Эллен Шрайбер - The Coffin Club

Why was the motorcycle guy checking me out? And sitting alone like he was waiting to hold court?

I felt strangely drawn to him. His stare was magnetic.

Several rough-looking clubsters approached him—but instead of greeting him like one of the guys by slapping him on the arm or high-fiving him, they all nodded and entered the small chamber, sat down at the table around him, and waited for him to speak.

I desperately wanted to hear their secret conversation and get a handle on who or what this biker was all about.

“He doesn’t have any idea about what vampires truly need,” one clubster told the biker.

“I think it’s time we do something,” another said.

“Before he ruins our plans,” a third added.

The purple-haired biker leaned in, out of earshot.

The cagey guys were listening to him so intently, I could tell they were as entranced as I was. If the biker was these barbaric clubsters’ leader, I could only imagine that I’d encountered someone twice as dangerous as Jagger and Valentine.

I felt my heart race again throughout my body when I realized my cell phone was vibrating. Aunt Libby again. Everyone, except for the biker, turned and glared at me. But the rock star biker dude remained still. It was as if he knew I had been standing there the whole time.

I quickly headed for the archway leading back to the dance floor when all at once someone was standing in front of me, blocking my way.

I took a breath and looked up. His purple hair flopped down, seductively, over his Ray-Bans. His stern, hypnotic gaze bore through the dark lenses. There was something powerful about the mysterious stranger. He smelled like Obsession and towered over me in his thick motorcycle boots.

“How did you get in?” he asked in a heavy Romanian accent.

“Do you own the club?”

“No, but I might.” His leather jacket crackled as he folded his arms. “I haven’t seen you before.” His head lowered and it appeared he was checking out my neck. “I suspect you don’t belong.”

I fiddled with my earring, covering my smooth, bite-free neck with my palm. I felt slightly intimidated by him, but it didn’t prevent me from talking back.

“How would you know?” I challenged.

His glasses and hair cast a shadow over his face, making him hard to read. I wasn’t sure if he broke a smile. By his body language, I knew he was serious. “It is best that you leave. Membership to our club comes at a very high price. But perhaps I can explain more over a drink.”

“No thanks. I already have a boyfriend.”

“Then he is a very lucky guy,” he complimented me. “My name is Phoenix Slater,” he said, extending his hand and grabbing mine. “And you are?”

“Leaving,” I said, pulling my hand away.

I had made it halfway to the Dungeon door when he slithered his arm around me. Angry, I spun around but wasn’t prepared for who I now confronted. Staring back at me were one metallic green eye and one ice blue eye. Jagger Maxwell.

I gasped. It had been a few months since I’d seen Alexander’s nemesis up close and personal.

Jagger looked exactly the same—white hair with red tips, as if they’d been dipped in blood. Three silver rings pierced his left ear, and a tattoo on his arm read POSSESS. He was holding the dark hoodie.

He closed in on me like a spider to a fly.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, moving back.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, slithering close.

“I thought you were in Romania.”

“I thought you were in Alexander’s arms.”

“I came here to see—”

“Yes?” He watched my lips intensely, waiting for my response.

“My aunt.”

“Does your aunt belong to this club?” he asked, mocking me. “What is she, forty? Fifty? I don’t see anyone dancing with a walker.”

“She’s not here, doofus,” I said. “She lives in town, but you’d better—”

“I have no interest in your aunt. You, however…” He inhaled deeply, as if he were breathing me in, then licked his deadly pale lips. “I’m curious why you are here. This club is for members only. But once you join, membership lasts for an eternity. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you’ve already joined.”

Before I had a chance to stop him, he placed his cold hands against my chin and turned my head from one side to the other, inspecting my neck.

“Let go!”

“I didn’t think so. You really shouldn’t be here. This is not a place for your kind.”

“I don’t have a kind.”

“Too bad. Isn’t this what you’ve always dreamed of?” He stared into my eyes and traced the neckline of my dress with his black-tipped fingernail. He licked his lips and flashed his fangs.

Phoenix pushed between us. He and Jagger locked eyes before Jagger backed away.

Dozens of clubsters gathered around, half on Jagger’s side, the others flanking Phoenix, as if awaiting a deadly fight.

I didn’t know which side to choose. Even though I knew Jagger was nefarious, I at least had an idea of who I was dealing with. But as the tension grew between the two, I knew it was best to leave.

I escaped and hid behind the black curtain a few yards away. When I caught my breath, I peered inside the slit in the fabric.

I wasn’t quite sure what kind of club I’d stumbled into, but I had an idea. Blood-filled drinks, flashing fangs, a club where membership lasts an eternity. There was only one way to be sure.

I reached into my purse and pulled out Ruby’s compact. I angled it behind me. I took a deep breath and peered into the reflected glass. I froze. The crowded club and dance floor were empty.

I’d just entered the real Coffin Club.

5

The Catacombs

After I whisked past Dragon, who was screening members, I sprinted up the steep staircase and out the Coffin Club’s main entrance. I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine behind me as I tore down the street to find Aunt Libby outside the Old Town Folk Music Center, holding a large African drum under her arm, very surprised to see me.

I crashed on Aunt Libby’s futon, but sleep did not immediately overtake me. In the middle of the night, I heard a motorcycle charging down the street. I sat up and peered out the pale blue curtained window. There were no signs of Phoenix or any other Harley rider. I fell back on the mattress but was still tightly wound by the night’s events swirling around in my mind.

Just when I thought I’d seen everything, or knew all there was for a mortal to know about the Underworld, I had stumbled into another unearthly adventure. I thought my life had become rich enough when I found out Alexander’s vampire identity. Then I encountered Jagger, Luna, and Valentine and their bloodthirsty ways. Who ever would have thought, living and growing up in Dullsville (where the biggest event was the annual spring carnival), that one day, not only would these events happen to me, but I would encounter a club where vampires were accepting me as one of their own.

It had been one thing to hang out with Luna and encounter Jagger in Dullsville. Tonight was like nothing else I’d experienced. Instead of going to the mall with Becky, I’d been dancing with vampires. Immersed in their world versus meeting a few in mine, I got to see what the Underworld was like. Without the threat of mortals, they were free to be themselves. Flirting, drinking, and partying like any other clubster in an alternative club, except one thing—the clientele were immortal bloodsucking vampires.

I replayed the night’s events in my mind. I wondered why Jagger had remained in Hipsterville. Wasn’t his time better spent back in Romania with Luna and Valentine? And who was this Phoenix character? Why was I, along with a rough gang of vampires, so drawn to him? Was he more trouble than Jagger? And what was his gang asking him to do?