Free Kiss the Stars (Devon Slaughter Book 1) by Alice Bell

tuning their instruments, people crowded onto the dance floor. I heard, “This
one’s for Ruby.” I almost fainted but the crowd pressed in from all sides and
held me up. I moved to the music.
    The song merged
into the next one and the next. I danced a whole set, not leaving the floor
until it emptied. I wiped the back of my neck and felt sweat. The band was
packing up, one of the bartenders yelled, “Last call.”
    I checked my
watch. 1:39.
    “Hey,” Henry
came up behind me. I recognized his voice. I thought he would ask what happened
to Devon but he didn’t. He handed me a water bottle. “Thirsty?”
    I cleaned the
rim off with my sleeve, and wished I hadn’t. I drank and gave the bottle back.
    “Great band,” he
said.
    “You think so?”
    “Yeah. So you
like to dance. You’re good.”
    I didn’t believe
him. “I guess I’m a better dancer than a kisser,” I said.
    He looked
confused. “What?”
    “You told
Georgie how awful I kissed, like a fish.”
    He looked angry.
“I didn’t say that—”
    I shrugged.
    “What kind of
asshole do you think I am?”
    “I heard you and
Georgie. Remember? In the lounge, making fun of me. So I figured it was true.
It doesn’t matter.”
    “Yeah, it
matters. Look, I’m sorry you overheard Georgie but—”
    “But what? You
said things too. And you didn’t stick up for me when she said I was
Frankenstein’s bride.”
    He raked his
hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
    I dropped my
gaze. I pushed around a soggy peanut shell with the pointy toe of my shoe. “Why
didn’t you call me?” I said.
    “Honestly?”
    I glanced up to
see his face. His eyes held mine. “I was breaking up with my girlfriend.”
    “Georgie?”
    “No, Ruby. God.
Not Georgie. Forget about Georgie.”
    “You told her
you would never ever sleep with me.”
    “I didn’t, Ruby.
I swear.”
    “I heard you,”
my tone had an edge. “When Georgie asked if you’d slept with me, you said, God
no.”
    He shook his
head. “That’s not what I meant.”
    I didn’t say
anything. We stood there, in the sudden quiet.
    “I wouldn’t just
sleep with you,” he said. “I’d want it to be more.”

13. Devon
    I WENT uptown, to
a swanky bar where a woman played a harp. The entry was protected by a
white-haired man who stood behind a podium, checking his list and making sure
everyone who entered was properly dressed.
    I made myself
invisible and slipped past.
    The muted
lighting cast a complimentary glow. Jewels sparkled on manicured hands. Glasses
clinked seductively and the Scotch was old. There was something familiar about
the scene and I began to feel tired, as if the sheer tastefulness of it all
would suck me dry.
    At the same
time, the feeling stirred an image. I saw a kid, about fourteen or fifteen,
with shaggy hair. He fingered a knife, as the adults around him carved into
their filet mignon. The knife was so sharp; it gave him the urge to see if he
could make it stick in the wall, if he threw it like a circus performer. He wanted
to leap onto the bar and strip off his clothes, just to hear the blood curdling
screams.
    What he did was
excuse himself to use the bathroom and just kept going, across the marbled
foyer, through the glass turnstile and out onto the busy street.
    He loosened his
tie as he walked. He was so damn glad to be out of there and he knew he would
hear about it later, but it wouldn’t matter by then.
    I went with him,
recognizing who he was. Me.
    I wanted to
catch up to him, so I could get back inside myself, as if I’d escaped somehow.
I turned the corner, after him, down the block, toward China Town. The marquee
of the Chinese Theater cast a red light. Dracula was the feature.
    I followed him
inside the lobby. There was no one behind the candy counter. The movie poster
caught me off guard. Gary Oldman played Dracula and he looked like the
devil. I went down a dark hall lit by arrows and pulled open a door to the
sound of screaming.
    I cast my