Angel's Mark

Twenty-seven

"Are you sure this is even a good idea?"

The two of us craned our necks to see out the car window, Caprice's club a monolith of lights and chromes across the street. It wasn't quite late enough for the clubbers to arrive yet, but nonetheless, the place oozed alcohol and nights soon to be forgotten. To be frank, I wasn't sure at all if this was a good idea—but whether I wanted to admit it or not, I trusted Caprice with this information more than I trusted anyone else.

I told Alan, "I think she should know. She'll find out soon enough, anyway, even if I don't say anything. Everyone will."

Alan yanked the keys from the ignition, sitting back in his seat. "Alright."

I blinked at him. "Do you wanna wait here, or..."

I trailed off, my words failing as he slid his hand across the car console, twining his fingers in mine. I sighed, the pulse in his wrist thumping against my own. Before I could muster up a protest, he'd brought me close again, nose to nose.

"Alan," I whispered, practically into his mouth.

He groaned. "I'm sorry. I just don't wanna let you go yet."

"I never said you had to," I murmured, but the words were swallowed as he kissed me once more, quietly, gently, more a brush of lips than anything else. I wanted more, ached for more—but I had business to take care of. Focus. Focus. What even was focus?

"Alan," I said again, pecking him on the nose. "Just come with me, then."

He backed up barely a centimeter, just far enough that I could see his stupid puppy dog eyes. "One more?"

We were wasting time, but I guess that was the dangerous bit about Alan. No time spent with him was wasted at all. I smiled, and he knew that was my answer. His lips met mine again and for a while there was nothing else.

Then I fumbled for the door, forcing him from me. "Let's go, alright?"

The world outside of Alan's Buick would never exactly be the same. That car felt like the only place I could be myself now. The only place I could relax and let my head down and just breathe, the only place where I, Vinny Horne, had no secrets. Everywhere else, anywhere else, was tense with a truth I wasn't ready to tell.

As we crossed the street, I shared a glance with Alan. I knew what the something in his eyes was now. That vague expression I'd been trying to pinpoint. I knew what it was now, because it was the same within me. We were both people hidden within other people, and we were both the only ones who knew.

At the door to Caprice's club, Alan grabbed my arm. "How are we supposed to explain this?" he said, his mouth twisted in a frown. Underneath the neon Black Winged sign, his eyes had become an emerald as vibrant as a jewel. Worry was written all over his face. "She's gonna think we're idiots."

"In case you haven't noticed," I said, shouldering the door open, "we are idiots, Alan. A couple of gay idiots."

Behind me, I heard him laugh.

I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but the club was empty. Glitter strewn across vacant wood floors. The bar a still-life painting of shot glasses and Vodka bottles. Rafters more like shadows. I didn't know why, but I had a bad feeling. Something was just barely off-kilter, an eerie find-the-differences game.

I beckoned Alan to follow me up the stairs. Maybe she was just asleep. Caprice was quite fond of sleep, anyway.

Nevertheless, I couldn't forget the Order members' words. Two, three Order members summoned and then murdered over the past week. We have reason to believe it's some sort of serial killer. She was fine. She was Caprice Martinez and she was unstoppable and she was perfectly fine.