Chapter Eighteen
Peter straightened his bow tie carefully. He did not recall ever having put it on, nor did he think he had ever worn one before, but thought to himself now how suave he felt because if it.
The night was fine; warm with a cool breeze that often brushed across his face as he walked. He was not sure how he had come to be in this place, and perhaps would have become deeply confused should he have thought too carefully about the present situation, but he did not. He felt an odd sense of contentment. He did not know why, or how he knew, but he was certain that he was going in the right direction - and before he knew it, he had arrived at his destination: La Discothèque, a rather small but clearly 'hip' nightclub - if the clientele were anything to go by.
Only the finest of folk graced La Discothèque. They were dressed in the most fashionable of clothing, much like Peter. All men wore suits with bow ties and all the ladies dressed in the shortest of skirts, covered in an abundance of jewels and tassels. They wore their hair crimped with more jewels and feathers and various glamorous accessories.
Peter straightened his tie as he entered the room. The walls themselves vibrated with the force of the music. Trumpets, saxophones, one guitar, one piano, and even a trombone blasted out across the room in a delightful cacophony of jazz music. In the middle of the room the dance floor, a mass of contorting bodies, moved every which way, together and entirely separate, up and down with the rhythm of the music like the unruly waves of the sea.
Peter did his best not to seem entirely scandalised at the scandalous presentation of behaviour. How very vulgar indeed! he thought - but thought better than vocalising his opinion. He sat down quietly at the bar, and was soon accosted by a smart looking barman who wished to know the poison Peter should prefer.
"Cyanide," said Peter, and soon enough a steaming glass of a very dark liquid was placed before him. He sipped it delicately as his eyes drifted towards the stage - where the most beautiful woman he had ever known had just begun to sing.
She had brown skin and black hair, pressed into curls that framed a pretty face; thick, black lashes that seemed always to hide large brown eyes; thick, sensual lips that she had painted red; a delightful figure, sumptuously curvaceous and framed with a velvet black dress which hugged every contour. Around her neck she wore a black feather boa, and twisted it around her hand as sweet music flowed from her lips.
She kept her gaze trained on the floor as she opened her song, but now she looked up, across the room and straight to Peter, and he felt as though she had pierced his very soul. Her voice was soft yet sultry, and every word that she sang, no doubt to a lover, must surely have been directed at himself.
Peter loosened his collar. "My goodness," said he, and swallowed at once. He had never before felt so hot and bothered as in this moment, and suddenly realised that he was absolutely in love with this vision of beauty before him - and of course no explanation was required as to how he had come upon this sudden realisation, as this was a dream; all there was to do was accept this fact, and he did so completely.
When the diva had finished her song, she set about another, this somehow even more enchanting than the first. He watched her every move, mesmerised by even the way she held her hand around the microphone. It was, therefore, an incredible annoyance when a certain Bella Cullen appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and blocked his view. Had he not been the perfect English gentlemen, he would have informed her at once how absolutely not cricket her behaviour was, but instead gritted his teeth and refrained from slapping her out of the way.
"My Queen," said he. "What a pleasure it is to see you tonight. I'm drinking arsenic. Won't you join me for a glass?"
"No, thank you," said Bella. "I had a carpet this morning so I find my thirst will be very much assuaged for at least another hour."
Peter nodded. "Naturally," he said. "Is that a caterpillar around your neck?"
Bella smiled and stroked her latest accessory fondly. "I hear it is the latest fashion in Timbuktu. Do you like it?"
"Half-heartedly," admitted Peter.
Bella smiled and stroked Peter's cheek. "I'm so frightfully glad you came, Peter, darling. You see, I've been wanting to show you my little protégé. I think you might like her. Don't you think her very beautiful?"
Peter nodded vehemently. "More than anything I have ever seen before in my life," he said. "But, Bella? Why do you have an English accent?"
"Pineapple," said Bella. "And cranberries, of course. And let us not forget the squashed tomatoes and stew."
Peter nodded. "Oh, I see. How fortuitous."
The music stopped. The room was gently transported from her sweet voice to the smooth tones of the band playing a delicate tune. The singer left her boa draped over her microphone stand and exited the stage. Peter watched her leave. He could barely breathe, and thought he might actually faint at the realisation that she was coming straight for him. His tongue swelled in his mouth. His chest became frightfully heavy. His mouth dried, his breathing quickened, and his mind seemed transported to a place far above the clouds.
"Goodness gracious," he said. She was even more perfect up close!
Bella smiled dazzlingly. She hooked her arm through the singer's and practically yanked her to her side.
"Darling, you were flawless," said Bella. "Now, kiss me, my little pillow case, before I go completely mad!"
The singer licked her lips (poor Peter, quite subconsciously, wet his own in response) and suddenly bared her remarkably sharp teeth - which, next minute, she sunk deep into Bella's pale white neck. Thus followed a series of chewing, licking, slurping, sucking and suckling noises - accompanied by astonishingly loud moans from Bella - before the singer broke off and licked the last remnants of blood from her lips.
"Poppycock," said Peter, quite transfixed. "Absolute poppycock..."
He smiled a little dreamily to himself.
"Cassie?" said Bella. "Shan't you extend the same courtesy to your friend?"
Cassie looked at Peter, straight at him, and studied him for a while before she spoke. She seemed very puzzled indeed.
"My friend?" she asked. "Do I know him?"
Bella smiled wickedly.
"It's me," said Peter. "Peter Pevensie. Of course you know me!"
Cassie looked from Peter to Bella, but no form of realisation passed over her expression. She seemed utterly confused.
"Bella," she said, "I don't know this boy."
"It's me!" said Peter. "It's me!"
Cassie back away but Peter leapt from his seat, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
"Let go of me!" she cried. Bella giggled.
"You know me!" he cried. "I'm your friend. I love you. You love me, I know you do!"
"Let go!" cried Cassie again. "Let go!"
She managed to get one hand free and used it to slap Peter across the face. He stumbled backwards, clutching his burning cheek. Bella was practically in hysterics by now. Cassie, lip trembling, flew to Bella's side, and Bella enveloped her into a hug.
"Don't worry, ornament," said Bella softly. "He says he loves you, but he can't. Not like I can."
And then she planted an enormous kiss on Cassie's lips - and Cassie, most peculiarly, kissed Bella right back.
Peter stood horrified, totally frozen in his shock. And then someone slapped him again.
"Peter!"
Peter clutched both cheeks. They both stung something terrible.
"Peter!"
"God?" whispered Peter, a little bemused. "Is that you?"
"PETER!"
And then suddenly, all at once, he was awake again - and Susan, Lucy, Edmund, Harry, Ron and Hermione were all hovering over him.
"Peter?" said Susan. "I think you had a nightmare. You wouldn't stop screaming. It was a trifle psychotic, old boy. Are you quite alright?"
"Splendid," said Peter, and shook his head. "But something tells me Cassie isn't."
"Cassie said-" began Susan, but she was swiftly cut off.
"Cassie said whatever she could to get rid of us! To protect us!"
"I think Peter's right," said Hermione softly, stepping forward. "Until we now she's safe, completely safe, we can't go home. Not after everything she's done for us."
The rest of the children agreed - and so it was, once more, that an excellent plan needed to be swiftly formulated.
