I’ve been writing a novel for the past seven or so years. Maybe this isn’t particularly surprising since all I talk about is writing, but yeah, I’ve always had that dream to be a novelist. Over the decade from eight to eighteen, I worked on two novels and completed them—though they’re terrible because I was thirteen thinking I could actually write. Now I can actually write.
The novel I’ve been working on is a… sexy, vampire story. Yes, yes, yes, get the groans out, I hate me too. But here we are, still working on it and actually getting closer to a cohesive story. In celebration of that, I am bestowing upon you all an excerpt from said novel. Allow me to set the scene:
Cayden is the vampire. He is not Rhysand from ACOTAR or any other beautiful, emotionally damaged, but also royal-trope that is popular right now. No, that’s his older brother, Ren, who is the Magistrate’s (their government, I guess) right-hand man. Ren is the composed, tortured, and gorgeous vampire. Cayden is more wayward. He’s not committed to the vampire cause, but he doesn’t want to be a monster. That being said, he doesn’t particularly care—he is numb to the world that doesn’t want him. He’s definitely tortured but in a nothing-to-lose kind of way. Because of this attitude, he excels as the Magistrate’s assassin. He is paid handsomely to eliminate targets without asking questions.
Lilibet, or Lily, is the human woman. She’s beginning her senior year at San Francisco College where she’s studying journalism with medieval studies minor. She’s also tortured; her parents died when she was 14, forcing her to move across the country to the outskirts of Berkley to live with her kookie aunt who’s a devout follower of the occult and supernatural. Simultaneously, there is a potential serial killer stalking the streets. If you’re familiar with the Smiley Face Murders, I drew inspiration from that. Random people with seemingly no connection go missing, their bodies discovered near water having their throats slashed. Near the bodies is always a strange mark—two triangles stacked peak to peak with a circle overlapping the middle.
Lily’s senior project is an investigation into the murders as she searches for justice—she not only lost her parents young, her high school boyfriend was an early victim. Because of her background with her aunt, she feels like she’s stumbling upon a different angle: it may be vampires, as incredulous as it sounds. She starts snooping and the Magistrate catches wind and sets Cayden up to become close to her, figure out what she knows, and deal with the problem. When the two collide, Lily feels closer to the truth she’s been searching for for years and Cayden finally feels again.
Anyway, here’s a scene, written in Lily’s perspective (I jump back and forth between her and Cayden to tell both sides), when she first sees Cayden. Enjoy and also don’t criticize cause I’m fragile…
Hadley has the worst taste in bars.
Like any major city, one could find just about anything that satisfies their palette in San Francisco. From drag queen bars to traditional sports bars, silent dance clubs to modern speakeasies, I guarantee whatever you want is here and probably loaded with thirty-somethings trying to forgive themselves for ruining this city. Hadley’s taste was more or less the same as those raucous and overly-drugged idiots, but she knew I needed a change of scenery and I willingly gave her free reign for the evening. Dakota, the cookie-cutter club she lead me into, had a nondescript basement entrance, the stairs already sticky with snuck-out drinks and hopefully nothing else. During the day, one would barely acknowledge the old building, the stone and brick facade bleak like the fog that rolls in. At night, however, like any old street in town, things come alive. Magically, collectively, we all forget the troubles of the day—death, illness, homelessness, fatigue, violence. The streets of the city fill with its natives and those of us that work all day, those of us that struggle along with the course of the sun that we sometimes don’t even see, can feel alive too.
We had visited Dakota a few times and while it wasn’t my favorite place to spend an evening—that would be my own apartment in silence—I knew we would undoubtedly have a good time, even as Hadley pressed something small into my hand once we passed the bouncer. Our hands stamped, a glaring placard of our age that somehow seemed offensive, we strolled into the already crowded, dark basement club. Neon sconces and rope lighting were the only illuminations the bar had, and probably for the better because what we were doing here didn’t need any light shed on it. The music was already throbbing through the deep old wood floors, similarly sticky to the stairs outside. Bodies moved like a school of fish, all in sync with those around them, all in sync with the music that stood as their religion for the evening. As if it were her job, Hadley sidled up to the bar, a handsome someone behind it light up by the bottles of liquid courage glowing behind him. Hadley, an above-average height woman, leaned fully on the counter—how she found a clean spot, I have no idea—and, since I’ve seen her do it what seemed like a million times, I knew she pressed her breasts against that dirty bar so they splayed slightly out of her shirt. The man’s job is to serve her, she doesn’t need to put on such a show, yet I know she enjoys it and, to a certain extent, I get a kick out of the guy’s face too. He gave her a “Really?” smile before indulging her and she returned to me with two mixed drinks.
