Apertures Chapter 10
How many photos would it take to make him love her again?
10.
It was always easier to give in to Megan than to argue with her, but Jane wished she had at least convinced Megan to let her call a Ryde instead of taking the T and walking several blocks in the high-heeled boots she bought to go with the dress Megan gave her for Christmas. Her feet were already killing her and she was going to have to stand and walk in the things all night. “I’m sure there will be places to sit,” Megan had said, “even if all we do is hang out at the bar. Come on, they’re perfect with that dress!” And they were: slim and shiny and witchy-looking, all the way up to her knees before giving way to fishnet tights and then the too-short skirt of her Gothic-Red-Riding-Hood dress. Jane’s thighs were already numb from the cold despite the length of her peacoat. She had the hood of the dress pulled up, but the thin fabric didn’t block the breeze, so she had her collar turned up too.
“How much further to this place?” she asked Megan.
“Another couple blocks,” Megan replied, turning smoothly on a heel and walking backwards a few paces, the showoff. Her boots were very similar to Jane’s but in black velvet, and she walked in them as easily as if they were sneakers. Jane had to step carefully to keep her ankles from folding. She suspected Megan could probably run in her footwear, bounding on four inches of springy rubber.
After much deliberation and half of her wardrobe flung onto her bed and floor, Megan had decided on a fuzzy, white, turtleneck sweater-dress and a wide black belt. Her eyes were thickly lined in black, making the blue of them pop. Jane had foregone eyeliner for smoky eyeshadow and mascara. “You don’t think this is a little overboard?” she asked as Megan helped her apply lipstick the color of ripe raspberries.
“We’re guests of a metal band. I hardly think we can go overboard,” Megan had pointed out.
“And you’re sure our names are on the list?”
Megan had popped the cap back on the lipstick and groaned in exasperation. “Yes! And if it isn’t, all we have to do is text Elzbetha and she’ll come down and straighten things out. Stop fretting.”
Jane had felt sick and faint since an hour before they left the apartment. The fact that Calliope Bleeds had invited them, not Black Blood Moon, didn’t escape her. The evening was going to suck, she knew it.
“There it is,” Megan said, pointing ahead to the next block where a sign hung: Golgotha Nights in red on black. Jane took her arm as they crossed the street. As they approached the door of the club, a noisy crowd roared past. One thirty-something woman complained loudly about being turned away. A sign propped up outside the door on a sandwich board said that the club was closed for a private function.
Megan stepped up, Jane behind, and they pulled open the heavy outer door to step into the foyer. A doorman in a long-sleeved tee with the club’s name and logo on it had his head bent to a clipboard. He looked up from beneath the brim of his Boston Red Sox hat and opened his mouth to deliver the speech he had given the previous crowd when Megan chirped, “We’re with the band.” She giggled to Jane, “I always wanted to say that.” Jane gave her an indulgent smile.
The doorman wasn’t impressed. “Which one? There are like ten of them here.”
Jane was about to say “Black Blood Moon” when Megan piped up, “Calliope Bleeds. Elzbetha invited us. The singer–”
“Names?”
“Megan Adams and Jane LeRou,” Megan said.
The doorman dragged his finger down the list. “Yeah, they have you under Black Blood Moon for some reason. Wait a sec.” He looked at them. “Which one of you is Jane?”
Jane’s innards froze in anxiety. “Um, me,” she said. “Why? Is there a problem?” Had Glenn told them to turn her away? Megan wouldn’t go in without her, would she?
“You’re not the Jane from the song, are you?” he asked. His stoic mask finally eased into a grin. “I fuckin’ love that song. I’m not usually into metal, but—”
“What song?” Jane asked, feeling a shiver in her chest. Had Glenn written a song about her? What did it say? Was it a love song? A breakup song? Is this why Shona had called her the Jane? She tried to remember the songs Black Blood Moon had played at the last show. Nothing seemed like it had been about her.
“On Black Blood Moon’s album. Second to last track. It’s just called ‘Jane.’ Slow-jam, or I guess you’d call it a power ballad.” The doorman eyed her for a moment. “Maybe it’s some other Jane, I dunno. You’d probably know if someone wrote a song about you, right?” He laughed.
Jane suddenly wished she had listened to the CD she had bought. If they had been back home, she and Megan would have popped it in the car when they went somewhere, but everywhere they went in Boston was either walking, on the T, or in a Ryde.
