Chapter 3: Neon Black
Fri, 6 Oct 2034
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Fri, 6 Oct 2034
Electronica music emanated from Skye’s speakers as she got ready for the night out. Aimee had been yammering on about this electro-grunge artist. A glance over the lyrics made it clear that they were no Ethel Cain, but their sound was addictive. For all Aimee’s flaws – of which she had many – she had good taste in music. Was it profound? Certainly not. But it was invigorating.
Skye stepped back to admire herself in her bedroom mirror. She had her box braids tied up into a high ponytail, the purple ends skimming the small of her back. Her shorts and crop-top had yellow sequins that winked in the light. Her lithe frame led up to a diamond-shaped face, with dark eyes that sparkled like onyx. She smiled to herself, her teeth beaming against her matte-black lipstick.
Skye’s phone buzzed, lighting up with a message from Nixie: ‘hellooooo?’
She cussed and turned off the music. She hurried out of her room and flung open the door to her flat. “Sorry, Nix! Didn’t hear you knocking!”
“How could you?” Nixie playfully lamented as he hugged Skye, his short stature pulling her down. “I had to make small talk with your neighbour. Small talk.”
Skye laughed. “So dramatic.”
Nixie giggled. “You’re looking stunning, tonight, by the way.”
“I better look stunning. I don’t want to be outshone by you.”
“Oh, you flatterer.”
He peeked just over five foot tall, with a small, boyish frame. His choppily cut hair was blaringly white, as was his skin – those thin eyebrows were practically non-existent, though his shining blue eyes were still expressive.
When they had first met, Skye had assumed his unique appearance came from albinism or some other condition. After he found out about her Huntington’s, he revealed the truth of the matter. First, supernaturals were real. Second, he was a water sprite, though his appearance was not like other nature spirits – he’d made a deal with a witch to appear more humanlike. Third, he knew a way for Skye to avoid dying from her disease: to become a vampire.
Tonight, solid black, shapeless clothes hung from him. Long, loose trousers, chunky boots, and a buttoned-up trenchcoat. He called his aesthetic ‘mime chic.’
Skye stepped to the side, gesturing for Nixie to glide through. He peered into the kitchen and then the sitting room, arms clasped behind his back as he surveyed the surroundings.
“Is your ‘new friend’ around?” he asked carefully.
Skye rolled her eyes. “Aimee’s not here.”
Nixie’s shoulders fell as he sighed in relief. He usually liked oddballs, but Aimee’s intensity made him uncomfortable. “Thank fuck.”
“She’s a bit much, yeah. She was sick on the kitchen table a few days ago.”
“Yuck. So where is she, then?”
“Seems her and James are making up.” Skye looked to the ceiling. “I’m sure we’ll all be lamenting that soon enough.”
“Ew.” Nixie stuck out a tongue. “You didn’t try to talk her out of it?”
Skye shook her head. “I got a cousin like her. That’d likely just make things worse.”
“Humans are complicated.” Nixie side-stepped into the kitchen, twirling to face the sink. He helped himself to a glass of water. It was the only thing he could consume. Everything else just resulted in a lot of vomiting.
“How’s the familiar job going?” he asked.
“The recruits didn’t stick,” Skye replied.
“You got any new recruits for this Monday?”
“It looks like it will be just me delivering for now.”
“Hm. You think Cathy would be alright with me helping?”
Skye arched a brow, smirking. “Can you even drive a van?”
“’Course I can!”
“Legally?”
“… No.”
Skye inclined her head in emphasis.
Nixie took a gulp of his water. “Anything else interesting happen lately?”
Skye grinned. Feigning nonchalance, she said, “Yeah. The Dearg-Due showed up.”
The sprite sputtered, “The Dearg-Due? Wow! What a legend. Was she scary?”
“Not really. Then Cathy told me her story, and now I’m retroactively a bit freaked out.”
“I wonder why she’s here… Glamis seems too cosy for someone like her.”
“Retirement?” Skye offered sarcastically.
“Ha! Imagine. Granny Bloodsucker, knitting scarfs for charity. Do me in before the world gets that boring.”
“Noted.” Skye glanced to her phone. “We should be off.”
“Finally! Let’s go join the other degenerates!” Nixie chugged down the remainder of his water and got up, ready to go.
Skye stood and grabbed a black coat and stepped out into the energising chilly night with Nixie. The two linked arms as they strutted down the street, earning plenty of stares. On their own, each looked odd. Together, they were practically a parade of unapologetic, self-loving strangeness.
The night was waking up. There was the early din of soon-to-be partygoers having pres in cluttered apartments, pubs filling with backslapping patrons holding pints, and lines of chattering students standing outside clubs with pulsating music. The brick buildings were illuminated with glaring neon signs, decorated with profane graffiti, and vibrating to the sound of EDM.
A tattered rainbow flag waved above the entrance to Blush. A small queue had formed. Amongst them were two Shifters wolfing down greasy chips. The bouncer was Armory – an African American Sunborn. She was tall with corded arms and a buzzcut, currently concealed by a beanie. Rumour had it that she had been in the US military in her human life, and a drug-dealer’s bodyguard in her unlife. She certainly had a glare to match the story.