“We’re not supposed to take these with alcohol, but,” She drew that “but” out long as she handed me a martini glass and popped the unnaturally purple pill on her tongue, downing it and half her drink in one gulp, “Where’s the fun in that?”
She had a point. I followed suit.
Doing drugs wasn’t always what my life was about. In fact, for all of my high school career, I was definitely straightedge. Partying was beneath me, plain and simple. I understood the mechanics of social drinking and knew, once I was of legal age, I would certainly partake in wine tastings and the like, but what’s the point of getting hammered at nineteen and then getting caught by the cops? There isn’t a point. I swished the lemondrop martini around my mouth, the pill jostling in turbulence before I forced them both down.
“So, what is that we just took?” I realize I probably should have asked that question before ingesting an unknown narcotic, but when in Dakota, right? Hadley just gave me a Cheshire cat grin before dragging me on the dance floor.
The music pulsated under our feet, making spaces in between our bones as it rose from the ground up, hitting our brains last like a slow-rolling wave. A few of Hadley’s friends showed up and soon we were all floating on the mysterious drug, drifting in sync with each other and the music. Hadley held my hand the entire time as we danced in circles, the evening suddenly taking on an air of ritual. Colors were everywhere and they sparkled in the corners of my eye, daring me to whirl around and chase them. Faces swirled past me; eyes-bleeding down the cheekbones and onto the lips before zipping back up into place. I moved on to the next face, and the next, everyone’s melting before ultimately being pulled back together. We were spinning and never going to stop.
Then I saw his face.
Hidden, in the back of the club near the tables that crowded the walls, snuggled up against the bar, he leaned languidly. Tall and broad, but lean. Familiar.
But I was still spinning and my analysis of his face was abruptly cut off by Hadley’s hand squeezing mine as we danced harder, bouncing around. I was handed another drink, this one either stronger or weaker than the last, I had no idea.
Soon we needed water, a break from the earth-shattering dancefloor so we descended onto the free bar table with no chairs. Here, we chatted cattily like old croons or bitches since we were drunk, stoned, and full of ourselves. Scanning the room over my shoulder, checking my surroundings, I saw his face again.
He was now on the other side of the club, directly across from me. He wasn’t facing me at first, but he turned just as I recognized him, as if he could sense me noticing him. He was chatting with someone, a girl probably, and kept talking while staring at me, a smile playing on his lips. He blinked once, slowly, before turning his face back to his companion. I took stock of the surrounding bar and saw the beginnings of the intoxicated pilgrimage everyone must travel when leaving the bar. People were stumbling out, heels in hand, hand on ass, and with the sudden lack of people, my vision made room for only his being across the bar. I was disoriented. The unknown drug coursing through my body prickled my skin, reminding me of its presence. I was just seeing things. The music pulsated on, rhythmically assuring.
From dancing and drinking a few more than a good idea, it was almost two in the morning and we were closing this club down. The DJ announces the last song; in a round of approval and disdain, we a crowd throw back our final shots before getting straight to dancing. Some men we didn’t know but had, at this point, joined our group resumed the positions behind us ad we danced our way into oblivion. I stood face to face with my partner, whom I think had changed once or twice throughout the evening, hand tugging at his sweaty hair, his arms around me, and my tongue in his mouth. He went to spin me around so my back was to him and my backside was met with a bulging mass. I smirked and felt flattered, but this stupid idiot for sure wasn’t getting any of this. That being said, I continued to make him want me, reaching up and behind to tangle my fingers in the soft hair by his ear, the other hand twisting around to grab at his ass, pushing him to me. I love making them want me.
I went to open my eyes and lean forward when—him. The man from before. His eyes met mine. Green? Emerald. But, then again, something else altogether captured mine once more. He flashed a grin when he noted my recognition. The music in my ears dimmed into a soft hum.
Hello.
I jumped, startled. Normal club-crushing sound returned, almost painfully loud. I shook my head, hoping I could loosen the drug’s grip on me. He didn’t just say that, did he? His gaze softly left mine as he surveyed the rest of the crowd.
Soon the song ended just as it had begun, the night coming to a startling close as we all had to leave and re-enter the world. Like newborns, unused to the sights and sounds of the city, we stumbled on the streets. Hadley, always quick to the ready, whipped out her phone and called us a ride. Her hand gripped firmly in mine protectively. I squeezed a thank you in response, knowing without her I certainly would have fallen over. The breeze and cool night on my sweating skin sobered me up. Now I was drunk from tiredness. I leaned heavily on Hadley—where was our ride? Why am I still sweating? Fuck what was in that pill? I’ll kill Hadley if I die. I hear her typing sound as she clacked her phone’s keyboard fluidly—she seems hardly affected, I guess the cool air clears her head faster. I try to mumble her name when I realize my vision is darkening and my legs feel heavy. Fuck, I’m going to pass out. I let go of her hand.
