Fable licked the foam from the rim of her Styrofoam coffee cup as we sat in the corner table at The Bean, waiting for the rest of them to arrive: Monday, the other two Sullivan sisters, Kane, and his friends.
The sun descended, gradually burying the little light remaining over Town Square.
Defy Day had arrived, and I watched from inside the coffee shop as venders set out booths around the gazebo, decorating the town for the night ahead.
Three weeks had passed without talking to Julian. Our last night together was the one under the stars at the basketball court. I couldn’t stop thinking about him—couldn’t stop my eyes from searching up and down the streets for him.
Fable repeated my name, and I returned my gaze to her, sipping from my pumpkin spiced latte.
“Milo told me Jury died of a heart attack, but I don’t believe it,” she went on. “It has to be Beck or Drunk Earl’s fault. It’s a conspiracy. Officer Stoker’s probably in on it, won’t even bother investigating.”
The truth was, Jury Smith had gone into the Parish home with a knife, and he had no idea why, or at least that was what Jury had told me. Jury had difficulty remembering anything aside from being ambushed from behind. After seeing Pennywise, his heart had burst inside his chest. It could have been Beck. It could have been Drunk Earl. It could have been Julian.
But if it were Julian, something else had to be controlling him, something dark—something sinister. That or he had done it to protect Beck and Earl. Jury had been the one to show up with a knife, after all. Julian would never go out of his way to purposely hurt someone. I refused to believe it.
“Poor Mr. Jury,” Fable added when I didn’t comment. “You know he was just initiated into Sacred Sea too. What the heck was he even doing over there?”
“He wasn’t always a witch?”
“No, Jury and his girlfriend were both flatlanders. Not born with magic like the founding families, but anyone can be a witch if they practice Wiccan beliefs. Years ago, he showed up when his car broke down on Archer Avenue, walked into Weeping Hollow on foot with nothing and has been here ever since. For a long time, Pruitt called him the Colorado kid, said he was born and raised in the mountains, could you imagine?”
“Are you friends with his girlfriend?”
“Carrie Driscoll? God, no,” Fable said adamantly. “Barely talk to her. That girl creeps me out, dude. But Mr. Pruitt eats out of the palm of her hand, and she’s our age. I don’t get it.”
“But Jury was fifty-three.” The age difference was a bit much—almost a thirty-year gap.
Fable shrugged and pursed her dark purple lips under her costume mask that matched my own. “They were total opposites, too. Carrie and Jury, I never understood it. Oh, look, there’s Monday.” Fable flicked up her wrist.
I turned to see Monday waving at us from the other side of the window with the rest of them huddled together on the street corner.
When we exited the coffee shop, the scent of corndogs, powdered funnel cakes, and caramel apples drifted up and down Town Square. Ladders hung from the eaves of the storefronts, and pennies littered the paved walkways and streets, flickering under the yellow lamp lights like copper diamonds.
Black and white striped tents were set up everywhere. Each tent offered services such as palm readings and prophecies, merchants selling crystal balls, tarot cards, crystals and stones, censers to dispense incense, and so on.
Men walked on stilts around the gazebo, passing out pinstriped balloons to kids as the adults carried frosted chalices, half the town in costume masks, the other half not willing to tempt their fate.
“After about an hour or so, the kids will return home, and the real fun begins,” Monday pointed out, noticing me watching the kids as we approached. By this time, the sun had died, bringing in a chilling cold front. I wrapped my jean jacket tighter around my new black leather dress.
“Fallon,” Kane commanded my attention, his friends, Maverick and Cyrus, the two other guys I’d briefly met at Voodoos, at his side. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” Another breeze swept past us, taking my hair with it in a ferocious swirl.
Kane walked toward me, pushed my hair from my face, and took my coffee from my hand. By the time I’d lifted my hand to take it back, he’d already tossed it into the trash. “Let me get you a real drink.”
I didn’t let it show how much it angered me because his actions were already said and done, my sweet pumpkin spiced coffee already licking the bottom of the barrel. Boys should know never to take a coffee from the hands of a female … unless they were warming it up. However, I had no interest in wasting my energy on correcting Kane when I had profane thoughts for another; one who I was okay with never having to see his face if it meant I could be around him again.
