Chapter 12
The bars of DC come to life at night. James lopes down the sidewalk, a day of back-to-back tours heavy on his eyelids. He appreciates history, but hehatesmuseums. Portraits of old dead guys, monuments of white marble, dim lighting, audio-visual supplements adding long, grueling minutes to each exhibit. They are a valuable resource in preserving the past, sure, but he finds them mind-numbingly boring. Here is an illegible piece of paper that was very important three hundred years ago! Great! Afterward, all the dusty, spotlit information becomes a nauseous blur.
But Nelle thrived off it. She drank in the history, the artifacts, the artwork as if they were nectar.
They pass a blacked-out storefront, music thumping within. The door spits out a trio of drunk girls in heels. Laughing, they cling to each other and climb into the back of a car.
Nelle grabs James’s sleeve. “You know, I’ve never tried alcohol.”
They pass a line of people in scant clothing, their makeup artfully done in every glittery shade of the rainbow. Nelle blends in with them, wearing a blue dress James picked out from a boutique in Charleston because it looked like it was made of sapphires. It is short, so he wasn’t sure she would go for it. But when he pulled it off the rack, she squealed, tore it from his grasp, and ran off to the dressing room. Seeing it on her now, her slender calves unveiled, produces a reel of filthy thoughts in hishead. Skimming his fingers up her inner thigh, his lips on her ankles, worshipping her legs until they part for him—
It saddens him to think that she spent so long smothered when she has the spirit of a wildfire. He clears his throat. “Not even for your twenty-first birthday?”
“Quillwas drunk a lot, but he locked all the alcohol in his study, so I couldn’t even go behind his back.”
He shrugs. “We can have ourselves a little taste test.”
Nelle points at a hot-pink light inside an alley. “How about here?”
James writes for her, and when the pen lifts, she is already dragging him toward the entrance. At the end of the alley, a staircase descends to the building’s basement, and a sign on the wall saysThe Alley Catin LED letters. A curly arrow points down.
Music pulsates through his organs as they descend.
Lights flash above a crowd of writhing bodies. Throngs of people hug the long bar, bottles upon bottles of liquor lining the shelves behind it. The bartenders shift around each other and pour drinks and take orders like worker bees. The floor mysteriously sticks to the bottom of James’s shoes, he can’t even hear himself think, beer and sweat clog the room, and yet he loves the place.
Or maybe he just loves how Nelle looks within it as she takes it all in. The dilation of her pupils, the lights illuminating her freckles and the glimpse of her front teeth as her mouth parts in awe. He falls in love with the adventurous stranger she has drawn out of him. The parts of himself that, growing up, he felt pulled to in books, in movies, when he saw heroes acting stupidly courageous. He wanted to be like them, but fear always beat him.
Until Nelle.
She has an inner compass pointing her in whatever direction is the most joyful. What better way is there to live than that? And what does it matter if she’s not a human? She’s still the most fascinating person James has ever met.
He orders four vodka sodas with limes.
“We’re gonna chug the first round,” he says, “to get a head start.”
Nelle’s nose twitches over the drink like a hesitant cat’s. “How does it taste?”
“Pretty bad, but you get used to it.”
They toast their plastic cups, then they chug.
Cold on the throat. Tangy from the lime. Ice hits the back of James’s tongue, bitter and vulgar. He nearly chokes on it but forces a final swallow until it’s gone.
A laugh bubbles up. He doesn’t usually slam his drinks, but right now hewantsto be drunk and careless. Coming off the craziest few days of his life, he’s not ready for the high to end. He likes this new version of himself, the James who accepts no responsibility, no obligation.
Nelle chucks both empty cups into a big black trash can and passes him his next.
“Care to dance?” She guides him to the floor.
For once James doesn’t think before he joins the throng of moving bodies. His limbs sway like a tree in the wind. Nelle spins, brandishing a mane of blond. They dance together until he forgets how many songs have passed, until his second drink is gone, until he is so full of light and energy, he feels like a firework that doesn’t know its spectacle will soon end.
Nelle comes to a stumbling stop, breathlessly laughing, and tips forward into James’s arms. Time moves slowly at first, then faster, gaining momentum. As the music picks up, two drinks grow into three, then four, until he is belting out songs he doesn’t even know, and he is pretty sure he hasn’t stopped touching Nelle for two straight hours.
Her arm loops around his shoulders, hot on his neck. Wet with sweat. She speaks, but James can only see her mouth moving. He leans in closer.
“I like the way you look!” she says.
He pulls back, surprised by her candor.
