9. 8 Weeks Earlier – Halloween
9
8 WEEKS EARLIER – HALLOWEEN
JOSIE
R ubbing my arms, I try to warm myself up as I follow the zombie’s easy, loping gait. There’s something unnervingly hot about him, despite his gruesome costume, white contact lenses, and potential penchant for human flesh. I feel safer with him than whoever that terrifying doctor character is.
By his voice, he seems a bit older than me. Not by much. He’s local. I scan him for more clues. He must have been a gym rat before the world ended, because he is shredded. The sleeves of his t-shirt strain from the muscles underneath; a slash cut in the fabric across his back winks broad shoulders at me.
‘So even staff can’t share names?’ I ask.
The zombie suddenly stops and turns to me, scanning me up and down, his scrutiny fucking intense. ‘ Technically , I’m not staff.’ He lowers his voice as he says, ‘But, there’s only one rule here. Stay anonymous so you can keep the secrets .’
It’s like electricity — like I’m too close to a power line — the hairs on my skin prick.
Not trusting myself to sound cool, I nod and smile with false bravado, like I was just trying my luck — not unfamiliar with the rules. It’s okay, I’m a fully subscribed member of the fake-it-’til-you-make-it club.
He leads me on through the hallway, past a grand, bifurcated staircase, past elaborate fruit and flower displays. What look like silicone toys embellish the arrangements, but we’re going too quickly for me to stop and check.
‘So, what should I call you?’ I force my voice to remain steady. Tricky when I’m simultaneously terrified and intrigued by this Aladdin’s cave of decadence.
Those stacked shoulders tense as he pauses. ‘You can call me whatever you want.’ His deep timbre has no business affecting me the way it is. Before I swoon, the zombie steps off again. ‘I’ll show you what you’re going to be doing. Follow me.’
We pass a couple of lavish love seats adorned in velvet, and through a room draped with silks and tulle. He leads me past lit fires and burning candles, which bring a welcome warmth to the huge house. Navigating to a room at the back, we stop in a large, professional-style kitchen, flutes and shot glasses are standing in striped legions over the stainless-steel counter.
I breathe a little easier at seeing a masked lady in an apron bustling over some platters.
‘Your stuff’ll be safe here.’ He indicates to a collection of bags and coats hung by the back door.
I send a location pin to Ella with a quick text:
Josie
In case you never see me again.
‘Have you done anything like this before?’ Zombie man studies me from behind his getup.
I hate these facades already. I want to see what his face is really like. What his eyes are really saying.
‘Not exactly ...’ I square my shoulders, trying to feign confidence. ‘But I'm a quick learner.’
‘So, you’ve not been to a party like this?’
‘No.’ I hope I don’t sound na?ve.
His features crinkle behind all the paint. ‘Apollo is a bit of an eccentric, so I don't expect many people have been to a party quite like this before, even if they’re on the scene.’
I smile, trying to exude a completely chill vibe. I am at one with the ice bucket. Totally freaking cool.
‘This is Desiree, our caterer.’
The lady gives me a strained smile from behind her mask, as if she’s already feeling frazzled and the night hasn’t yet begun, before going back to rapidly placing things on trays.
‘And this is Ghost Face, our barman.’ He turns to a guy in a haunted-looking mask. ‘Dude, you need anything else? Guests will be here soon.’
‘Nah.’ The guy salutes him and sidles off.
The zombie fills me in on the job. Downstairs, it could be like almost any other party — drinks, canapés, chatting, perhaps some messing around. My role is to offer drinks and be discreet.
‘And upstairs?’
‘You won’t need to serve upstairs. But, by all means, Apollo would want you to … explore.’
His stubble smattered jaw feathers with a twitch and I’m not sure if he’s thinking I should explore or if I really shouldn’t. He ends the debrief with a, ‘Keep your mask on. Stay anonymous. Apollo wants this to be a safe place for people to discover what they like.’
I nod gravely. Got it. ‘Bee said to ask Apollo about my pay at the start of the night. Feels a bit rude to ask right now, but I thought I’d mention it.’ It is why I’m here after all.
‘I wouldn't disturb him now. He’s in the zone. I’ll sort you out ...’
The sound of the doorbell going again cuts into our conversation. His eyes widen and he flashes a white smile. ‘Show time.’
