Free Moonshine: A Novel by Alaya Johnson

the Temperance Union doesn't give you much time to practice," he said. His voice had gotten very low. I wouldn't have thought I'd be able to hear it over the din of the band and other people's chatter, but every syllable hummed in my ears like bumblebees. As though we were dancing in our own bubble, separated from the vulgar world.
    He isn't human, Zephyr. I looked up at him, unnerved by how intently he met my gaze and yet unable to look away. How much of this is real? For the first time since we met, I felt threatened. I didn't like to think about why.
    Behind me, a dancer smashed his elbow into my shoulder, sending me sprawling into Amir. So much for the magical bubble. Angry, and not a little embarrassed, I whirled around and looked for the offender.
    "God damn it," I muttered. There were at least fifty people dancing around us, and all of them seemed to have rather overenthusiastic elbows.
    "Don't tell me you're upset there's someone here clumsier than you?"
    His breath tickled my ear. A second before I turned to retort, a strange movement near the door caught my eye. It was Aileen's ratty ostrich feather, hanging from her turban at an odd angle. She was stumbling up the stairs, her limp hand gripped by a well-dressed man. After a moment I recognized him as the fellow with the diamond cuff links she had discovered after I kicked her off Amir. I felt a grudging admiration for her fast work.
    Amir tried to pull me back toward him. "What, no reply?" he said, gently mocking.
    I shook him off, distracted. The man opened the door and yanked on Aileen's arm. Slowly, she followed him.
    "Zephyr?"
    Something was wrong. Like I said, I don't have any special senses. But I notice things. Too bad the alcohol was delaying the translation of my vague unease into something concrete.
    The man pulled Aileen through and shut the door.
    I didn't hear the click, but it felt like a blast through my thoughts. Aileen's feather hadn't been knocked askew. It was broken. And what kind of gentleman who can afford diamond cuff links goes abroad on a night as frigid as this without a coat and hat?
    One who can't feel the cold.
    "Oh, God."
    I broke away from Amir and sprinted to the door. How long? About ten seconds. They couldn't have gotten very far. But they didn't need to get very far, did they? Horace was a smart guy; he picked a quiet street for his illicit operations. All this flashed through my head on a detached, parallel track as I threw open the door and sprinted up the snow-covered steps.
    Prints in the snow on the sidewalk--one large male, one stumbling female--headed to the right. But they were mixed with others--the two vampires I'd seen earlier were giggling and staggering in the opposite direction down the street. Could Aileen . . . but no, she wasn't with them. My breath rasped in my throat. But my hands were steady as I reached under my shockingly short skirt and pulled out the silver knife from my girdle. My thoughts focused, short and staccato. The gentle, shearing sound of the blade pulling free from its casing. The barely audible crunch of my shoes on the snow. The deserted street. The dim gas streetlights. Aileen's footsteps disappeared a few feet away from the club. The larger ones continued around to the small garbage alley two houses down from Horace's. I followed them, pressed my back against the cold, wet brick and peered into the darkened alley.
    He had her against the fire escape. The broken feather had fallen to the snow. Her eyes and jaw were slack. She could have just been drunk, except for the way her neck angled so invitingly toward her partner. For a moment, I caught his silhouette, and there could be no doubt about what he was. His eyes glowed like inhuman searchlights. His lips, in anticipation of a feed, had turned bloodred, but the rest of his skin was pale and blue-veined as a corpse. I adjusted my grip on the knife, fury building up under my rigid focus. He wasn't blood-mad. For him to disguise himself so well