Alternity Read Online Free Page B

checked his list then unclipped the rope. I climbed the stairs to the elite, private lounge, where only Manhattan’s finest were deemed worthy enough to hang. I felt a bit like an intruder, being far from Manhattan’s finest. If only I had some kind of sign around my neck, saying I’M WITH THE DJ, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten so many suspicious stares.
    Since it was still early, there were only a few other guests. A handful of women, tightly wrapped in form-fitting bandage dresses and hoofed with red-soled Louboutins. A few Armani-clad Japanese businessmen, eyeing them with interest. The lot of them lounged on smooshy couches and velvet chairs, sipping champagne and blatantly ignoring the NYC smoking ban. Trent, as Bruno had predicted, was nowhere to be seen yet. Fashionably late, as per usual.
    I sank down into a nearby chair and allowed a cocktail waitress to take my drink order. Diet Red Bull—I was desperate for the caffeine. I caught Craig’s eye over in the nearby DJ booth and waved. He grinned, probably thrilled to see I’d really shown up, and blew me a kiss. I returned the kiss laughingly, feeling myself relax as I cuddled into the comfy chair, for the first time in a while feeling kind of good. Even with these newfound cheesy clubgoers, I always felt at home at Luna. It was safe here. Familiar. And best of all, loud enough so I wouldn’t fall asleep and dream.
    That last dream—the one in class—still hadn’t left me. In fact, Glenda’s words had been banging around my consciousness all day.
    “You’re almost ready …”
    I shook my head. Had to give my subconscious credit; it sure was creative. Wait until the real life Glenda heard about her starring role in my mental breakdown. Especially the part of her writing the weird symbols on my—
    I stopped short, the laughter suffocating as my eyes fell upon the spidery handwriting scrawled across the back of my hand.
    I leapt from my seat, my pulse racing as I stared down at the message, hardly believing what I was seeing with my own eyes. It was impossible. Crazy. How could words from a dream be written on my hand in real life? They weren’t there before. Were they? Surely I would have noticed.
    You won’t know where you are. Or even who you are …
    I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This was stupid. There had to be some logical explanation. I must have written it myself. Sleep scribbling. That was a thing, right?
    But if I had done it this morning, why was it only showing up now?
    I shoved my hand under my thigh, turning back to the DJ booth, wanting to find Craig again. To focus on something real. But before I could turn my head, a flash of hot white light blinded me, hurling me backward in my chair. My hands flew to the armrests as the floor buckled, as if jarred loose from an earthquake. Panicked, I frantically scanned the room, waiting for the screams, the stampedes, the clubgoers tripping over their stilettos as they fled the premises.
    But there was nothing.
    The other clubgoers were talking. Laughing. Drinking. Could they not see the streaks of electricity arcing down the center of the room? Could they not feel the aftershocks? Smell the sulfur in the air?
    I sat frozen in place, my heart banging against my rib cage as my fight-or-flight mechanism kicked in. Something was really wrong here. Really, really wrong. Was it me? Was I finally losing my mind for good?
    “I’d like a Jack-and-Coke, please,” a man said. I turned to watch him order his drink, hoping to regain some semblance of normalcy. Focus on something mundane. Something real. Something not ripped from a psycho, delusional brain. A stranger ordering a drink. No big deal.
    My heart stopped.
    The man across the room was not a stranger at all. In fact, I would have recognized him anywhere. Broad shoulders, trim gray beard. And though he was dressed differently—in a black blazer rather than a silver suit, he was as familiar as the back of my hand.
    The man from my dream.