Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
After three trips to my car—where we had to get quite creative with spacial efficiency to fit all of our bags—my feet are aching and my head hurts from trying to focus on being the responsible one while we’re in public, I finally decide I’m over it.
October Halloway is not meant to be responsible.
I’m meant to be indulgent. Spoiled and also spoiling. Chaos wrapped in a leather mini skirt.
The boys don’t even look tired. Bonehead is carrying six bags in one hand like they weigh nothing, flexing indulgently every time he notices me watching.
Skully is twirling the receipt like a victory banner, calling himself my sugar skeleton and smirking when I scowl.
And Marrow…Marrow has three garment bags draped over his arm, carrying them with all the dignity of a man escorting royal regalia.
They’re not just wearing clothes anymore.
They’re wearing my choices. Bonehead in soft flannels I shoved at him, Skully in sharp black jeans with his jacket collar popped because I said it looked sexy, Marrow in a velvet shirt he only agreed to after I buttoned it myself.
And every time someone stares too long at them as we pass, I catch myself bristling.
The worst part? They notice.
Every glare I shoot, every little huff of mine, they eat it up. Bonehead’s grin grows wolfish. Skully’s laugh goes sharp, delighted. Marrow’s gaze turns molten, whispering words like, “Beloved, your jealousy is the sweetest devotion.”
It’s obscene, the way they love that I want to hoard them.
I slam the trunk shut, nearly catching Skully’s fingers when he tries to slip them into mine. “Hands off,” I hiss.
His grin sharpens. “That’s rich, coming from you, October-Baby. You’re one hiss away from clawing out every woman’s eyes between here and Macy’s.”
“Let her,” Bonehead booms, puffing out his chest. “She smash all competition.”
Marrow simply inclines his head, lips brushing my knuckles when I don’t pull away fast enough. “If the world dares covet us, let them. We are hers.”
It should feel ridiculous. But my stomach swoops, my thighs ache, and for a split second I actually imagine putting collars on all three of them. Matching, of course. Neon pink leather. Black buckles.
I toss the last bag into the trunk and wipe my hands like I just completed an exorcism.
Enough mall. Enough fluorescent lighting.
If I don’t get something stronger than cinnamon pretzel dust into my stomach soon, I’ll keel over and be remembered as the girl who died buried under her men’s shopping bags.
“Dinner,” I announce, as if it’s a commandment. “We’re celebrating your glow-up with actual food that doesn’t come on a stick.”
Bonehead perks up instantly. “Big food?”
“The biggest,” I promise.
Skully squints, slipping into the passenger seat this time just to annoy me. “Define big, baby. Are we talking steakhouse-big or diner-big?”
“Somewhere with candles and cocktails,” I say, merging into traffic. “I want to be stared at like a bad idea, and I want you three looking like the men who made me one.”
Marrow hums approval, low and dangerous. “A feast. Sacred. As it should be.”
The restaurant I pick is upscale enough to have cloth napkins but not so classy they’ll kick us out when Bonehead inevitably breaks a chair.
It’s Halloween season, so every table has a little pumpkin centerpiece and the servers wear black-on-black with discreet witch hats. Perfect ambiance for being obscene.
The host nearly chokes when the four of us step in. Her eyes climb Bonehead’s chest, stall at Skully’s jacket, stutter when Marrow inclines his head like she’s a duchess he’s been assigned to guard. And then her gaze flicks to me, and I bare my teeth in a smile that could rot blossoms.
“My table,” I tell her, like it’s already mine.
We get one in the corner—thank God—where the pumpkin flickers and the music is low enough to eavesdrop.
Menus arrive. Chaos begins.
Bonehead turns his upside down and frowns. “Words wrong.”
“Those are appetizers,” I explain. “Small food before the real food.”
He looks betrayed. “Small food bad.”
Skully steals his menu, flips it around. “It’s fine. Just order three.”
“I order ten.”
“Whatever you want,” I nod enthusiastically, but it doesn’t really make a difference because he’s already circling things with a sharpie he procured from…somewhere, like it’s a coloring book.
Meanwhile, Marrow spreads his napkin in his lap with delicate precision, then runs a finger down the wine list like he’s choosing hymns. “This vintage bleeds,” he murmurs. “Shall I order for us?”
“Yes,” I say, handing mine over. “Please seduce the grape juice.”
Skully smirks at me over the top of his menu. “You’re a menace. You know that, right?”
“Compliment accepted.”
The waiter appears, and I instantly want to bite her. She’s fresh-faced, chipper, way too friendly, and she cannot keep her eyes off my table of monsters. Her pen trembles when Bonehead rumbles out, “Steak. Biggest. Bleeding.”
“Three steaks,” I add crisply. “And one plate of fries so he doesn’t eat the cutlery. As well as all the things he circled. I’ll share with him.”
Skully leans back in his chair, one arm hooked over my shoulders. “Burger. Double. Whatever you can drown in grease.”
Marrow looks at me, not the waiter, when he orders. “Lamb. Rare.” Then softer, meant for me only: “It reminds me of you.”
My whole body lights up like a struck match.
The waiter is still gawking. I snap my fingers. “Eyes up here, sweetheart. I’m the one tipping you.”
She flushes scarlet, scribbles the order, and flees. The boys are grinning—three shades of pleased, wicked, and reverent.