We walked toward the booth where a large cauldron sat over a tray of dry ice, mist rising from the bottom. I peered inside to see red and golden swirls in the liquid. “It’s my Poisoned Apple Cider,” Mina Mae wiggled her brows as she filled a bronze chalice with a ladle.
“It’s so good! She makes it for every gathering,” Monday added, lifting a chalice from the booth.
For about an hour, we continued to walk the streets, looked into tents, drank poison from our cups, and goofed off with the superstitions.
When we reached the palm reader’s purple tent, I’d stopped and admired the drawing of the three hanging from the rods inside. The artwork was different from anything I’d seen before, with thick and diligent pencil lines and paint of dark colors. One was labeled Rose Madder. Another Wizard and Glass.
“Did you draw these?” I asked aloud.
The girl turned around, and her smooth hair like black ribbons cascaded around her shoulders. She had flawless skin, the color of syrup with a golden tint, and her honey-colored eyes embraced mine.
“Yes, I only draw what comes to me.” Her voice was like velvet. She possessed the perfect complexion and had the face of a porcelain doll.
I walked deeper into the tent. “What’s your name?”
“Kioni.”
“The one who sees and finds needful things,” I said with a smile, and Kioni’s eyes looked at me quizzically. “My nanny was Kenyan,” I explained further. “Would you read my palm for me?” I’d never had my palm read, but I was desperate to get away from Kane’s strange behavior, if only for a moment. He’d said he wasn’t interested in me, but he hadn’t left my side all night.
Kioni’s face transformed, somewhat saddened. “I would love to, but I am hardly qualified. You see, I am watching the tent for my grandmother, Eleanor. You could always come back when she returns?”
“To be honest, I just need a breather. You don’t have to read my palm, just pretend?” I hooked my thumb behind me and added in a whisper, “Some of the people in this town are suffocating … or maybe I’m just not used to the attention.”
Kioni’s laugh was breathy and sincere. She nodded, walking toward the entrance and released the tent flap from its tie. The festivities from outside turned into a distant chatter. The only light now had come from the glowing crystals and battery-operated candles that mimicked a flicker.
She pulled a chair from underneath the small round table. “Come, sit. Hide.” She smiled and lifted her chin toward my cup. “Is that Mina’s Poisoned Apple Cider?” I nodded, and Kioni leaned forward, setting her arms on the table. “Be careful. Mina Mae puts something in that drink. Some sort of truth potion she learned from an old witch called the Lone Luna. It’s supposed to enhance parts of your subconscious. Every event we have always ends in either a fight in front of the gazebo or an orgy at Crescent Beach, or both. Mina is known to stir the pot, as if Weeping Hollow needs any more stirring.”
“Sweet old Mina from the diner?”
Kioni’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, that woman may be sweet, but she’s smart as a whip. She’ll play both sides to whichever side suits her best at the time.”
“She’s not from here?”
“No, ma’am! And Mina doesn’t belong to a coven either. She’s the town’s bibi … or grandmother if you will. But I admire her. She loathes secrets, believes in letting our truths and madness air out every once in a while, too. Says it’s healthy.”
“And everyone knows this, what she does to the cider?”
Kioni shrugged and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. “I don’t know. No one really talks about it. Since you came from away, thought I’d clue you in.”
I twirled the chalice between my fingers and watched the last sip of my second cup of golden-red liquid swirl. “Well, I’m royally screwed.”
Kioni laughed again, and seconds later, the flap from the tent pushed aside with a confused Monday staring at the two of our smiling faces, her side-swept bangs untamed and framing her small face. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
I stood and held my palm out in front of me. “Just getting my palm read,” I blurted as if I’d been caught with a blunt between my fingers, like I was doing something wrong. Monday made me feel like that at times.
Monday’s gaze slid to Kioni, then back to me. “We’re all heading over to the Devil’s Playground. Come on, Kane’s waiting for you.”
“Groan,” Kioni muttered, then flicked her eyes to me. “Don’t forget what I told you.”
The poisoned cider. “Thanks.”
There was a group of us who entered through the large double doors of Town Hall. I’d only been in the west wing for the Town Hall meeting, but the grand room had been transformed into a maze of mirrors covering the ceiling and walls.
My reflection bounced off every angle. The floor was glossy and the color of black licorice. Fog machines blew from inside, blanketing the floor in thick brushstrokes of crawling smoke.