“Go on in,” the doorman said. “The whole place is reserved and it’s open bar. Coat check just inside the door here. Enjoy.” A gust of cold air blew against Jane’s legs as the doors opened behind her, and the doorman looked past them to the next batch of comers, his expression hardening again. Jane and Megan pushed the next set of doors open and passed inside.
The place was dimly lit, with individual LED lights shining like stars from a black-painted ceiling. To the left was a bar, curving away and back, part of the room hidden behind its curve. Tables were to the right, and further back there were leather couches. In between everything was a dance floor, half of it taken up with a portable stage at present, and a buffet table down each side.
A coat girl with springy, blonde curls and three rings through her lower lip greeted them. “Welcome to Golgotha Nights. May I take your coats?” Megan and Jane shrugged out of their coats but kept their purses. The girl handed them claim tickets. “There’s another bar and more seating upstairs. Enjoy!”
Megan leaned to peer around the curve of the bar. “Oh yeah, there are stairs back there,” she said. “Cool.”
“He didn’t even card us,” Jane said about the doorman.
“Yeah, but the bartender might,” Megan said, wrinkling her nose. “Well, can’t hurt to try,” she said brightly. “And if we strike out, I’ll make Nestor buy for us. What would you like?”
“Surprise me,” Jane said, distracted. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling lost. Megan went over to the bar, and Jane could hear her chatting animatedly with the bartender. Jane searched the crowd for any familiar faces. Several people were on the dance floor, moving to the rhythm of music pumping in from hidden speakers. Colored lights flashed over their faces. LED faux pillar candles flickered in sconces on the walls. Jane pulled out her phone, made sure her flash was off, and snapped a few photos.
She was just putting it back in her purse when Megan returned, holding a martini glass in each hand, trying not to spill the electric-green liquid inside.
Megan handed Jane the glass gingerly. “Careful, it’s full to the brim,” Megan said, inching hers to her lips to take a sip.
“What did we end up with?” Jane asked. After her binge the other night, she was wary. A single maraschino cherry nestled in the bottom of the glass.
“Just your standard Appletini. I figured I’d start us off slow.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “You call this slow?” She took a sip. It burned pleasantly, tart and sweet. It was obviously pure alcohol. Slow my ass, she thought, vowing to use it more as a prop than anything. “So what was that guy talking about anyway? I don’t remember any songs on their album being named after me.”
“You’re thinking of the demo disc,” Megan reminded her. “Not the studio album.” She looked sheepish. “Sorry, I haven’t even glanced at the CDs since I bought them at the show. I think they’re on my dresser.”
“Yeah, I think I stuck mine in my luggage and forgot about them,” Jane said. “I should have at least scanned down the track names.”
Megan looked thoughtful. “I don’t remember any song at that show that could have been named after you either.”
Jane took another sip of her drink and was just lowering her arm when someone flung their arms around her from behind, knocking her forward and slopping her drink over her hand. “Janie! Glad you guys could make it!” Xander said as he released her.
Jane whirled around. “Jesus, Xander, what the fuck?” she snapped, shaking droplets of her drink from her flowing sleeve, glad that the material was synthetic and shed liquid easier than absorbing it.
He was all apologies, dabbing at her arm with his tiny cocktail napkin. “Oh man, Jane, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were holding a drink. I’ll get you another one.” He was off to the bar before she could respond.
Mark rolled his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said. He was holding what looked like a cola of some sort. “He’s already hit the bar a bunch of times.”
Jane grumbled, drained the last sip that was left in her glass, and ate the cherry. A passing cocktail waitress took her empty glass and added it to her tray.
“Where is everybody else?” Megan asked.
“All over the place,” Mark said. “Shona ordered us to ‘spread out and mingle.’ There are a few other bands here. Over there,” he nodded toward a guy with long, frizzy, brown hair and a chin-beard to match, “that’s Mike Sterns from Shattered Halos. I guess the guy he’s talking to is a PR guy from some label called Klout Records. Friend of Shona’s, or ‘colleague’ I should say,” he said with exaggerated air quotes. “Over on the dance floor grinding with Nestor is Natalie from Detonation Nation. I guess they’re more of a punk band.”
“And Elzbeth’s right behind you pretending she’s going to Dracula your neck,” Megan said, wiggling her fingers in greeting. Elzbetha stopped hamming and joined the group just as Xander returned with a drink for Jane, a tall, slim one this time, and bright blue.
