Chapter 4 The Host #3
“Good,” Thomas said. “No surprises tonight.”
“Surprises are for amateurs.” Calliope winked before disappearing down the hall, her boot heels clicking like gunfire.
Jericho’s boys descended all at once, a wave of chaos and beauty.
Arsen and Ever as Wrath and Gluttony, Levi and Shiloh as Envy and Pride, Seven and Enzo as Lust and Greed, and finally Nico and Malachi as Sloth and Death.
Lake followed behind them as what appeared to be some kind of alternate-universe Spider-Man, Cree at his side as the Crow, black leather, white face paint, looking both handsome and terrifying.
Most of the Elite staff were already stationed along the perimeter and woods, but the higher-ups had chosen to attend the party itself. Jackson and Day arrived together, costumes initially stumping Thomas, Day in a Hawaiian shirt, Jackson in a tight t-shirt and a badge.
When Thomas arched a brow, Day laughed. “Dexter Morgan,” he said, gesturing to himself, then pointed at his partner. “Detective Doakes.”
“That’s a good one,” Aiden said from across the room, voice lazy with amusement.
Thomas smiled faintly, but his eyes were elsewhere, on the clock above the double doors, ticking closer to the inevitable arrival of their final guest. The laughter, the costumes, the glittering warmth, all of it was camouflage. A theater of civility wrapped around a single, savage purpose.
Soon, the mask would drop.
Jayne Shepherd and Elijah Dunne had arrived earlier, dressed as Van Helsing and Dracula, and now hovered near the entryway with Archer and Mac. Lincoln had come as Commissioner Gordon to match Wyatt’s Catwoman suit, a pairing that was equal parts inspired and deeply confusing.
“How did you even manage to get that on?” Archer asked, clearly fascinated by the skin-tight latex bodysuit.
Wyatt gave him an almost haunted look. “I’m not gonna lie, it took hours, and a metric ton of baby powder. Now I feel a little claustrophobic.”
“Well, you look fabulous,” Charlie said, twirling one of the plastic vines dangling from the fiery red wig of her Poison Ivy costume.
“Oh, hey,” Wyatt said suddenly, pointing toward someone across the room. “Harley Quinn. You should totally hit on her.”
Thomas laughed when they followed Wyatt’s finger only to find Cricket turning around, her round belly on full display above her sequined shorts. Her white babydoll vintage tee read Daddy’s Little Psycho.
“Or not,” Wyatt muttered. “Oof. Didn’t realize she was taken.”
Aiden grinned. “Technically, she’s not.”
Everyone turned to stare, expressions equal parts curious and scandalized.
He chuckled. “Not like that. She’s August and Lucas’s…not surrogate, that’s not right. Hetero life mate? Baby mama? That’s baby number four.”
Charlie’s brows shot up. “You’re telling me that goddess has had three other kids? I can see why they wanna keep that DNA. Damn.” She bit her lip. “You said she’s single?”
Thomas wasn’t sure how to respond. Cricket’s love life—or lack thereof—wasn’t his story to tell.
She never hid that she was aromantic and asexual, but still.
It wasn’t for him to explain. Besides, anyone who mistook her kindness for availability didn’t understand Cricket.
She wasn’t a violent person but if she was forced to she could easily end a man with a smile and a glitter-covered mallet.
“You gonna hit on a heavily pregnant woman?” Elijah asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Charlie narrowed her own. “And why can’t I?”
“You do kind of give off evil stepmother energy,” Day said, gesturing emphatically.
“I would be an amazing stepmom, thank you very much,” Charlie shot back, snagging a glass of champagne as she crossed the room toward Cricket, who was mid-conversation with Matty, who was also in a Spiderman costume, though not the one Thomas remembered.
Thomas caught Aiden’s eye across the crowd and suppressed a smile. Even with the tension humming beneath the surface, there was something satisfying about watching his people laugh. The noise, the costumes, the warmth, it was the illusion of normalcy. The calm before the hunt.
The Contis arrived just before the guest of honor. Enzo’s mother, Francesca, and her husband, Dario, came dressed as Lady Marian and Robin Hood, while Seven’s mother, Neith, and her fiancé, Rocco, were flawless as Mystique and Gambit.
By the time everyone had arrived, the house was controlled chaos. Music thumped. Drinks flowed. Conversations buzzed. Children shrieked with laughter as they darted between adults, allowed to run wild until the final piece of the night’s game fell into place.
From the top of the grand staircase, Thomas surveyed the ballroom, his kingdom of glittering monsters and beautiful sinners. Fifty-two people. All of them complicit. All of them ready.
