Chapter 5
Knock knock.
“Hey, honey?” My dad’s voice filters through from the hallway.
“Yeah, Dad? You can open it!” I call back, halfway buried in a pile of clothes. I’m supposed to be unpacking but really, I’m just moving stuff around and making a disaster zone.
He cracks the door open, phone in hand, speaker on. “Liv, there’s a girl at the gate? Says her name is Morella. She’s looking for you?”
I freeze, blinking at him like I’ve just seen a ghost. “Wait. What?” I pause. “Yeah, uh… I met her at the rink a few days ago.” I say, still not fully processing.
“Okay, Charles, she’s good. Let her in.” He ends the call and pockets his phone. “Add her to the guest list if you’re okay with her visiting,” he says over his shoulder as he walks off.
Before I can even begin wondering how she found out where I live, she’s already at my door.
“Knock knock!” Morella chirps, popping her head into my room. “Got time for a chat? I didn’t get your number, so I went across the way to the medical center and asked if they knew where to find you and—ta-da!” She lifts her palms like a magician finishing a trick, beaming with pride.
“People just… give out info like that?” I ask, trying not to sound as suspicious as I feel.
“Yes, silly.” she laughs, stepping into the mess I call progress. She picks up a shirt from the bed and inspects it. “Besides, I’m Morella Haverhill. Who’s going to tell me no?”
“I’m sorry, what?!” I whip around to face her.
She looks confused. “Yes?”
“As in Haverhill Haverhill?” I ask, jaw halfway to the floor.
She blinks, then nods like it’s obvious. “Well, that explains the ‘they’re kind of royalty’ comment,” I mutter, collapsing onto the edge of the bed.
“If you would’ve hung out, I would've told you.” she says matter-of-factly. “And I wouldn’t have had to stalk you just to find your house.”
She lays back on my bed and starts tapping away on her phone.
“There’s a party tonight.” She adds casually, “You’re coming.”
Morella’s in the driver’s seat, dancing and singing like she’s in a music video. Some pop song blares through the speakers. I’m sure I’ve heard it before, but I don’t really listen to the radio anymore, so I don’t recognize it.
Before we left Morella picked out a new outfit for me to wear to the party.
The girl loves fashion. She paired my favorite brown corduroy skirt that has buttons down the middle, with a cream colored knit sweater that has puffy sleeves around the wrists and a lace cami underneath.
I opted for black flats instead of the knee high boots she had wanted me to wear.
I smirk, thinking of all the times Rissa and I dressed each other up.
“What?” Morella glances at me, amusement laced through her voice.
“Nothin’,” I say with a smirk. “Just didn’t expect the founder of the town would drive herself.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not the founder. Some old guy in my family was,” she says with a dramatic eye roll. “And second, driving is so much fun. Especially when you have a fast car.”
She punches the gas and we fly down the winding road, blurring past rows of houses, the high school, and finally slowing enough to make a sharp left onto a narrower street.
On either side of us, tall cottonwoods crowd in.
Between the trees, headstones peek through.
Quiet, gray markers in the fading light.
As we wind farther in, the trees part, and the land opens up in a wide clearing.
My breath catches. At the very back of the property, half-shrouded in vines and shadows, rises a towering stone building.
From here, the cemetery disappears behind trees again but the crowd is impossible to miss.
The parking lot is packed with cars and people.
Guys run wild, barreling into each other with coolers slung over their shoulders, chasing girls who shriek and dodge through the chaos.
A chill runs through me. I shiver, and suddenly there’s a hand on my forearm.
“You good?”
I turn to see Morella watching me, her playful energy tempered by a flicker of concern.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, brushing it off.
I turn back toward the window and reach for the door handle. As soon as I open the door, a gust of chilly air rushes in and curls around my legs. It may be summer, but we’re in the northeast and nights here don’t care what the calendar says.
Morella climbs out from the driver’s side and shuts her door with a satisfying thunk. She grabs me by the wrist. “Come on! You’re gonna love this.”
We weave our way through the crowd, squeezing past clusters of people until the thump of music fades and the trees close in around us.
The wide-open space is packed. Kegs, coolers, folding chairs, and makeshift fire pits in metal barrels dot the grass.
Flames dance and flicker across stone and earth, lighting up grinning faces and red solo cups.
I scan the crowd and immediately spot the few I recognize.
