Psycho Killer (33 page)

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked his sister. “Can’t you take a cab?”

“No, I—” Jenny’s voice trailed off. “Just please come
now
,” she said and hung up.

Ruby let out a final orgiastic siren wail, threw her bass at the lead guitarist’s head, and cannonballed into the headbanging crowd.

“Who was that?” Serena shouted over the howling mob.

“My little sister,” Dan told her. “She’s at
Kiss Me or Die
. She’s having a bad time.”

“Are you going to pick her up?”

“Yeah, I think so. She sounded weird,” he said, thinking of all the murders on the Upper East Side. That neighborhood was bad news. Brooklyn felt like a sheltered paradise in comparison.

“I’ll come with you,” Serena offered. “Just let me get my purse and say goodbye.”

“Good.” Dan grinned. “Great.”

She found Vanessa at the bar. “Hey,” Serena said, touching her arm. “We’re going to get Dan’s sister.”

Vanessa turned around slowly, waiting for Clark’s eyeballs to enlarge and register “beautiful girl” in bold black letters like the cherries in a slot machine. But Clark only glanced at Serena like she was just another customer.

“Later, Vanessa!” Dan called from over by the door.

Vanessa glared at him. She wished Clark would stop slicing limes for just a second so she could kiss him right in front of Dan.

Serena held up her purse and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I know you want your knife back, but can I borrow it, just for tonight?”

Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. Clark rolled an olive across the bar and picked it up with his teeth. She giggled. “Go ahead.”

Serena tucked the purse under her arm. “Okay. See you. Tell Ruby she rocks!”

Vanessa turned back to Clark without a word.

“Who were they?” He picked an olive out of a dish and held it just in front of Vanessa’s lips.

Vanessa bit into the olive and shrugged. “Just some losers from uptown.”

Dan hailed a cab and opened the door for Serena. The October air was crisp and smelled of burnt sugar. Dan suddenly felt very elegant and mature—a man in a tuxedo out on the town with a beautiful girl. He slid into the seat beside her and looked down at his hands as
the cab pulled away from the curb. They weren’t shaking anymore.

Unbelievable as it seemed, he had touched Serena with those very hands while they were dancing. And now he was alone with her in a taxi. If he wanted to, he could take her hand, stroke her cheek, maybe even kiss her. He studied her profile, her skin shining in the yellow glow of the streetlights, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“God, I love to dance,” Serena said, letting her head fall back on the seat. She felt completely relaxed. “I could seriously do this every single night.”

Dan nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, enjoying the tired feeling in their legs and the cool air from the open window on their sweat-dampened foreheads. There was nothing awkward about the fact that they weren’t talking. It was nice.

The cab pulled up in front of the Katherine Farkas and Isabel Coates Memorial House, formerly known as the Frick. Dan had expected to see Jenny waiting for them outside, but the sidewalk was empty.

“I guess I’m going to have to go in there and get her.” He turned to Serena. “You can go ahead home. Or you can wait….”

“I’ll come with you,” she said, clutching her clutch. “I may as well see what I missed.”

They got out of the cab and headed for the door.

“I hope they let us in,” Serena whispered. “I threw out my invitation.”

Dan pulled the crumpled invitation Jenny had made for him out of his pocket and flashed it at the bouncer. “She’s with me,” he said, putting his arm around Serena.

“Go ahead,” the bouncer said, waving them on.

She’s with me?

She’s with me
.

She’s with me!

Dan couldn’t believe his balls. He’d had no idea they were that big.

“I’d better go find her,” he told Serena when they got inside.

“Okay,” she agreed, squeezing his arm. “Meet me back here in ten minutes.”

The room was full of old familiar faces. So familiar that no one there was quite sure whether Serena van der Woodsen had just arrived or if she’d been there all night. They’d heard she was dead, but she looked healthier than ever. In fact, she looked like
she’d been having a fantastic time. Her hair was windblown, her dress was slipping off her shoulders, there was a run in her tights, and her cheeks were dark pink, as if she’d been running. She looked wild, like the kind of girl who’d done everything everyone said she’d done, and probably a whole lot more.

Blair noticed Serena right away, back from the dead, standing on the edge of the dance floor in that funny old dress they’d bought together at Alice’s Underground.