“They called this ‘Electric Lemonade’ and from what I could tell it’s soda water, Limoncello, and a ton of Blue Curaçao,” he said, handing it to Jane.
Megan’s eyes widened. “Sip that,” she ordered.
“Christ, Xander, you’re going to dissolve her stomach lining,” Elzbetha chided. Jane took a tiny sip and admired Elzbetha’s outfit: a black, suede jacket covered in buckles, over a shimmery silver camisole, and black jeans with swipes of iridescent silver paint. “I’m glad you guys decided to come,” Elzbetha said. “Come on, I’ll show you around. The food is amazing.”
She took them by the buffet table on their way around the place. There were lamb rib chops with gorgonzola and rosemary, filet mignon kebabs wrapped in bacon, bruschetta with goat cheese, and more. “Dessert’s upstairs,” Elzbetha said. “I’ll take you up there last.”
Jane licked her fingers and pointed at the stage. “Is that where you guys are playing later?”
“Yup,” Elzbetha said. “This is supposed to be an industry meet-and-greet but it’s also kind of a debut party for our album, and Black Blood Moon’s. They’re opening for us again.”
As they walked around, Jane sipped her drink, ate her food, and paid polite attention to the various conversations Elzbetha was swept up into. She envied the woman’s ability to easily go up to people, converse, and move on, never seeming schmoozy or fake. Megan tried, but came across as fawning. Jane just kept her mouth shut.
At one point, Nestor came by on his way from the restroom for long enough to flip Jane’s hood up onto her head and say, “Janie’s in the hood, haha,” before sauntering off. Jane cast a wry glance after him.
“That boy is pickled,” she said.
Megan guffawed. She was on her second drink, an Electric Lemonade also. “That sounds like something my grandma would say,” she giggled.
There was indeed another bar upstairs, and Jane traded her empty glass for a bottle of hard cider that she vowed to actually sip this time. Elzbetha led them over to a somewhat secluded area behind a stand of potted trees. Ashley and Glenn were sitting on a couch, blessedly not making out this time, just laughing with each other. Jane took a swig of her cider and tried to resist the urge to hide behind one of the plants.
Ashley was gorgeous, as usual, wearing a black Mandarin dress covered in Chinese dragons the same color as the purple streaks in her long, silky hair, which was gathered up and held in place with a pair of chopsticks. Glenn was wearing jeans, as usual, but with a black button-down t-shirt, the top few buttons undone to show off the wolf fang necklace he always wore. He had told Jane that it was his mother’s tooth, taken from her body after she died. The Celtic knot necklace, of course, was nowhere to be seen. He had probably thrown it away, Jane thought with a pang.
Glenn and Ashley looked up when they approached. “Hey guys,” Megan said brightly.
“Good evening,” Ashley said in a Bela Lugosi Dracula voice, and giggled. Her pale cheeks were flushed with pink; apparently she had been hitting the bar as well.
“Hey,” Glenn replied, his eyes fixed on Megan. “It’s good you could make it.” He gave Jane a sharp glance, then turned to Ashley and nuzzled her cheek. She giggled. Jane looked away. She went to take another swig of cider and corrected it to just a sip.
“This place is amazing,” Megan gushed. “And the food is so good!”
“Right?” Ashley agreed. “Dessert’s over there. The cream puffs are orgasmic.”
Jane decided to make an effort. “Ashley,” she said, the name sticking in her throat. The other girl looked up at her. “I love your outfit. It’s cool you can get your hair to stay up with chopsticks, too. It never works for me.”
Ashley gave her a condescending smile. “I like your dress too,” she said. “It’s like a doll dress, like Little Red Riding Hood or something.” Jane’s smile froze on her face.
“Little Red Riding Hood after she got to know the wolf a little better, maybe,” Nestor said as he approached the group. He put an arm around Jane’s shoulders. Glenn’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, so you managed to stumble your way up the stairs,” Elzbetha said to Nestor with mock pride. “And somewhere along the way you lost your shirt.”
“I got hot. Hotter,” Nestor corrected himself. He grinned at Jane. His breath reeked of alcohol. “And I took the elevator. It got kinda stuck for a few minutes, must have leaned on the wrong button. But the girls I was in there with, we made the best of it.” He chuckled suggestively.
Ashley looked disgusted. “I’m going to get a refill,” she said, lifting her glass from the cocktail table. “You want one, baby?”