Aiden stood beside him, the faintest smile playing on his lips. They looked, Thomas thought, like royalty presiding over a masquerade. Or executioners awaiting their cue.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.
A text from Calliope:
She’s at the gate.
Thomas exhaled slowly. “It’s time,” he murmured.
Aiden’s hand found his, fingers tightening in quiet solidarity. “Let’s do this.”
Thomas pressed the mic hidden in his lapel. “Ever,” he said quietly, his voice calm as thunder before a storm. “Please gather the children, and anyone else who will be sitting out tonight’s…festivities. They’re about to begin.”
Somewhere below, the music changed, an undercurrent of drums rising beneath the strings. The lights dimmed just slightly, enough for the air to shift. A ripple went through the crowd like the collective shiver of predators catching scent.
The hunt was about to start.
Ever looked up and nodded, gathering the children with Shiloh, Cricket, and…Charlie. Thomas huffed out a quiet laugh, pointing it out to Aiden.
“She works fast,” Aiden murmured, eyes gleaming.
Once Thomas was assured the children—and their menagerie of pets—were secured in the children’s wing, he took the microphone Aiden handed him. He cleared his throat, the subtle rasp enough to slice through the chatter.
Conversations faltered, then stopped. Dozens of faces turned up toward him.
“Thank you all for coming,” Thomas began, voice warm, practiced. “As you know, we Mulvaneys love Halloween. It’s a time for masks, for costumes, for becoming someone else for an evening.” He paused, smile sharpening just enough to show teeth. “But tonight, we’re doing things a bit differently.”
A ripple of confused laughter moved through the crowd.
“Tonight,” he said, lowering his tone, “we’re going to play a game. No, not a game. A hunt, if you will.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. Around the room, guests began glancing at each other, some grinning, others frowning.
His sons and their spouses started drifting closer to the front of the group, curiosity sharpening into expectation, all but the twins and their partners.
Zane stood pale as porcelain, his throat working as he swallowed.
“We’re waiting for our special guest to arrive,” Thomas continued smoothly. “She should be here any moment.”
Felix’s arm tightened protectively around Zane’s waist. Asa and Avi flanked them, silent sentinels.
“When she arrives,” Thomas said, “we’ll explain the rules.
Those who wish to participate may do so.
Those who’d prefer to observe can watch from the war room, where we have full camera access, far more comfortable seating and, of course, libations.
” He gestured toward the west hallway. “The children and animals are safe in the secured wing, which will remain locked for the duration of the evening. Guards posted. No exceptions. If you brought your children, rest assured, they couldn’t be safer. ”
Aiden stepped forward to take the mic. His voice was light but carried easily, threaded with amusement that didn’t reach his eyes.
“For those unfamiliar with our family’s…
extracurricular activities, let me be perfectly clear: what happens tonight stays within these walls.
We have lawyers. We have alibis. We have congressmen.
We have fifty-two witnesses who will all tell the same story. ”
“And what story is that?” Noah called, a tremor of adrenaline under his teasing tone.
Aiden smiled. “Simple. She was never here. In fact, if she was, we’d be well within our rights to defend ourselves. There is, after all, a restraining order against her.”
The room went utterly silent. The realization settled over them like ash, this wasn’t a metaphor. This was real.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Thomas’s smile returned, slow and deliberate. “And there’s our guest of honor now.”
He descended the stairs with unhurried grace, Aiden beside him, the crowd parting like water. Every eye followed them. The music had stopped without anyone noticing. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Thomas opened the door himself.
Beverly Scott stood on his doorstep in an expensive cocktail dress that didn’t match the theme, or the century.
Her hair was a helmet, her lipstick bleeding at the edges.
She stumbled a half-step backward when she saw Thomas standing there, dressed as an angel, his pale suit and feathered wings gleaming beneath the chandelier’s light.
She clearly hadn’t expected the host to answer his own door.
“Ms. Scott,” Thomas said warmly, every inch the gracious host. “How wonderful you could join us.”
Beverly’s smile was razor-thin. “Mr. Mulvaney. I wasn’t aware I was invited.”
“Weren’t you?” He tilted his head, stepping aside. “I could have sworn we spoke about this. But please, do come in. We’re about to begin the evening’s entertainment.”
Beverly entered, her heels clicking smartly against the marble. Her eyes swept the ballroom, taking in the crowd of costumed strangers, the low light, the predatory stillness beneath the laughter.
Then she saw Zane.