I nodded. “A vault.”
The weird chandeliers, the bar that looked more like a counter, the huge windows covered haphazardly with black tape, the vault. This place could have been a bank once, if Casters had banks. I wondered what they had kept behind that door — or maybe I didn't want to know.
But nothing was weirder than the people, or whatever they were. The crowd surged and receded like at one of Macon's parties, where time seemed to fade in and out, depending on where you looked. From turn-of-the-century suited gentlemen who looked like Mark Twain, with stiff white-winged collars and striped silk ties, to Goth-looking leather-clad punks, they were all drinking, dancing, and mingling.
“Dude, tell me those creepy-lookin’ see-through people aren't ghosts.” Link backed away from one hazy figure, nearly stepping into another. I didn't want to tell him that's exactly what they were. They looked like Genevieve in the graveyard, partially materialized, only here there were at least a dozen of them. But we had never seen Genevieve move. These ghosts weren't floating around like the ones in cartoons. They were walking, dancing, moving like normal people, except they were doing it above the ground — the same pace and even strides, but their feet weren't touching the floor. One glanced our way and raised an empty glass from the table as if offering a toast.
“Am I seein’ things, or did that ghost pick up a glass?” Link elbowed Liv.
She stepped between us, her hair brushing against my neck. Her voice was so quiet we had to lean in to hear her. “Technically, they aren't called ghosts. They're Sheers — souls who haven't been able to cross over to the Otherworld because they have unfinished business in the Caster or Mortal world. I have no idea why there are so many out tonight. They usually keep to themselves. Something's off.”
“Everything about this place is off.” Link was still watching the Sheer with the glass. “And you didn't answer the question.”
“Yes, they can pick up anything they want. How do you think they slam doors and move furniture in haunted houses?”
I wasn't interested in haunted houses. “What kind of unfinished business?” I knew enough dead people with unfinished business. I didn't want to meet any more tonight.
“Something they left unresolved when they died — a powerful curse, a lost love, a shattered destiny. Use your imagination.”
I thought about Genevieve and the locket and wondered how many lost secrets, how much unfinished business there was in the graveyards and cemeteries of Gatlin.
Link stared at a beautiful girl with elaborate markings around her neck. They looked similar to the ones inked on Ridley and John. “I'd like to have some unfinished business with her.”
“She'd like it, too. She would have you jumping off a cliff in no time.” I scanned the room.
There was no sign of Lena. The more I looked around, the more I was grateful for the darkness. The booths were filling up with couples, drinking and making out, while the dance floor was packed with girls, spinning and turning like they were weaving some kind of web. Seventeen Moons wasn't playing anymore, if it was ever playing at all. Now the music was harder, more intense, a Caster version of Nine Inch Nails. The girls were all dressed differently, one in a medieval gown, another in skintight leather. Then there were the Ridleys — girls in miniskirts and black tank tops, with red, blue, or violet streaks in their hair, sliding around one another, spinning a different kind of web. Maybe they were all Sirens. I couldn't tell. But they were all beautiful, and they all had some version of Ridley's dark tattoo.
“Let's check in the back.” I let Link go ahead so Liv could walk between us. Even though she was checking out every corner of the club as if she wanted to remember it all, I knew she was nervous. This was no place for a Mortal girl, or a Mortal guy, and I felt responsible for dragging Link and Liv into this. We kept close to the wall, circling the perimeter. But it was crowded, and I felt my shoulder bump against someone. Someone with a body.
“Sorry.” I said instinctively.
“No problem.” The guy stopped, noticing Liv. “Quite the opposite.” He winked at her. “You lost?” He smiled, his shiny black eyes gleaming in the darkness. She froze. The red liquid swirled in his glass as he leaned closer.
Liv cleared her throat. “No. I'm fine, thanks. Just looking for a friend.”
“I'll be your friend.” He smiled. His white teeth were unnaturally bright in the dim light of the club.
“A … different sort of friend, I'm afraid.” I could see Liv's hand shaking where it held the strap of her knapsack.
“If you find her, I'll be over here.” He turned back to the bar, where Incubuses were lined up to refill their glasses with red liquid from a strange glass tap. I tried not to think about it.