He passes me a tray with shot glasses and grabs one full of champagne flutes for himself.
The doorbell goes again before I’ve left the kitchen.
He slows down as if inviting me to stick with him and we fall into step as we navigate through the beautiful house. Gravitating towards the guests, I follow the zombie’s lead, eyes lowered, doing my best to channel discreet.
People help themselves from our trays and then drift away, but their different coloured wristbands pique my interest.
When it quietens down, I lean up to Zombie’s ear and whisper, ‘Tell me about the coloured bands.’ He smells divine, cedar and soap, and having him this close gives me an unexpected confidence.
He turns, bending down to speak close to me, making the tiny hairs along on my neck skitter up again. ‘Easiest ones to remember are red means stop or, no — they don’t want to be asked to take part. And green for go .’ He meets my gaze as he says, ‘Go as in, up for anything. But you still have to ask. And the others,’ he shrugs, ‘are dependent on what you’re into.’
‘Should I have one?’
‘Staff are a no go while we’re serving. But later … depends on what you want to do.’ I suppress a shiver under his intense scrutiny. ‘What colour would you want?’ he rasps.
Biting my lip, I answer coyly, ‘I guess it depends on who’s asking.’
His face twitches under the make-up, revealing a sexy, almost knowing smile.
Whenever we’re not serving, he’s checking that I’m okay, pointing stuff out to me, asking me what I think.
Some of the costumes are fierce . I’m pleased Abi leant me the angel getup, even if it is a little on the nose with this being my first experience of a play party. Dressed up like this, though, I feel like I’m sparkling, even though I’m just a server.
As I offer a drink to a particularly stunning Cleopatra, a zing fizzes through me. I wonder if I could be as brave as these people. So unabashedly sexy and … free .
‘These costumes are amazing,’ I murmur as we wend our way through the guests.
I sense his eyes heavy on me, sliding to my costume, then up to meet mine. ‘I’m a fan,’ he says with that deep voice of his.
A black-winged angel eyes me approvingly as she takes a shot. As if she’s the night to my day.
I smile politely and keep my face straight as the zombie guy leans in and drawls, ‘You wear it better,’ so only I can hear.
Goosebumps flare where his breath caresses my skin.
A curve twitches at his lips before he lopes away into the next room.
I follow but I’m beyond a coherent retort by the time I catch up.
This sexy-as-hell zombie is making it increasingly hard to concentrate. Maybe it’s all the pheromones in the air or something, but I hadn’t realised how … seductive I’d find it all. Just being here. It’s thrilling … exhilarating.
My tut is a reflex as I spot a group of guys all in suits and venetian-style masks.
‘Problem?’ Zombie’s voice is husky as he whispers, ‘You recognise someone?’
‘No. Just …’ I shrug and half scrunch my nose. ‘What a cop out.’
His gaze follows mine and he half stifles a snort. ‘It does seem to be cheating.’
‘Not that I’m judging,’ I’m quick to add. Probably shouldn’t slag off the guests. And really, I don’t want to yuck on anyone’s yum. ‘But personally, I prefer a more … traditional Halloween costume.’
My attention hones in on his spectacular combination of Halloween horror and hotness.
‘You a fan of Halloween?’
‘I—’ My reply is cut short by a, ‘ Mate, can I get some more champagne? ’ A guest, one of the masked suits, is staring at us expectantly.
The zombie looks at his empty tray as if it’s the first time he’s noticed he’s holding it. ‘Certainly. I’ll be right back.’ He turns to me. ‘You okay?’
My job for the night, I can manage. My zombie accomplice on the other hand, he is making my skin tingle and my blood rush. I take a breath. ‘All good.’
He regards me for a beat longer than necessary, and then steps back and disappears into the crowd. I think my ovaries let out a wail. That zombie is … entirely captivating.
Head. In. The. Game. I scold myself. I’m supposed to be working. Not eye-fucking the first guy I saw — scary plague guy aside.
I plunge back into the decadent milieu, unashamedly enjoying the feast for all the senses that this party is serving. The rich scent of patchouli, sandalwood. Laughter, murmurs, sultry music. Beautiful people, stunning costumes. Silks and velvets, organza. All the colours.