“Go through, Skye,” Armory said in her rolling American accent. “Lisa’s got the flu. You’ve been moved up.”
Skye drew in a sharp breath and stepped ahead of the line. Nixie hopped on behind her.
Armory fixed him with a frown. “Not you.”
“You can drop the act, I know you’re not as mean as you look.” Nixie grinned impishly. “She’s my friend, Armory. Please?”
“You’re not performing. You wait in line like everyone else.”
Skye flicked her braids over her shoulder, giving Armory a coy smile. “C’mon, Arms. I can’t perform without my biggest cheerleader. If I jump a line, he does. Or maybe you want to wave some pompoms for me?”
Armory rolled her eyes. She pulled her beanie down over her ears, and in the motion subtly tilted her head to the door.
Nixie grinned triumphantly before pushing ahead. Skye mouthed ‘thank you’ to Armory as she stepped through.
The narrow corridor gave way to the club. The scarlet floor was packed, as were the weathered lounge chairs. Hot pink LED art pieces adorned the black walls. Between the DJ booth and stage was space for dancing, and beyond that was the bar.
“It gets scabbier by the day!” Nixie declared, as if in love.
Allegedly, the VIP area upstairs was much less grubby. But, even after years of performing here, Skye had yet to see it. She had noticed, however, that those who were let up there all happened to be people she delivered to on Mondays.
“Skye!” Inge’s voice pierced through the grungy dance music. Before Skye had even located the Sunborn, she was being dragged by the arm to the stage. Nixie got lost in the fray. “You ready?” Inge asked, exasperated. Though usually untidy, Inge seemed especially off her game tonight. Her Façade, which was illusion magic that concealed the effects of Decay on older or starved vampires, seemed to not be fully up, judging by how her usually round face looked sunken in.
“Yeah,” Skye replied.
“Right answer.”
Inge stepped on stage, grabbing the mic off its stand. The clubbers redirected their attention to her as the music faded.
“The cold’s getting you guys here early,” Inge said, setting a fist on her hip.
“Dancing’s warming me up!” called an already plastered patron.
Inge snorted to that. “Then this is going to be a long, warm winter at Blush. Here to help heat us up tonight is a woman who needs no introduction. We know her, we love her: the talented, beautiful Neon Black!”
There was always a degree of disconnection that overcame Skye as she stepped onto the stage, lights and attention drawn to her as the crowd buzzed with anticipation. She took the mic from Inge, who vanished into the darkness that lay beyond. Skye pushed the mic onto the stand.
Am I smiling? she thought, belatedly feeling the beam on her face.
She shut her eyes. Her senses swung from dissociation to complete connection. The salty sweet scent of the air; the heat of the blinding lights; the sweat beading on her forehead; the vibrating souls of the audience.
The song she was covering was a new concoction of the alt-techno scene. First, was a verse which Skye sang with purity, her delicate contralto voice weaving along the slow-paced, industrial beats and riffs.
“Life is blue and crimson, like bruises bloodied
by their cutting. Dance on to spite the bastards,
Our spirit endures until we succeed,
Beckoning freedom
I would rather kiss in this darkness, starlit
Our bright futures are made in the present
We are visions; one day we will be sunlit,
Dancing until dawn
So be with me here, my shadow-embraced
lover. We will dance on to fight the bastards
Rebel, riot, all is found within your taste
Moments of freedom”
Then, silence.
The music returned, this time faster, and accompanied by the distorted howls of an electric guitar. Skye shrugged her coat off and flung it off stage, causing the crowd to cheer. She grabbed the mic-stand again, repeating the verse with urgency. Her brows furrowed as she upped her passion. She spotted Nixie pushing his way to the front, her coat securely in his arms.
The verse ended, and the beats picked up. The rest of the song was instrumental. She stepped back, leaving the microphone in the stand.
The song reached its climax.
And she danced.
The music inhabited her chest and throbbed in her limbs. She moved to the beat and twisted to the melody. It was a possession.
She was twelve when she had her first big performance. Only a few months before, she had joined an after-school hip-hop dance club hosted at a community centre. And now she was showcasing her talent!
She loved the flicks of her braids as they echoed her motions, and the way her bracelets clinked to the rhythm of her heeled boots.
She had pulled her hair into a slightly misaligned bun and dabbed her eyelids with leftover makeup from her Mama’s abandoned vanity case. Glamorous was not how she looked, but it was how she felt.
Skye performed at only a few bars and clubs around Glamis. Really, she was a nobody. But, in these moments, she felt like the world was applauding.
Her Papa had fallen badly a few days ago and had to watch the performance virtually from the hospital bed. At every moment she could, she looked to the phone her Auntie Marina was using to stream the dance. Her love for her Papa poured through her glittering eyes. Her mother may have left her, but he never did. Not willingly.
She ended the dance with a jump that landed into an effortless side-split. The crowd erupted.
When she visited Papa afterwards, he told her, in tears, that he had never seen her smile as broadly as she did during that dance. He said he was proud of her, and that no one could have asked for a better daughter.