“Uh, yeah, I’ll come with,” Glenn said, getting to his feet. They went to the bar. Nestor took their places, stretching out on the couch that had its back to the trees. Megan sat in an armchair across from him, and Jane took the one beside it.
Nestor cast a scornful look over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see much through the trees. “You think they’d want to talk to someone besides each other for a change,” he said.
Elzbetha gave him a withering look. “Like you, Casanova? I’m surprised you freed your tongue from someone’s mouth.”
“Yeah, or maybe his friends from back home?”
Jane folded her arms, slipping her hands inside her sleeves to cup her elbows. “He doesn’t want to talk to me,” she murmured.
“Huh?” Nestor asked, sitting up and turning an ear to her. “Sorry, I’m totally going deaf from the amps.”
“It’s not important,” Megan said. “So, are you guys leaving this weekend?”
Elzbetha tossed back the rest of her drink. “Yeah,” she said, crunching ice. “Tomorrow it’s off to Albany.”
The conversation wound on without Jane, and she slid from it gratefully. She didn’t feel like making small talk. She didn’t feel like doing anything but to sit there and brood. The comfortable buzz of the alcohol was weighing her down again, only instead of a pleasant sense of contentment, all she felt was an aching heaviness in her chest.
Glenn and Ashley had settled in at the bar, and were obviously not coming back over. Ashley leaned on one elbow as Glenn talked, probably telling some story or another. Jane mused that they probably didn’t want to talk to anyone else because they had plenty to talk about between them. She and Glenn used to be like that, staying out until their eyesight blurred and they were almost falling asleep with every blink. They’d talk on the phone until they were hoarse and then hang up reluctantly, still with more words wanting to spring from their tongues.
God, she missed it. More than the sex, or the kissing, or any other physical closeness. And it stung even more knowing that Glenn and Ashley had that same bond, that it wasn’t just physical between them. It was real.
Jane played with the zipper on her clutch. It was vinyl and shaped like a pair of lips with vampire fangs poking out. Dark humor, maybe, but only she knew that. In the purse, next to her wallet, was her phone with its camera. It didn’t have to be film, it didn’t have to be a dedicated camera: anything that could capture an image in an instant was a weapon in her hands.
It would be so easy. She could pretend she was texting someone, or playing a game, or taking a selfie, and if she angled it just right, just click. Or clickclickclick.
How many photos would it take to make him love her again?
Jane dropped the zipper pull, disgusted with herself, and got up to check out the dessert table. Glenn’s eyes followed her but he was too far away for Jane to catch any emotion in them. Hatred? Regret? Disgust? Longing or nostalgia? What would his expression be if he knew what she’d just been thinking?
You know why I was with you.
Jane grabbed a cream puff and took a bite. It was delicious. There were also eclairs, cookies, squares of many-layered cake that looked like they had been sculpted and painted instead of baked and frosted. Jane finished off the cream puff and grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry before returning to the couches. She kept her eyes on her path, not wanting them to accidentally shoot Glenn a look that said too much.
Only Nestor was there when she got back. “Where did everyone go?” Jane asked, plopping down on the couch across from him.
“They went downstairs to look for my shirt,” Nestor said with a wolfish grin.
“Really,” Jane deadpanned.
“Or to get some more lamb chops. Whatever.” Nestor reclined against the back of the couch, his long, muscular arms stretched out along the top of it. He apparently also found time to hit the hotel gym; he wasn’t as built as Glenn but he made the most of what he had. Fine, dark hair covered his chest and trailed down the ripples of his stomach.
Jane realized she was staring and looked away, focusing on her strawberry. She ate it in three bites, laying the green top down on a leftover cocktail napkin. A chunk of chocolate had fallen off into her lap, and she popped it into her mouth. She was licking her fingers when she noticed that Nestor was the one staring now.
“What?” Jane asked. “Do I have chocolate on my face?”
He looked at her muzzily under half-lowered eyelids, but it made him look sensual rather than drunk. “Come sit next to me,” he said, “so I can hear you better.” His voice was throaty the way he liked to make it when singing a particularly romantic line.
Jane crossed her legs and tossed her hair. “Why don’t you come sit next to me?” she challenged.
Nestor looked at her for a moment. She expected a joke or a laugh, but it was fun to tease, to flirt. Then there was a squeak of his leather pants against the leather of the couch as he got up and moved to sit down next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. He smelled like sandalwood and spiced rum. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and looked over at her with eyes half-closed, letting out a slow breath.
