Glass slicked cool on my bare shoulder, my hair sticking like wet paper. Flashing lights cast me in bloodstained colors, blue and green and crimson, and my mirror-banshee stared at me with reproachful garnet eyes. Fresh scarlet bruises already turned blue on her delicate cheek. She looked gaunt, pale, her blue hair frightful.I turned away, sick. I didn’t want to see myself.White dry ice drifted low and fragrant, hissing over metal and suede, mixing with tart pot smoke and the fleshy scent of sex. On the couch beside me a skinny vampire girl with white dreadlocks and angry scars laddering her forearms ravished a half-insensible bloodfae boy. Tiny holes bled freely in his dark-skinned throat, and she lapped at the plumrich blood. His wet caramel hair dripped sanguine sweat onto the suede, his half-lidded eyes rolling white. She had her hand stuffed down his bloodstained jeans, and his sprawled limbs twitched limp, his breath ragged.He didn’t look fully conscious to me. I kicked at her starved ankles.
