Chapter 34
JAMIE
The past nine days, I’ve spent as much time with Blaire as I could.
I started sleeping over every night. The rumors haven’t stopped, but she quit letting it bother her.
She doesn’t get on the internet, and everyone has been instructed not to tell her about the shit storm online.
I guess not knowing would be bliss. What can I fucking change about it anyway?
Even with my world falling apart, I’ve had the best days of my life. In the end, I hope it’s worth it. The deal expires at midnight. Neither of us has mentioned it in over a week.
As I walk up the sidewalk of Wardwell Manor to celebrate what will be one of the most attended Halloween parties in Colorado, I put on my wolf mask, then straighten my tie.
In a crowd of costumes, where being faceless is a requirement, she’ll find me.
The decorations are in the exact place her aunt Flora displayed them each year, lit from the bottom with sound effects playing all night.
A cover band called Dr. Frankenstein is set up in the dining room.
A machine pumps fog into different rooms. She never told me what she was planning to dress as, but when I see a Little Red with a wolf mask on, I know.
I immediately smile. Our fingers find each other, and I want nothing more than to kiss her, claim her right here in front of everyone.
“There you are,” she says, the words muffled inside the mask.
“Searching for me?”
She tips her snout against mine and laughs. It’s the closest thing to a kiss the costumes will allow.
“You wore the same tie.” She runs her hand down the red silk.
“Thought you might like that.”
“There are a lot of things I might like. Come see the backyard before it gets destroyed.”
She grabs my hand and leads me down the long hallway onto the back porch. Pumpkins are everywhere.
“Wow,” I whisper, seeing hundreds of them on the ground, lighting the backyard. “How did you pull this off?”
“Magic,” she says with a laugh. “And a little help from my friends.”
Her finger hooks with mine, and she brings me around to the front.
The streets are now loaded with children.
The giant black cat with its back raised guards the fence.
The cauldron has a door that kids have to walk through to go onto the porch for candy.
Off to the side, someone from the Historical Society gives out warm apple cider.
She’s wearing a ghost costume with her glasses worn on the outside.
Kids run across the lawn in packs. A skeleton walks past on stilts, wearing a boombox on its back, playing spooky music.
Beyond the fence, parents wait with wagons and backpacks for their kids to trick or treat.
“I love this,” I tell her.
Doris Jean passes out extra candy in a pinstriped suit with a fedora tipped over one eye.
I lean over and speak close to Blaire’s ear. “Is she Michael Jackson?”
She bursts into laughter. “She’s Don Vito Corleone from The Godfather. Apparently, she loves that you think she’s the leader of the grandma mafia.”
“You didn’t tell her,” I mutter.
“It was an accident,” she explains. “After, she said she was going to slash some tires.”
Two of her ladies flank her in matching pinstriped suits with fake tommy guns strapped to their backs.
“Shit, they’re evil grannies.”
“Flora’s best friends,” Blaire says. “I’m grateful for them. They’ve shut down every horrible local rumor about me.”
A woman dressed as a butterfly pulls her away toward the porch to chat about the house. I want to be selfish and steal her away, but I don’t. Instead, I get in line for cider and watch the party around me. She put this thing together so quickly.
Josie walks over, wearing a black velvet dress, striped leggings, red lipstick, and a pointed hat. “Who am I?”
“Who am I?” I ask in a deep voice.
“Oh, come on, Jamie. You think people don’t know it’s you?” she asks.
I shake my head, looking at her from head to toe. “Does Blaire know you’re her?”
“Who do you think did my makeup?” She waggles her brows. “Doors open for me. Cats do my bidding. Hot guys fall in love with me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say.
“I’m manifesting!” She whacks my arm and moves through the crowd.
Winter stands on a porch step, wearing a long black coat and a beaked leather mask. She pushes it up onto her hair to take a drink of some green concoction. I hope Blaire isn’t serving witches’ brew.
