THE YURT—ORION—WAS LIT AGAINST THE NIGHT, A GLOWING SAFFRON orb. Dawn had never been so happy to see it. Her nausea was finally abating, and now that she’d gotten off godforsaken Hydra Hill, and out of the decaying shed, she was starting to feel better. The night was almost over, no matter what Mia decreed. Dawn needed sleep to blot out the strange intensity of the DMT. A respite, for God’s sake, the very thing Mia had promised on her original invitation to the party.
A respite from reality.
It had been a far cry from reality, the thing Dawn experienced when she’d drunk the tea, but still, she needed distance from it. Sleep was the only answer.
“I bet Summer’s inside,” said Mia, skipping up the front steps of the yurt. “Let’s go give her shit.”
“Gladly,” said Joanie.
“Guys, hang on,” said Dawn, trying to sound casual, yet assertive. Mia turned around, chin tilted with a hint of challenge. Dawn’s breath shortened. Reece squeezed her hand hard, then let go, as if to say, You can do this, all by yourself. “Just to be, um, set expectations, I’m staying for ten minutes, max. One drink. It’s been such an amazing night, unforgettable really, but I’ve got to get to bed. You know, I’m officially old.”
The pull back to Betelgeuse felt gravitational. She knew Quinn was there—her daughter was the last person who’d venture out into the night for no reason—yet Dawn wouldn’t be able to relax until she saw her daughter with her own eyes.
“We’ll see,” said Mia, flinging open the door and stepping inside. Joanie hurried after her. Then Graham.
Dawn didn’t move. Neither did Reece. They held each other’s eyes. And then Reece whispered, “I forgive you.”
At least, that’s what Dawn thought she said. Her mind was still hazy, gauzed over from the drug. She must have heard wrong—forgive her for what?
“What?” said Dawn.
“You heard me.” Reece smiled and nodded at the yurt. “Now let’s go.”
“Actually, I didn’t hear you,” said Dawn, but Reece had already disappeared inside.
Dawn followed her up the steps to the threshold, heart hammering. Could she still be under the influence of the drug? Everything seemed slightly off, like reality, but askance.
Inside the circular room, soft music spilled over Dawn, some sort of African jazz, full of sensual woodwinds. The now-familiar string lights glimmered along the ceiling. The cavernous room was larger and darker than Dawn remembered from dinner, just hours ago.
It seemed like years.
“Well well well!” Jax’s theatrical voice sailed across the room. He sounded a bit out of breath. “Look who’s come down from the hill, quite literally. The birthday girl! I hear Hunter S. Johnson has truly met his match.”
Dawn blinked at him. His good looks seemed almost mawkish to her now: his lips too pouty, cheeks too sculpted, the splay of curls over his forehead too deliberate. “Who?”
“Hunter S. Thompson, you doofus!” Mia beelined from the bar in the kitchen and circled Jax’s waist from behind, running her hands up and down his abdomen.
“Literature’s not his strong suit,” Mia cooed, “but Jaxxy’s a genius at other things.” Her fingers kneaded Jax’s sides, as if stroking a pet, and his eyes fell shut with pleasure. Still massaging, Mia peered around Jax’s buff arm and met Dawn’s eyes. Her pink mouth lifted into a smile, and she winked at Dawn.
Dawn turned away. But not before she’d stared long enough at Jax to notice that, despite his conspicuous handsomeness, he looked rather, well, grimy. Sweat rings darkened his underarms. There were a few brownish stains across his designer T-shirt and a faint ashy smudge on his high cheekbone. Strange. All weekend he’d kept his appearance impeccable.
“Sorry if the PDA’s a bother, Dawnie,” Mia said. “Has Jaxxy even offered you a drink?”
“My bad!” said Jax, regaining his usual flamboyance. “Let me pour you a nightcap, Dawnie. I call it the Midnight Toker. It’s basically a Manhattan, but hemp-infused.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Dawn. “I’ve ingested enough substances tonight.” She peered around Jax and Mia to the seating area, craning her neck for a glimpse of Summer. But she saw only Graham stretched out on one of the couches, elbow tented over his eyes, and Reece seated in one of the chairs, legs tucked beneath her, flipping through an issue of Sunset magazine. She seemed suddenly distant, as if she’d detached from the party.
The whole room felt oddly empty to Dawn. Bereft.
“Hey, we figure out where Summer went?” Dawn asked. “And where’s Joanie?”
No one answered.
What the hell was wrong with everyone? Wasn’t she the one who’d had the bad trip on some obscure drug?
Graham sat up. “Sorry, Dawnie. I just got super tired. No, Summer wasn’t here. Right, Jax?”
Jax saluted him. “Scout’s honor. Haven’t seen the lovely lady since dinner.”
