Chapter 14
LEONORA
The last game of October ends the same way the last few have ended - the Giants win.
Not easily, and not beautifully, but convincingly enough that by the time the final buzzer cuts through the arena, the crowd is already on its feet.
There’s something steadier about us now, something harder to shake loose.
We still make mistakes. We still have stretches where the old uncertainty creeps back in. But we recover faster.
By the time I get back to my room later that evening, Blackwood College is already in full Halloween mode.
Orange lights glow in the dorm windows. Fake cobwebs cling to banisters and lampposts. Someone has dragged an enormous inflatable ghost onto the quad, where it sways in the wind like it’s already had too much to drink. Music drifts in from somewhere across campus - bass-heavy and loud.
The college has poured ridiculous money into tonight’s party.
I push open the door to our room and stop, taking in the chaos.
Willow is standing in front of the mirror in a silver dress covered in tiny stars, one eye finished in a wash of glittering blue and the other still bare.
Katie is perched cross-legged on the bed in a dark green corset and long black skirt, surrounded by makeup brushes and bobby pins like she’s conducting some kind of very glamorous ritual sacrifice.
A bottle of white wine sits open on the desk between them.
A spooky season playlist blares from Willow’s speaker. There are fake eyelashes on the floor.
“Finally,” Willow says, pointing a mascara wand at me. “Go shower. We have work to do.”
I laugh and drop my bag by the door.
“You make it sound like I’m being prepared for battle.”
“You are.”
Katie lifts her glass. “Social battle.”
“Horrific,” I murmur.
But I’m smiling as I say it. Because I might not like to admit it, but I’ve been looking forward to this party all week.
I spent far too long putting my costume together - hunting down the right jacket, the right boots, the right fishnets, and the perfect denim short shorts. And yes, if I’m honest with myself, there was another reason too.
Harley Quinn gives me cover.
A blonde wig with pink and blue tips. Heavy makeup.
Glitter, smeared lipstick, enough artifice to turn my own face into something theatrical and unfamiliar.
There’s a freedom in that, especially tonight.
I knew there was a chance the team might turn up after the game to celebrate another win, and I’d be lying if I said the disguise aspect hadn’t factored into the decision.
If Zane Blake walks into that party tonight, there’s a decent chance he won’t know it’s me.
That thought should not be as thrilling as it is.
I disappear into the bathroom and when I come back out in a robe with damp hair and bare skin flushed from the shower, Willow claps her hands.
“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun with this.”
“Those are ominous words.”
Katie pats the empty chair in front of the mirror. “Sit.”
And for the next hour, the room becomes its own little world.
Katie does my makeup with the calm focus of a Renaissance painter, leaning in to sharpen the eyeliner until my eyes look bigger, darker and more dangerous than usual. The three of us keep passing the bottle of white wine between us. The whole evening feels dipped in warmth and laughter.
I do Willow’s lipstick while she sits unnaturally still for once.
The playlist shifts from eerie instrumentals to Halloween anthems.
By the time I finally stand in front of the mirror fully dressed, even I have to pause.
The blonde wig falls in soft pigtails over my shoulders, the ends tinted pink and blue.
My mouth is painted a deep, messy red, the lipstick blurred just enough to look intentional rather than careless.
Dark makeup rims my eyes, dramatic enough to turn my usual face into something bolder, almost feral.
The red-and-blue satin jacket hangs off my shoulders exactly the way I’d hoped it would, and the tiny details like my boots and the smudged glitter at my collarbone elevate the whole outfit.
I even borrowed a baseball bat from another student so I could sling it over my shoulder to complete the look.
“Holy shit,” Willow says from behind me.
Katie nods once, approving.
“You look amazing.”
I turn slightly, studying myself from another angle.
There’s a kind of thrill in it.
For weeks now I’ve been living inside a disguise - the helmet, baggy clothes and lowered voice - and the careful physical distance of being Lee Shaw.
But this is different. This disguise is obvious and unapologetic.
Not about hiding in plain sight exactly.
More about throwing myself into the spirit of the celebration.
Willow appears beside me in the mirror, now fully transformed into some celestial creature.
“You know,” she says, reaching for her glass again, “if a certain dark-haired hockey player sees you tonight, he’s going to lose his mind.”
I snort. “He won’t know it’s me.”
“That,” Katie says, fastening one of her earrings, “does not actually disprove Willow’s point.”
I turn away before either of them can see the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Because maybe that possibility has crossed my mind. More than once.
Not that I’d ever admit it out loud.
Outside, the music from somewhere across campus grows louder, the bass carrying through the night like a pulse.
The party is in full flow.
And in the mirror above my desk, Harley Quinn smiles back at me, reckless.
Maybe that’s exactly what tonight needs.
ZANE
We’re all still wrecked from the game but there’s an energy in the group that wasn’t there a month ago as we walk across campus to check out the party.
Most of the team are still wearing their Giants hoodies or jackets instead of bothering with costumes. But the closer we get to the center of campus, the clearer it becomes that hockey isn’t the main event tonight.
Halloween has taken over Blackwood College.
The quad is lit up with strings of orange lights draped between trees and lampposts.
Fake gravestones have been hammered into the grass, and someone has rigged a fog machine that spills thin clouds across the walkway like we’re walking into a low-budget horror movie.
Music pulses from the student center - loud enough that the bass vibrates faintly through the pavement under our feet.
“Holy hell,” Barrett says.
Students in costumes are everywhere. An assortment of vampires and skeletons walk past us carrying plastic cups. Someone dressed as a giant pumpkin weaves drunkenly through the crowd.
Mercer points at the pumpkin. “I’m fighting that guy later.”
“No, you’re not,” Russo says.
We reach the entrance and push inside with the rest of the crowd.
