Heartbeat: The World That Is

By Kaleigh R. Conway

Nyx Stewart is a woman on the run. With a unique ability to hear lies and a blossoming drinking problem, this anxious Canadian ex-socialite is trying her best to lay low in a new city and forget the severed branches in her family tree.
But after witnessing a horrifying accident only Nyx seems to believe was a murder, a letter arrives from her estranged blue-blood mother and a mysterious invitation to an exclusive vampire-themed nightclub lands in her lap and Nyxs normal life dissolves into one of malicious plotting, senseless violence and secrets beyond which even Nyx is willing to accept. With no one to trust and everyone to fear Nyx stands alone and pursued by two factions of an ancient and bloody conflict both hell bent on ensuring that history repeats itself. Mired in blackmail, history lessons and a baffling paper trail Nyx must learn to follow her instincts, and face an agonizing choice: return to her previous life or risk it all for a chance at something more.
In this contemporary fantasy, a young woman who unwittingly becomes a pawn between feuding vampire moguls must seek and own the truth before she can realize her true destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491727508

Kaleigh R. Conway

Kaleigh R. Conway studied Psychology and Renaissance drama and literature at Simon Fraser University, fanning the flames of a life-long passion for all things medieval and macabre including a particularly dark interest in Black Death history and lore. Well travelled throughout Britain she currently lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Look at them, Decimus. Is this not a better existence? We are truly blessed, friend.

The noise from the room was nearly deafening as intoxicated partygoers danced in rounds around the abundant hall.

Indeed…but surely— Decimus replied, a shaky smile already losing focus on his lips.

But surely nothing! This is what we wished for, remember? Adventure, excitement! Beauty and truth exposed to their barest forms… Far away from those who would seek to limit us.

No expense had been spared. Silks and fine linens had been imported for the occasion and every last detail had been arranged. The palace glittered in the hot Italian night as the living danced with the dead.

You are right Cassian—of course. This is everything and more. But are you certain? Once we do this…we cannot go back.

Colour danced about the room in dizzying turns that defied logic as Cassian stared down over the balcony at the scene. Twisting, writhing shapes engaged in acts of pleasure and pain, putting the swirling colour at odds with itself as dazzling flames cast shadows of most sincere suffering on the marble floors.

Cassian only smiled. Cato has promised much, but do not think me a fool. We will stay only as long as need be, and then, friend, we shall see the world. Taste the delights of the ages and drink of our enemies until full. You will see, Decimus…my oldest friend, brother in fate… You cannot ask me to have all this without you.

Decimus smiled then. Do you think I would abandon you now? If this is what you want, then…I am with you. ‘Til the end.

Cassian clapped his friend on the back, smiling broadly as they moved into the crowd. Cato was waiting, and as they pushed their way through the shapes so hot and cold moving beside them, they both smiled.

Somewhere in the back of the hall, a cheer went up, goblets rose, and a chorus of answering cheers followed, echoing off the walls like dropping a coin in an empty pot.

Raising their own goblets, Cassian grinned something sinister and toothy, wrapping an arm around his friend. Hail Caesar! And long live the Empire!

CHAPTER 1

The hot sun burned as it invaded her dreams, occupying her reality now like an unwelcome guest. She could see it behind tightly shut eyelids, like a red velvet curtain. Shrouding herself in a blanket, she retreated away from the brightness of daylight; but the blanket was thick and far too hot to stay there forever. She hated it, but the morning fought on relentlessly, the night of her mind losing ground against the onslaught of sunlight. This particular morning was unstoppable, ruthless, unforgiving, shouting at her to face the day regardless of how many bets she’d lost the night before. And it had been a few.

Nyx forced her eyes to adjust to the light as she opened them slowly. Another beautiful day issuing itself through the plated glass like the bad toast at a wedding that just won’t stop; it drew attention to her throbbing head and the red lines visible from space in her eyes.

Yawning, Nyx wondered absently if her stubborn acquiescence to the day was a victory or a defeat. Every day was different.

NYX. Get up. Get up get up get up. I know you’re in there, Nyx! came a muffled voice from behind the front door.

