The old lady screamed as Lisa tore the pearls from her neck. White globes bounced like marbles off the hardwood floor.
Samson ended the old woman’s noise with the butt of his Glock, and she crumpled to the floor.
Carlos watched her go down, wincing as if the blow had landed against his own forehead. Although his trusty sawed-off shotgun was tucked under his arm, he didn’t like using more violence than was necessary. The old bag’s caterwauling had needed to stop, but he might have chosen duct tape in lieu of Samson’s brute force.
Before Lisa had touched her, the lady of the house had composed herself with dignity, which was more than could be said for her limp-dick, Daddy Warbucks-looking fruitcake of a husband, who was pissing himself and whimpering in the corner. Carlos stared at the pathetic excuse for a man, watching as urine pooled on the floor around him.
I should have stayed in school. Carlos sighed, his hot breath whistling against the inside of his Donald Duck mask. And what better night for masks than Halloween? He wanted to take it off. The plastic edges were scratching against his skin.
But he had made the rule, and it had been a good one: the masks stayed on at all times. If no one saw their faces, no one had to die.No one had died since he’d begun running his own crew—Carlos, Samson, Breck, and Lisa. They were two years death-free, which was a lot more than he could say for the other crews he’d run with. Maybe I should tack up a poster like they got at job sites. This crew has been murder-free for seven hundred days.
Carlos glanced at the old couple, one sniveling and one unconscious, and wondered, not for the first time, if he would have been better off commercial fishing like his brother. He shrugged. “Tie them up.”
“Yes, sir,” Breck said, snickering as he danced around Carlos and over toward the unconscious woman.
Carlos grimaced. His young associate, and sometimes loose cannon, looked a bit too apropos in his costume, which consisted of an untied straightjacket and a bite mask that reminded Carlos of Hannibal Lecter.
Breck waggled a Bowie knife the size of Excalibur as he passed. He called the blade his “all-purpose tool,” but as far as Carlos could tell, it only had two purposes: slicing and stabbing. After the last time the crazy asshole had brought the knife, Carlos had been tempted to veto weapons altogether, but his eagerness to leave his shotgun at home ranged somewhere between not going to happen and fucking hell no.
His grip tightened around its stock. The shotgun was as much for colleague control as it was for crowd control. That sparkle in Breck’s eye and the jig in his step confirmed the need for double-barrel deterrence.
“I’ll do the lady.” Breck tittered with excitement. He pulled a zip tie from his pocket, gyrating his hips as he straddled the old woman.
“If by ‘do’ her,” Carlos said, “you mean ‘tie her up,’ then be my guest. Just make sure you do it tight . . . and not to a table leg. Let’s not repeat the shitshow we put on at the last house.”
Breck laughed and tugged at the woman’s arm. He lifted her to a sitting position. Unable to pull her up any farther, he dropped her arm and let her collapse back against the floor. “Well, I give up.” He wiped his brow, slapped his thighs, then danced over to the man cowering in the kitchen corner, waving his knife as if he were composing a symphony with it. When his foot splashed down in a puddle, he turned his nose up in disgust.
The man in the corner buried his face in his hands and wailed.
“S?” Carlos called, careful not to use his partner’s real name. “Would you kindly silence our other host?”
Samson, who was built like a rhino, raised his pistol.
“Nicely,” Carlos added.
A man of few words, Samson grunted. He lowered his weapon, his face impossible to read beneath his clown mask. Carlos found the mask’s toothy smile ironic since there was no humor in Samson. The man had the personality of a walking refrigerator.But he was a capable partner, one Carlos could count on. Samson grabbed a roll of duct tape off the kitchen table and spiraled it around the homeowner’s head, covering his mouth.
And he’s got more sense than the other two. Carlos glanced at his girlfriend. Lisa scooped up the pearls that had broken off the chain. Pink pigtails flopped like rabbit ears over her furry mask and its wicked grin full of sharp, bloodstained fangs.
Carlos shook his head. Lisa was a decade younger than him. She still lived for excitement—sex anywhere, party anytime—making his life more worth living and his lifestyle more likely to get him killed. She’d never done any real time and didn’t know what it was like to be locked away.
