of Liar’s Trade.

“Go on.” Link looked even more suspicious. Another band was annoying enough. Another band from a Dark Caster club was worse.

The rest of Ridley’s defense came out in one long—and surprisingly partially true—monologue. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to fight about it, and because I knew you’d hate him if you associated him with our breakup.” (Sort of true.) “But that’s where we met and his band needs a drummer and otherwise they seemed pretty good.” (Also sort of true.) “And I told him I knew someone who would be perfect and now here we are.” She took another deep breath. “See? It’s all fine. Now let’s go find a puking clown.”

She tried to sound upbeat, but saying the words puking clown made her give up again.

“I can’t believe you.” Link stared at her, and not in a good way. Not in an I-love-this-Siren way. The bandage dress wasn’t even a factor in this conversation, which proved how badly it was going.

I’m off my game, Ridley thought. I should be able to swing this, but I’m not. What’s wrong with me?

“Which part can’t you believe?” She tried to remember which part was true, but it had gotten so convoluted that she was having trouble sorting it out for herself.

“Any of it. You knew I was comin’ here to break into the music scene. Then you sat in the car the whole way up here and never said one word about me auditionin’ for a band.”

“It’s not an audition. You’ve already got the job.” Which is the whole problem, she thought. Irony sucks.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“They need a drummer. You’re a drummer. It’s math. You plus them equals band. Done. Can we go find the clown now?”

“Rid. Stop. This is a big deal to me. You don’t get to decide my whole future for me. That’s not how this is going to go down.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my dream. You have to stay out of it. I’m supposed to get there myself.”

“You are.”

“Yeah? How many lollipops did you have to suck to swing this one, Rid?” he asked.

The words stung. She looked away.

“Regular girlfriends don’t do things like that, Rid.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and get yourself one of those?” Don’t snap, Rid. Back it down. “Because I was only trying to help.” Myself, she added, as badly as she felt about it.

He looked skeptical.

“Really, Link. I’m just trying to be honest with you.” Nice touch.

“Whatever.” He looked away, back in the direction of the graffiti-covered Duane Reade.

“Why don’t you ever believe me when I say I’m sorry?” Ridley attempted to appear sorry, but she was having trouble remembering how that particular expression looked. She went with sick instead, because she’d faked that one enough times growing up that it was almost second nature.

“Because you’re never sorry,” Link said, as if the thought had only just now come to him. “Because you never really believe there’s anything to be sorry for. This is all just a game to you. It’s never goin’ to be anythin’ more real than that. Not for Ridley Duchannes.”

Ridley knew what he was talking about. Earlier in the summer, when Link had confessed that he loved her, she had freaked out and bailed on him. Neither one of them had said a word about it since.

Sometimes real was too real, especially for Ridley.

“No. That’s not true,” she said, suddenly feeling sort of awful.

Link stood up. “I need to walk.”

“No, please don’t,” she said. “Link.”

He took off down the street—away from Ridley and the Beater and the Duane Reade and the whole conversation.

She’d been tricking Mortals her entire life. At least, manipulating them. She’d always gotten by before. Why did she feel so bad about it now? And who was Link to make her feel so rotten for doing what she’d always done?

Most Dark Casters didn’t give Mortals a second thought. They were there to be taken advantage of—it was why they existed.

Like for target practice, or Casting lessons.

They’re just, you know, Mortals.

Ridley sat alone on the curb in the circle of a sad yellow streetlight. The night was dark, even in the city, and once again she was alone.

This is who I am. A girl sitting alone on a curb. This is all I know how to be.

She knew she needed to tell Link the truth, but which truth? And what did it matter? In the end, she’d still find herself alone on the curb.

Maybe that’s where I belong.

She shivered, feeling conspicuous, like the world was watching.

Literally watching.

She looked up.

Because someone is watching me, Rid thought. She could feel it, the eyes on her. She glanced up and down the street. The night grew darker in the cracks and crannies beneath cars and stoops, inside doorways and behind bushes. There were so many places to hide.

But as she watched, everything remained still.

Maybe I’m imagining things.

There were no footsteps, no sounds.

I don’t have that great of an imagination.

Ridley was still trying to hammer it out when Link shouted back to her.

“Rid!”

“Go away,” Ridley said. “I don’t want to hear it.” It was what he expected her to say, the Siren alone on the curb. So she said it.

“Well, that’s too bad, because I found us a puking clown.”