She rolled over, pretending she couldn’t feel her own heartbeat in her head. It was bad enough realising when she woke up that she was waking up alone—again—but the physical reminder of what she’d done to forget that she was going to wake up alone hurt the most. And then it made her puke.

Nyx! came the voice again, this time more insistent. You promised! Get out of bed or God help me I’ll break my fist over your pafetic, ‘ungover, poker-losing face.

I’m UP! she shouted from beneath the pillows as she rolled out of bed.

One pair of panties, a bra, jeans, a sweater, and one toothbrush later… All right, we can go after I spit. My mouth tastes like day-old tequila and menthol and it’s freaking me out.

The voice behind the door groaned, That’s wot ‘appens when you go on an all-night bender, slag-face. Now ‘urry up. I dun’ want the cab to leave without us.

Nyx rolled her eyes. No, Claire. This is what happens when you tell the entire bar that I’m gay.

Claire giggled. Well you didn’t ‘ave to keep acceptin’ their drinks, didja?

Free liquor is free liquor, Claire. Jesus Christ…have I taught you nothing? Nyx poked at her friend sarcastically, throwing a pair of sunglasses to cover up the glaring red blood vessels that made her eyes itch.

Woteva… Now let’s get a move on. I got coffee for you in the cab.

Nyx was only able to grab half a bagel before she was torn from her apartment and down the stone steps into the cab.

How did the sun get this bright?! she thought to herself as they wheeled off onto the busy London streets.

Claire was all smiles today. I can’t believe how many phone numbers we got last night. It was almost ‘eartbreaking telling them we were straight.

We? Nyx scoffed. That’s hilarious. But what I can’t believe is that you managed to drink your weight in vodka and don’t want to kill everything that moves today. I do, Nyx replied abruptly, feeling that coffee and toothpaste wasn’t the greatest of combos.

The traffic was absolute hell that morning, but no one was truly surprised.

Eighteen million people and none of them can ride a damned bike? Or take the underground? Jesus… Nyx moaned, staring at the brake lights in front of them.

The cab had been mostly quiet after Nyx had shot down twelve different opportunities for the cabbie to start telling his life story, and he looked fairly put out.

I ‘ave been lookin’ forward to this for a week. I need all new trousers, um…bras, some tracky-bottoms, and new trainers, Claire trilled.

Nyx did her best to smile genuinely. Mmm…yeah. A real, proper girls’ day, shopping and everything. Just don’t let me forget to hit a jeweller.

Claire rolled her eyes.

What? Nyx asked derisively, completely incapable in that moment of concealing her tone.

Nuffin! Claire replied mockingly, raising her eyebrows in pretend shock. I’d be delighted to ‘elp you frow away another perfectly good necklace, love. I’d be fackin’ chuffed.

Nyx snorted in contempt. Oi! That necklace is paying for your little shopping spree today. And my rent, so shut it.

That seemed to quiet Claire for the moment. She threw up her hands in mock surrender and then stared out the window.

Ugh, Nyx groaned. What I wouldn’t give for a Bloody Mary right now…

Claire huffed suddenly, rolling her eyes. ‘Ave you considered therapy? You live in a foreign country off the money you get from selling them diamonds your mum gives ye, so I’m sorry, love, but you have no reason to drink or still be single. Unlike me, who will die alone covered in cat ‘air.

Damn, Nyx breathed sarcastically, my poor little rich girl scheme’s been undone… And just why can’t I just concentrate on cultivating this modest drinking habit? I’ll have you know, I am following in a long and grand tradition in my family of miserable drunks. So unless you’ve decided I should become a nun, I’m going to continue to remind myself that diamonds don’t make up for a lifetime of neglect, hmm? And we can all go on with our lives.

Are you not ‘appy?

What? Yeah…of course I am. Don’t even worry

The rest of the trip went by silently.

She was happy when she’d worked in the pub for her rent money.

There could have been a dozen reasons why those first few packages started showing up in the mail for her. Any number of poorly executed attempts to trick Nyx into living the life she was ‘born to lead.’ It didn’t matter.

Nyx knew she’d have sent them back when she was younger. Or sent scathing letters in reply to remind Cecile that she didn’t need anyone’s pity or assistance as she had done in university, but these days she couldn’t be bothered to keep up the fight.