Carlos, on the other hand, liked to play it safe—as safe as crime could be anyway. He took only those jobs that seemed like sure things, and those he planned generally involved an absence of people, security measures, and threats to his life or freedom. His work was neither glitzy nor glamorous, but he got by, rarely hurting anyone in the process.
But instead of mellowing out, Breck had become too wild, and Samson didn’t know his own strength. Lisa was Carlos’s biggest concern, though. When, half in jest, he’d suggested they use the cover of Halloween to go door-to-door and rob the rich in their secluded mansions, she’d jumped all over the idea. She hadn’t stopped talking about it until Halloween night had arrived and the talking became doing.
What a sight she was. Her nipples tented the fabric of her T-shirt, which was spattered with blood from the owner of the second house they’d hit, a man who’d thought himself a hero. Her body was so fine and tight and young, while Carlos’s own was beginning to sag in all the wrong places. He thought he loved her, the kind of love that was equal parts wet dream and nightmare but addictive as all fucking hell.
And that made him wonder how the night was going to end.
They tied up the old couple and removed the man’s duct tape just long enough for him to spill where he kept his most prized possessions, a task that took all of eight seconds. Then they tossed the place, nabbing anything that caught their fancies.
When they finished loading up their van with trash bags full of loot, Carlos tossed his mask onto his lap and turned the key in the ignition. He smiled at Breck and Samson, who were crammed in the back with the trash bags. They’d pulled it off, come away with a nice haul, and were safely on their way ho—
“Can we do one more?” Lisa asked from the passenger seat.
“I don’t know, babe,” Carlos said. “Third time’s the charm, right? We did good. Best not get too greedy.”
Breck poked his head between the front seats. “But this street’s a freaking gold mine. Big houses with giant yards. No one can see dick going on at their neighbors’. People opening their doors for four grown-ups in masks without even thinking it might be a bad idea. I say we make the most of what we’ve been given. I say we hit up the whole damn street, cash and jewelry only, here on out.”
Carlos frowned. “Samson, what do you think?”
Samson grunted and shrugged.
Outvoted. Carlos slouched in his seat, resting the back of his head against it as he stared at the ceiling for a moment, searching for a good reason to veto them. Thinking of none, he slumped over the steering wheel, put the van in drive, and climbed the hill to the next house.
Lisa jumped in her seat and turned to look out the window. “Whoa! I’d sell my soul to live there.”
Carlos peered over her shoulder. He couldn’t make out much of the house. It sat at a distance, atop a sprawling estate that was accessed by a long, winding driveway. But he could tell it was big—big enough to make all those celebrities feel small back in their Beverly Hills mansions. A wrought-iron fence—its nine-foot posts resembling lances that stabbed at the night—bordered the property as far as he could see. Through the bars, he saw fancy gardens, statued fountains, geometrically patterned hedges, and still ponds that he bet were well stocked with koi. But the ponds were overrun with leaves, and the hedges and gardens had grown into tangles and thickets.
“Now we know who was responsible for the water shortages this summer.” Carlos pointed at the untrimmed hedges. “Looks like the gardener finally gave up, though.”
“Who lives here?” Breck asked. “Edward Fucking Scissorhands?”
“Look!” Lisa pressed her face against the window, her mask squeaking as it slid along the glass. “The gate’s open.”
Breck slid between them. “No way!”
“Guys.” Carlos threw up his hands. “A house like this has got to have security, staff—”
“That’s what you said about the last one and the one before that,” Breck said. “Oh no. We gotta go in there.”
Lisa tilted up her mask. Pink hairspray ran in sweaty rivulets down her face. Her big, round eyes, so beautiful and innocent in appearance, stared at him from underneath batting lashes, and he knew he could not deny them.
He sighed and sat up straight. “Fine. But we do this my way. Any sign of danger, we hightail it the hell out of there. Agreed?”
Nods and grunts answered him.
“Okay. Get your masks on.” Carlos pulled through the open gate and stopped at an unmanned security box. “That’s funny.”
“What is?” Lisa asked.
“The security booth. There’s no one in it.”
Breck laughed. “As my mother used to say, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’”
Carlos didn’t respond. The unmanned booth filled him with unease.