Jane’s heart pounded as he reached out and brushed his thumb across her lips. “Got a little chocolate there,” he said, then licked his thumb, sucking what Jane was pretty sure was imaginary chocolate off of it.
She glanced over at the bar. Ashley had apparently gone off somewhere; Glenn sat alone at the bar, halfway to getting up as if something had startled him from his seat. He glowered at them, but turned his head away and settled back onto the bar stool when he saw Jane looking.
Cozy up to someone else, Jane thought, remembering Megan’s advice. Show him you don’t even want him anymore. She turned her attention back to Nestor. She could see his tattoos up close now; the last time Jane saw them all was when he was on stage, too far away to make them out, and at the party afterward he had his shirt on. Under one side of his collarbone, a busty demon chick in minimal clothing lay prone, her wings unfurled and a saucy smile on her face. On the bicep facing her, an almost photorealistically detailed wolf howled at the moon.
“Your artist is amazing,” Jane said, letting her fingers play over his skin.
“Yeah, she is,” Nestor said, stretching out his arms. “I have this empty space on my back I’ve been saving for something really good. I’m thinking of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, after you mentioned your favorite Metallica song the other night.”
“Well,” Jane said, “I’m glad I could inspire you.”
Nestor looked at her for a long minute, until Jane started to feel exposed. “Yeah,” he said, then leaned in and kissed her before she could react.
Jane froze for a moment as Nestor moved to her cheek, the corner of her eye, in front of her ear, then the hollow beneath it. “What are you doing?” she finally asked, her pulse fluttering.
Nestor pulled away just far enough to look her in the eyes. His were lighter than Glenn’s, more of a nut brown than a chocolate brown. “I just wanted to know,” he whispered.
“Know what?” Jane asked, her heart still jackhammering in her chest, her breath coming short. Adrenaline rushed through her, joining the alcohol to make her giddy and feverishly hot.
“I want to know what’s so special about you,” Nestor said, brushing his nose against hers. His breath on her lips made her ache. “What’s so special about the girl who could mess Glenn up so badly that every song he writes has a touch of her in it?” His voice got huskier as he went on. “I want to taste it,” his tongue flicked her lips, “maybe just feel a shadow of how he burns for you.”
Jane looked at Nestor through lowered lashes. “You’re not bad with words yourself, Nestor,” she breathed. “Are you sure you didn’t write all those songs?”
He chuckled and leaned in until their lips met again. This time Jane gave herself up to it, pressing her lips against his, melting against his mouth. She could almost pretend he was Glenn: similar build, same long hair skimming her arms as she wrapped them around his neck. But he smelled different, sounded different, kissed different. There had always been a feverish urgency to how she and Glenn kissed. Nestor took his time, almost lazily, but he knew all the right spots. Experience, Jane thought, all those notches on his bedpost.
Jane didn’t mind. She was too high from it, floating on the excitement of it, the lust. It had been so long since she had done this and she realized suddenly just how lonely she’d been, how much she longed for someone’s arms around her and their lips on hers. Not Glenn’s, necessarily, but someone’s, and Nestor would do just fine.
Their kiss deepened. Nestor made a sound of pleasure in his throat and Jane melted further. She let herself wonder what it would be like to sleep with him. With his reputation, she bet it would be good. Glenn was the only one she’d ever been with, and they had started as virgins, figuring it out together. What would it be like with someone more experienced? Jane wanted to find out.
Nestor’s hands were on her waist, and he was starting to pull her onto his lap when there was a roar, and the pressure of Nestor’s body against hers disappeared as if he’d been yanked away. Nestor yowled in pain and protest.
Jane’s eyes snapped open. Nestor sprawled on the floor, half sitting against the couch across from her, which had been shoved back into the potted trees from the force of his landing. Glenn stood over him, his fists balled and his torso heaving with his breath. He looked back at Jane, his eyes flashing like those of an animal in a beam of light in the dark, only copper instead of green. A cold stab of fear shot through her.
Nestor groaned and clutched his head. “Jesus fuck, I think you tore my hair out.” He prodded at his shoulder where four slash marks raked across his skin. “Did you claw me? What the hell?”
“Get the fuck away from her,” Glenn snarled.