This was the real world, a world that ran on money. She’d take the ‘assistance’ if she could get it. At least she could write full time this way.

The letter accompanying that first package had said only a few words, and she recalled them instantly:

"Rome is fabulous. Just got these from India. Thought you should buy some new clothes. Try and take care of yourself for God’s sake. Who knows who you’ll run into in London.

-Cecile Stewart"

She’d sold the diamonds, spent the money on microwave pasta, a new apartment, and four different pairs of sweatpants out of spite, and got drunk in her new living room, dripping candle wax onto every photo she had of her mother. She had no photos of her father.

Thinking back hurt. It always led her in the same direction. Over two years had passed, but still it stung like fresh road rash under a hot tap to think about.

The sound of Cecile’s cutlery clinking lightly on the dishes had made her head burn. So what can you do with a history degree? The air had been stale in the dining room, masked by the sickening sweetness of an air freshener plugged in somewhere and flooding the room with an artifice of Better Homes and Gardens.

Nyx rolled her eyes. Can I get…ten minutes? I JUST got home, Mom. She pushed around the chow mein on her plate, still Styrofoam fresh. Her trip home from McGill had been about as pleasant as a fork in the kneecaps. Still, she tried to believe it could get better.

Cecile tilted her nose up, swallowing another piece of cherry red sweet and sour pork. I’m just curious… A masters in, what was it? Medieval history or something? I hope it was worth it.

Nyx dropped her fork. I’m done, she huffed, rising from her seat at the table, ten thousand and one past nights of idle conversation turning sour in her mouth as she turned her back in time to hear the kitchen door close. The ghost of Mr. Stewart had left the dining room.

Just where do you think you’re going? This is your first night back. The least you can do is have a meal with your parents, Cecile sniped, her stubborn refusal to rise from her seat a mirror of their roles.

Nyx sighed, her chest heaving as she stopped in the archway to the foyer. Turning back, she cast her heavy eyes on her mother, finding her place in the script of their relationship, smoothing herself back into the role she was meant to play. Parents? she asked bitterly, her gaze strictly ignoring the empty chair at the end of the table.

Not tonight, Nyx. Please. I’m tired, Cecile groaned, folding her hands in her lap politely as her head twitched towards the empty chair where her husband had been sitting. Why he never engaged in these discussions was completely beyond her.

No! I agree with you. We’re all tired, Mom. Dad’s so tired he couldn’t be bothered to even pretend he gives half a shit tonight, Nyx snarled, the words flowing so naturally, so practiced. I’m going to bed. Don’t make this into a big thing, okay?

Cecile sighed and Nyx felt a fire growing in her throat.

What? she shouted. What, Mom? Just say it.

Cecile’s eyes fell to her hands as she wrung them. I’m just unsure why it is you came back at all if all you were going to do was start a fight.

Somewhere in the back of Nyx’s most secret heart, the remark stung, smacking of a hurt that went back further than she wanted to remember. But she did, and silently a force inside marked another line on the scoreboard, another pawn surrendered.

Would you have liked that? Nyx whispered, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. If I just hadn’t come back? Would it have made your already staggeringly easy life a little less messy?

Cecile pursed her lips, highlighting the quiet that choked out any lasting remnants of familial civility.

Nyx forced her tongue to the back of her mouth as a stinging pulled at the corners of her eyes. You do, don’t you? You wish I wasn’t here.

Cecile fidgeted with her fingers, fighting a torrent of words that would rend the distant squeal from her mind and replace it with something altogether silent. A perfect silence. But this was no time for that.

Yes… she whispered, keeping her eyes low. Yes, I wish that.

Nyx nodded, the smell from the air freshener now far too repulsive to stomach any longer. And the food on the table looked fake; it made her stomach hurt.

Fine, she whispered back. I’m gone.

She hadn’t looked back. Two years. Two years, no phone calls, no emails, one letter, and one terribly disfigured mother/daughter relationship. It was the legacy her life had left her. Her old life. And if she were completely honest with herself, no, gemstones did not make up for it.

Stepping out of the cab and into the unusually sunny day, Nyx was suddenly very aware of how beastly her headache was getting. Fishing around for sunglasses in her purse, she lingered in the shadow of a nearby awning, waiting for Claire. Mostly too hungover to want to attempt any more conversation. Mostly. She was still a bit wounded from the conversation in the cab.