Being here is … alluring. It’s making my core ache, especially as it’s been so long since I last had sex — not from lack of enthusiasm. But the pool of guys I have to work with in my small town is shallow and, too many of them I knew in school as little boys who picked their noses. It feels like I’ve grown up and they haven’t. So when a sexy and clearly bonafide grown-up- man starts whispering in my ear, it’s no surprise my uterus has started putting out virtual flags in celebration. Gah!
One room, maybe a drawing room back in the day, is empty of people. I allow myself to take a breath. Relax for a second.
There’s a large, ornate-framed mirror over the fireplace. I check my costume, make sure my wings are even. It’s only now that I notice a fleck of paint in the hair at my temple, poking out from behind my mask. Placing my platter down on the sideboard, I pick at it ineffectively with a silver fingernail, then give up with a huff.
Fruit spilling seductively from a centrepiece arrangement catches my eye. I have never seen such a provocative still life. Sensual flowers, dripping fruit, and some kind of curved pink silicone toy, glisten up at me in the soft lighting. It takes a moment before I can place it — recall what it is. A Love Egg .
Another sensation of disquiet yet intrigue swoops through me. Giddy excitement soon follows as I feel my creative inspiration sparking into life. My fingers automatically slip over where my bag should be, where my sketchpad should be hidden. And they ache to run along the ridges of the spiral binding.
Inspired. Transfixed. I move onto another display on the coffee table, a voluptuous lily, rippling and curving in an entirely feminine way that I’d have called fake if I couldn’t smell the fragrance in the air — if I couldn’t see the minuscule pollen particles dusting the leaves. I grope around in the recesses of my head, searching for the word to describe this. The female version of phallic. It’s almost on the tip of my tongue. I breathe and still my mind as I take a mental snapshot, capturing this in my memory so I can draw it later.
A thrill like static tickles my shoulders. I’m being watched. A heavy, hot feeling takes over, and a delicious shiver of confidence runs through me.
There’s a clunk.
I blink and look up to find a certain zombie crossing the room with a tray, carrying something multi-coloured, his bicep bulging under the weight of it.
My head firmly in sexy-land, I’m unable to stop the flirty lilt as I ask, ‘What have you got for me there?’
He offers the tray. ‘Trick or treats.’
‘Sweets?’ I find myself bouncing on my toes in excitement, and then try to style it out — I was just moving, stretching — so he doesn’t think I’m five.
‘Canapés,’ he counters with a dip of his head.
‘Ugh,’ I groan. ‘What’s a girl gotta do to get some sugar around here?’
‘Sweet tooth, huh?’ His gaze rests on my mouth, despite the white contacts which are swallowing his eyes. ‘You could always have a jelly shot.’
Off your body.
‘I should probably keep a clear head.’ Hitching my shoulder, I explain, ‘ Working .’
Zombie glances around the room then rests his tray on to the sideboard with mine. ‘We’re allowed a quick break.’ Slipping his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels. ‘So, you were saying … you’re a Halloween fan?’
I hadn’t considered this before, but I guess I am. ‘I like the colours, the drama.’ Somehow, I’m drawn closer to where he’s standing, while I say, ‘The shameless excuse for a costume … the suspense.’
He purses his lips against a smile. ‘Is that all?’
I think on. ‘It’s fun, isn’t it? The safe terror.’
If I’m being honest with myself, out of my comfort zone but somehow, still comfortable, this party seems like safe terror.
And, weirdly, he feels like the safe part of the terror.
His eyebrows twitch under his make-up and not for the first time, I wish I could read his face more easily. ‘Fun,’ he repeats, almost to himself, eyes blazing at me and I’m only inches away from leaning in. Closing the gap.
He darts his head to the arrangement I’d been ogling, breaking the spell. ‘You know, if you’re hungry, you can eat the fruit.’
Gathering my wits, I retort, ‘And ruin the display?’ with a laugh, gesturing to the explicit still life that’s laid out on the sideboard.
Yonic — it comes to me. Everything laid out here is unashamedly yonic. Sexual, feminine, empowering. And I freaking love it.
‘Yep, eat any of that.’ His hand swipes up, mussing his longish brown hair. ‘Well, not the flowers or the Love Egg. But otherwise …’
‘You know about vibrators?’ Voice raised, it’s out of my mouth before I can censor my words.
He cocks me a wry grin as he reaches for his tray. ‘I know about a lot of things.’
Fuck, I bet he does. Something shoots through me, straight to my centre, as he saunters off.