10. Drink
Darren called a taxi while I changed into something more appropriate for clubbing. Darren had wanted to drive, but given the unstable mood he was in, I put my foot down and patently refused to get into a vehicle he intended to drive. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I didn't have a death wish.
Finding something to wear was simple enough; my wardrobe was woefully limited and the only thing remotely dressy enough was the smallish, tight black dress that I'd bought for my birthday dinner in December. It was a little on the short side, which wouldn't have bothered me too much except I was out of pantyhose and it was like, fourteen degrees outside.
I paired the dress with a pair of black, suede boots and a silver jacket, leaving my hair loose around my shoulders. I didn't have time to do anything with it; I could hear Darren pacing around my room through the thin walls in the bathroom, growing more agitated by the second.
My own nerves were frayed, but given the week I was having, that wasn't exactly surprising. I took a deep breath before I pushed open the bathroom door, forcing myself to retain some level of composure. One of us needed to be thinking straight.
"Did you call?" I asked.
Darren dropped into my desk chair, his legs sprawled out in opposite directions. He looked exhausted. "Yep."
"And you know where we're going?" I pressed.
"Gotta pick up something first." He glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as they roved over my outfit. "You know, if your personality wasn't so repulsive, you might actually be hot."
Normally, receiving compliments – even backhanded ones – from guys made me feel uncomfortable, but coming from Darren, all they inspired was mild annoyance. I just rolled my eyes and grabbed my handbag from the end of the bed, checking inconspicuously to make sure my purse was still intact.
"C'mon, we'll wait downstairs."
I pulled open the door to the dorm, gesturing for Darren to step out first. He was like a dark shadow, skulking down the hallway, glaring down at anybody who dared pass him as he made his way toward the stairwell. I trailed along behind him with my arms folded, wishing like hell that Lexie would grow some common sense when it came to guys.
I perched on the edge of one of the old, threadbare sofas in the lobby. There were still a few students milling around at this time of night, some of them arriving back from the library and others venturing outside in club-wear. A few of them glanced at Darren and I warily, giving us a wide berth as they traversed the space between the stairwell and the front doors.
Their reaction had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the boy standing beside me, his hands twitching as he fidgeted and glowered at the doors. I had a funny feeling that his antsy behaviour had more to do with drug withdrawals than worry for Lexie, and for the millionth time in the space of twenty minutes, I felt a spasm of panic squeeze my chest.
This is such a bad idea.
If I hadn't been so worried about Lexie, I would have pushed myself up off the couch and marched myself back upstairs – and possibly barricaded the door for good measure.
"Taxi's here."
I jerked my head toward the door, and sure enough, there was a fresh set of headlights illuminating the parking lot outside. I followed Darren out into the icy, night air, hugging my jacket close around me. We slid into the back of the taxi and when Darren's knee brushed against mine, I was almost grateful for the impression of warmth that it left on my bare skin.
"Where you two goin'?" the taxi driver asked.
Darren offered him directions to a building somewhere downtown and I sunk down in my seat, hugging myself for warmth.
I hope she's okay, I thought as the car eased into traffic. Darren's words were playing on a loop inside my head, "Without someone to protect her, she could get herself killed, and I don't trust witch-boy enough to keep her safe. The place attracts a lot of psychopaths." His fidgety behaviour wasn't helping either; with each minute, I could feel my patience waning, a sense of urgency taking hold of my mind.
She should have waited for me, I fumed. If she'd just gone with the original plan, I wouldn't have had to worry about her so much and Darren would probably be off doing god-knows-what as far away from me as possible.
Darren leaned forward suddenly. "This is it."
I glanced out the window, my brows pulling into a soft frown as I studied the few buildings on this section of street. The first looked like some sort of rundown residential complex, with a small convenience store located on the ground floor. The building next door had a picture of a crystal ball pasted to the window, along with the words, Got A Date With Destiny? Statues and various paraphernalia littered the window front, and gaudy lights framed the door.
The place didn't even make an effort to look un-phony.
Darren climbed out of the taxi and strode purposefully toward the destiny-shop, leaving me to pay the taxi fare.
If we manage to make it through tonight unscathed, I thought as I glowered at the back of his head, I am going to kick his ass.
I shuffled up behind Darren, rubbing my arms vigorously for warmth. The air was like tiny, needle-pricks against the bare skin of my legs and my only salvation came from the fact that it wasn't windy.