Nyx looked like a menace in her glasses. Silver aviators covered any expression she might have, and that’s the way she liked it. It helped her feel anonymous. Not that she, in actuality, stood out. She wasn’t tall or short, and like millions of plebs before her, she had shoulder-length curly brown hair, too thick to style properly so mostly it just draped. In fact, in her opinion, the only distinguishing features about her were her freckles that were placed against naturally china-doll pale skin. She looked like a thin country bumpkin who’d been living in the arctic for a while.

A debutant friend of her mother had once exclaimed, to her delight, My God, Cecile, you never told me how exquisite your daughter is! It had made her blush. To feel beautiful in a room full of beautiful people was certainly nothing to sneer at.

Though, as always, Cecile had found a way to cheapen the moment. Mmm. She’s got her father’s freckles. British blood, I suppose. Worse yet, there’s probably no way to get rid of it.

Nyx soured at the memory.

You comin’ or wot? Claire shouted from halfway inside the first shop, shaking Nyx out of her hangover-induced melancholy long enough to fake a smile and continue inside.

It was like a Cockney heaven inside. Wall-to-wall track suits and running shoes so blinged out it looked like Ed Hardy and Snooki had thrown up all over the store and then thrown glitter on it.

Nyx was overcome with the smell of caustic aresol body spray that seemed to permeate the environment with a constant fourteen-year-old boy odour.

She wondered if her IQ points were dropping from just breathing it in as a youth made his way over, grabbing his crotch and mumbling ,Oi, love, con I ‘elp you wit summat?

No, Nyx answered curtly. Grabbing Claire by the hand, she hustled them out of the shop before Nyx was obliged to personally see to the ninth grade education of every occupant.

Claire groaned, Wot’s wrong wif that one?! He’s only bein’ friendly.

Unfortunately Nyx could only scream internally in that instant, and therefore restricted her facial expression to that of mild disapproval and a tight smile. Diamonds, Claire. Diamonds. I am not buying fifty pairs of tracky-bottoms for you…with diamonds. How do you feel about pencil skirts?

Claire giggled. All right, my fair lady. Lead on.

Nyx let out her first genuine laugh of the day as she led Claire down the street. I think, in this case, you’d be the fair lady. Now come on.

Nyx Stewart? a voice called from behind them, and Nyx almost didn’t turn around but for the shrill voice in which it was uttered. Nyx! Darling!

Nyx felt her throat constrict, her muscles tighten, and every vertebrae in her spine go rigid as her body realigned itself into a posture more suited to what was about to happen. Old habits die hard, and in Nyx’s case, muscle memory nearly gagged her. Slowly she turned to face the voice.

OH, Nyxie! It IS you! Oh my gosh! Darling! What ARE you doing here?! the shrill voice exclaimed, continuing its assault on Nyx’s eardrums like squealing tires on asphalt until Nyx could recognize the face that went with it.

Heyyyy, Nyx answered, smiling through clenched teeth as she made her way across the street to where the woman in question was standing. Muriel. How are you?

Muriel wasted no time in throwing her arms open and inviting Nyx into a hug. It was a shallow hug, one that really only pressed the collarbones together as arms rested gently on shoulders and made everyone witnessing it uncomfortable.

Muriel had a thin face and greying hair and cateye glasses that betrayed her age. She carried herself like she had a steel rod in her spine, wearing a designer skirt and a leather jacket with a Prada handbag dangling off one thin wrist.

I am fantastic. But you know me, sweetheart. I never complain! she trilled, gripping Nyx’s hands like she was about to read her palm. But how are YOU? I had no idea you were in town! And who is your lovely friend?

Nyx smiled, and it hurt her head. This is Claire. Claire, this is a friend of my grandmother’s, Muriel Gotwin.

Pleasure, Claire half-whispered, nodding her head and smiling shyly.

Muriel nodded politely in return, turning to Nyx as Nyx continued. We’re just downtown doing a bit of shopping. What about you? Visiting relatives?

Muriel’s brow furrowed. No…no. Just in town for the gathering of course.

