Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (14 page)

‘I like being blonde,’ Freya answers. ‘It’s me.’

‘But…’ Sarah says.

‘If you’re about to use the “It’s so not Goth” line on me I’ll counter with Xmal Deutschland and Skeletal Family: Anje Huwe and Anne-Marie Hurst – both blonde.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…Hey, you’ve thought this through, haven’t you?’

‘It’s okay. I know you’re thinking it’s only a matter of time before I’m assimilated, worn down and altered by the force that is Raven. You’ve probably placed bets on how long it takes me to dye my hair or get piercings.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Donna cuts in, squeezing Sarah’s hand. ‘We all love you, just the way you are.’

Freya frowns and returns to her beer. Silence settles over the room. Sarah realises she is shaking. Her throat feels as though she’s swallowed something big and sharp and it’s caught half way down. Taking another sip of absinthe, she watches Freya through narrowed eyes.

‘Here,’ says Raven, shimmying into the room in her PVC corset and buckled hobble skirt. A powdered arm, heavy with silver bracelets reaches out and lifts the bottle of vodka. Raven uses a straw to preserve the perfection of her painted lips. The woman looks incredible. Her figure and height scream power and beauty. Realising she is staring, Sarah looks away.

‘So Star, spill the beans, how did it go with Satori?’ Raven’s tongue licks the front of her teeth then she smiles at Sarah.

‘Okay I guess,’ Sarah answers.

‘Okay? I don’t believe you, Star. Satori is heavenly. Don’t spare any of the details. You know, since he who shall remain nameless, I’ve been living my love-life by proxy. You have to tell me everything.’ Raven towers over Star.

Sarah shudders. Images of the unnameable man flash through her mind. The bruises Raven inflicted, the broken nose and torn earlobe, stand as testament to an act of violence Sarah struggles to comprehend.
How could a person tear another apart like that?
Tilting her face, she looks again at her friend - five-foot-ten in bare feet with a generous hour-glass figure. It is true that jealousy turns love to madness, and Raven’s height and Amazonian build lend strength to her fury.
Never cross her
, Sarah thinks, shaking her head.

Sarah cannot control her shaking hands. ‘It wasn’t like that, Raven,’ She doesn’t want to say what it was like. Even if the details were less confused she wouldn’t want to share them.

Raven looks disappointed for a moment. She sucks her straw then checks her watch. ‘I have something Ivy needs for her set tonight. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to get to the club early. Drink up, girls.’

Sarah always wants to get to the club early, in spite of Raven’s assurances that only the pathetic ones arrive before eleven; the “beautiful people” swan in after the pubs close. Club Midian has two resident DJs, one of them plays Trad Goth, the likes of
The Sisters of Mercy
and
The Cure
, the other plays Industrial and EBM music,
Combichrist
,
Covenant
and
VNV Nation
. Sarah loves the Melodic, dark and slow Trad Goth. Johnny O who spins these disks for her listening pleasure is on from ten until eleven then twelve until one. He always starts the night with the dark eighties music she adores. Poison Ivy, the other DJ, plays the floor fillers from eleven until twelve and one until the club closes at two.

Most nights Raven insists that they arrive later. ‘We are the uber-goobers, the goddesses of Goth. We have to show them that we’re cool. We’re not going yet.’

Without complaint Freya, Donna and Sarah stand up. They tidy away their bottles and glasses in the kitchen and shrug into their coats. Sarah gasps as she sees Raven’s new jacket. It is black satin with a luxurious fur trim around the collar and hem. Raven smiles and picks up her coffin-shaped handbag. Together, the four of them head towards the club.

Chapter 21

A queue has formed outside the club door and Raven stares at the end of it, a look of horror on her face. Sarah scans along it, searching for familiar faces. The
kids
are here, their faces hidden behind long fringes. There are more t-shirts and jeans than she would like to see, although there is the glint of PVC under some of the jackets and coats. She has to admit that Raven is right though. In the club hierarchy these patrons are definitely on the lower tiers. The idea that Raven might actually know what she’s talking about amuses Sarah and she has to stifle a giggle.

‘I can’t queue,’ Raven declares. She shakes her head as if trying to dispel the memory of a nightmare.

