Chapter 32
“You really make Rafe dress up with you every year?” I ask, thumbing through the rack in front of me. A row of witch hats clatter slightly as I push them aside.
“I don’t make him,” Morella scoffs with a grin. “He does it because it’s his sacred duty as my twin.”
She laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else when she adds, “Maddison and I used to dress up together.”
“What?!” I nearly shout, spinning to face her. “You and Maddison?”
“Well yeah,” she shrugs, turning her attention to the rack behind her. “We were inseparable for years. Best friends. Or so I thought.”
My jaw practically hits the floor. Morella and Maddison, best friends? I would’ve believed werewolves were real before that one.
“What happened?” I press, unable to hide my curiosity. No way she drops that and doesn’t tell me the full story.
Morella sighs, her fingers pausing on a glittery vampire cape. “She was spending the night in middle school. I woke up to get some water and realized she wasn’t in my room. I went looking for her and found her in Rafe’s.”
I stiffen slightly but try to keep my tone casual. “So… he was into her at one point?”
She shakes her head. “No. I heard him ask her what she was doing in his room. And she said…” Morella’s voice drops, quiet but clear. “She said the only reason she was friends with me was to get to him.”
My heart sinks.
Morella looks away, takes a slow breath. “It broke my heart a little. If I’m being honest. I really thought she was my friend.”
“I’m so sorry, Morella,” I say quietly.
She waves me off with a half-smile. “It’s fine. Done and over with. At least I know I’ll never have to deal with her as my sister-in-law.”
We both burst out laughing at that, tension dissolving like sugar in tea.
We keep flipping through costume racks, the store's buzzing pop music playing faintly in the background.
“Do you have any ideas at all?” I ask, pushing past a lineup of oddly sexy animal costumes. This is my fifth rack. I’ve seen more fishnets than fabric at this point.
Morella taps her foot thoughtfully, then spins slowly, scanning the room. “Honestly, I don’t know. Nothing’s calling to me.” She sighs. “Let’s try somewhere else. Unless you found something for your costume?”
“I told you I’m not feeling it.”
“Well,” she says, giving me a pointed look, “I think you should feel it.”
We hit three more stores before we finally strike gold. Morella finds a Cruella costume. It even comes with a wig and heels to match. Rafe’s going to lose his mind when he sees what she picked for him.
While she’s checking out, I wander toward the back of the store, into the section labeled Miscellaneous.
I spot a masquerade mask. It’s got delicate black filigree shaped like lace, curling and swirling across the eyes with intricate metalwork.
It’s beautiful. It looks like it belonged to someone who danced in forgotten ballrooms and whispered secrets behind velvet drapes.
“Oh, that’s kickass,” Morella says, appearing at my side, her arms weighed down by bags. “What would you wear with it?”
“I have the perfect dress.” Looks like I’m going to the party after all.
The second I step inside Morella’s room, she gasps so dramatically it startles me.
“Holy hell,” she breathes, her mouth literally hanging open. “You look hot.”
“Oh, please,” I mutter, trying not to roll my eyes.
I glance over at the full-length mirror on the outside wall of her closet… and okay. I do look good.
The dress is deep forest green, the kind of color that makes my hair and skin glow just right.
The fabric is sheer and ethereal, swirling around my legs like mist curling through shadowed trees.
The bodice dips low, plunging into a neckline that feels braver than I meant it to be, delicate straps framing my collarbones and shoulders.
Dark floral embroidery winds its way through the sheer overlay, thorny vines and wild blooms blooming like secrets against my skin.
As I move, the light dances through the gauze, revealing flashes of the silhouette beneath the layers.
Something elegant, something wild, something almost untouchable. The hem sweeps the floor like fog.
My hair is half up, the rest tumbling in loose waves. Smoky eyes. Dark nude lips. The mask… that delicate black filigree… ties it all together.
Morella disappears into her closet and returns holding a simple pair of black peep-toe heels. “Here. These are perfect.”
She slips on her last shoe and grins. “We should head downstairs. The guys are probably waiting.”
We descend the stairs, and I nearly eat it halfway down when I see what’s waiting at the bottom.
A giant Dalmatian. Standing upright.
It turns around and I catch a glimpse of Rafe’s face. Or what was Rafe’s face, his nose painted black, a spot around one eye and he has on a red collar with a bone tag hanging from it. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from losing it.
“Aww, look at you!” Morella coos with fake sweetness.
“Oh, shove it,” Rafe growls, crossing his arms like a grumpy toddler. “I can’t believe you made me the dog. You could’ve picked Horace or Jasper. But no, you had to make me the dog.”
Oh yeah. He’s pissed.
But then his eyes snap to me. They trail down my dress, slow and stunned, and whatever irritation was on his face vanishes, replaced with something else. For a split second, the room goes still.
And then the front door slams open.
“Ask me about my weeeeenah!”
A human-sized hot dog bursts through the doorway, arms flailing dramatically. Of course it’s Silas.
He spins to face us and throws his arms wide. “Come on! You guys don’t get it? I’m the guy from Accepted!”
We all just stare at him in horror.
I’ve seen the movie. I get the reference. But holy hell, he’s such a goof. And now I’m realizing, he’s not wearing pants under that costume.
I shake my head as he parades through the house, shouting increasingly horrible hot dog puns.
Rafe looks up from his phone. “Archer’s almost here,” he says.
We file out the front door and pile into his SUV. Rafe’s the designated driver again, doesn’t want to deal with leaving cars parked overnight or picking them up the next day. I’ve started to notice that Rafe doesn’t drink much.
I’m halfway into the back seat when Archer pulls up. The headlights sweep across the driveway, and for a second, my breath catches.
The last time I was in this back seat, I was stuck between Archer and Silas and everything felt like a joke. Now… it’s different. I feel different. He feels different. Then Silas barrels into the back, nearly flattening me with his costume and all my questioning thoughts have disappeared.
“That thing is obscenely large,” I mutter, scooting away from him.
“That’s what she said,” he fires back instantly, wiggling his eyebrows like a cartoon villain.
Everybody in the car groans.