A heavy spooky dance track vibrates through the packed room while colored lights flash across the ceiling. The whole place smells like sugar and cheap alcohol.
Mercer disappears toward the bar and most of the other guys follow at a slower pace.
I hang back a little, scanning the room automatically.
Because even here - surrounded by half the campus - I still find myself looking for a very specific person. Which is ridiculous. Shaw doesn’t come to things like this.
My eyes move through the crowd anyway.
Someone dressed like a pirate is attempting what appears to be a backflip.
“Blake!” Mercer shouts from the bar, waving two drinks in the air. “Come celebrate!”
I head toward them, weaving through the crowd.
Halfway across the room someone bumps my shoulder and apologizes in a terrible Dracula accent. A pair of witches push past me laughing so hard one of them spills her drink.
Mercer shoves a plastic cup into my hand. “To winning,” he says.
“To winning,” Russo agrees.
We drink.
The alcohol burns pleasantly after the cold air outside.
For a few minutes the conversation drifts back to hockey - replaying moments from the game, arguing about whether Mercer actually meant to pass the puck during the third period or just got lucky.
“Lucky,” Russo says.
“Strategic,” Mercer insists.
“Lucky.”
“Strategic.”
I lean against the edge of the bar, only half listening.
The crowd has thickened even more now. Costumes blur together under the colored lights - glitter, masks, fake blood, wings.
And then something catches my attention across the room.
A flash of bright red and blue moving through the crowd. It’s a girl weaving easily between groups of people, laughing at something one of her friends says.
She has blonde hair in high pigtails and a red and blue jacket hanging loosely off her shoulders.
Harley Quinn.
I watch her cross the room.
She turns slightly, talking to the girl beside her.
I suddenly remember standing outside in the cold air after a party. The girl with blonde hair and a quick smile who had slipped away before I could ask her name. The Harley Quinn girl laughs again and starts toward the hallway that leads outside. I’m nearly sure it’s her.
Without thinking, I push away from the bar.
“Where are you going?” Mercer calls.
“Back in a minute.”
I move through the crowd quickly now, trying not to lose sight of her.
By the time I reach the hallway she’s already pushed open the door leading outside.
Cold night air rushes in.
I follow.
The music dulls instantly behind me as the door swings shut.
Strings of lights glow over the courtyard, and clusters of people stand around the edges of the space talking and smoking.
For a second I don’t see her.
Then I spot the red-and-blue jacket near the far railing.
She’s standing alone now, looking out toward the dark edge of campus.
I walk toward her.
She hears my footsteps and turns.
Up close the costume is even more convincing.
Heavy makeup. Glitter. The bright blonde wig.
But it helps that this situation is a mirror of the last time I saw her. A slow grin spreads across my face.
I stop a few steps in front of her. For a moment neither of us says anything. The music pulses faintly from inside the building behind us. Wind moves lightly through the courtyard.
She’s watching me carefully.
Now that I’m looking properly, the feeling is unmistakable.
The same energy.
The same presence I noticed weeks ago outside that first party.
I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “It’s you.”
LEONORA
“It’s you.”
The words hit like a puck to the ribs.
Does he know?
Did he recognize something from the ice? The way I move? My voice? Did he somehow put Lee Shaw and Leonora together already?
Zane is watching me with that same slow grin, clearly pleased with himself.
Then he says-
“We met at a party before. Not sure if you remember?”
The tension drains out of me so quickly my knees almost follow it.
Right.
That party.
The night outside. When I’d slipped away before he could ask my name.
“Yes,” I say, letting the smile come a little easier now. “I remember.”
His grin widens, satisfied. “I knew it.”
He looks exactly the way he does on the ice - dark hair, shoulders broad under a Giants hoodie, the easy confidence of someone who knows he belongs wherever he happens to be standing.
Except now he’s looking at me with open curiosity.
“Well,” he says, glancing toward the building behind us, “since you’re not disappearing immediately this time…” He jerks his head toward the door. “Can I get you a drink?”
I consider refusing.
Less risk of saying something that connects the wrong pieces in his head.
But outside suddenly feels too still and too exposed.
Inside there’s music and chaos and a hundred different conversations happening at once. I won’t have to think so hard about every word.
“Alright.”
He pushes open the door and holds it for me.
Music crashes over us. Lights flash across the ceiling. The room feels even more crowded than before, bodies packed together under the lights, costumes blending into a moving blur.
And instantly it’s easier.
The noise fills the spaces where awkward silence might have lived.
Zane leads us toward the bar, weaving through the crowd with the same instinctive awareness he has on the ice. People recognize him as we pass - someone claps him on the shoulder, another guy shouts something about the game earlier.
“Nice win tonight!” a girl yells over the music.
Zane waves a thanks but doesn’t slow.
“Busy evening,” I say.
“Campus loves a good old-fashioned winning streak.”
At the bar he leans across the counter. “What are you drinking?”
“Whatever you’re getting.”
He orders two drinks - some kind of Halloween special cocktail - and hands one to me.
I take it, the cold plastic cup pressing into my palm.
“To winning?” I suggest.
He clinks his cup lightly against mine.
“To celebrations.”
The alcohol is sweet and stronger than it looks.
We watch the crowd move around us. Russo is talking to a group of girls who are laughing too hard.
Zane shakes his head. “Team morale.”
“I can see that.”
“They’ve been waiting a while for this.”
“You played well tonight.”
He glances at me, slightly surprised. “You were watching?”
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Suspicious,” he says, teasing me.
I take another sip of the drink to hide my smile.
Around us the party surges louder, the music shifting into something even more chaotic as the crowd presses closer to the dance floor.
In here the noise covers everything. My voice. The risk that standing this close to Zane Blake might somehow give something away.
Here I’m just another girl in a costume at a Halloween party.