Raven walks across to the door, Sarah and the others follow her. Two doormen stand by the closed entrance. Both have shaven heads and their bare arms are crossed over their sculpted chests. She approaches the nearest man. His arms are covered in tattoos and his ear lobes have been stretched by thick, black plugs. He is tall, but in her heeled boots Raven’s height is equal to his. She leans forward to whisper in his ear. Sarah watches her friend’s forefinger gently stroke the man’s bicep as she speaks to him. She turns back to her friends smiling as the bouncer opens the door.

Great job Raven
. They pay for their entry as the first group of misfits swell in behind them. Their coats are checked and their first drinks purchased before anyone else reaches the top of the stairs.

Sarah sits on a sticky vinyl seat, swaying her torso in time to the gentle music. Raven leaves her drink on the table and marches towards the DJ’s pulpit. Johnny spins a Dead Can Dance track, a beautiful song. It reminds Sarah of Steve. She takes a large sip of her drink and prays to the goddess he doesn’t come tonight.

The intro to
Lullaby
chimes through the foggy club air and Sarah leaps up.

‘Come on,’ she mouths at her friends. Freya shakes her head. Donna stands up and follows Sarah to the dance floor.

‘What was all that with Freya earlier?’ Donna shouts into Sarah’s ear. The noise is dampened by the heavy bass of the song and it takes a moment for Sarah to understand the question.

‘What do you mean?’ Sarah says although as she finishes her sentence she already knows.

‘All that crap about dying her hair. What’s it to you what Freya looks like?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah says, frowning. ‘I guess it bugs me. Why is she so immune to Raven’s pressure?’

‘Ah, what you really mean is why aren’t you.’

Sarah nods.

‘So why aren’t you?’ Donna asks, staring at Sarah’s face.

Sarah’s cheeks burn and her eyes sting, she shakes her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Okay, but you know you need to figure this thing out, don’t you?’ Donna says, squeezing Sarah’s fingers. ‘So, what about Steve?’

‘I’m not seeing him again,’ Sarah says, still shaking her head.

‘But you were with him today?’

‘Last Saturday and today,’ Sarah admits, nodding slowly in case her words are lost in the music.

‘Why? You know the guy’s bad news.’ Donna moves closer. ‘It’s Okay, Sarah. We’ll work it out.’

‘What?’ Sarah asks, twisting her neck to face her friend.

‘You’re pregnant,’ Donna says.

In spite of herself Sarah laughs. She laughs so hard her body bends double. When she comes back up for air Donna is staring at her, a look of confusion has a stranglehold over her face.

‘I’m not,’ Sarah manages to say. ‘The truth is so strange, you’d never believe it.’

‘Try me,’ Donna insists.

‘Bathroom break,’ Sarah says, leaving the dance floor.

Club Midian’s toilets are infamous. At best a den of vice even Vermelho Road struggles to match, at worst flooded with urine, vomit and faeces. As yet the night is young and the only patron is reapplying makeup.

Donna and Sarah huddle into the corner. It is easier to talk in whispers here. Although the music can still be heard, it is an insubstantial echo - a Siren, enticing dancers back to the club.

‘So,’ Donna prompts, when Sarah struggles to find the words. ‘You saw Steve, your ex-boyfriend; the man you fell totally in love with and who drove you half-crazed, psychotic and potentially suicidal, last weekend.’

‘And today.’

‘But that’s Okay, because you’re not going out with him anymore?’

Sarah smiles. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I guess when you put it like that there’s no reason to fear for my sanity at all.’

Donna hugs her tight. ‘You’re not insane. You’re hormonal,’ she says grinning.

‘I promise you, Donna,’ Sarah says, serious now. ‘There was no sex, no kissing even. I’m helping him.’

Donna moves back and stands quietly. Sarah feels the physical separation like a bottomless chasm opening between them. The woman by the mirror shuffles a little then leaves the bathroom. They are alone.

‘Did I tell you about my vision?’

Donna nods.

‘Well it really happened. Steve summoned a demon and she’s out there somewhere, killing people. Or at least one man, maybe more. That gruesome murder by the tobacco factory, did you hear about that?’

‘Yes.’

Sarah looks around the room, realising how crazed she sounds.
What was Donna’s word? Psychotic, I sound completely psychotic.
She looks at her friend’s sympathetic face and feels more alone than she has ever felt in her life.
Donna will not believe me, how could she? Demons don’t exist.