Nyx was confused. Gathering…?

Muriel blinked in evident confusion now too. She released Nyx’s hands to link her own fingers as if to say, ‘Oh dear… you poor unfortunate.’

The ball? Everyone’s going to be there. This is the largest gathering we’ve had in years! Alice has pulled out all the stops. Isn’t that why you’re in town? Muriel asked, her eyebrows angling up her face like she’d just been questioned about the existence of Santa.

Nyx was thoroughly mystified and tried not to betray it by wrinkling her eyes at the woman, but it was nearly impossible. No… Nope. I live here now. Have for some time. Since university actually. And I don’t know Alice, so I probably wasn’t invited.

There seemed to be some kind of commotion happening behind Muriel now, but Nyx was too concentrated on the expression of utter bewilderment on Muriel’s face to really be paying any attention.

Don’t know Alice? she laughed. My dear… She was present at your birth! Make no mistake, the Stewarts are very important to House Kinsey. I’m sure your invitation was simply shipped to your Canadian address, but you know… I’m heading over right now. I’d be happy to pass along your new address to Beatrice.

Nyx was beyond confused, which evidently showed on her face as Muriel cocked her head to the side to look at her. I… Beatrice? I don’t know. I’m sorry, Muriel. I really have no clue what you’re talking about. But then, my head feels like there are tap-dancing elephants in there, so it’s probably not you. She laughed, trying to find the humour in it, but the whole conversation was wearing a bit thin on her.

Whatever commotion was continuing behind Muriel seemed to have let up, and from the corner of her eye, Nyx was barely conscious of a young man in a black hoodie, face down, angrily pushing his way through the crowd toward them.

Muriel’s brows creased again as she clutched her bag and moved closer to the crosswalk. Oh. Well, it was lovely to see you again Nyx. Give my best to your mother, and I’ll, um…I’ll let Beatrice know you’re in town and—

It was over before they even knew what had happened. One foot on the street, another on the sidewalk, and suddenly she was down, blood pooling on the asphalt and running sluggishly down a storm drain, the sound of tires squealing as the truck came to a dead halt at the intersection.

Nyx was vaguely aware that someone had screamed behind her. Claire had fainted, and a woman was calling for a police officer or an ambulance. Nyx herself was rooted to the spot.

What the… What the fuck!? she whispered suddenly, and the woman behind her gasped in shock at the expletive, I… I… I don’t… Nyx mumbled incoherently.

Nyx stared into Muriel’s dead eyes as the head wound began to stain her silver hair maroon.

You’re in shock, ma’am. Don’t worry. An ambulance is coming, a woman said behind her, but the words didn’t quite register like words. They were meaningless noises. Like animal sounds.

Shock? What did shock mean? It was a shock, she decided. It had definitely been a shock. First there had been no truck, the next second…

No, Nyx said to herself. Trucks don’t just happen. It had to have been there before, but how…had she wound up…? She had only been on the curb, but then…

Twisting her head, she spotted him, the boy in the black hoodie backing slowly down an alley while the crowd gathered around the corpse of Muriel Gotwin.

Nyx opened her mouth slowly. Hey… WAIT! she cried, intending to move in his direction but her feet still weren’t cooperating. Instead, she nearly toppled into the sidewalk.

Pitching forward, she was shocked again when strong arms caught her. Easy now, miss. You’re in shock. I need you to come with me, okay? the bobby said, trying to check her pupils, but her eyes were on the youth in the black hoodie, now tearing a blue streak down the alley and into the shadow of another.

Shock. Again with that word. Nyx wanted to scream. It wasn’t a shock! That would imply that she’d been taken slightly aback. This was… She didn’t know.

He… He…he pushed her! He pushed her! she cried as the police officer pulled her towards his vehicle. Soon a blanket had been wrapped about her shoulders, and she couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking, but she felt fine. Why wasn’t anyone listening?

Easy now. It was an accident. You’re going to be all right. Try and take a deep breath, the bobby said as he held her shoulders.

Nyx was furious, her legs wouldn’t work, and suddenly she was freezing. Wrapping the blanket tighter around her, she looked about for the boy’s companions. YOU! she shouted at a girl in a miniskirt and goth makeup. You saw it. Where is he?