“No worries though, babe,” said Mia to Dawn. “The mystery’s solved. While you and Reecie were telling your secrets outside, Joanie realized Summer must’ve gone back to the cabin. Apparently, it’s something she does once in a while. Just bails, so Joanie has to go find her.”
“What?” said Dawn. “I don’t get it. Summer just takes off—for what?”
“Oh, come on,” Mia cried. “Don’t get all prudish on me. Jax, can you translate?”
Jax cleared his throat. “Dawn, what Mia’s trying to say is, Summer took off to the cabin so that Joanie would follow and—”
“Get nasty!” Mia finished gleefully. “Now come.” She half skipped over to the couch opposite Graham and flopped down, the tips of her cowgirl boots jutting into the air. She pulled the boots off, dropped them on the floor, and patted the spot beside her. “Sit with me, Dawnie-babe, and Jax will make us a drink.”
“Coming right up!” said Jax, striding with new purpose back to the bar.
“Could I get a Macallan’s neat, my good man?” asked Graham.
“Amen, brother,” said Jax.
Dawn felt glued to her spot near the door. Hell if she was going to cozy up between Mia and Graham with a cocktail—it was after midnight.
“I’m done for the night,” she said, hearing the tremor in her voice, hating it. “It’s been, um, magical, but it’s time to call it quits. I’m going to swing by and give Summer and Jo a hug, then hit the hay.”
Mia laughed. “Nonsense. Get over here, silly girl. When’s the next time we’ll have a chance to be together like this? You can sleep all day tomorrow.”
Dawn felt herself soften, the too-familiar urge to comply pulling her toward Mia.
“Let her go, Meadows,” Graham said.
“No one asked you.”
“No pressure, Dawn,” said Reece, looking up from her magazine. “You need to do whatever’s best for you, but if you do change your mind, I can probably be convinced to hang a bit longer. I do have to get on the road pretty early tomorrow, so I’m not sure we’ll have another chance.”
“Hear that, Dawnie?” said Mia, grinning.
Now Dawn was even more confused: Reece, sober, exhausted Reece, was encouraging Dawn to stay up?
Quinn.
Dawn forced a deep breath. “Sorry, guys, I’m touched that—”
“Hey, we’re not dictators here,” Mia said. “It’s just your besties, wanting more of your delightful presence. So why don’t we compromise? You go tell Summer and Jo nighty-night, and give Quinn a little kiss, then come back for a little nightcap. Does that sound better?”
“I’m happy to walk you there and back,” said Graham. “I’ve got Twyla’s treasure map nailed at this point.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “It’ll be like twenty minutes, round trip, if we cut across the meadow.”
“Right on!” called Jax, from the bar. Dawn had the urge to strangle him. Who was this idiot Mia was supposedly infatuated with?
“So, what’s the verdict, Dawnie?” said Mia.
It occurred to Dawn that Mia was giving her the opportunity to exit. The answer was obvious: she could simply leave and not return. Graham would understand. And if Summer could do it, why couldn’t she?
It was her birthday party, after all.
“Yes,” said Dawn, smiling. “That’s a perfect solution. I’ll go give good-night kisses and be right back for”—she paused, trying to remember Jax’s stupid cocktail—“my Midnight Toker.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Mia.
“Yay,” said Reece. “Graham, you’ll take her, right?”
“Chivalry’s my middle name,” said Graham, standing up.
Dawn hated lying to Reece, but they’d see each other in the morning, and very soon, she’d drive up to Oakland and visit her. She and Quinn would make a road trip of it.
“After you, milady,” said Graham, meeting Dawn by the door.
“Oh, hey, Mia,” said Dawn, trying to sound casual. “Can I have my phone back? It’s been a whole day.”
“A whole day was not the pledge. Twenty-four hours was the pledge. Tomorrow morning, ten a.m. sharp, you’ll all get your precious little machines back. Cross my heart.”
“Are you serious?” said Dawn. How many components of this day—this night, everything—did Mia have to control?
“Serious as suicide,” said Mia, batting her eyes.
Dawn felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She looked to Reece, but she’d returned to reading the magazine.
“Cancer, babe,” Jax called out. “I think the expression is serious as cancer.”
Mia shrugged. “Poetic license. No phones yet, lovelies, but I can offer this.” She worked her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “Hey, Graham, think fast.”
Dawn saw something red fly across the room. Graham reached to catch it, but missed, and it bounced off his fingers and onto the floor. He bent over and retrieved a small flashlight.
“You throw like a girl, Meadows,” he muttered.
Mia threw back her head and laughed. “You’re welcome, Grahammy. Didn’t want you getting lost in the dark. Now scoot, you two. I want you back here in under thirty.”
Mia blew Dawn a kiss. Dawn blew one back, then followed Graham out of the yurt and into the night.