Adora, with her sultry lips laced with a conniving smile, grabbed Maverick’s hand. She slid her gaze to Kane with a lifted chin, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before her and Maverick disappeared inside the maze. Ivy and Monday ran the opposite direction, Fable and Cyrus, through another, everyone breaking apart, leaving Kane and me standing at the entrance.
“You want to check it out?” he asked, unfazed by Adora taking off with Maverick. Laughter bounced from inside the maze of mirrors against the bass of the haunting music, and from here, reflections swiftly moved as if bodies were passing through the glass. “Go on, I’ll give you a head start.” He smiled a boyish smile, but Kane didn’t wear his chaste smile well. It remained crooked, whispering lewdness.
My eyes darted back to the dizzying maze, already feeling my throat constricting. I shook my head, taking a step back. Trapped, trapped, trapped …
Kane spoke words, insisting I join him and took both of my hands into his as a ringing grew louder in my ears. He ignored my murmurs, walking backward as he dragged me deeper into the maze.
I tried to keep my eyes on his, my mask like a weight over my face. My steps, my breaths, my shuddering pulse, it all seemed heavier in here.
When we turned a corner, I was face to face with myself. Black leather dress, white hair dangling over my hips, frightened pale blue eyes screaming at me to turn and run.
I jerked my attention back to Kane, and his laughter rebounded off the glass like elasticity. Why couldn’t he see how scared I was?
“Come find me,” he called out with his arms up at his sides and a brazen smile, then took off through the maze, leaving me here alone.
I ran after him, my arms out in front of me, seeing only myself in front of me, to my left, to my right, behind me. I was all around. My steps hurried, frantically searching for an exit.
“Kane!” I shouted. More laughter came, more mockery. But the song playing in the Devil’s Playground drowned it out for it to only return between beats of the bass.
My body slammed into a mirror, and I turned, dropping back against it and closing my eyes, trying to control my quivering breath.
When I opened my eyes, a flicker of him stood in the mirror.
Only a flicker, yet enough to dismember my racing heart, turning all worries to dust.
Julian, Julian, Julian … Inside the reflection, he ebbed and flowed like a shadow of death, the cycle of life. “Julian …” I walked toward him with my palms out in front of me as he drifted through the mirrors.
My hands slid over the fogged glass as my steps and pulse quickened, chasing the silhouette of the guy with the silver eyes and black mask. He was here, and I felt myself being pulled to him like an invisible chord connecting us.
I hit another dead end and turned, seeing glimpses of his black coat, black pants, black boots, wild black hair. Black, black, black, but nothing could convince me of such wickedness.
“Fallon.” Kane’s voices slithered throughout the maze. “Where are you?” he sang.
I pressed my back against the glass, eyes darting, hoping he wouldn’t find me. There were at least three of me staring back with icy blue eyes inside the mask I wore.
The reflections swirled like a drop of black paint into water, the side effects of Mina’s cider. The bass from the music boomed in my ears, Julian was gone, and the fog was suffocating me, making it harder to breathe.
My muscles turned stiff, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn my neck. Trapped, trapped, trapped … The only thing I could do was close my eyes and wait for this night to be over, to wait for the sun to rise and for someone to find me in the maze in the morning.
And that was when I felt a hand brush mine.
The cold and gentle touch slid over my skin to the tips of my beating fingers. My lashes fluttered, my knees wobbled, and a breath freed from my lungs.
“Fallon,” Kane called out again, appearing in the mirrors just as I was whisked away from the wall and into another room. “You still hiding from me, Fallon?” Kane’s voice drifted with humor.
Julian held a finger over his mask as he walked backward, pulling me forward until he turned us, and my back rested against another mirrored wall. A blast of cold air pierced my skin and entered my bloodstream.
Julian moved closer, and in his eyes, I saw the same stripped and vulnerable man from the woods, from the night under the stars. His gaze flicked over my face like Morse code, taking me in. His trembling fingers drifted down the length of my arm.
“Julian, you’re shaking,” I choked out, doubting he could hear me above the music as my chest heaved. Despite the unsettling nerves, I’d noticed his, and it happened to calm mine.
Julian
Fallon was right. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t stop it, this chain reaction whenever she was and wasn’t near. Either way, it no longer mattered.