The girl spit on the ground and rolled her eyes. Where’s who? the girl laughed, and a splitting pain seared through Nyx’s head.

She winced against the pain. Your friend! The one who…who pushed her! I saw it!

Don’t know wut yer talkin’ ‘bout, love. I ain’t seen a push. Old tart just walked out inta traffic, daft bitch.

Nyx closed her eyes against the onslaught of pain rushing through her head at the noise. It was like nails on a chalkboard or sawing a pane of glass in half, and Nyx could hardly stand it anymore.

You’re LYING! She’s lying! she cried at the police officer, who was busying himself now with keeping the crowds back as the screech of an ambulance cut through the sound of whispers and milling bystanders, almost erasing the screech from the goth girl’s mouth as she smiled cruelly.

Did you see something? a female police officer was asking now.

The girl with the cruel smile simply pursed her lips. I ain’t seen nuffin. That bitch were deaf as well as daft if she didn’t ‘ear that fuckin’ lorry when she stepped out. Ain’t my fault she’s a fuckin’ pancake now, innit?

Another squeal ripped through the air, audible only to Nyx as she gripped her head. It was pounding like an entire percussion section.

Nyx felt dizzy and sick as she held her head in her hands. She’s LYING. Can’t you hear that?! she cried as a paramedic came to check on her.

The last thing Nyx remembered before blacking out was the smell of blood that filled her nose from the tips of her shoes and the splatter on her jeans.

CHAPTER 2

A frothing silence filled the apartment so present it might as well have been another person in there with them.

The police had driven Nyx home, and Claire had come with her after all the questions had been answered. Nyx still had the EMT blanket wrapped around her shoulders as they sat on the couch, staring at the open window with nothing to say.

It’s just awful, innit? Claire sighed, letting her head drop on Nyx’s shoulder.

Awful, Nyx repeated blankly, her brain still thumbing over what had happened. She’d seen it, hadn’t she? The hand at Muriel’s waist. Not hers—a male hand. She’d seen it.

I mean… Claire continued, waxing melancholy, how often does that ‘appen anyway? Like…really?

Nyx blinked. A lot probably. I mean, statistically…it probably happens like…fifty times a day or something. In like, India…or New York.

Nyx— Claire worried, but Nyx was on a roll.

Nyx’s brain was completely frazzled. I mean…what’s more shocking is that it doesn’t happen more often. I mean, we should be used to seeing things like that… Just…brains and blood and—

NYX! Claire cut her off, physically placing a hand on Nyx’s shaking fingers to stop her. This isn’t normal, love. Stop finking ‘bout it. Won’t do any good, will it?

Nyx inhaled deeply. No… I suppose not.

Claire pulled Nyx’s hands into her own. It were an accident, yeah? Like you say, accidents ‘appen all the time. We should be fankful it weren’t eiver of us, yeah? I know you knew her an all…but sumtimes fate just—

It wasn’t an accident, Nyx cut in, the blank tone returning to her voice.

Claire exhaled. Nyx, love—

Nyx’s nostrils flared as she thought about it. It wasn’t an accident, Claire. I mean it. I saw the fucker push her, and I heard his bitch friend lie about it. He fucking pushed her. Straight out in front of that truck. BAM. Dead. Like that, why? Why? Just…what? For kicks?

Claire worried her lip between her teeth, taking a silent pause before continuing. You…’eard her lying? Like…that fing you do?

Nyx was nearly up to her eyes in frustration as she tugged the blanket around her shoulders tighter. I don’t do a thing, Claire! There is no ‘thing.’ It just happens, and you’ve seen me ‘do it,’ so I don’t know why this is so difficult to believe.

I know… I just… Claire whispered.

You didn’t see it. I saw it. He pushed her like…boom. Didn’t even care. Dead.

The look on Claire’s face was desperate. Well… Tell me again then. You can HEAR people lie? Claire asked gently. She’d heard the explanation before, but then Nyx supposed it would be difficult for other people to swallow.

