Chapter Fifteen
S hadows crossed rectangular windows and dubstep growled behind weatherproof wood.
The lodge stood alone, dwarfed by evergreens and blue firs, crowded with cars, swaying silhouettes, and lit cigarettes.
Moonlight skated the lake, and far off, beyond the water, bonfires flickered between trees. Everywhere else, darkness spanned.
“Okay, so, no needles,” Georgia said. She straightened the straps on her pentagram-shaped bralette, tucked neatly beneath a low-cut dress.
“No hospitals, don’t get anyone pregnant, and—” She pointed at Aiden’s nose.
“— and we’re back in the RV by six a.m. I’m not kidding.
Do not make me hunt you down, Aiden Moore.
Seriously. I’ll tell Jacob to buy you a shock collar, I swear to god?—”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Aiden dragged his gaze from the lake to the lodge. “Give it a rest, Georgia. We’ve done this a thousand times. I’m a pro.”
“Aiden,” she warned, and narrowed her eyes. “Seriously. Please. For me.”
“RV, six a.m., don’t overdose, don’t get pregnant. Got it.” He walked backward, thumbs pushed through his beltloops, and shot her a wolfish grin. “Think there’s pizza?”
“There better be,” Dylan said, and sped past him, disappearing through the front door.
“They’re officially not our opener anymore,” Georgia teased, batting her long, feathered falsies. She bounced off Aiden’s shoulder. “Have fun fucking Westley.” She dodged his halfhearted swat and chased after Dylan.
Aiden kept his eyes ahead, ignoring the awkward jealousy wafting off of Shay as he fell into stride beside him.
“Is that the plan? Sleep with the voice behind Hail the Haunted?” Shay asked. He wrung his hands. Picked at his nailbeds. Snagged his lip with a fang.
“Maybe,” Aiden said, just to watch Shay flinch. “I’m kidding, Shay. Take a Xanax.”
“Can we talk, maybe? Like, actually talk .”
“About what?” Aiden flashed a smile and bumped his knuckles against an outstretched fist.
Great show tonight , someone said. You guys did phenomenal.
Rock on, Knight’s Blood! Voices clashed.
Music shook the antler-chandelier above a crowded table adjacent the giant, open kitchen.
People came and went, dressed in spiked chokers, laced corsets, and torn denim.
The guitarist for Hail the Haunted leaned against a stone wall next to the fireplace, and Aiden spotted Westley standing on the deck with a bottle tipped against his mouth.
“About. . . Fuck, Aiden. Everything ,” Shay said. He followed Aiden into the kitchen. Fumbled with the ice tray when Aiden pushed it into his hands, then the whiskey, soda liter, lime slices. “Shouldn’t we be anywhere else but here?”
“Think of the optics. Why the hell would the murderer come to the wake?” Aiden said, matter-of-factly, and knocked their cups together .
Shay hushed him. “You’re fucking horrible?—”
“Yeah, I know. Look, we’re here, there’s booze, I bet we can find some top-tier powder if we sniff around, and every single person in this house either wants to be you or fuck you. Use it. Enjoy it if you can. I plan to.”
Shay scanned the room. “Here comes your conquest,” he mumbled, and sipped his drink.
Aiden greeted Westley with a small smile, and said, “Don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t a million-dollar cabin. You worried about this place gettin’ busted?”
“What, cops? Nah, man. We’re good,” Westley said. He reeked like stale beer, heady bourbon, and skunky weed. Bloodshot eyes scaled Aiden, slow and deliberate. “Can I get you guys anything?”
Aiden forced another, bigger smile. “You mentioned party favors.”
“Maybe food first,” Shay blurted, shooting Aiden a pinched look.
“Pretty sure I saw your friends goin’ down on a whole pizza out by the jacuzzi,” Westley said, glancing at Shay. He flicked his attention back to Aiden, brows lifted, smile lopsided. “Pick your poison, baby. I’ve got it all.”
Aiden swallowed around a hiccupping laugh. Baby . Right. “Something fun,” he purred, trailing his mouth across the wet rim on his cup. “Molly, maybe?”
“How ‘bout a pink butterfly? Clean cut, hits like a dream, mild comedown.”
“We’re not doing ecstasy tonight,” Shay said, bewildered.
“We’re totally doing ecstasy tonight,” Aiden said, and opened his palm. “How much?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just find me later, yeah?” Westley dropped a gritty, shell-pink pill into Aiden’s hand. He put an unlit cigarette between his lips, walking backward toward the deck. “Have fun.”
