Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Beeswax and booze and fake blood. Lots of fake blood. A mixture of wealth and boredom decorated the mansion.
I took a deep breath, rearranging the cowl on the knight costume Quinn had thought all three of us guys should wear.
I wasn’t sure where he was going with the idea, or if the store had run out of all other costumes, but there we were in helmets, cowls, black shirts, tunics, maroon belts to match our leggings, and boots with a good one-inch heel.
It was far more comfortable than I’d have thought.
“What are we waiting for?” Hunter asked and rolled to the doorbell. He buzzed, and the door swung in. Nobody greeted us in the foyer, though the hollow breathing of someone standing behind the door indicated we were not alone.
A creepy coating of dust and cobwebs covered the surfaces and signposts pointing toward the party.
Shannon, who dressed up as Zsadist—some warrior-vampire character I’d never heard of—drew out a fake dagger she’d slipped into her shit-kickers.
“Fear fucking not,” she said, scooting to the front. “I’ll lead the way.”
Children’s voices started singing, interrupted by a scream that echoed through the dark hall. I inched toward Quinn with as much subtlety as I could muster. Logically, I knew there was nothing to be frightened about—
More screams and quickly-moving shadows. My mind filled with images of Freddy Krueger lurking in a bedroom doorway, waiting to jump out. My step faltered and I rippled with a shudder.
“Are you sure you want to be here, Liam?” Quinn’s voice crackled, as if undecided whether to whisper or speak normally.
I straightened and veered away from Quinn to prove I could handle the rest of the night just fine.
“Because I can take you home,” he added quietly as he took off his helmet. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked the helmet under his other arm. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be here.”
“I have a column to write.” Absently, I patted the synthetic pouch hooked onto my belt that carried my notebook and pen. “That’s my priority. The whole reason I’m here.”
“No other reason to be at a party, is there?” I didn’t fail to notice the sarcasm.
We turned a corner and the hall widened into a large room with a dark mahogany staircase snaking up to the next level.
Pounding footsteps came behind us. A zombie football team charged down the hall. “Race you up!” one of them yelled.
They burst past us on either side, forcing Quinn and I to inch nearer. His arm pressed against mine as the convoy streamed around us and dodged Hunter and Shannon at the bottom of the stairs.
“Zombies?” I shook my head. “Seem more like roadrunners to me.”
A grin twitched Quinn’s lips but it faltered again as Shannon called out. “No damn elevator. Give us a hand?”
Quinn passed me his silver helmet and strutted to Hunter, hands on his hips, swagger in his tone. “Looks like it’s the white knight to the rescue.”
Hunter snorted and wrapped his arms around Quinn. “You’re maroon, bro. And it’s not your best color.”
Quinn hooked one arm around Hunter’s back and the other under Hunter’s knees, and carefully lifted him. With a cheeky smile, Quinn dipped Hunter. His gaze lifted to mine for a second before he bumped his nose against Hunter’s. “One kiss, my sweet, bonny lad. I’m after a prize tonight—”
Hunter clapped him over the back the head. “Just get me upstairs. Christ.”
Music vibrated through the ceiling, making the chandelier jingle. I stepped out from under it and helped Shannon with Hunter’s chair, trying to avoid the gobs of fake, sticky-looking blood that dripped down the stair rail.
At the top of the stairs we set the chair down, and Quinn lowered Hunter into it. As soon as he was seated, he wheeled off toward the open double doors and the pulsating crowds within. “Come, Liam,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to help you find the perfect bloody angle tonight.”
“Coming,” I said and, stepping in front of Quinn, lifted the helmet and set it down on his head. He gave me a startled look that quickly melted into a smile and a wink.
“Thanks.”
I gave a sharp nod, abruptly turned, and ran off to find the “perfect bloody angle.”
I really wanted to explore how the customs and traditions of Halloween manifested in the party, but Hunter vetoed.
“How about you find three case studies of drunken students”—he pointed to some hags in the corner, drinking out of a cauldron—“and make up scarily disgusting hangover remedies for each?”
“How about a column on the dangers of candy-poisoning?” For the tenth—twentieth?—time, I glanced to the middle of the room where Quinn was dancing. It was almost a game the way we scoured the crowds for one another.
This time he was grooving with one of the football zombies. His head lifted and our gazes collided once more. A strange, static energy pulsed in the air as he continued to stare at me.