“You enjoy that too much,” Skully murmurs.
“You enjoy it too,” I shoot back.
He doesn’t deny it.
Three pairs of eyes swing to me as silence falls. Not the menus. Not the pumpkin centerpiece. Me. Always me.
“What?” I demand, suddenly aware that I’m sitting with my back to the wall like a mob boss.
“You first,” Skully says, tipping his chin. “We’ve been spilling stories all day—soup bread, gas station burritos, vampire fruit—and you? You’re dodging. Tell us something true.”
Marrow folds his hands, courtly even here. “What made you October?”
Bonehead leans forward, elbows thunking against the table hard enough to rattle the pumpkin. “Yes. Tell.”
I blink. No one’s ever asked me that, not seriously.
Most people don’t get past the boring surface level question.
I stir my water with the straw, buying time.
“I was born in October,” I start, because that’s the easy part.
“On Halloween night, actually. My mom went into labor in a haunted hayride parking lot. She says the paramedics dressed as zombies tried to help until the real ambulance showed up. I came out screaming with an ambiance of chainsaws and witch cackling. It set a tone.”
Skully’s mouth curls. “Of course you were a haunted hayride baby.”
“Explains everything,” Bonehead says proudly, like he’s solved a mystery.
Marrow looks like he might compose a hymn about it. “Born between death and celebration. No wonder you shine crooked.”
I shrug, sipping water I don’t want. “Since then, everything’s just been…
Halloween. I never grew out of it. The pumpkins, the candy, the cheap horror flicks.
Other kids, like my sister, wanted Barbies; I wanted glow-in-the-dark skeletons.
Still do. Still get them. My neighbors think I’m a lunatic, but hey, their lawns are boring. ”
The boys laugh—different shades of delight.
“Okay,” I say, pointing my straw at them. “My turn. One by one, no interruptions: what’s the first thing you noticed about me?”
Bonehead blurts, “Pretty,” without hesitation. “Eyes. Big. Hungry. Like black holes.” He beams, satisfied with his essay-length answer.
Skully smirks, tapping his glass. “Your laugh. It’s…loud. Dangerous. Like you’re in on the joke before anyone else. Made me want to know what the punchline was.”
Marrow lowers his lashes, slow. “Your mouth. Red like a wound. Crimson like a deathly promise.”
My thighs clench under the table. I clear my throat violently. “Okay, well. Subtlety is dead. Not that it ever lived.”
The food arrives just in time to save me from combusting, filling every available space on the table.
Bonehead dives in with blunt enthusiasm, sawing through meat like it owes him money.
Skully takes a vicious bite of his burger and smears grease with his thumb just so he can lick it off, watching me the whole time.
Marrow carves delicate pieces, raises them to his lips as if kissing each bite before swallowing.
Somewhere in the middle of the carnage, Bonehead pauses, mouth full, and grunts, “October. What you fear?”
I almost choke on a fry. “Excuse me?”
“You ask us all day,” he says simply. “What scare you?”
The table goes still. Skully’s eyes narrow, sharp with interest. Marrow tilts his head, waiting.
I toy with my fry like it’s a lifeline. No one ever asks me that either.
I’m the girl who laughs at jump scares, who hangs corpses in her yard for fun.
“Being…ordinary,” I admit finally. “Like if I woke up one day and there was no Halloween. No magic. No monsters. Just…laundry and car payments and PTA meetings.” My lip curls. “That scares me more than ghosts.”
Silence, then three voices in different keys:
“Never ordinary.” Bonehead, emphatic.
“They’d be lucky to survive you at a PTA.” Skully, smirking.
“You make the world extraordinary just by existing in it.” Marrow, devastating.
I stab a fry, trying to hide whatever burning sensation just erupted in my eyeballs. Feelings. Gross. I didn’t order those.
“Okay,” I announce, wiping imaginary crumbs off my skirt like I can dust off sincerity. “Plan for tonight: we’re buying obscene amounts of junk food, going home, and watching horror movies until we either pass out or accidentally open another portal. Whichever comes first.”
Bonehead perks up, cheeks full of steak. “Scary movies!”
“And snacks,” I confirm, pointing at him. “Buckets of them. Chips, candy, gummy eyeballs, popcorn drowned in more butter than physics allows.”
Skully snorts. “That’s your idea of spooky? Scary movies and indigestion?”
“Shut up, you’re gonna love it,” I say, flicking a fry at him. “Besides, you’ll get to roast every bad line delivery. It’ll be like Mystery Science Theater three thousand but with abs.”
He preens because I’m right.
Marrow’s eyes glint over his wine glass. “A midnight communion of sugar, spirits, and screams. I approve.”
“Good,” I say, because if I keep listening to his velvet voice, I’m going to climb across the table and use the pumpkin centerpiece as a hat.
“After this, we raid the grocery store like villains. And then—it’s movie marathon time.
Slashers, creature features, found-footage trash.
No chick flicks unless someone gets decapitated by a pumpkin. ”
Bonehead thumps his chest proudly. “October’s rules.”
“October’s rules,” I echo, raising my glass in a toast. “We don’t do boring. Not tonight. Not ever.”
And three glasses clink mine—three monsters who look at me like I just gave them religion.