*befoul

INNA

When a child, all dream of being a princess.

Sorry, I'm not an exception to this rule. Like most, I wished to meet a prince, a knight in shining armor who would whisk me away from my dull existence.

Since I'm quite realistic, I gave up on the rumblings of a delusional teen, but now as La Crim opens its doors to us, a spark of hope flickers.

The castle's doors are at least 10ft tall, the Fifty States hit our ears, and I don't regret having left the concert.

Like at the arena, guards are everywhere. They bow their heads as they see Tarnish. She turns and glares at Aurora.

"Ouch, Aurora, what are you doing?"

A sensation close to one of a wavelength sweeps over me.

"It doesn't suit your outfit. Don't you want to look your best?"

I have never taken off my pendant, and I feel naked. The shell-like piece of jewelry in my hand gleams. Without a second thought, I shove it in my shorts pocket. It's a one-shot; one night without the pendant won't kill me. I mean, it's not like my parents are here to scold me.

Tarnish tilts her head rapidly twice to her side, and I swear her dark eyes roll like a casino slot machines before Twista regains her neck, and she gives me the kind of vile smile you only on the devil.

We arrive in the big Chamber nightclub, where, as promised, Jesus sits on an elegant red velvet sofa in the middle of the room. It's incredible, the man is clean and dressed to party. One can't distill an ounce of fatigue.

The lights are dim, and everyone apart from the waiters in circulation has that lucent spectrum in their eye.

Jesus stands and turns around to face every stare as he says, "nu vă atingeți de ei. The fest is mine; defiance shall be your death."

A hissing sound fills the room, and the cat's eyes fade into the darkness. One has to admit the ambiance somewhat a chiller driller. I mean, we're in a real castle with gothic decor. You know the true medieval style remixed with some 21st-century touches. Jesus approaches and grabs my hand, and kisses my knuckles. He then turns to bow in a curtsey in front of Aurora, "ladies." he takes us by the hands and leads us to his couch, where women scatter to leave us space.

Aurora leans to whisper, "what a gentleman."

"Milady, I hope the journey was not rough."

In all the world, Jesus' attitude has nothing to do with what I expected. I mean, WTFusilli, where's the sin in this?

He smiles as though he heard and turns. He examines me with his stare, and for some reason, I find myself touching my neck. Why do I feel so vulnerable without myㅡ?

"You have a beautiful neckline."

Eh, is that a compliment?

Which book has that sentence as a top pick-up line?

I smile; he can say whatever. The man is so sexy; it's dumb, direct blasphemy, just like what I imagine in my mind right now.

Jesus approaches his face, the tip of his nose brushes my skin, "you smell so good. You must be tasty."

Blood.

Mine rushes; I mean, it's steamrolling through my veins. I can almost hear the chuffing sound and whistle of the blood locomotive. The man's words alone could have me popping a baby out in nine months. The fangirl has taken total control, and I'm Gaga.

He smells good, too, hair shampoo and an intense manly fragrance. His perfume is either a Dior or a Hermes. Up close, Jesus is even more breathtaking, and it's hard to believe he's over forty. The man's appearance is so effortless.

Jesus grins, "hold that thought," once again, my reaction finds itself in a standby mode.

"Wow, my father did a good job with this place."

Aurora, I almost forgot she's here too. Seated in the middle, the man has turn to reply. I'm on his right while Aurora is on his left.

"Yes, miss Davis, your father did wonders. I'm very grateful he convinced the city to let me play and left us, La Crim, in its integrity for the party."

Aurora grins for her seduction. It is a game she plays at any opportunity. Jesus is not her type of man, yet she can't help but try. In moments like this, our friendship finds itself benched, and only those with the will survive.

Where my resolve usually crushes, tonight I wish to shine and find favor in my idol's eyes. Yes, it's infantile whatever, but for once, I desire to be the special one.

Jesus chuckles, and turns, "trust me, Inna, you are far more than that. You're precious, Nefren."

Stop.

Rewind.

"Pa-pa-pardon."

Okay, I put my hand to turn on a furnace, but I'm a thousand times sure I did not say it out loud. And how does he know mine or Aurora's name, and who's Nefren?

His stare is upon me; it's now or never, "I love your songs."

"I know."

"I've got all your albums, Iㅡ."

"You want to know if I'm the devil they say I am?"

He fixes me; in his eyes, all I see are crashing waves which spirit me away. I tuck the invisible strand of hair I wish I had behind my ear, in s bashful motion, "are you eviㅡ."

If there were a clock in the room, it would tick like a time bomb while the seconds pass. Jesus is in my head and whispers, "I'm your worst nightmare, but I can be your salvation."

"I'm thirsty," Aurora says in her Betty Boop sultry voice, which she combines to her butterfly lashes flutter.

The action gives me the first K.O of the night. Aurora gains one point at the seduction game while a zero floats above my head.

Jesus gestures a nod to the waiter, who brings a platter of champagne glasses. The substances filling the glasses are anything but champagne.

It's a white as water and has no smell at all. Everyone in the room seems to be drinking it.

Like Aurora, I pick up a glass, there aren't any bubbles, and it's odor-free, "what is it?"

"It's something close to Everclear."

I'm not an alcohol pro, but one must remember I've lived in a protected species-environment where all potential dangers enumerated had to be learned off by heart. If the substance in this glass has anything to do with Everclear, then the people around us are walking corpses. Death is usually the best option when, Everclear, Orleans Hand Grenade, Moonshine are involved.

Jesus chuckles, "if you survive this drink, you'll become a Goddess."

Aurora expels a sigh, and Jesus turns back to her, "I knew I was one."

Her glass is empty; Aurora gulped it down in one go.

Jesus chuckles and claps, "Milady, I did not expect less from strong blood like you. It seems the loop did not dispossess you of your strength."

Can anyone recall when your friends call you chicken and all you want to do this proof the contrary?

Well, my name is Inna Lee Rodgers, and I want to show Jesus I'm a Goddess too.

The rim of glass touches my lips. Jesus watches me just like Tarnish, who stands across the room from us. Their stare beckons me to drink. I close my eyes and gulp down the liquid.

Jesus grins, gets up, and takes a glass from a passing tray, "în regula, sa inceapa petrecerea."

Everyone in the room raises their glass and drinks.

Fast then slow, the pace of my heart betrays me. All seems in slow motion, like the voice of a broken record. The music is louder, and everyone is dancing and groping each other on the Tempest upbeat remixes. Man and man, woman and woman, man and woman, the long-awaited orgy is now on. I turn my gaze even Aurora is tongue twisting with another woman. The still-drink mutates into a dark liquid that trickles from some of the guest's lips. That's when I realize what the drink is. Hemes subunits in hemoglobin give blood its color and identity; without it, all you have is a transparent liquid. A thought shatters my mind. What or whose blood is it?

Everyone's eyes shine like those of bats; all I see are floating fluorescent rings.

Jesus lays me on the couch.

"What are you doing?"

I'm unable to figure out if I am speaking or if my interrogation is internal. Numb and weightless, my body remains motionless. While my pupils dart in panic and face the ceiling where I realize that the room's lighting is a cauldron of bat eyes.