Chapter One
In which Luna knows this is such a bad idea.
Luna…
“Relax, babes,” Brittany says, bouncing a bit. “This is going to be so much fun!”
“Uh-huh,” I say dubiously, eyeing the enormous mansion squatting in the clearing as the forest looms behind it. The extravagant power cruiser we’re on slips into the little harbor of Morren Island. I can faintly hear music, and lights are blazing from every window in the mansion. “Are you sure these people are expecting us?”
Brittany puts her arms around my shoulders in a hug that’s more like a strangle, but after exploring London with her and her friends for the last four days, I know this is just her way. “I promise, Luna. They’re friends of my brother’s. We hang out all the time.”
“Look,” I hedge, “I’m going to return with the captain here. I’m not feeling this.”
The aforementioned captain ignores me, nimbly jumping onto the dock and securing the giant boat. The sun is setting, and the clean, white lines of the power cruiser are far more reassuring than that monstrous house. Even if the captain here is looking at me like he’d like to put the cigarette dangling from his lips out on my forehead.
Brittany’s focusing on touching up her lipstick. She’s so pretty, with wild blonde hair and big, innocent-looking brown eyes. Innocent until you get to know her, of course. “Relax! I promise it’s going to be fun. If you hate it, you can go hide out in the library and read.”
Marla and Canary start giggling. At the last club they took me to, I spent the evening on the rooftop stargazing. The place was so crowded that just trying to get a drink meant some skeevy perv would attempt to grope me.
I look back at the enormous stone and brick mansion. There are a few outbuildings scattered around it and nothing but the dense forest behind. The dock we’re tied up to is brand new, but there are no other boats.
“How did everyone else get here?” I rub my bare arms; my cute tank top and jeans seemed like a good idea when I was getting dressed back at the hostel, but the night air on this tiny island clings to my skin with damp fingers, and it’s matching nicely with the chill going down my spine.
“Who cares?” Marla lights up a joint, greedily sucking in the smoke.
“I think one of the Armstrong brothers has a helicopter,” Canary joins in, smiling reassuringly. “Come on, Luna! These guys throw the party of the year, it’s a big deal to get invited.”
The captain growls. “I’m taking off. Alone. Get yer arses off my boat.”
Canary grabs one of my arms, and Brittany takes the other, hustling me off the boat in some kind of awkward perp walk like I’m wearing an orange jumpsuit. I can hear the roar of the boat motor fading as he takes off, no doubt to fish for endangered marine species or dump a body overboard. I never did go down into the cabin. Who knows what he had down there?
“Oh, look. The princess is getting fussy.” Aunt Martha’s voice is loud and clear as if she’s sitting in front of me, chain-smoking her Lucky Strikes. “You’re too special for all that, huh?”
Squaring my shoulders, I head up the walkway.
Oh, this is such a bad idea.
The entryway is two stories high with a magnificent crystal chandelier big enough to crush everyone in the house if it fell. There’s a random pair of panties hanging off one of the crystal loops. The wood paneling glows from countless applications of wax, but it’s tarnished by a long, jagged scratch running along the wainscoting. Every elegant little table is covered with empty drink glasses and overflowing ashtrays. Seeing something so beautiful treated like a dive bar is infuriating.
Brittany jams a bottle of beer into my hand. “C’mon,” she coaxes, “we’re here, let’s have some fun.”
The mansion screams elegance and insane amounts of money, though the vibe is 100% frat house. I didn’t get to go to college, but I had a short-lived job as a house cleaner for one of the fraternities near the University of Iowa. Trying to avoid them, I’d clean when those preppy douchebags were supposed to be in classes, or they’d never let up on harassing me.
I was unceremoniously fired when I hit the fraternity president on the head with a laundry basket. He’d spilled an enormous load of clean sheets and towels on the dirty floor of the basement when he tried to box me into a corner. He was bleeding and screaming, “What the fuck, man! You broke my nose!” as I walked out.
So, maybe that was me quitting. I like that version better.
That same entitled rich bro energy is saturated into the walls of this beautiful home, along with a hundred clashing scents of high-end cologne, cigarette smoke, weed, and spilled booze.
A guy dressed in full English Butler mode with a gray suit and tie stands at the door with a silver box. “Phones, please,” he intones. Brittany and Canary toss theirs into the box, but Marla and I hesitate.
“Why?” I ask.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Canary says, “these parties are exclusive, and there’s a lot of important people here. Keeping any dumb shit from showing up on someone’s socials is really important. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back when we leave.”
Reluctantly, Marla and I put our phones on the pile already in the box, and the butler guy swans away, holding the box aloft like a sacred chalice.
A tall guy with an expensive haircut and Gucci jeans wanders over, looking us over like we’re ripe fruit he wants to pinch to determine freshness. “Hey, babe.” He throws his arm around Brittany and kisses her on the head. “Who are your friends?”
“Eddie, you’re not going to say hi to me?” Canary pouts adorably. He rectifies this error by kissing her with a lot of tongue and his hand on her ass.
“This is Marla,” Brittany points at us, “and this is Luna. They’re a lot of fun.” The way she emphasizes “a lot” feels weird.
