The Fallen Read Online Free Page A

back down again. Her gloom gave way torestlessness; the room suddenly seemed very small. Too small for good brooding. She moved up and down on her toes like a ballerina.
    Chloe stood for a moment, indecisive, then grabbed her jacket and banged down the stairs.
    â€œWhere are you going?” her mother demanded, like someone on a TV show.
    â€œOut,” Chloe responded, just as predictably. She even slammed the door behind her, just for good measure.

Three
    The night Was chillier than Chloe expected. She stood for a moment in just her T-shirt, letting the moist air brush against her skin and lift the hair on her arms. It smelled surprisingly good; clean and wet as a cloud. Then the wind changed direction and she could hear and smell traffic at the same time: exhaust, acrid and dry even in the dampness, bit at her nose. Chloe sighed and put on her jacket.
    Okay, Spontaneous One. Where to now?
    She had set herself up for a
really
spectacular punishment later (though she hoped her near-death experience might help cut her some slack), so the night was not to be wasted. Then it came to her:
The Bank.
    Normally she would never,
ever
consider trying to get into the club without spending several hours dressing and redressing with Amy, going through everything in both their closets and sometimes even Paul’s. Jeans and a tee were just embarrassing.
    Chloe didn’t care; she was going to do it. She was going to get into the club, by herself, dressed like the Creature from the Gap Lagoon. She just
needed
to dance right now.
    It was a Tuesday, so there wasn’t much of a line outside the club; its Christmas-from-hell orange and black fairy lights barely illuminated the otherwise empty street. One bored bouncer half sat on his stool, wearing tiny round black sunglasses that didn’t reflect anything.
    Chloe swaggered up to the velvet rope, unsure of what she was going to do. Everyone else in line was dressed in something sparkly, revealing, or all black—and was at least half a decade older.
    Before she could think about it, Chloe sashayed past them and was asking the bouncer directly: “Hey, can I get in?” Just like that.
    The giant man looked up at her and down, pausing at her scuffed black Converses. He cracked the barest hint of a smile. “I like your shoes. Those are
old
school, baby,” he said, and unhooked the rope for Chloe.
    â€œThanks, man,” she said in what she hoped was an equally cool voice. It was just like she’d passed a level in one of Paul’s video games. Charon of Inner Sunset had just let her into the Dancing Afterworld.
    The floor wasn’t large, but it was surrounded by black mirrors that made it look twice as big and crowded. Clinging to the far wall and snaking around to the door was the enormous bar for which the place was famous: its surface was covered in thousands and thousands of shinycopper pennies, shellacked into permanently flowing streams that ran all the way from a vault in the wall down to the floor.
    During the day, when people vacuumed and cleaned and tried to remove the eternally beery stench, normal lights probably illuminated unpleasant details on the copper river—inky blots where people declared their fleeting love with Sharpies, worn and chipped places where coins had been hacked out, a night’s work for the prize of a single penny. But for now it gleamed like an ancient god of wealth had just overturned his big pot of money. Bright, harsh golden lights bounced over it without shining on the patrons surrounding the bar, keeping their faces romantic and half lit.
    The music was typical house with just a touch of electronica. No Moby
or
Goa here. Paul would have threatened to walk out, ears covered, before sidling up to the DJ to check out his equipment. It
should
have been the three of them there, not just her alone. But the music throbbed loudly, and Chloe felt like she could go out and dance by herself—she had almost died