Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(31)

I don’t say anything, because I didn’t think she knew I was a true gypsy.

I have no idea if that memory is just gone, or if she’s goading me into talking.

Then I remember something I’d truly forgotten, just as a long rope starts spinning, and everyone starts chanting Arion’s name. He sang that song to me like it held all the keys to my puzzles. A silly little song that makes zero sense.

A curtain attached to the end of that spinning rope drops, and firework-like pyrotechnics explode from a raised stage. People clear a path for Shera as she guides me toward the front.

“There’s Isiah. Go stand with him,” she says, pointing at the man I think is her boyfriend, or just someone she likes to dance with and kiss.

He barely looks over at me before returning his attention to the stage, where smoke is rolling in. The throngs of people start closing in on me before I can reach Isiah, everyone getting closer to the stage.

A bit of panic rises in me when I feel trapped, everyone pressing in so fast that I can’t even see a face—just flesh and fabric and little speckling dots of color. My body is jolted around and my teeth rattle.

In the next instant, bodies are violently yanked off me, and Shera is in my face, pulling me out of the fray. People practically dive out of her way instead of stepping on her.

Damn it. Now I have to hate her because that’s Anna’s rules. Any time you envy a girl, it’s crucial you hate her.

I have to stop thinking about Anna or I’m going to finally have that cry I’ve been denied by everyone.

The crackling before dark, ominous, dramatic music starts playing draws my eyes back to the stage as Shera stays at my side, babysitting me now.

Isiah is gone, which only seems to annoy her more as she huffs out an angry breath.

A casket comes rolling out, and I roll my eyes at the theatrical creepy flickering lights that accompany it. Violinists drop down from thorny vines that seem to almost be alive, and blood drips from their lips as they play their music in white, blood-spattered jumpsuits designed to look like straitjackets, but with arms that can still move…

It’s hard to explain how crazy vampire land is without sounding confusing.

Oye.

“Anna would so love this,” I tell Shera absently as the casket starts rocking, and a hissing sound comes from the ground.

“This is mild compared to what he wanted. I had to explain what was possible. He seems to think the computer makes magic happen. I’ve filled an entire room full of computer equipment I have no idea how to use,” she says, not even asking who Anna is as she gripes. “And the fog machines wouldn’t even work. I swear, I’m going to start recruiting repairmen and training them to work for the House just so I can avoid ever having another headache that size,” she rambles on.

But she stops talking when the casket door springs open, and barely a streak in the air can be seen.

Everyone looks around, clearly surprised by that speed. Did that happen underground? Did staying immobile for so long leave him faster somehow or something?

A thousand more questions roll through my brain as I look around like everyone else. Then suddenly fire sparks on the stage, and everyone looks over as Arion steps into view, smirking.

Yes, he’s evil. But for a second I forget that, remembering him as the ghost who’d lie on my bed and simply listen to me talk like no one else ever has.

Gone is the Mr. Darcy hair, and a more contemporary, devilishly sexy cut is in it’s place, messily tousled in ways that shouldn’t actually look so good.

His skin looks paler with his dark hair paired with his dark wardrobe, but it also looks indescribably tempting to touch.

He’s not wearing anything formal, unlike everyone else in attendance. It should be a cringe-worthy cliché, but he really does look good in that black leather jacket. His jeans hang in just the right way, while fitting all the important things the way they’re supposed to. And his Converse sneakers finish off the look.

Damn him.

He grins down at me like he’s noticed me here all along, as the deafening roar of the audience drones on.

He looks back, takes a dramatic bow, not doling out some epically disturbing and dark speech the way I expected. Then he turns to the band on stage, gives them the cue, and they start playing.

The lights start flashing different colors, turning the formal evening into a rave, as panels pull back from the floors, revealing acrylic dance floors above more blood pools.

Arion is on stage one second, and in the next he’s right behind me. My breath staggers when I feel him pushing my hair aside, leaning down to brush his lips against my ear.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs, eliciting a small shiver from me.

I should have remembered that he’s one of the few people to actually pay me compliments that sound so real.

Little by little, all the memories continue to return, even though I didn’t realize there were more left hidden.

“I take it you’ve visited Emit recently?” he asks, sniffing me once.

“It’s getting unnerving to be sniffed so much,” I tell him, feeling his grin at my ear as he moves.

There’s a chill and a bereft feeling left in the absence of his proximity. He slowly circles to be in front of me, standing at his full, intimidating height, as he stares down at my eyes.

“This doesn’t have to be an unpleasant evening, Violet,” he says, sounding more amused than annoyed.