I move closer to her. “A plague doctor. That’s an interesting choice.”
“It’s the only historically accurate costume at this party. I’m also the only actual doctor here, so if anybody drops, the beak and I are on call.” She scans the crowd and shakes her head. “If one more person comes through that gate, the fire department might shut it down.”
“Really?”
“I was already called,” she explains, moving back inside to count heads.
I pass a two-person horse costume, and they’re bickering about who has to be the back half. I think it might be Ivy and Martha.
Inside, the band plays “I Put a Spell on You,” and people sing along.
Fog rolls out of the sitting room at ankle height.
I drift through the house until I end up at the front.
Blaire is at the bay window, reading palms. There’s a line formed around the room, of people waiting to get a reading from her.
I lean against the doorway, watching her work.
One by one, the town puts its palms in her hands.
Doris Jean appears beside me with the fedora in her hand.
She watches Blaire, wearing a soft smile on her face.
If I had to guess, it’s pride. “My best friend sat right there every Halloween for forty-five years and read palms for anyone who wanted it,” she says.
“I’m thrilled to see the tradition is staying alive. ”
Someone wearing a full-face mask steps up to the table and gets their palm read or even a card pull—guest’s choice.
Blaire talks low on purpose, quiet enough that only the one in the chair hears what she says. She even covers her mouth, like she’s telling a secret. I could watch her all night.
A few whispers into the reading, Blaire stops moving.
She bends over, bringing the hand closer to her face, tracing the branch in the love line.
She says the rest, holding the woman’s hand in both of hers.
The mask stays still while the shoulders under it shake.
Sniffles follow. When it’s over, the woman takes her hand back and walks away without saying a word.
She makes it as far as the kitchen hallway before she pulls the mask off. It’s Maren, the same woman who warned me about Blaire being a witch. She wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist. Doris Jean goes to her, pulling a handkerchief from her inside pocket.
The reading line thins toward the end of the band’s first set. Blaire works through a vampire and the front half of the horse without once looking past them to me. When my turn comes, I sit down in the mismatched chair.
“And what are you supposed to be?” she asks loud enough for the line behind me to overhear.
“The Big Bad Wolf, ma’am.”
Her brow lifts, and a smile plays on her lips. “Palm or card?”
“Card.”
“Ah.”
She sets the deck in front of me to cut. Under the table, she hooks her boot around my ankle. I split the cards in the middle, and she turns over the top card.
The Wheel of Fortune.
She leans across the table and gives it to me in her secret voice. “Everything works out. Luck, love, seasons. The wheel promises one thing only—that nothing stays where it started. It always stops where it’s meant to.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Always good.” She taps the card once and slides it back into the deck with a grin. “Next.”
The scarecrow’s wife takes my chair before I’m fully standing. She watches me walk away.
Halfway through the next reading, she glances up at the clock over the mantel. Our final hours together are coming to an end, and I want her all to myself.
Blaire’s head comes up from a stranger’s palm, and she finds my gaze.
When the last person sits down, she pulls a card, then closes the table.
Once the mask is back on her face, she returns to me.
Her fingers slide against mine, and we move onto the dance floor.
The song is slow, sexy, as she grinds against me.
I’m brought back to the bar, back to that moment where it was just us alone, surrounded by strangers.
I spin her around and dip her. Just as the song ends, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s David.
“I have to take this,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says with a smile, giving me a thumbs-up before finding her best friends, Autumn and Julie.
I slip down the hallway and inside the dark study. A few lanterns are glowing, but I don’t think anyone’s been in here all night. The band is muffled.
I answer. “I will be there tomorrow. I won’t be late. I don’t need a reminder.”
The line behind him is dead quiet.
“I’m giving you a warning, Cross. This meeting isn’t going to be in your favor. Nothing has changed. Be ready for them to offer you an ultimatum.”
“This could’ve waited until tomorrow morning.”