The world swims for a moment and just as the lights flicker out, I am abruptly caught midair.
“Whoa there, easy.” The voice, belonging to the hands under my armpits as they hoised me upright, rumbled and I could feel it in their chest. Hadley immediately turned—
“Oh my God, LIL are you okay?”
I stumbled slightly, her face blurring together, but was stopped gently by the familiar hands holding me up.
“She’s okay, you’re okay right?”
I turned to either thank or throw up on this person who stopped me from falling. It was him. Him. Here. Clear. Like a sharp exhale, the drug released its hold on me, my vision restored, my senses somewhat coming back to me. He held me, softly but sturdily. I struggle to find my footing underneath him.
Looking up close, so, so close—those eyes again. Definitely emerald but so deepening and darkening, almost fluid and swirling. A pert nose, full, extremely kissable lips, and a set jawline, sharp and prickled with stubble. His hair, a composed mess of deep chocolate locks, almost black. I see something on his neck, poking out of his t-shirt—a tattoo.
“I’m, I’m okay” I mutter, finding my feet only to have the air kicked out of my lungs by his face. “Do I know you?” I whispered, certain if a talked above a bravado I’d hurl, but I needed to know.
He chuckled like honey. “I don’t think so, but I’m Cayden. Are you sure you’re okay? You almost fell there.”
I whispered his name under my breath, feeling it in my mouth, and noticed his lips twitch slightly, almost in a smile.
“Thank you so much, Cayden” Hadley interjected, jerking me backward and out of his grasp. “You may be super attractive, but back the fuck up, homeboy.” She protectively laid her hand around my waist.
He promptly put his hands up in mock innocence. “I just saw a lady in distress and knew I needed to do something about it. Also, I’m attractive?” This time his eyes flickered to Hadley’s and I felt her body jolt slightly at the weight of his stare. I know she picked up on his unreal gorgeousness.
Just then, a car pulled up and flipped on their hazards. The window rolled down—
“For Hadley?” Hadley asked through the window and was met with a nod.
“Look, our ride’s here. I will take a business card and nothing more for my friend and she can decide if she wants to call you.” She held out her hand and I felt my mouth drop open.
Cayden, obviously impressed, grabbed his wallet out of the back pocket of his worn black jeans. As he quickly rifled through, I peeked at another tattoo, this one an excruciatingly detailed peony flower on the back of his hand. Another visible at the collar of the henley shirt he wore, white. He placed a slip of paper in Hadley’s outstretched hand and she promptly deposited me in the backseat of the car before slamming the door in his face.
His clear face.
Shit We’re Loving: WATCH
Shelby’s Pick: Spencer and The French Dispatch in theatres
Just saw both these movies over the weekend in theatres. The French Dispatch was fun—as a certified stoner, I love Wes Anderson and the stories he tells. When we were walking out of the theatre, an older couple ahead of us turned to the concessions/ticket desk people and was like “That was the worst movie I’ve ever seen. I didn’t understand any of it!” This made me like it more. I also have one hundred percent masturbated to Lea Seydoux and her performance in Blue is the Warmest Color.
Spencer, as I’m sure you’ve probably already heard and/or seen, is incredible. Did I sob the entire time? Just about. I don’t have words.
Show Your Support: Donors Choose
Donors Choose as a platform makes it easy for anyone to help a teacher in need. Their mission is to move us as a nation closer to the point where every student’s needs are met and great education is being had. Donors Choose is committed to leading with empathy to combat systemic racism and socioeconomic inequity in our school system. Since 2000, Donors Choose has supported over 5 million people and over 2 million classroom project requests that range from butterfly cocoons, to robotics kits, to books with diverse characters, and classroom basics like tables and chairs.
Donors Choose works simply: Find a classroom project that inspires you and give as little as $1—since Donors Choose is a public charity, all donations are tax-deductible! When the project is fully funded, Donors Choose purchases all the requested items and ships them directly to the teacher. Every donor gets a thank-you from the teacher, photos of the project in action, and a detailed report of how each dollar was spent.
For all the devil’s advocates out there (like myself) this totally does not take away from the horrible fact that our education system needs some serious reform and our teachers should not have to set up a donations page to get supplies. The system is wrong. But until it changes, we have the power to help those who can’t wait. And if you’re a teacher (like Aimée!), you and your classroom have the opportunity to get funded. Check out the teacher process here.
Daily Intention:
Today I will…
I don’t know, read a fucking novel?
Here’s some nifty buttons for you to press, enjoy: