Chapter 3
LYRA
My reflection in the toothpaste-spattered mirror was unrecognizable.
I applied a generous layer of concealer to the stress-induced acne on my forehead, and more beneath my eyes to hide the dark purple circles from a restless night of tossing and turning.
The edge of the counter dug into my hip as I leaned closer to the bathroom mirror, lining my lips with a burgundy liner and filling them in with a cherry red lipstick that was completely out of my comfort zone.
“I said to pick a card,” Emory repeated, irritated by my lack of participation.
I ignored her, gluing on my false lashes, and asked instead, “Are you going to be ready soon?” I blinked rapidly, making sure I hadn’t accidentally glued my eye shut.
“Yeah, I just need to get dressed. Sit down.” She motioned for me to take a seat on my messy bedroom floor strewn with a mixture of clean and dirty clothes.
I’d torn my closet apart looking for a costume to wear tonight.
After digging through every piece of clothing I owned, I decided on a white slip dress so short bending over was out of the question and completed the look with white feathered wings and a sparkly halo.
The accessories were recycled from an old Halloween costume from years ago.
Emory held my gaze until I finally obliged.
She made quick work of shuffling the deck of tarot cards and removed the two protruding from the side of the deck. She flipped them over to reveal an image of two chalices and intertwined hands on one and a skull with the word death scrawled along the bottom of the other.
“One door is closing, and a rebirth in connection with someone of great importance is about to happen,” Emory said, staring intently.
“There is no way you got all that from two cards. I’m getting ‘you’re gonna die and people will cheers your death’ vibes.”
She gasped at my accusation. “Have I ever led you astray?”
“Yes, like the entirety of high school. I’m still pissed you told me Luke liked me.”
“Sometimes, I need to connect the dots during readings. You know fill in the blanks. Signals can get crossed.” She smirked.
“Bullshit,” I muttered under my breath.
Emory rolled her eyes at my skepticism.
“Now get ready or we’re going to be late,” I said, throwing a black lace bra from the top drawer in her direction.
“I can’t shake this feeling,” Emory said in an ominous tone that made my skin crawl, “something is coming.”
“You’re probably connecting the dots wrong again. Now, finish getting ready.”
My stomach twisted because Emory’s power of divination meant her gut feelings were rarely wrong, and after last night’s events, she was definitely on to something.
I opened my mouth to tell her she wasn’t crazy, but my mouth was too dry to speak.
The red mark on my wrist from last night had faded, so I bit my tongue, locking away the secret.
By the time we arrived, the Whitethorn’s driveway was already lined with cars. For as long as I could remember, Kenna had always thrown a massive costume party for her birthday. We’d been friends since birth, and now, we were college roommates.
I adjusted the halo on top of my head while Emory parked next to a familiar black Jeep.
“Oh, Cal must be here.” She tried and failed to keep the excitement from her tone. “And Eli,” she added quickly.
She smiled widely as she flung open the driver’s side door and practically sprinted inside. I followed more slowly, my heels wobbling on the uneven ground. I was one wrong step away from twisting an ankle. The loose gravel turned to solid wood as I made my way up the familiar porch steps.
The five of us—Kenna, Cal, Eli, Emory, and I—grew up entangled together, bound by bloodlines thick with old money and even older magic. The town never suspected the magic, but they loved to gossip, calling us the founding families.
I followed Emory into the Whitethorn’s old colonial mansion and instantly regretted wearing the angel wings.
Only a few steps through the door, and I’d already managed to spill multiple drinks and almost decapitate a handful of people.
But without the wings, my costume was only an inappropriately short dress.
Red Solo cups littered the floor, looking entirely out of place with the extravagant fixtures and paintings lining the walls. Mr. Whitethorn must’ve been away on business, because he’d never allow these degenerates to defile his home like this.
“Emory!” a familiar-looking girl yelled, running up to my sister.
I awkwardly stood back as the girls let out high-pitched squeals.
Arms flailed as they hugged one another, eventually looking over in my direction.
I gave a polite wave and continued forward, avoiding any type of uncomfortable small talk.
I carefully maneuvered through the crowd, sidestepping elbows and costumes, careful not to poke anyone’s eye out. I made my way to the back door in search of Eli, who I’d bet was outside smoking. The cool breeze nipped at the flushed skin of my neck and cheeks.
