Brand New Moon (Crescent Deveyne Chronicles Book 1)

SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

Angel’s Delight has been my favourite restaurant for as long as I can remember. The food, mostly American pub fare, is delicious and the atmosphere is light and friendly. There’s a stage for local bands, though not the kind of music my brother plays, as well as a revolving art exhibition. I’m not really an art lover, but it’s nice to have something to look at whilst waiting for your food.

For the first time in over a year, we were all present, seated at a table for four in a cosy little corner. The occasion – my eighteenth birthday. 

We’d already eaten. I’d had the meatball linguine – exquisite. It was eight o’clock, too early for any live music, but I was hoping we could stay for a few drinks and check it out. Not because I especially wanted to hear a band that called themselves ‘PSYcle-path’, but because I wanted to preserve this moment. It didn’t matter that Mom and Orion seemed distracted, or that Apollo continued to be baffled by the result of the scrying. We were all here together, in public. And we seemed to be having a good time. That in itself was an achievement.

“So, who wants dessert?” Mom asked, breaking up Apollo and Orion’s conversation about college life.

We all grinned and cast our eyes greedily over the dessert menu. Everyone in this family loved dessert. We were all blessed with metabolisms that others, like my friend Celia, would kill for. We could eat whatever we wanted and never gained weight.

“Ooh, one of everything for me,” Orion said.

Mom raised an eyebrow. Apollo and I grinned.

“Well, you can’t expect me to choose from all this,” Orion complained. “It all sounds too damn good.”

“Take a look at the prices and remember who’s paying. Maybe that will help you decide,” Mom replied.

“I’ll have the raspberry pavlova,” I said, pointing at the description on the page.

“Blueberry pie,” Apollo added, folding up his menu and placing it back in the stand.

Orion bit her lip, eyes scanning the page from top to bottom. Mom and I shared a smile. Choosing a main meal had taken even longer.

“I can’t stand the tension. I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, suddenly rising from my chair. “Please try and decide before I get back.”

If Orion pulled a face I didn’t see it. I left the table without looking back, breezed past the bar and slipped into the ladies room. It was empty. I ducked into the nearest cubicle and used the facilities. When I emerged it was still empty. I washed my hands in the sink and studied my reflection in the mirror. My eye-shadow was beginning to smudge so, once my hands were dry I gave it a rub. I blinked once, twice to check it was alright, but instead of looking at my make-up all I could see were my blue eyes. In that moment I looked so like my Dad I felt a lump rise in my throat.

I stared at my face in the mirror, watching as my eyes teared up. I tried not to dwell on it, but at times like these it hit me so hard I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My hands gripped the sink, squeezing it tightly in an effort not to cry. I thought of my family, sitting out there at our table, laughing and joking as Orion struggled to choose dessert. I’d been wrong to think we were all together. We would never be all together again. Fate had torn a hole through this family, ripped out its nucleus and crudely sewn it back together. We were surviving, but we’d been drifting apart – heading in our own directions like ships on a stormy sea. That’s why tonight had seemed so important. I needed a reminder that we hadn’t lost each other. 

And we hadn’t! Tonight was going really well. We were all smiling, joking, having a wonderful time, yet here I was in the ladies room falling apart. I forced a laugh, wondering what Dad would say if he could see me. Probably, “Dry those angel eyes. Get back out there and let them see you shine”. Dad always called me his angel, due to my blonde hair, blue eyes and cherubic complexion. He would’ve been right. I was being silly. My place was out there with my family, not in here alone.

Still, I lingered a moment longer, using the mirror to check my eyes were dry and my smile seemed natural. I never heard the door swing open; never noticed anyone else enter the bathroom. The first sign that I was no longer alone was when the rope appeared around my neck and I was yanked backwards.

My back slammed into the wall between two cubicles. I felt, rather than saw, the figure appear at my left shoulder, one hand clutching the rope tightly, shutting off my airways. I couldn’t turn my head. All I could do was stare in the mirror, watching as I gasped for breath and clawed ineffectually at the rope with my fingers. I couldn’t see my attacker; the mirror showed only me. That told me two things. 

My attacker was a vampire. 

And I was in big trouble.