What the fuck?
Of course she was alive. Serena was never going to fucking die.

She pulled away from Nate. “Look who’s here.”

Nate turned around, squeezing Blair’s hand tightly when he saw Serena.

The hand squeeze was out of shock, but Blair took it as a demonstration of his devotion. She squeezed his hand back. “Why don’t you go tell her?” she instructed. “Tell her it’s over. You can’t be friends with her anymore. You can’t have anything to do with her.” Her stomach rumbled nervously. After all the throwing up she’d done, she really needed another tuna roll.

Nate stared at Serena with grim, slightly stoned determination. If Blair thought it was crucial that he tell Serena to get lost, then he’d do it. He couldn’t wait to get this all behind them so he could relax. In fact, after he talked to Serena he was going to head upstairs and find somewhere private to light up.

Waspoid rule #1: When things get intense, get stoned.

“All right,” he said, letting go of Blair’s hand. “Here I go.”

“Hey.” Serena greeted Nate with a kiss on the cheek. He blushed. He hadn’t expected her to touch him. “You look mahvelous, darling,” she said in a silly, hoity-toity accent.

“Thanks.” Nate tried to put his hands in his pockets, but his tuxedo didn’t have any. “You look… nice also. Are you… all better?”

“I’m great! I kind of blew off this party,” she gushed. “I’ve been out dancing with this guy at this crazy place in Brooklyn!”

Nate raised his eyebrows in surprise. But then again, nothing Serena said should have surprised him anymore.

“So, you want to dance?” She put her arms around Nate’s neck before he answered, and began to swing her hips from side to side.

Nate glanced at Blair, who was watching them carefully. “Look, Serena.” He stepped back and removed her arms. “I really can’t… you know… be friends… not like the way we were before,” he began.

Serena frowned. “Why not?” she said. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Blair is my girlfriend,” Nate continued. “I have to… I have to be loyal to her. I can’t… I can’t really be…” He swallowed.

Her knuckles white, Serena slipped her hand inside her black patent leather clutch and gripped the cold handle of the bowie knife. If only she could hate Nate for being so cruel and so lame. If only he weren’t so good-looking. If only she didn’t love him. She would kill him this time for being so mean. That was what she’d set out to do, when she’d first come home to New York. But she couldn’t do it. She never could.

“Well, I guess we should stop talking then. Blair might get mad.” She slipped her purse back under her arm and turned abruptly away.

As she crossed the room, Serena’s eyes met Blair’s. She stopped in her tracks and opened her clutch. Once again, her
fingers closed around the large knife’s handle. She pulled out the knife, ready to strike.

Blair hiked up her green dress. She reached down and withdrew the gold and emerald dagger from its solid gold sheath.

En garde.

Touché.

But instead of attacking each other, the two girls smiled.

It was strange smile, and neither girl knew what the other meant by it.

Was Blair smiling because she’d won the boy in the end and stamped all over Serena’s party shoes, leaving Serena scarred and bruised? Because—as usual—she’d gotten her way?

Was Serena smiling because she admired Blair’s taste in antique weaponry? Or was she was already plotting her revenge?

Was it a sad smile because their friendship was over?

Maybe they were smiling because they both knew deep down that no matter what happened next—what boy they fell in or out of love with, what clothes they wore or didn’t wear, what their SAT scores were, who they incinerated or decapitated, or which college they got into—it wouldn’t be worth killing each other over.

It’s no fun kicking ass without a little competition.

Serena dropped the knife back in her bag and tucked it under her arm. She kept on walking, headed for the ladies’ room to splash some cold water on her face.

Blair lifted up her dress and tucked the dagger back into its golden sheath.

Over by the door, the director of the Birds of Prey Foundation was just putting on her mink coat and kissing Rain and Laura good night.

Blair walked over and pressed a gift bag into her hand.

“Those birds are lucky you’re alive,” she said with a smile.

Serena turned on the tap and splashed her face over and over with cool, clean water. It felt so good she wanted to peel off all her clothes and jump in.

She leaned against the row of sinks, patting her face dry. Her gaze slipped to the floor, where she saw a pair of tan pigskin shoes, the fringed end of a cream-colored scarf, and a girl’s purple patent leather H&M handbag.