"This doesn't look like a club," I muttered dubiously as Darren knocked loudly on the door.
"It's not," was his reply.
Oh.
We waited about twenty seconds before Darren knocked again, his fist pounding harder against the wooden surface of the door. I flinched at the sound, a trickle of unease flitting through me. It was easy to slip into the antagonistic role I'd once played when Darren had been more of an important fixture in Lexie's life, but little moments like these kept jolting me out of my comfort zone.
He was very different to how he used to be, now. He was all over the place, his moods changing in little spurts, and his actions were far more aggressive than they'd been a few months ago. I couldn't afford to relax around him.
"Georgina!" he yelled.
I flinched, my panic escalating by a few notches. I could feel my heart start to pound in my ears.
"I'm coming!" a high, female voice echoed from behind the door.
Darren scowled and leaned against the doorframe, the picture of impatience. A few clicks later, the door flew open, and a tall, blond girl emerged from the shop, glaring furiously at Darren.
"It's after-hours," she snapped. Even with her face contorted in anger, the girl was striking. She was probably eighteen – nineteen, at a push – with long, pale blond hair that hung stylishly over one shoulder. She was wearing a pair of pale pink, silk pyjama shorts and a tank top – which was, quite frankly, ludicrous in this weather – and her skin was the kind of golden brown you couldn't get from a tanning bottle.
"I need something." Darren hitched his arm over the door like he had with me earlier, crowding in on top of her.
The girl – Georgina, Darren had called her – didn't like that. Her eyes narrowed into slits and if she were a cartoon character, I had a feeling that steam would be rising in rapid puffs from her skin. "I don't have what you're looking for," she spat. "So fuck off, Darren."
"You don't even know what I –"
"Do you think I'm stupid?" She stared at him expectantly. "You're practically shaking, your pupils are dilated, and even though it's minus a gazillion degrees, you're sweating like a pig. Anyone can tell what you're after."
I cleared my throat before Darren could respond, my limbs starting to shake with the cold.
Georgina's eyes swerved in my direction, her gaze appraising. "You one of his junkie friends?"
"Nope."
I tried to look confident, but it was difficult when my teeth began to chatter. She seemed unconcerned by the weather still, even though the majority of her skin was exposed to the chill, and she returned my wannabe-confident look with an amused one of her own.
"I'm taking her to Crawler," Darren explained.
Georgina's lips quirked into an amused half-smile and she took a step backwards, jerking her head toward the interior of the dark store. "Come inside."
I followed Darren into the building, closing the door behind me with a gentle click. The store was as gaudy and phony looking on the inside as it was on the outside. Various statues and mismatched symbols lined the walls, and dream catchers hung from the ceiling. There were shelves lined with crystal balls and tarot cards, and, as I stepped closer, I noticed a shelf lined with supposed spell-books. They looked like gimmicks – nothing like the tools real witches worked with.
If they even exist, I thought dubiously.
A wave of hysteria pulsed through me but I tamped down on it ruthlessly. Now wasn't the time to have a mental breakdown; Lexie was still in danger.
According to Darren.
I sighed and continued past the shelves, following the others into a small, tidy apartment. The layout was kind of cramped; my hips brushed the back of the sofa on my way to the kitchen, which composed of a set of countertops and half a table. The other half was folded in on itself, too large to open up fully.
"This is gonna cost ya, Weisz," Georgina grinned.
Darren shrugged. "I'm good for it."
I snorted in disbelief. If he was 'good for it', then he could fork over his half of the taxi fare.
Georgina pulled a blender out of one of the cupboards, plugging it into a socket and propping it up on the table. I watched, fascinated, as she opened another cupboard to reveal rows of jars, each labelled clearly with various herbs and plants. Some of the jars were nearly empty, while others looked like they hadn't been touched in years.
"Are you a witch?" I blurted out.
She laughed, a hint of condescension colouring her voice. "What gave you that idea? The spell books?"
I frowned. "They're hardly real."
"You're right – they're not." She grabbed one of the jars marked, Ergot. The long, thin strands were like barley, golden in the dim light. She dumped a few strands in the blender, and grabbed a bottle of wine from another cupboard. I watched as she dripped a generous amount into the blender, before slammed the lid down and flicking the on switch.
The instrument whirred to life.
"So why have you got all the fake stuff out front? Doesn't that hurt real, witchy business?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a witch."
