The Night Has Teeth by Kat Kruger Page B

the club.
Madison is giggling by my side as we walk out into the chilly
autumn night. The others are caught behind us in the end-of-night
crowd. As we step outside she trips and stumbles into me. When I
catch her by the elbows she doesn’t instantly cast me a dirty look.
Her skin feels hot compared to the coolness in the air as I pull
her aside from the doorway. For a moment all I see of her is the
bright red of her hair below my chin. When she gazes up at me, her
expression is filled with ― joy. Those hawklike eyes of hers are
softened somehow as they stare up at me. No laser beams. Her hands
are curled up at her throat and she’s unfurling the fingers slowly,
moving them out toward my chest.
    Just as she’s about to make contact, Josh calls out,
“There you are!”
    This interruption puts the kibosh on whatever was
going to happen next. Her fists clench tightly and she bites her
lip, looking repentant as she takes a step back out of my grip.
    “Where’d you go?” he asks, the answer clear before
his eyes.
    “Nowhere, killjoy,” she tells him while still
gazing at me. “We’ve been right here making out the whole
time.”
    His expression is one of hurt. Even I can see it. I
try to will him into looking over at me so I can shake my head and
let him know it’s not true. He’s staring at Madison as though she
just ripped out his heart and is now feeding bits of it to the many
pigeons of Paris. She takes one glance at him and tosses her head
back toward the sky.
    “Take a freaking Xanax, Josh,” she finally says.
“I’m kidding.”
    He tries to smile, but it barely registers and winds
up coming off as irrepressible twitching around the mouth. I’m
actually kind of relieved to see Amara and Arden come out from the
club among the end of night stragglers. The last thing I want is to
be any part of sorting out the awkward history of my new Canadian
friends.
    “How are you making your way home?” Amara asks
them.
    They exchange a glance before Madison replies,
“Métro, I guess.”
    “Where do you live?” she presses.
    “By Vincennes Woods,” Madison says. “Josh lives
near Père Lachaise Cemetery.”
    “The last train leaves shortly. At this hour, you
will not be able to make a transfer to Château de Vincennes
station.”
    Surprisingly, Arden flags down a taxi. Rather, he
steps out in front of one to make it stop. After being honked at
and cursed at in another language by the cabby, he replies in rapid
French then hands the man some cash, which has the effect of
cooling his temper. Money is a universal language and it speaks in
a pretty clear voice. Arden promptly opens the back door, motioning
Madison inside. She slides in and Josh is about to follow, but a
palm pressed against his chest stops him. With a slam of the door
and a quick pound on the window, the taxi pulls away, safely
transporting Madison back to her boarding house while Josh is left
staring after her.
    Arden asks, “You have two legs, no?” He takes Josh
by the shoulders, spins him around, and points ahead. “Métro is
there. Two minutes. Come with us.”
    We’re shepherded down the sidewalk. Amara and Arden
are in tow but they hardly say a word as we walk down the emptying
streets toward the nearest Métro station. Now that we’re out in the
quiet of early morning, exhaustion finally hits me.
    “Dude, what the hell just happened back there?”
Josh whispers.
    “Damned if I know.”
    My usual fascination with the green iron archways
that mark the stairs leading down to the subway is dulled. From all
outward appearances I expect to enter into some surreal version of
a public transit system envisioned by Tim Burton, full of
Oompa-Loompa ticket agents and trains that look like giant
mechanical worms as they wind their way beneath Paris. During our
descent into the depths of the city’s subterranean world, my vision
of Transit in Wonderland fades. The stench of urine wafts up to
greet me. The Paris Métro system is massive and