The sharp points of my heels sank into the grass as I made my way over to the keg on the lawn.
“Lyra,” a husky voice called out. Cal’s bulky frame staggered from the house, and his massive arms wrapped tightly around me. My feet were planted firmly on the ground, and then I was twirling through the air.
Cal Abbot was, embarrassingly, my first crush.
Young Cal had been boyishly cute. Current Cal, with his toned physique and sharp jawline was nothing short of hot.
The Greek god costume he was wearing put his chiseled features on full display, and his muscles looked like they were carved by the gods themselves.
“This is new.” I rubbed my fingers over the coarse, patchy beard he was trying to grow.
“The ladies love it,” he said, straightening his shoulders.
“Callum!” Kenna squealed. Curved horns protruded from her pin-straight blonde hair. The tulle skirt of her Maleficent costume trailed behind as she sprinted toward us. Kenna had always gravitated toward villains because they were far more interesting and didn’t need rescuing like princesses.
“I missed you.” She flung her arms around us both. Cold liquid from her now empty cup soaked through the fabric of my dress.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Kenna wiped at the brown stain on the front of my dress.
I waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How are my girls?” Cal’s muscular arms tightened their embrace around us, forcing Kenna’s bony shoulder into the side of my cheek.
“Well, besides an annoying roommate, college is great.” Kenna giggled. I peeked from under Cal’s arm, flipping her off.
“Don’t make me separate you two,” Cal tsked, sounding like a father scolding his unruly children.
“What about you? How’s college?” The questions tumbled from my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him. Texts and calls were few and far between with all of our busy schedules.
“College is fine—” Cal drifted off, looking around the backyard.
My phone vibrated between my boobs. The dress didn’t have pockets, so I had shoved my phone in there for safekeeping.
Dylan: Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
A small smile tugged at my lips. He must have seen the photo I’d posted to my Instagram story.
The whole thing had been intentional—subtle enough to get his attention, but not so direct that it felt desperate.
Because let’s be so for real, you only ever really post to get that one person’s attention.
“Hello, earth to Lyra.” Kenna snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“What? Sorry.” I looked up from my phone.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re texting Dylan.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Kenna reached for my phone, but before she could snatch it away, a loud crash sounded from the house.
“Shit, I better go make sure they aren’t trashing the place.
Dad would never forgive me if the house burned down.
” Kenna laughed at the implication as she sprinted toward the door.
Both Kenna and her father had the power to manipulate fire, so the likelihood of the house burning down was low, but not impossible.
Which was probably the reason Cal followed behind.
I stood alone, racking my brain for something clever to say to Dylan’s message. I typed and deleted response after response, unable to come up with a witty reply that would make him fall in love with me.
Maybe some liquid courage would help.
I wrapped my arms around myself, desperate to ward off the cold.
My phone vibrated again. Dylan followed up his previous message—an emoji with devil horns. At least he was as thirsty as I was.
I looked up from the text to find a young man who hadn’t been there a second ago. His head hung limply to the side in an unnatural position.
I inched backward, stumbling over the death traps strapped to my feet. My ass connected hard with the ground, the wetness from the grass soaking into the thin fabric of my dress as the bone-chilling cold confirmed what I already knew. He was a spirit.
No, no, no, this wasn’t happening.
I’d never encountered a spirit outside the walls of the church. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it was my mind playing tricks, but when I opened them again, he was still there—standing over me, his gaze unwavering and cold.
Panting, I got to my feet and sprinted inside.
My wings collided with bodies, knocking me off balance. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder, and my breath hitched. Glassy, dead eyes met mine. The spirit was chasing me through a crowd of oblivious partygoers.
“Watch where you’re—” a girl yelled. I continued down the narrow hallway, not stopping to hear the rest.
The door at the end of the hallway came into view.
I reached out to turn the doorknob, only to find it locked.
With trembling fingers, I pressed the pad of my thumb against the back of my earring hard enough to draw blood.
A single droplet spilled from the wound as I pressed my hand against the door and whispered, “Aperta.” The deadbolt shifted and creaked, and the knob turned.
My shaky hand gripped the cold railing of the staircase, and I descended into the darkness.