Nyx pouted and then inhaled again. Yes…sort of. It’s hard to explain! When people tell lies… To me, it’s like their voice changes—or rather, their pitch. It sticks out, like a note out of key. Like… Imagine listening to a singer and it sounds fine, but without warning she’s hit the wrong note and it sounds terrible. That’s what it’s like. The lie just SOUNDS OFF, and to me it stands out like…trying to cut an iron girder with a chainsaw. It’s fucking awful. Nyx tried to explain, hugging herself tight. It was awkward enough talking about it to herself, let alone to other people.

And your mum can do it too? Claire asked, fidgeting.

Yeah… And my grandmother. Apparently it’s been passed on in our family for like two hundred years or something crazy. Maybe longer. But no one talked about it because you could have been burned at the stake for that kinda crap. Nyx finished, leaning back. It was always difficult discussing her ‘gift,’ but every time she did, she felt better.

For as long as Nyx could remember, she could hear lies. Adults used them all the time, and it was her grandmother who had taught her how to fine-tune the gift. She’d told her that every woman in their family had been able to do it for as long as anyone could remember.

Claire stared at the floor. So…he pushed her then?

Yes! Nyx breathed in relief. Yes. That’s what I’m saying. That fucker in the hoodie pushed my grandmother’s friend straight out in front of a lorry and… There is blood…on my jeans…and vomit… Wait, what?

Claire was quick to wrap an arm around her friends waist, pulling her in and giving her a tight side-hug on the couch. Copper said you frew up on your shoes before you fainted.

Nyx rolled her eyes so hard she worried for a moment they might stick that way. Fucking awesome. I am such…a pussy.

Aww. No! No no. It were awful, Nyx. I fainted too, remember? That ain’t the sort of fing we’re meant to see. Was horrid and it ain’t your fault, so just…relax, Claire reassured her friend.

Nyx tried to breathe. I just don’t…understand why someone would do that. What’s wrong with people?

Claire closed her eyes and exhaled. God knows. Some right crazy fuckers out there. Just…be glad it weren’t us.

Nyx drifted off not long after that, letting the weight of Claire’s head ground her, remind her where she was she felt safe. The whole day had been a disaster from beginning to end, and Nyx didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Claire was right. It had been awful, and the less she thought about it, the easier it would be to let it go.

CHAPTER 3

Three days after the incident with Mrs. Gotwin and the truck, the postman came bearing gifts from her mother. Nyx was at her writing desk when the FedEx guy arrived.

Morning, Reg, she smiled, signing for her package, feeling proud of herself for having almost completely gotten over the compulsion to be sick all over her shoes whenever she saw a truck drive by.

Reg smiled back. Morning, Ms. Stewart. How are you today? he asked, adjusting his hat.

Nyx sighed, Oh you know how it is. Hanging around in my PJs, having jewelry delivered to me. It’s a dog’s life, Reg. I may leap out my window this afternoon.

Ha! Well, take care, Ms. Stewart. He chuckled, climbing back into his mail truck, and Nyx smiled. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but she’d started to feel normal again for the first time in four days. The sun was out and it was a warm day. She might even go out and plant some herbs in her window box if she was bored later.

Placing the box down on her coffee table, she tore open the envelope taped to the front of it. It was a letter from her mother—the first in months. Nyx only skimmed it.

"I’ll be in London soon…charity ball…social event of the season etc. We should do lunch.

-Cecile Rindler

Ps. Sorry about the change in surname, but Stewart made me sick."

Nyx cringed at seeing her mother’s maiden name, rolling her eyes as she imagined the letter she’d be expecting soon, detailing the financial arrangements of the divorce. The apology surprised her, but then again, they had been ‘getting along’ recently.

So Nyx set the box down and stared at the letter on the table, trying to conjure an emotion. When nothing came to her, she sighed, tugging out her mobile phone and punching the number she knew so well.

Pick up. Damnit, Claire, pick up…

Hello?

Hey, Claire. I, uh. What are you doing tonight?

I was just about to call you. You will NEVER GUESS wot just ‘appened. Never mind. I’ll be over in about ten minutes. Just stay put! This is going to blow your probably already drunk mind.

It wasn’t long before she could hear the sound of clicking high heels tapping away outside.

Nyx? It’s me! Can I come in?

Yeah, it’s open.