Aiden didn’t bother saying thank you . He rolled the pill between his thumb and pointer finger. “Chew or snort? Oh, c’mon. Don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting.” Shay snatched the pill and put it to his teeth, cracking it in half. “Eww,” he whined, chewing and wincing, and shoved the other half between Aiden’s lips. “It’s like eating gasoline.”
Aiden nipped at his fingertips, but immediately flinched.
His gag reflex tripped. Acrid, chemical tang burst on his tongue, coating his throat as he swallowed.
God, drugs were gross. Great , but gross.
He chased the pill with cola and whiskey.
Fished the citrus wedge out of his cup and gnawed on the whole thing.
“Don’t be a pussy,” Aiden slurred, tonguing at the sour lime.
Shay laughed into his cup and took another long drink. “C’mon, let’s find Georgia and Dylan.”
The deck branched away from the kitchen and snaked around the cabin, littered with Adirondack chairs and outdoor cushions.
People leaned against the live-edge banister and sat in groups on the slatted wood, drinking, laughing, smoking.
Dealing cards, too. Silver-tipped cards.
Handled by petite, velvet gloves. He slowed, watching Laura flip a card between eight knobby knees, connected like a strange star atop a purple blanket.
She lolled her head, catching his gaze. “Hey, rockstar.”
“Sorry ‘bout your friend,” Aiden said.
“Don’t be. It’s always the pretty ones who die first.”
Die first. Aiden didn’t know what to make of that, but he thought of Shay and nodded. “Guess you’re right.”
“Want a reading?” she asked.
Aiden glanced around the circle of wannabe-witches wrapped in button-down bell-sleeved shirts and filigree chokers. Tidy vegetarian vampires with black eyelids and fake septum rings. He pulled an ice cube into his mouth. “Sure,” he said, sloppily.
“You, too?” Laura asked, shifting her hazel eyes to Shay.
Somehow, like a raccoon, Shay had disappeared around the corner and returned with a slice of pepperoni pizza. He looked struck, licking red sauce from the corner of his mouth, shifting his nervous attention to Aiden. When Aiden nodded, Shay said, “Might as well.”
“It’s tarot, right? Like, Rider-Waite or whatever?” Aiden asked.
“If you know who Rider-Waite is then you already know it’s tarot,” one of the others said.
Laura adjusted her gloves, dislodged from the group, and stood.
She shuffled the deck, clapping the cards against her palm.
Around them, partygoers hollered and sang.
Bottles clanked. Music livened from the speakers inside.
Aiden reminded himself to breathe. To grant the MDMA and whatever else had lived inside that little pink pill permission to push through his cranium.
Sometimes, he fought. Tried to see how long he could stay level.
Tonight, he relented, and euphoria sliced through him like butter.
Shay handed him the pizza. He took a bite. Swallowed. Took another bite. Swallowed. Went through the motions, gave his stomach something solid to digest, and blinked, focusing on the cards, and Laura, and her velvet gloves, and not on Shay, and his hand, there , resting on his tailbone.
“Pick a card,” Laura said, smiling gingerly.
She fanned the deck. Light bent around silver edges and obscured the darkness, leaving wispy trails around her hands.
“Rockstar,” she said, like someone would say hey, you .
“I don’t have all night. Pick.” Aiden chose.
She pinched the card and flipped it over.
The Two of Cups. She made a curious noise and swung the card upright, displaying two holographic skeletons holding gothic challises.
“Unification. You might’ve found your soulmate.
Or you will soon. Could mean you’ve entered an overwhelming relationship. You might be suffocating—are you?”
“No,” Aiden said, searing the card into his memory. “What else?”
She tipped her head from side to side, considering. “You might enter into a mutually beneficial pact with someone. Tie your fate to someone else’s. That’s rare, though. Usually, people have to try for shit like that.”
Aiden cleared his throat. “Is this stuff usually, like, accurate?”
“That’s up to you,” she said, and reshuffled the deck, fanning the cards before Shay. “Your turn.”
Shay stared at Aiden, pupils like black saucers, brows knitted with concentration.
He didn’t face Laura until Aiden tipped his chin toward her, and he didn’t remove his hand from the low dip on Aiden’s back.
Just stood there, still as the dead, and shook his head.
“Soulmates,” he said, laughter jumping into his voice.
He pulled a card near the edge of the deck and passed it to her.
She flipped the card. A skeleton knelt, skewered by blades, clutching its chest. “The Ten of Swords reversed,” she said, surprised.
Her eyes transferred from Aiden to Shay.
“Looks like you’re fighting something. Change, probably.
You’re carrying wounds from an old fight.
One you lost, I’m guessing?” She narrowed her eyes, nodding along with Shay.
“Don’t dwell. Move on, trust yourself, become someone new. Kill the past and welcome your future.”
“What if my future is uncertain?” Shay asked.