Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

“I would if I could figure out what to say,” Niall said. He put a hand on the small of her back and nudged her forward gently. “Come. The club is a safer place to relax than out here”—he gestured at the empty street—“where you are so vulnerable.”

Seth cleared his throat and scowled at Niall. Then he told Leslie, “The club’s right around the corner.”

Leslie walked a little faster, trying to move away from Niall’s hand on her back. Speeding up didn’t help: he kept pace with her.

When they rounded the corner and she saw the dark building in front of them, she felt panic well up. There was no sign, no posters, no people hanging outside, nothing to indicate that the building in front of them was anything other than abandoned. I should be freaking out. She wasn’t, though, and she couldn’t understand why.

Niall said, “Head toward the doorman.”

She looked back. Standing at the front of the building was a muscular guy with an ornate tattoo covering one half of his face. Spirals and lines disappeared under hair as black as the ink. The other side of his face was inkless. The only ornamentation was a small black tusklike piercing in his upper lip, the white match of which was in the corner of his mouth on the inked side of his face.

“Keenan cool with her being here?” The man pointed at her, and Leslie realized that she was still staring—in part because she couldn’t fathom how she could’ve missed seeing someone like him standing outside the door.

“She is a friend of Aislinn’s, and there are unpleasant guests in town. The”—Niall paused and crinkled his face into a wry smile—“Aislinn is with Keenan.”

“So are Keenan and Ash good with it or not?” the inked man asked.

Niall clasped the man’s forearm. “She is my guest, and the club should be near empty, yes?”

The doorman shook his head, but he opened the door and motioned to a short, muscular guy with the most incredible dreads Leslie had ever seen. They were thick and well formed, hanging like a mane around the guy’s face. For a moment, Leslie thought it was an actual mane.

“We have a new guest,” said the doorman as the dreadlocked guy came outside. The door thudded shut behind him.

Dreadlocks stepped closer and sniffed.

Niall quirked his mouth in what looked like a snarl. “My guest.”

“Yours?” Dreadlocks’ voice was low—harsh like he lived on cigarettes and liquor.

Leslie opened her mouth to object to the proprietary tone in Niall’s voice, but Seth put a hand on her wrist. She glanced at him, and he shook his head.

Dreadlocks said, “My pride is in—”

Seth cleared his throat.

“Go tell them,” the doorman said as he opened the door and motioned Dreadlocks back inside. “Two minutes.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment before the tension felt too unbearable for Leslie. “If this is a bad idea—”

But the door had already reopened, and Seth was stepping into the shadowy building.

“Come on.” Niall went inside.

She went only a few steps before she stopped, unable to think what to say or do. The few people inside were all wearing strange and ornate costumes. A woman passed by with vines draped all over her arms; the vines seemed as if they flowered.

Like the living art at the museum.

Another couple wore feathered wigs; still others had blue faces and misshapen teeth, not like the vampire teeth the costume places sold at Halloween—but each tooth jagged, like sharks’ teeth.

Niall stood beside her, his hand resting on her back again. In the odd blue lights of the club, his eyes looked reflective; his scar was a black slash on his skin.

“Is it okay that we don’t have costumes, too?” she whispered.

He laughed. “Quite. These are their everyday wear.”

“Everyday? Are they like one of those reenactment groups? A role-playing group?”

“Something like that.” Seth pulled out a tall chair. Like the rest of the furniture, it was a polished wood. Nothing in the low-lit club seemed to be made of anything other than wood, stone, or glass.