“Nah. I wanted you to have time to get your shit together. Don’t show up tomorrow hungover.” He’s very direct.
I stay in the study until the drum solo gives out.
The board can have me tomorrow. They don’t get tonight.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Get some sleep,” David says and hangs up.
I put the phone away and follow the music back toward the party. Blaire finds me halfway down the hallway, mask pushed up in her hair, and hooks two fingers into my collar.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, great,” I tell her.
She tilts her head at me but doesn’t question it. “Come with me.”
Blaire takes my hand and pulls me up the stairs, passing a couple making out.
When her bedroom door shuts behind us, the party downstairs disappears.
Light from the yard decorations shines through the balcony doors and across her four-poster bed.
She pulls the wolf off my face and drops her own on the floor.
It’s the first time I’ve had her alone all night.
“I’ve missed you,” she says.
“Happy Halloween, Blaire Witch.”
I give her the kiss I’ve been holding back all night. She tastes like cider.
“I have about fifteen minutes before anyone asks where I am,” she says, already loosening my belt.
“Somebody thought this through.”
“I’m winging it,” she admits, walking me backward toward the bed.
“Oh, I love it when you’re spontaneous,” I say as she unbuckles my belt and slides my pants down.
The red cape she added to her costume comes off with one pull at the ribbon. She removes the bloomers and her panties, then laughs while she gathers her skirt. Seconds later, she’s straddling me, taking in every hard inch. I dig my fingertips into her thighs.
“Shh,” she orders.
I laugh, licking my lips, loving that she’s taking what she wants.
Blaire breaks her rule first, and I place my fingers on her mouth. The bedpost hits against the wall one time. Between the biting and the laughing and how she moves, I don’t stand a chance. I go first with my mouth pressed to hers.
She picks up her pace, chasing it. “Mmm. The Big Bad Wolf.”
The crowd below roars at the end of a song while she loses herself on my cock with both fists full of her red skirt.
Then she melts onto my chest, and we stay tangled while our breathing settles.
We dress each other in the dark.
Before we walk out, she smooths my tie with her hand. “Ready?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Before the masks return, she pulls me down by the tie and kisses me. It’s long and slow, like she’s trying to remember every second, and when we pull apart, neither of us steps back right away. Her thumb passes over my jaw. I hold her wrist and press my mouth to the scar on her palm.
“Okay,” she whispers to herself more than to me. “Better make an appearance before the party ends.”
The masks go back on, and we walk down to her party, holding hands. I watch her as we descend the stairs.
We dance until the band plays the last song.
The party winds down, and people leave in waves.
Doris Jean’s crew walks the fence line one last time.
Winter does a final sweep of the yard with the beak pushed up on her head and declares the party a survivable outbreak.
Josie falls asleep on the porch swing in the pointed hat and gets steered to bed by Blaire.
Once everyone is gone and the house is quiet, we go upstairs, taking our time.
We undress each other, and everything comes off, except the hematite. She lies back and pulls me down with her. She keeps her eyes on me. This is something entirely different. And it feels like a goodbye.
Neither of us says it out loud.
I kiss the inside of her wrist, then take the long road to her mouth until she exhales my name.
When we finally move together, it’s intense.
She keeps my gaze, like I’ll disappear if she looks away.
I hold her tighter than I mean to, and she answers by wrapping herself around me until there’s nowhere left to hide.
Every word I can’t say yet, I let her feel. We speak a language together that no one else knows without using a single syllable.
We finish together, wrapped up in each other. Her moans are released in my shoulder. Mine gets lost in her hair. Afterward, she stays on my chest with one leg thrown across me. I twirl her dark hair in my fingers, staring up at the ceiling, knowing what comes next.
She sleeps with her palm open, and I see the scar on her hand. I trace the line across it once, too light to wake her. Then I kiss her forehead.
“I’m in love with you, Blaire,” I confess, barely a whisper.
She doesn’t hear it.