"You're human?"
"Something like that." She took a deep breath and hit off. "I'm holding down the fort for my... mother. Her husband's the actual witch. He makes the good stuff and I sell it."
I felt curiosity stirring in my gut and a flicker of surprise rushed through me; normally, I had a cautious, don't-ask policy when it came to weird. What I didn't know didn't have the power to hurt me, ignorance is bliss, and all that – but ever since Diego's revelation, it looked like all of my old rules were being thrown out the window.
This world wasn't something I could just ignore, not with Lexie involved now. I'd been trying to shove that night into a compartment in my mind marked, Never Have To Think About Again, but I could feel the memories threatening to spill out from behind the mental door already.
And even while a part of me was still freaking out pretty badly over the entire thing, I was starting to feel... curious. Not just about Diego and the shooting and werewolves, but about... everything. Witches, Supernaturals, invisible clubs – the whole shebang.
Curious about how to protect myself – about how to arm myself against them.
It was almost a relief to know that self-preservation was still my default setting; even with the knock to my system that this week had been, it was nice to know that something hadn't changed. That I hadn't changed.
"Where are they now?" I asked.
Georgina shrugged. "God knows. I left them in Ireland, but that was six months ago. We have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy when it comes to location." She flashed me a mischievous smile. "We're sort of wanted criminals in our world."
"This store is a cover," I realized.
"Smart," she said, a look of approval crossing her face. "Who would dream of looking for real witches in a place as phony as this?"
She grabbed two mugs from behind her and set them down on the table in front of us. Darren was beyond agitated now; I could practically hear him grinding his teeth impatiently as he watched Georgina pour the sloshy, red liquid from the blender into the mugs.
When Georgina slid one of the mugs toward me, I eyed it dubiously, a glimmer of apprehension rising in my chest.
"I don't know..." Years of high school Health Ed. and my grandmother's caterwauling about the destructive effects of drugs rushed through my mind. I felt like I'd finally encountered some form of peer pressure – and I was failing to resist it dismally – but I had Lexie to consider.
Lexie, who had parked her butt down on the seat next to mine during orientation and pronounced us friends, despite any and all resistance I'd thrown at her. Nobody was perfect, least of all Lexie, but she still deserved my loyalty. She and Charlie were the only friends I had.
"It's safe – ish," Georgina promised as Darren gulped his down. "It'll wear off after twelve hours, so long as you don't take anymore. Which I wouldn't recommend, by the way. You ever hear of Saint Anthony's Fire?"
I shook my head, a flicker of alarm flaring in my gut.
"It's ergot poisoning," she explained cheerfully. "Symptoms include seizures and mania. Lots of vomiting, too – you know, just your typical Saturday morning hangover."
I glanced down at the mug. "I really don't think I should drink that."
"If you don't," Darren broke in, "you won't even be able to see the fucking club to get in. And then Lexie is toast." He shot me a menacing look. "Do you want something to happen to Lexie?"
"Of course not!" I cried. "But that doesn't mean I want to put myself in danger, either!"
"Relax," Georgina smiled. "It rarely ever happens anymore."
"Just drink it," Darren barked.
Glaring at them both, I reached for the mug and brought it to my lips, grimacing as the smell of wine teased my nostrils.
The taste was even worse. I plugged my nose and swallowed it down as quickly as possible, grimacing the entire time. I felt a little sloshy when I'd drained the last of it, and I accepted the glass of water that Georgina shoved into my hands gratefully. The taste lingered in my mouth, spicy and bitter.
Darren slapped a wad of cash into Georgina's hand, and started for the exit. I followed along behind him, swallowing convulsively as I tried to rid my mouth of the taste, with Georgina right behind me, bringing up the rear.
"Ergot is harmless on its own, really," Georgina said as we stepped back into the shop. "But Tim did some of his witchy voodoo crap to 'wake up' the plant's magic properties. They should kick in around five minutes from now."
Darren pulled open the front door and stepped out into the freezing night air. I stumbled out after him, my stomach swirling with nausea. I really, really hoped that it was just my natural reaction to tasting something so awful and not ergot poisoning, like Georgina had mentioned.
"Thanks," I muttered to Georgina, not really sure what the protocol was for manners in this sort of situation.
"You're welcome," she smiled pleasantly. "Happy clubbing."
And then she slammed the door shut in our faces.