My Sisters in Death (Siren Suicides, Book 2)

Chapter 4. Chop Suey

A tinkling of broken glass follows the splintering crack. Large shards land amidst the dusty cloud that's roused from the floor, showering it with shattered crystal. The scent of a thick soul-soup hits me in the face as I inhale a waft of blasting music mixed with the stench of sweaty bodies. I step over the wooden bottom rail of the door frame, pulling Canosa behind me into the ten feet of dark corridor that separates the entrance from the dance floor. Behind the ticketing stand, illuminated by the glow of a red light, three guards gape at us, still in shock by what they just saw. Obviously, they never imagined needing to deal with a break in during the middle of a concert. I meet their gaze and a maddening rage envelops me—a rage aimed at them, at my father, and at all men in general. I want to kill every single one of them, as if their gender itself is somehow at fault for my mother's death. And, for a split second, I think I understand my father's hate for women. A woman must've hurt him, really badly.

Chaos erupts. A few people at the edge of the dancing crowd turn to see what's going on, not because they heard anything, but probably because they felt the cold air oozing in from the street, cooling their sweaty skin. A girl shrieks and drops her drink on the floor, then another one joins her. One of the guards shakes off his slumber and swears loudly, taking a step toward us on unsure legs.

"Quiet!" I yell, silencing them, their mouths open mid-shout.

Mist rolls from my lips, dropping the temperature down and obscuring the entrance. The sound of my voice shakes the walls once, and then gets swallowed by the beat of music. The loud drone of the band's singing and electric guitars assault my eardrums, and I don't understand how it's possible to concentrate on feeding at a nightclub. Then, a fanatic yearning to see my favorite band nearly makes my knees buckle. I recognize the song and their voices. It's Siren Suicides.

Canosa hooks her chin on my left shoulder and whispers loudly in my ear, "Who would've thought that you possess such passion, Ailen Bright, a girl full of surprises. I'm impressed. Shall we continue?"

I barely hear her over the thump-thump of the band's performance, wanting to see them and eat them at the same time. Canosa measures me in new light through her snowflake eyelashes, her pupils dilated in anticipation of a meal, her nose wrinkled.

"Life is disgusting, wouldn't you agree?" she says.

We lock eyes as if we're allies, and I nod, unable to explain just how much her words resonate in this very moment.

"Yes. Yes, it is," I reply.

More people notice our faintly glowing faces, some point at the broken glass on the floor. Apparently, my shout didn't have as much of an effect due to the loud music, because the first guard begins swearing again, taking small, swaying steps, cautiously edging toward us, his fists at the ready. I glance down at myself and at Canosa.

"Do we really look that scary?" I say over the noise.

"You'd be surprised," she says, emitting her mad cackle. "I'll take this one, he sounds juicy. Those two are yours." She points at the other two guards, one of whom is dialing something on his phone, probably 911; the other edges into the crowd, scared.

I'm enraged at their cowardice. Instead of directing my anger inward, as usual, I let it out. It's the second time today, after having killed nine souls on our way here. It feels so good to give in to my siren instincts.

"Freeze!" I shout at the top of my lungs. This time my voice is stronger, and it cuts over the cacophony of the jeering crowd that's still mostly oblivious to our presence. A visible sound wave rolls over their heads, rippling their hair, and arresting their bodies, as if someone put a music video on pause. Yet, the middle of the mass is still moving, and the lead singer is still blaring into the microphone, her song blasting through the loud speakers in a deafening crescendo.