‘Did Steve tell you this?’ Donna asks, pronouncing each word with care.

Sarah snorts with laughter, her eyes dart from side to side searching for truth.

‘I’m crazy, aren’t I?’

‘No, no my love, you aren’t crazy. Maybe a little … gullible.’

Yes, of course.
Sarah tries to remember whether she mentioned her vision first.
Is it all an elaborate lie to get me back into his bed? What about the room, the markings all over Steve’s body?

‘Aargh!’ she screams, pounding the heels of her hands hard against each temple, trying to squeeze out the confusion.

‘Shh, it’s okay,’ Donna says, moving Sarah’s hands and gently stroking her face. ‘Men, they fuck you up. Come and dance it all out.’

Sarah nods and follows her friend back to the dance floor. When they return Raven has finished with Ivy and is scanning the room for them. She nods when she spots them and goes back to her drink. Looking across at the table, Sarah calculates it’s probably her third drink of the evening, if you don’t include the half bottle at home of course.

Alice
is playing. Sarah loves this song. She mouths the words as she dances to the
Sisters of Mercy
track. Goth music: the soundtrack to her insane life. The music resonates in the deepest parts of her. It tells her she isn’t the only person who feels this way.

Chapter 22

Tonight Lilith feels free. Her time in canine form and her latest conquest leave her feeling alive.

She is surprised the magician still hasn’t found her.
What’s keeping him? Is he hiding somewhere, terrified to see me again? Surely he hasn’t given up already – time perhaps for a change of tactics.

She concentrates on the image of her outfit. It must be perfect tonight. As the picture forms in her mind so her body changes to reflect her will. Clothes wrap themselves around her thighs and stomach. Her skirt is dense silk fitted to the knee then flared below. The heavy, liquid looking material hides her feet completely. Above, she creates a highly polished latex corset with curved horn shapes framing the tops of her exaggerated breasts. The corset is black and reflective, an obsidian mirror. Opera gloves, the same material as her skirt, encompass her slender arms.

Her hair darkens until it reaches a deep blue-black, the colour of raven feathers. It thickens too, achieving an impressive volume. Her make-up alters. Deep red lipstick colours porn-star full lips, her skin a flawless alabaster, and her eyes drawn like Cleopatra’s with heavy thick lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Finally she stretches her neck and binds it in a latex collar which moves like her own skin.

She admires the effect - pure villainess,
the
femme fatale.

When she arrives at
Club Midian
the group of smokers outside halt their conversation and stare at her. They too stand tall and pale, black hair framing their own painted faces. Yet somehow the effect she achieves manages to eclipse their efforts. She hears them hold their breath as she glides across the threshold, up the stairs and out of their sight.

The club is dark and full of a sweet smelling mist. Lilith cannot see the magician in the swarm of black wrapped bodies. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, she looks around the room. Dancers’ teeth glow, as do the white and neon flyers on every table. Shining drinks look like lanterns under the black light. It feels like home.

She sees a man bouncing forwards and backwards across the dance floor. He wears a black coat and shiny jeans and the skin just below his mouth is pierced. A small metal spike juts outwards. Admiring the look, she adopts it as her own. Her spike is ebony and wags like a tail as she licks her lips.

The music is fast, it pounds so furiously that her natural rhythm has to adjust to keep up with the beat.

‘
I want to taste you, feel you, make you hurt,
’rasp the deep vocals. Bodies and hair bounce in unison. In the centre of them all four girls dance together. One towers above the others. Her hairstyle is similar to Lilith’s, and she moves in an uncoordinated way—Raven. Another, the blonde girl from the rum bar with purple ribbons in her hair, sways slowly to the music, carefully moving out of Raven’s way whenever she staggers too close. The other two jump up and down with the rest of their tribe. Like a live volcano, swelling upwards and shrinking as one bubbling mass before finally exploding. One of the girls has short black hair, the other an abundance of dark ringlets, she is the one Lilith is interested in. The magician’s female—Star.

Star bounces in perfect time. Her enormous boots look weightless. Lilith can only see the back of her. The thick black curls of her hair rise and fall as she leaps. Her shoulders and throat revealed in each descent. Her skirt lifts too, each time she falls back down to earth, like the petals of an exotic night flower, tempting insects to its core.