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Islington Avenue was home to dozens of bars, restaurants, and other busy venues. Directly across from where I stood was an exclusive nightclub, the name HELL lit up by neon-orange lights swirling in the summer night. It was after eleven, and a line formed with clubgoers to the right of the entrance, many of the crowd wearing masks of light scraps of lace or more elaborate designs of demons and angels.
To the other side was an unlit alley that led down the left of the building. A taxi had slid into it and stopped by the club’s side door. My gaze locked on to a couple falling from the car, the light from the vehicle’s interior highlighting their features.
Princess Alexandra giggled and stumbled on her sky-high heels, a wig covering her hair but not fooling me for more than a second. Her companion, a tall lad in expensive clothes and with floppy blond hair in his eyes appearing every bit like a European prince, threw an arm around her, an e-cigarette held between his lips. He was familiar, though I couldn’t place where I knew him from, but he was rolling as much as she was.
The two of them tied masks to their faces and entered the club. I almost choked at the attempt at disguise. It wasn’t enough.
My principal had snuck out without any security.
I was moving before I even registered what I intended to do.
Chapter 4
Alexandra
A throbbing beat pulsed through the club’s VIP suite, and Dori threw back his whisky then scrambled up, dragging me with him.
“Dance. Immediately,” he said.
I sagged onto his chest, the fine material of his shirt smooth under my hot hands, and my blonde Marilyn Monroe wig crushing against him. The multiple cocktails I’d consumed before we’d even left the palace were combining into a rolling head rush, so I muttered a complaint.
“The room is moving.”
“Then match the rhythm and you’ll feel normal.”
Normal was a joke. When had I ever felt that? Out of our private booth, he tugged me towards the dance floor.
“No fair,” I whined. “You’re high. You can see straight.”
“I can’t see shit behind the mask.”
“Don’t take it off. I just can’t with mine…”
He hugged me to him. “I won’t. I know.”
We passed booths full of well-dressed men and barely dressed women and then the darkened bar with a bartender setting a blow torch to a cocktail while dry ice smoke rose from another. Not everyone wore a mask, like the white lace one I’dkept on or Dori’s black version. From those who clearly wanted to be seen, I recognised a few people, some more famous than me, but no one approached us or even slid us curious looks.
For once, I’d got away with coming out unnoticed.
Even the bouncer had let us into the VIP floor on Dori’s name, not mine.
On our right, a barrier gave way to the drop down to the huge nightclub floor below. It was so packed with bodies that heat rose in a wave.
Dori lifted his chin. “Down there?”
I shook my head.
He gave me an incredulous stare. The thing about my best friend was no matter what he did, he was always stunning. Tomorrow, I’d roll out of bed dark-eyed and puffy-cheeked and it would take a solid hour for me to put my face back together. He’d sweep his fingers through his hair and would be artfully tousled and picture-perfect in an instant.
He bowed deeply then climbed onto the first rung of the railing. “Listen up, mortals,” he yelled to the throng below.
No one could hear, I hoped.
I slid my fingers into his belt loops. “Geddown.”
“My girl has decreed we will not be joining you this evening. You’ll have to imagine your hands on my body. Cry your hearts out.”
His designer trainers slipped on the rung. Dori teetered and clutched the rail. I swore and tackle-hugged his waist. The idiot burst out laughing.