Page 9 of Spearcrest Prince

Right on the edge of the dancefloor, there’s a girl dancing all alone.

And she looks… Well, she looks ridiculous.

Unlike the tiny slinky dresses and silky curls of the girls filling the club, she’s wearing a white T-shirt tucked into a short skirt made of huge blue sequins. Her feet are bare on the black dancefloor, and her shoulder-length black hair sticks at her temples with sweat.

She’s dancing with her arms in the air, moving a little out of time, a glass in her hand, her drink splashing on her arm as she moves.

“You think I couldn’t gether?” I ask, turning to speak to Luca and Iakov but keeping my eyes on the girl. “What, just because she’s a little weird?”

“I don’t think she looks weird,” Iakov says, taking a sip of his drink.

I glance from him to the girl. “She’s not wearing shoes, Iakov!”

“So?” Iakov shrugs.

“So, this is The Cyprian, not some stoner festival. Come on. She’s not even dancing in time to the music.”

“Let’s make a bet,” Luca says, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I’m not making a bet with you,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I bet you this girl won’t fuck you,” Luca continues, ignoring me.

“What do I get if she does?”

“My new Aston Martin,” Luca says without hesitation.

“You don’t even care about your cars,” I point out.

“Fine, what do you want?”

“Novus stocks.”

Iakov bursts out laughing. “Fuck, Luca, your dad will kill you.”

“He will if Sev wins the bet, which he won’t.”

“You’re on!” I give him my hand. He smirks and takes it.

We shake, and as soon as I let go, he adds, “You don’t mind if I also have a go, do y—”

I’m shoving him out of the way and plunging into the crowd before he can even finish the question. Luca might be a total nutcase, but he never seems to struggle to get girls into bed. I suppose it’s the upside to looking like a literal cartoon villain with his piercing eyes and silver-blond hair.

Moving quickly through the edges of the crowd, I draw closer to the weird girl, watching her long, awkward body move to the music. She can’t dance for shit, truly. It’s almost endearing. She has long, slim limbs, narrow hips and small breasts. She’s graceless and a little awkward.

But her face is something else. Her eyes are closed, glitter sparkling on her eyelids and temples. Her mouth is open on a beatific smile. She’s giving in fully to the music, letting her body do what it wants.

She looks insane. But she looks… free.

For a second, I find myself wishing I’d brought my camera with me. Sometimes, when a sight is particularly interesting, I have the urge to capture it, to immortalise it. Not on my phone, not with pixels, but on actual film. I like to develop it myself in the Spearcrest darkroom and watch the picture manifest like a ghost on the shiny white square.

But since bringing a camera into a club would be creepier than anything I’ve ever known Luca to do, I’m going to have to burn this image into my retinas and hope I remember it tomorrow.

The way my head is spinning and alcohol is singing through my veins, I probably won’t.

Weaving through the crowd, I carve a path all the way to the girl. She’s not at all my type, but there’s something pretty and unearthly about her I rather like. Maybe it’s how little of a shit she seems to give about how bad she looks. Or maybe it’s the pretty shape of her eyes, her gracelessness. It makes her seem innocent. Almost celestial.

Like an angel who’s been cast out of heaven and forced to live amongst mortals.

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