“Hey ladies, welcome!” Eddie says expansively, spreading his arms out wide, “Come in, we’ve got everything to make you feel good.” He nods at me. “You look like you could use something to help you relax.”
Smiling thinly, I hold up my beer bottle. “I’m all covered, thanks.”
Shrugging, he wraps his arms around Brittany and Canary, pulling them deeper into the house and leaving Marla and me to hurry after them. “This is a bigger deal than I thought,” Marla whispers to me. “Servers walking around with trays of fancy food… They have a butler, for fuck’s sake!”
The massive room we’ve entered could have been a ballroom in the old days. Now, there’s a blaze roaring in the fireplace and a wood and chrome bar that stretches across the room. It’s opposite the French doors leading to the back terrace and the forest looming over the mansion.
The pines outside are incredibly tall, and they bob and weave in the wind.
“What can I get for you, ladies?” The bartender is neatly dressed in a crisp white shirt and a tie, but his smile looks plastic. I can understand that. I’ve waited tables at more than one nightclub, and eventually, smiling becomes painful.
“I’m good. Marla, do you want something?”
“Three shots of tequila,” she says firmly, looking around the room.
“You wanna start a little slower?” I bump her shoulder with mine.
“I need something to take the edge off,” she says, eyes darting back and forth like a pinball machine. “Look at these people.” There are around two dozen people here, all expensively dressed, most in their early twenties.
Looking around for Brittany and Canary, I can see them chatting with a couple of guys in the corner. Marla and I met at the student hostel, and then we ran into Brittany and Canary at a street fair. They’re wild, but they’re sweet. They’ve spent the last few days taking us all over London.
Music is blasting from speakers in the ceiling, and some of the partygoers are dancing, spilling out onto the terrace past the doors. There’s a pool there, and most of the girls around it are already topless.
“How about just one or two shots to start off?” I suggested. “I’ll take one with you. Now you know I like you because I hate tequila.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“So cruel,” I laugh, delicately clinking my shot glass to hers. Marla’s twenty-six – same age as me - though I can’t help but feel protective of her. She’s a pretty redhead from Wales, and she’s out of her depth tonight. She sneaks in another shot and I pull her away. “Let’s go look around.”
We walk into the kitchen and then right back out after we spot a guy sitting on the counter, getting a blowjob, and another one drinking absently, ignoring the girl who’s giving him a lap dance.
“Well, okay,” I say. “Let’s go out on the terrace, I need some fresh air.”
There’s a group huddling in the corner, and they look like the Single’s Table at a wedding - the guests who weren’t given a “plus one” on their invitation and end up at the dreaded table in the back. I’ve been at that table. I know my people.
“Hey,” I greet one of the girls with a smile. “Is this your first time here, too?”
She’s pale and looks a little nervous, pulling down the sleeves of her shirt. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well, this is all… well, it’s a lot,” I admit. “I’m Luna.”
“Theresa,” she says.
I turn to introduce Marla, but she’s found a new friend, talking animatedly to another of the copy-and-paste rich boys.
A uniformed waitress heads over with a tray of tasty-looking bites of wrapped shrimp and skewers of scallops. “Thank god,” I moan, “I haven’t eaten all day.” I’ve been trying to save my dwindling funds, but I’d rather starve to death than admit it. Some of the other travelers at the hostel told me that Italy is good for temp jobs, and I’m heading there next.
Just before she gets to us, one of the rich boys runs past her, holding a squealing, kicking, topless girl. He shoulder-checks the poor server and knocks her and the tray into the pool, sending those scallops to a watery grave.
“Asshole,” I say under my breath, hurrying over to pull her out. “Are you okay?”
“Thank you,” she mumbles, trying to get her wet hair out of her face.
“That guy was such a creep,” I say angrily.
“Don’t- don’t let them hear you say things like that.” The server steps away from me like I have rabies. “Just don’t.” She speed-walks back into the house, her black shoes sloshing with every step.
Theresa pulls her sleeves down again. “I know they seem a little entitled-”
“A little?” I snort, looking around for the girls.
“Yes, but they’re legendary,” she says. “If you get in with their group, you’re set for life!”
“Set for what?”
“Everything. When you’re with the Lords of Chaos, you’re welcomed everywhere. No more standing in line, no more bastards giving you crap. It’s respect.” Her pale skin is flushed and she looks almost… rapturous?
There’s a lot to unpack here. First: Lords of Chaos? Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the bullshit grandiosity of these people.
“I see.” What am I going to say to this girl? She really believes these rich assholes are going to scoop her up and make all her problems disappear.
An enormous man, bare-chested and in jeans, bangs a baseball bat on one of the big metal planters around the pool; the booming sound it makes sends my ears clanging painfully like the bells of Notre Dame.
“Pay attention, fuckheads! The Dark Games are about to begin!”
Partygoers obediently walk toward him like lambs to the slaughter. The crowd parts a bit and I see the man is wearing a mask. An alarmingly life-like wolf mask, with a long muzzle and bristling, razor-sharp teeth. The torches lining the terrace flicker light over the mask, bringing it to life.
He turns his head and looks right at me.