Ahhh!! Nyx, you are going to just GO MENTAL! Claire shouted, bursting through the front door. She was a tall girl with long willowy legs Nyx had always wanted, and the heels made her almost six feet. Her blond hair hung loosely about her face, looking so pin-straight it could cut something. In her hand was a duffle bag, which Nyx could only assume meant Claire had won some kind of trip or other.

Nyx smiled, Claire’s exuberance contagious. So…what’s all this? Are you going somewhere? Or is this your subtle way of saying you’re moving in?

OH MY GOD, Nyx. Seriously shut up and listen, yeah? Claire trilled, only barely containing an obviously explosive enthusiasm. All right, so I were in the pub last night working, yeah? And this bloke come in, WELL fit, blond, tall, handsome, muscular—a regular Greek God. He walks right up to the bar and says, ‘Hello, gorgeous. One glass of your best red please,’ and winks at me! Leaving me completely speechless, o’course. I nearly died, Nyx, in a fackin’ panty drownin’!

Nyx snorted so loud she slapped a hand to her face as she went to fetch herself a glass of wine. Jesus. I’m surprised you didn’t drown. Thanks for that.

Claire rolled her eyes, following Nyx into the kitchen and grabbing herself a glass in preparation. Anyway, right. So I’m tellin’ ‘im ‘bout what ‘appened wif your friend, right? And the lorry?

Nyx nodded enthusiastically. Oh yeah! Which was like…three days ago. Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I nearly forgot.

AND HE SAYS… Claire pushed back in, seemingly uninterested in letting Nyx wallow anymore. ’Wow, love. That’s awful. What a terrible random thing to happen to ya, especially your friend.’ And he slips me a black envelope across the bar and says, ‘You seem fun. 12:10 by the lion’s head and I’ll buy you and your friend a glass.’

Oooohh, Nyx cut in, very mysterious.

I know, right? But that’s not even the best part, yeah? He’s got a friend! Double date, lady, you and me. Forget our troubles, yeah. Claire was practically buzzing, handing Nyx a black envelope, which she took and inspected.

The paper was expensive. She could feel it on her fingers, the type of envelope her third cousin’s wedding invitation had come in—boy were they loaded. Reaching inside, she felt her fingers brush against something even more expensive.

Two invitations, linen cardstock embossed with gold filigree and hand-done calligraphy.

Nyx nearly gasped but held her lips shut until she knew what to say. Are these what I think they are?

Claire was on the edge of biting through her own lip from trying to contain a smile that would at any moment spill over and make the BP spill look like a broken glass of milk. YES! Two passes to that ultra swanky, super posh, only-the-coolest-of-the-cool-get-in, vampire-themed club: ‘Eartbeat. Do you know how many people get invited to this club?! FACK ALL that I’ve ever met. And there just ‘APPEN to be two passes inside. So what do you say? Will you come wif me?? Claire was nearly levitating off her seat with excitement, but Nyx wasn’t so convinced.

Taking the passes out of Claire’s hands, she inspected them.

Heartbeat: Where the Darkness Comes to Play

2nd Level Admission

Nyx wondered what it meant by 2nd level admission but didn’t think too much on it.

Oh… I dunno, Claire. I mean, yeah, it’s really posh, but isn’t it just going to be a whole room full of rich, pretentious snobs dressed up like vampires because they can’t stand how ordinary their lives are? With about ten thousand brainless morons all trying to look like Edward and Lestat? And don’t get me started on the women in corsets that have no business wearing corsets, Nyx complained.

Aww seriously? It’s going to be mint! And even if it isn’t, at least you can say you’ve been. And I can’t go by me-self. I need you at my side to make sure I don’t get too wankered and give it all up on the first night like a proper slag. He’s well fit. I almost invited him home last night! Please?? Please please please? Claire begged. She looked as though Nyx had stolen the wind out of her sails. Nyx couldn’t refuse that. It meant so much to her.

Fine. I’ll go. But if I catch anyone breathing on my neck or speaking in old English, I’m gonna stab someone. And see if they bleed, Nyx almost growled.

THANK YOU! exploded Claire, jumping into one of those hugs that was more of a death squeeze than anything comforting.

So! What’s in the bag anyway? Are we having a sleepover? Nyx laughed sarcastically, munching on hobnob.

"Nah, it’s all the outfits