Serena rolled her eyes and walked over. “Chuck, is that you?” she said into the crack in the door. “Who’ve you got in there with you?”

A girl gasped.

“Dammit,” Chuck swore. He’d stood Jenny up on the toilet seat lid in the end stall and pulled her dress down so he could get at those massive jugs. Serena had come at the worst possible moment. He pushed open the stall door a few inches. “Fuck off,” he growled.

Behind him Serena could see little Jenny Humphrey, her dress pulled down around her waist, arms hugging herself, looking terrified.

Someone pushed open the bathroom door. “Jenny? Are you in here?” Dan called.

Serena suddenly registered: Jenny was Dan’s sister. No wonder she’d sounded scared on the phone. She was about to be mauled by Chuck Bass.

“I’m here,” Jenny whimpered.

“Get out of here,” Serena snapped at Chuck. She pulled the stall door open just wide enough for him to get past her
without Dan having to see his own sister half-undressed.

Chuck shoved Serena against the stall door. “Well, excuse me, psycho bitch,” he hissed. “Next time I’ll be sure to ask your permission.”

“Wait a minute, Scarf Boy,” Dan snapped. If only he’d killed Chuck before, none of this would be happening. “What were you doing to my sister?”

Serena pushed the stall door closed and stood outside it, waiting for Jenny to step down from the toilet and fix her dress.

“Fuck off,” Chuck said, pushing Dan out of the way.

“No, you fuck off,” Dan’s hands were shaking. Chuck was going to die. It was now or never.

Serena hated it when boys fought. It made them look so dumb. She opened her clutch and took out the knife.

“Hey Chuck.” She poked him in the back with the point of the knife. “Nice eye patch.”

“You bitch,” Chuck hissed, whirling around to face her. Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke. “You think you can come back here and act all high and mighty after everything you’ve done?”

“What have I done, Chuck?” Serena demanded, the knifepoint pressed against his tuxedoed chest. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

Chuck licked his lips and laughed quietly. A drop of sweat trickled out from underneath his eye patch. “What
haven’t
you done? You got kicked out of boarding school because you are a perverted slut who made marks on the wall above the bed in your dorm room for every boy you did. You have STDs. You were addicted to all kinds of drugs and busted out of rehab and now you’re dealing your own stuff. You were a member of some cult
that killed chickens. You have a baby in France. And you kill people.” Chuck took a deep breath and licked his lips. “You tried to kill me.”

Serena smiled, knife ready. “Wow. I’ve been busy.”

Chuck frowned. He glanced at Dan, who stood, watching silently, with his hands in his pockets.

Sniff, sniff
.

Still locked in the bathroom stall, Jenny couldn’t get control of herself. She just could not believe that of all the people in the universe, it had to be Serena van der Woodsen who’d found her like this. Serena must think she was so pathetic.

“Fuck off, Chuck,” Serena whispered. She grabbed Chuck’s scarf and yanked him toward her, holding up the knife.

Dan picked up a huge naked girl–shaped pink glass bottle of Dolce & Gabbana perfume and held it aloft. He was about to slam it down on the back of Chuck’s head when Jenny burst out of the bathroom stall, clutching a white porcelain toilet seat in both hands.

“Don’t kill him, he’s mine!” she shrieked, holding the toilet seat out in front of her and running full tilt toward Chuck.

Serena and Dan stepped out of the way.

The toilet seat caught Chuck just below the waist, shattering his pelvis.

“Fuck me!” Chuck cried, doubling over and falling to his knees.

“Here,” Serena said, offering Jenny the knife. “Watch out, it’s pretty sharp.”

Dan put down the perfume bottle and lit a cigarette. When would he get his turn?

Knife in hand, Jenny stood over Chuck’s fallen form, feeling
powerful and tall. “Look up,” she commanded. “I want to see your stupid face while you die.”

Chuck looked up, his forehead pink and damp with sweat. “Don’t,” he whined, struggling to rise. His pigskin shoes slipped on the damp tile. His scarf was tangled around his legs.

“Do it!” Serena urged. Her fingers itched to make the kill, but Jenny so deserved it.

Jenny took a step closer and held the knife out in front of her. “You know I’m going to.”