He continued up the drive and circled around to the front steps. No lights came from the house or anywhere else on the estate, yet everything glowed under the bluish light of the waxing moon. No spiders, skeletons, or witches decorated the yard or home. No pumpkins or candy or costumed brats begging for treats could be seen. Carlos could find no reason at all to believe the homeowners were receptive to company. If anyone was at home, they were not expecting any trick or treaters. The few kids they’d seen in the neighborhood probably thought the house’s long driveway wasn’t worth the effort.
Breck laughed. “Where’s their Halloween spirit? Maybe no one’s home, and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“I don’t like this.” Carlos checked the rearview, and his stomach gurgled with the feeling he’d just driven into an ambush. He gripped the wheel a little tighter and checked each window for anything hidden behind pretense, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for.
Breck tapped him in the back of the head. “Man the fuck up already.”
The strike was hard enough to stir Carlos’s anger but also enough to jump-start his rational thinking. The house wasn’t decorated because either its occupants didn’t celebrate the holiday, or more likely, given the deserted look of the place, they weren’t home to celebrate. He couldn’t have asked for better circumstances.
His teeth clenched, and his heart chugged along a little faster. “Samson, check for alarms and cameras while I take the kiddies trick or treating. Everybody out. Quietly.”
They got out of the van. Stealthy despite his size, Samson started his circle around the house, peering in each window he passed. Lisa headed toward the front door, a pillowcase under her arm that doubled as a supply cache and candy collector.
As his girlfriend climbed the steps, Carlos grabbed Breck by the arm before he could race her to the doorbell. “Let Lisa go first. Even with that mask on, you can’t pass for anything less than a teenager with a receding hairline.”
“I know, I know,” Breck whined. He shook his arm free and started toward the door. “I’ll hang back a bit.” Then in a lower tone, he said, “Never lets me have any fun.” The giant knife swung at his side.
As Lisa’s foot landed on the first of the cathedral-style stone steps, a loud clunk and dazzling light froze everyone in their places. Carlos blinked until his eyes adjusted. A spotlight under a second-floor landing illuminated the steps and the drive.
No one moved. No one made a sound. Carlos thought he saw a flicker of orange pass by one of the dark windows to the left of the door, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving him wondering if it had just been some residual effect of the spotlight’s flash.
“Sensor light,” Lisa whispered. “I don’t hear anyone inside.”
Carlos couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. By all appearances, they’d stumbled upon the Holy Grail of break-ins. That was, if the residents truly weren’t home. “Maybe we should just leave it,” he said.
“God!” Breck waved his arms with melodramatic exasperation. “You sound like such a pussy.”
“I can’t see anything inside,” Samson said, appearing so suddenly beside Carlos that Carlos’s heart jumped. “It’s like the windows are tinted or something,” he continued, shrugging. “Everything’s black. Weird.”
“Security?” Carlos asked.
“None I can see.”
“No one this rich would leave his house unprotected.”
Breck jumped in. “It’s not like we’re in downtown Detroit here.” He spun around, arms out. “This place is old, like at least a century old, before they had things like alarm systems and cameras. I bet the dumb shits didn’t put any in because it might ruin the ambiance . . . or whatever.”
“Guys,” Lisa whined. “Am I ringing the doorbell or not?”
Carlos and Breck simultaneously gave different answers.
Lisa huffed and turned back to the door. She studied it for a moment. “Guys, there’s no doorbell.”
“Use the knocker thing,” Breck said.
A brass knocker in the shape of a gargoyle’s head, with cruel eyes and gnashing teeth, sat in the center of the door just over Lisa’s pigtails. A thick ring hung from its nostrils. Lisa grabbed it and swung it against the wood.
A dull thud echoed through the still air, then nothing. They waited in silence.
“Should I knock again?” she asked.
“Samson,” Carlos said. “Get the crowbar.”
Before Samson could take a step toward the van, the door creaked open. A little girl in a wrinkled white nightgown stood behind it, her skin as pale as her clothing. Her feet were bare. She looked to be seven or eight. She rubbed her eyes as if the moonlight were too much for them. Her skin shifted with each rub, loose upon her bones as if she’d recently lost a lot of weight.
“Trick or treat!” Lisa shouted, thrusting her pillowcase out in front of her.