And to be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I shouldn’t have come to Defy night pretending to help Agatha but only itching to see her after so long. To find her, to search Town Square for white hair and glassy blue eyes. The eyes who saw me as more man than mask—more human than Heathen. And my heart, it ran freely, reminding me that there was still space in my chest for something other than darkness.
We didn’t make sense, but as I stood before her, she saw all the things in me that felt too messed up. She pulled me back into the person I’d abandoned a long time ago. Fallon looked past the curse, and therefore, I couldn’t look past her.
The shape of her smile colored the nightmares in the sky, and I couldn’t bear to touch her without shaking, without seeing her as anything other than a rare girl who had a celestial stamp in all her details.
Tonight, I was defying everything and everyone.
Because when she looked up at me like she was doing now, lips parted in awe of me, a curiosity dancing in her irises, I didn’t care anymore about the Order or to whom she belonged. All I cared about, as the music fell into the background of my deprivation, was trying to be here with her.
“I’m not very good at this,” I confessed, weakened. My knuckles grazed Fallon’s blushing cheek, uncaring of the consequences. I drank the poison and became mindless.
Fallon’s delicate fingers reached for my mask. I snatched her wrist and shook my head before she could.
Her lips moved. Trust me, she’d said, but only the music pounded in my ears. I unlinked my fingers from around her wrist, trusting her. Because in the midst of wrongs, I wanted to get this one thing right. She rolled up my mask from the bottom, revealing only my mouth. The pad of her thumb stroked my bottom lip. The touch flared a wave of heat inside me.
My heartbeat dropped like a bass. Fallon lifted onto her toes.
And her lips were on mine.
Soft, gentle, fragile, and shock and horror coursed through me because I’d never kissed anyone, never wanted to before and didn’t know if I could, and the reality of killing her was petrifying.
When she pulled away, I blinked. My brows snapped together, studying her reaction. Fallon’s dusty pink lips turned into an off-kilter smile.
I hadn’t killed her. I hadn’t pulled her into her fear.
She’d kissed me.
If tonight was all we had, I wasn’t going to waste it.
I grabbed her elbow with one hand, the back of her head with the other. I pulled her in until our mouths crashed again.
And Fallon’s lips melted with mine. My tongue brushed across hers, and, at last, my soul breathed and my heart aired out on the line of this kiss that tasted like the real thing. Like a blanket, I felt normal fall all around us.
“Fallon,” Mr. Mercedes shouted again in the distance, closing in on us.
I grabbed her hand, and we took off through the maze. I looked back to see her in the black dress clinging to her body and her hand covering her laugh, which pulled a smile upon my own. My smile felt awkward and rusty, muscles unused in quite some time.
When we reached another dead end, my back hit another mirror. Fallon fell into me, my hands already in her hair, her lips already on mine. With our bodies pressed together, eyes squeezed shut, the taste of apples kindled over our tongues as we kissed, drunk from the same poison, under the same maddening spell.
We kissed like we’d been doing it and denied of it our entire lives, lips hungry, hands grabbing, bodies grinding, my dick throbbing … My fingers dug into her waist to pull her flush against me as all the darkened blood in my veins rushed toward the surface. My free hand held the back of her head, a fist full of white hair. On my tongue, I tasted a full moon. One half innocence, the other half destruction. A snowflake lost in a nightmare.
Kane’s voice drifted with the murky fog.
Fallon looked up at me, our breathing shredded. “Take me away from here,” she begged against my mouth.
I pulled Fallon once more through the maze as my heart punched through my chest, needing to get her alone, yet knowing how dangerous it could be for us to be caught together.
What was I thinking? It was already dangerous.
Kane was right on our tail.
I paused in the middle of the maze, smoking mirrors circling us.
“Fallon, where’d you go?” Kane called out.
I had to let her go, and the mere thought caused a jolt of electricity to shoot up my spine to the tips of my fingers. The scream in my chest ached to be released.
I couldn’t hold on. I couldn’t let go.
The mirrors made a cracking sound, my shadow-blood causing spider-like veins to crawl across the glass. Panicked, I grabbed her face once more, slammed my eyes shut, and crushed my mouth to hers.
“I’m sorry,” I said, two words of a broken fate, two words from my own self-hating lips that could very well destroy me. I reluctantly let go of her hand and slid between two mirrors, leaving her there for Kane Pruitt—the man who the Order had said she belonged to.