Nestor pushed himself to his feet, a sour expression twisting his face. “The fuck, dude?” Nestor demanded. He spat out blood. “It’s not like she’s your girl anymore.” He gave Glenn a shove. “You afraid I’ll make her realize what an amateur cocksman you are?”
Glenn roared again and lunged at Nestor. They went down, knocking over potted trees. Jane yelped. Nestor rolled to his side, trying to get up; Glenn yanked him onto his back and mashed a fist into his face. Nestor cried out and covered his eyes with his hands. He bucked and managed to knock Glenn’s cheek with his elbow. It disoriented Glenn enough for Nestor to roll him off and send him tumbling with a knee to the ribs. They grappled, throwing wild punches, connecting with each other’s flesh with sounds like someone smacking raw steak with a mallet.
Jane whirled at the clatter of someone running up the stairs in heels. “What the bloody fuck is going on up here?” Shona bellowed, stalking to where the two bandmates brawled. “Break it up!” Her brogue deepened when she was angry, it seemed. Glenn released Nestor’s hair from where he had it gripped in his fist. Nestor crab-walked back from Glenn and sniffed hard. Blood dribbled from his nose and his left eye was swollen and purple. The only sign Glenn had caught any of the punishment was a slight bruise on his cheek.
Glenn opened his mouth and Shona cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t care if ye caught him fucking yer mam. Your set starts in fifteen minutes. I want you on that stage and playing like this never happened, got it?”
Nestor prodded the slashes on his shoulder. “I can’t go onstage like this!” he protested.
Shona gave him a withering look. “It makes you look tough. The girls will love it. Now move!” Nestor got up and loped past, muttering something about stopping by the bathroom to clean up. Shona shot Jane a hard look. Jane’s knees felt like water and she burned with shame, like she had been caught naked with Nestor. Burning up through it was anger: anger at Nestor for tempting her, at herself for enjoying it so much, at Glenn and even Shona for making her feel ashamed of it.
Shona wordlessly pointed a sharply manicured finger at Glenn, spared another icy glare for Jane, then spun and stalked back off downstairs.
Glenn turned on Jane. “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.
Jane drew herself up. “The fuck does it matter to you? You can move on but I’m not allowed?”
“Sure, but Nestor? What did he say to you? That he always had a crush on you? That I treated you wrong? That you’re his muse? Or are you just looking to catch an STD?”
“Fuck off!” Jane spat, and pushed past Glenn for the door that led to a balcony patio. She saw the firefly orange of the cigarettes of banished smokers. Her hand was on the handle when he grabbed her arm roughly.
She whirled around, and on her tongue was something she knew would hurt him, something she wished she had thought to say as a parting shot when she left Quincy Market: “Aster was right about you. You had your fun, then you threw me aside like a used condom and took off!”
Glenn’s brow knotted. “Hey, you were the one who decided to go off to college all the way across the country!”
“I was willing to try and make it work long-distance. I’m not some super jealous bitch consumed with worry that you’ll cheat on me, unlike some partners of yours I could name,” Jane retorted.
“Oh, you’re not a super jealous bitch? That’s why you showed up dressed like you’re trying to seduce me back?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to dress in sackcloth and ashes since we broke up? So I dressed up. Why assume it’s for you? And if we’re talking jealousy,” Jane said, stabbing a finger toward the mess of the potted plants, one of which had overturned and spilled across the carpet in the struggle. “Who’s the one who just flipped the fuck out and started beating on his friend and bandmate when he dared to make out with me?”
Glenn clenched his jaw so tight that the tendons in his neck stood out. “I was trying to protect you!”
“From what? Having fun? I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Or maybe I was. Either way, it’s none of your fucking business.”
“I can’t look out for a friend?”
“Your friend?" Jane laughed bitterly. "You don’t give a shit about me until someone else comes sniffing around. Hoping to keep me in reserve? Fuck that. I am not your backup plan.” She seethed for a moment, then dug up another gem. “I should have chosen Aster. I should have let her turn me. She wouldn’t have left me. She would have stayed with me forever!” She broke off, her throat starting to tighten. “Maybe then I wouldn’t be alone.”
Glenn’s fingers fell from her arm. His mouth twitched and he tore his eyes away from her to glare at the floor. “If she turned you then I would have had to kill you,” he gritted out.
“Then your life would be tons easier, right?” Jane retorted. She spun away from him, yanked the door handle, and stormed out onto the patio.