Rafe is leaning against the side of a mausoleum, one foot propped up against the wall, arms crossed tight over his chest. That ever-present sneer carved into his face.
Their other friend sit’s on top of a headstone nearby.
He’s ignoring everything around him, looking off into the shadows like he’s bored out of his mind.
Si’s on the steps of the mausoleum, legs stretched out, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
In front of him, a few other guys I recognize from the rink crouch in a loose circle, heads bent in concentration.
I squint, trying to see what has their attention.
Three glossy black dice tumble across the ground, catching firelight with each roll.
Money surrounds them. Piles of cash strewn carelessly between their feet.
They’re gambling. Not surprising. But dice?
That’s unusual. Most kids play cards. Cards you can study.
Cheat. Outsmart. Dice? Dice are pure chance.
A flicker of heat starts in my palms. My throat tightens.
That creeping sensation of being watched drags across my skin.
My eyes flick up and meet a pair of sage green ones.
Si is no longer watching the game. Behind him, Rafe is glaring.
His jaw is tight, his teeth bared like he’s ready to bite.
To the left, their friend is also staring, but his expression is mildly curious at best.
The sudden attention has me stopping in my tracks. My gaze lingers on them for a moment longer, until Morella has realized I’m no longer walking with her.
Her eyes flick from my face to where I’m staring. “Oh. Don’t worry about them.” She waves a hand toward her brother and the others. “I already got onto them about what happened at the rink and told them to be on their best behavior tonight.”
I nod slowly and follow Morella deeper into the party, toward one of the barrels crackling with fire and a long folding table piled with cups, bottles, and buckets of ice.
“Pick your poison,” she says, handing me a red plastic cup.
I didn’t drink much back in California, but I wasn’t a total stranger to it either.
Mostly casual stuff. My go-to? Dr. Pepper and Fireball.
It tastes like Big Red gum, which I used to chew like it was a personality trait.
I fill the cup with ice, crack open a can of soda, and then pour in a generous amount of cinnamon whiskey.
I’m not trying to get drunk. I’ll sip it slow.
“So..” I start, picking my words carefully. “Who’s the guy that’s always with your brother and Si?”
Morella looks over her shoulder at the guys. “Oh, that’s Archer. He’s…Tame,” She says as she turns back to her drink, mixing something green with something blue.
I feel warmth press to my back, breath near my ear. A hand slides around my left side, reaching for a cup.
“I see Princess likes it spicy,” the voice purrs.
My whole body goes rigid. I turn fast and come face-to-chest with Silas. He grins down at me. Eyebrows raised, teeth flashing, full performance mode.
“Hi,” he says, like we’re in on something together. I shove lightly at his chest, trying to step back, but he’s quicker. One arm snakes around my waist, and suddenly I’m off-balance, spun around until he’s leaning against the table.
“Whoa, where you goin’?” he asks, voice thick with faux innocence.
“Okay. Time to let go now.” My voice stays steady, but I’m twisting away, trying to free myself.
He just laughs.
“Silas. That’s enough. Let her go.” Morella’s voice cuts in.
His arms fall away like she pressed a button.
“Relax, Ella,” he says with a lazy shrug. “Just showing some hospitality to the new girl.” He turns back to the table, picks up a red cup, scoops some ice and pours water into it. I stare at the cup in disbelief.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Silas says, lifting the cup and taking a long sip. “I’m DD tonight.” His eyes drop and his smirk returns. “Kind of like you.”
I blink, confused for a second, then it hits me. Seriously? I weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. There is no universe where I’m rocking anything close to a D-cup. If you’re gonna objectify someone, at least get the math right.
Morella’s hand slaps his arm before I can say anything. “Shut up, Silas! God, you’re such a pig.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the table, stomping toward the church. I let her drag me, because if she hadn’t moved first, I might’ve let my cup "accidentally" spill in his lap.
The church looks like something out of a gothic postcard.
An old stone building that leans more cathedral than chapel.
Four cement steps lead up to a small landing, where a massive wooden door stands propped open.
Black iron hinges with a black iron handle.
It’s dramatic as hell. We step inside and everything changes.
The music is loud. A few scattered strobe lights flicker between pews like dying stars. A fog machine sits on the altar at the front, spewing out curls of mist that twists and spill down the steps like smoke from a ritual.