The zombie twisted Quinn around and the connection broke. I blinked hard a couple times. Quinn really should stop grinding with that guy; he might get infected and turn into a zombie roadrunner.
I shook off the thought, but before I dragged my gaze away, the zombie wrapped his arms around Quinn’s neck, bringing his blood-stained mouth toward that smooth, soft part of skin just under the ear—
And there went the love bite! I swallowed tightly.
What was the protocol here? Was Quinn hooking up with this guy? Did it mean I had to find my own way home?
Hunter slapped my ass with a solid bite to it. I jerked in his direction. “Stop ogling Quinn,” he said, shaking his head and grinning.
Ogling? No. “I was merely trying to determine how I should get home tonight, since he was our ride.”
“Whatever you say. And Shannon will take us back. No worries. Now . . .” Hunter choked on his words. His jaw hardened and he cast his gaze sideways, toward a hockey player with a plastic chainsaw pouring himself some punch.
It took me a few seconds before I figured out his reaction. There by the door, dressed as a pirate with smudgy eyeliner and a bandana, stood Mitch, talking with Jack of all people. At least Mitch didn’t look happy about the discussion. That said something for good taste.
“Fuck. I need a drink,” Hunter said, and I escorted him to the fruity punch. He poured us both one. The plastic cup was sticky, but the rest of it was quite okay. Fruity and easy on the taste buds.
“You know what?” I slurped down the last of the drink. “I think your angle could work.”
Mitch’s idea for an angle wasn’t what I’d have gone for myself, but I could handle it for one column if it took Hunter’s mind off Mitch.
Setting my cup on the table behind me, I fished in my pouch and pulled out my notebook and pen, resisting the urge to search for Quinn on the dance floor again. “Talk me through the idea . . .”
Forty minutes (and only two glances at Quinn) later, I had all the grizzly, alcohol-drenched details I needed.
“This will work just fine,” I said, draining another punch.
I choked on the liquid as a gap in the dancing crowds revealed Mitch across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His casual smile faded as he took us both in. He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and stepped forward.
Hunter’s wheels squeaked over the wooden floor as he spun his chair around. The tightness of his jaw made it clear he wasn’t interested in having a confrontation tonight.
Mitch took another step forward and stopped, watching as Hunter wheeled away. I gave him a shrug and bounded after Hunter, rolling through a set of double doors.
I caught up with him on a cozy balcony that overlooked the back garden, a trellis of jasmine spilling over the side to the lawn below. In the distance, a silhouette of the Cathedral of Learning dominated the skyline.
I folded my arms. “I suppose I should ask if you’re okay?”
Hunter rested his head against the back of his chair, staring at the moonlit sky. “Yeah, I think I’m going to call it a night and get Shannon to drive me back.”
I patted my pouch that held my notebook full of description ready to be molded into something readable. “I’m ready too.”
When the coast was clear of Mitch, we snuck back into the party. Hunter beelined for Shannon, who was dancing with a witch from my English Literature class. I followed at a distance, scanning the dance floor—
A hideous green goblin with pointy ears and long, sharp fingers pushed into my side. I shivered at the touch, and then again at the voice.
“Fucking Davis.”
Marc Jillson.
“Here to write a report on the University of Halloween?” Jill sniggered. He reeked of alcohol and something sickeningly sweet. I switched to breathing through my mouth.
Jill dragged one of his long fingernails down my neck, and it was just sharp enough that it would leave a scratch mark. “Let’s see how many people laugh at your next party page. Did you read the comments in the opinions page, taking the piss out of you? I almost felt sorry for you.”
I brushed Jill’s fake fingers off me. I had just enough punch in me to not feel intimidated, though not enough to stop me from being curious. There’d been comments about me? I needed to look over last week’s Scribe again.
“Haven’t read them, have you?” Jill’s lip twitched. “Well let me summarize. They think you’ve got a stick up your ass, like you don’t even know how to party.”
Over Jill’s shoulder, Hunter was snagging Shannon and waving at me to get going.
I looked between him and Jill and back again. Hunter raised his brow. Coming or not?
That was the question.
I could go with him and be in bed before midnight, maybe even get an outline typed up. Or I could stay at this party and prove Jill wrong. If I wanted to, I could party. How hard could it be? It was just drinking and dancing. Anyone could do it.
I caught Hunter’s gaze and shook my head. He saluted me goodbye.