She immediately regretted it; the night air was still but frigid, and the cold went right through the thin fabric of her dress. She wished she had her coat, but it wasn’t as if she could go downstairs to get it now. She would wait until Glenn slunk away to play his set, then go back in.
“Hello again,” someone near the railing said. Jane glanced over at a waterfall of white-blonde curls. Ophelia. The woman gave her a shy smile.
“You,” Jane breathed. She fumbled in her purse and came out with the photo. “This photo you gave me the other night.” She held it out to Ophelia, who took it from her and scrutinized it in the light from above the door. “What is this?”
Ophelia smiled and handed it back. “Typical manifestation of a werewolf. I’m guessing your boyfriend there, the one who just threw the singer into the potted plants.”
Jane felt the blood drain from her face. “You know? How?”
Ophelia shrugged. “I’ve been following Calliope Bleeds since their first tour, opening for Anarchy Prime. Those guys had a supernatural ride-along too. Now Calliope Bleeds is trailing Black Blood Moon, with their werewolf bassist. Interesting. None of the girls has anything supernatural about them. Maybe it's a coincidence, but I wanted to see what happens.”
“So you’ve been taking photos of Glenn? Stealing bits of his soul?” Jane asked, concerned. As far as she knew, Glenn hadn’t had any interaction with Ophelia.
Ophelia shook her head. “Oh, no, don’t worry, I catch and release.”
Jane’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Catch and release? You burn the photos, or–?”
Ophelia slid a finger under her neckline, pulling up a long necklace chain. On the end of it was a pinkie-sized tube of some shiny gray stone or metal, highly polished. “You need one of these. It attracts the spirit fragments, traps them. Open it up, and they release and flow back to their owners, easy peasy. And if you want to avoid catching anything in the first place, you just have to learn how to cinch up your iris.”
Jane shook her head as if to clear it. “You’re not making any sense. Please, you have to help me. Are you with the Apertures?”
Ophelia pursed her lips and looked down. “Not anymore.” She tucked the pendant back into her velvet blouse. “We had some… differences in opinion and went our separate ways.”
Jane grabbed Ophelia’s arm. “Can you get me in touch with them? Or teach me? Please!” Her eyes stung with tears. “I’m so in the dark here. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and it’s like playing with fire. Please, teach me or tell me who can.”
Ophelia opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the doors opening again. Megan walked out, shivering dramatically and making a “brr!” noise with her lips. “So here’s where you are,” Megan said, casting a wary look at Ophelia before focusing on Jane. “Come on, they’re going to start playing in a minute.”
Ophelia smiled. “Nice to see you again, Jane. I better get down there myself.” She swept back through the doors, walking quickly.
“Wait!” Jane called, and went to go after her.
Megan grabbed her arm. “So what the fuck happened up here anyway? I heard there was a scuffle, then I see Nestor with a black eye. Did he try and grope you or something?”
“Yes and no,” Jane said as they pushed through the doors back into the building. She scanned the room and huffed out a breath of frustration. Ophelia was nowhere to be seen. If only she had at least gotten contact information for her. Oh well; she could message her on Instagram later.
“Well? Spill!” Megan said. She saw the look on Jane’s face and got defensive. “Sorry if I interrupted your meeting of the photo nerds but remember the reason why we’re here?”
“Apparently to get slut-shamed and cock-blocked by my ex in the lulls between normal social discomfort. Pretty much everything that’s happened tonight confirms that I shouldn’t have come here in the first place,” Jane spat.
“Janie–”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I ruining your good time?” Jane retorted. “The only reason I came tonight is for you, you know.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed. “You know that’s not true,” she said.
“In fact, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come to Boston at all,” Jane said.
Megan reeled as if Jane had struck her. Jane wished she could cram the words back in her mouth. “I mean, I should have invited you to San Francisco. The weather would have been nicer, and–”
“Oh don’t try to backpedal now!” Megan cried. “I know what you really mean. Jesus Christ, you think you’re doing something nice for someone and it bites you in the ass. I thought you’d enjoy the concert, but apparently I should have saved my money on those tickets, huh?”
“Meg, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Jane said.
Megan turned her back. “Let’s just watch the show, all right? Or I guess you can call a Ryde back to the apartment if you just can’t take it anymore.” She stalked off toward the stairs, not waiting to see if Jane would follow.
Jane felt sick. “Do I have to fuck up everything I touch?” she whispered to herself, swallowing hard. She followed Megan down the stairs.