The little girl stared blankly then blinked. Slowly, a grin wormed its way over her lips then full-on excitement as she jumped and clapped. “Oh! Trick or treat! Halloween!” As she looked left then right, her excitement drained. She pouted and cast her eyes downward. “But I don’t have any candy.”
“That’s okay, dear,” Lisa said. “Are your parents home?”
“They should be, unless they’ve gone out for Halloween. They usually bring home candy for us. Sometimes they keep it all for themselves, though.”
“Us?” Lisa asked. “Anyone else home?”
“Just me and my brother. He’s sick and very little, so I stay home with him.” The girl stared at Lisa’s pillowcase then at Lisa. “You have candy. Will you give us some?”
Lisa smiled. “Sure.”
“Yay!” The little girl curtsied. “I’m Sophie. What’s your name?”
“I’m Li—” Lisa cinched her pillowcase shut as the little girl’s eyes drifted toward it. “Can we come in?”
“Okay.” Sophie ran off into the darkness of the house, leaving the door open behind her.
Breck shrugged. “That was easy.”
He started inside, but Carlos again held him back. “No one gets hurt,” he warned. “Particularly not the kids.” He pointed at the knife. “So put that thing away.”
Breck scowled but obeyed. “Yes, sir.”
“Flashlights,” Carlos said. “And be ready. The parents may be home.”
They entered the house with flashlights drawn and weapons at the ready, as if they were a band of trained soldiers and not a gang of armed criminals. Their beams illuminated old portraits, cobwebbed mantels, and furniture that looked as though it hadn’t been dusted in ages. With every other step, what sounded like tiny bones crunched beneath Carlos’s boot. When he aimed his beam at the floor, the light repelled skittering black insects that vanished under furniture or into cracks in the floorboards.
The filth reminded him of his home back in the projects. If the outside of the house had looked recently neglected, the inside looked outright forgotten. The place looked unlived in, which didn’t seem right if people lived there—at least four of them, according to the girl. Squatters? He paused. Something else?
He was about to voice his concern when Breck spoke. “I’m no expert, but this shit looks old. And expensive. I bet we could sell it to Ritchie.”
Ritchie was Carlos’s antique dealer, and he had no qualms with brokering stolen goods. As much as Carlos hated to admit it, Breck was right. Despite the lack of care its owners had shown it, the place was a gold mine. It reeked of wealth and antiquity. “We don’t have room in the van for—”
A candelabra-shaped chandelier hummed above as the bulbs it held flickered. At once, they flashed brightly. An explosion of glass followed, plunging them back into darkness.
Carlos’s finger jittered on the trigger of his shotgun. He raised the stock under his shoulder.
“My, my,” a man called from the next room. He chuckled. “We must really get that fixed, darling. Our guests must think us paupers. Such modern delicacies, necessities of a modern world.”
“Keeping up appearances, my love, means keeping up with the times, I’m afraid,” a woman answered, tittering as a small flame danced across the pitch-black of the adjacent room.
“So wise you are, my dear,” the man answered. “So wise.”
One after another, candles illuminated the darker reaches of the next room. In it, Carlos saw a long table made of fine wood, mahogany if he had to guess. Its legs were ornately carved dragons. China so fine that it shimmered in spite of its disuse decorated the mahogany surface. Masterfully crafted chairs circled the table. Something scurried under the edge of a plate.
“Do come in. Come in,” the man said, a candle lighting up in his hands as if by magic. “It’s been so long since we’ve had guests. Welcome!”
Carlos didn’t move. Samson looked to him for guidance. No one made a sound.
The man stepped closer. He wore a penguin suit, complete with long tails, a frilly shirt, white gloves, and a bow tie. The suit hung from his frame, two sizes too big. He floated over to Lisa, causing her to take a step back. “Forgive me. Where are my manners?”
Carlos’s eyes adjusted to the candlelight, which illuminated the room with a dull orange glow. He felt as if he were inside a jack-o’-lantern. Other than the old clothes and the fact that he didn’t seem alarmed that four home invaders were standing in his dining room, the man appeared somewhat normal and defenseless. If something was off about him, Carlos couldn’t figure out what it was.
Still, goosebumps rose on Carlos’s forearms. What felt like a millipede’s thousand legs tickled the back of his neck.
“I’m Oliver,” the man said, his face even paler than the little girl’s. His skin sagged, and white bumps speckled the purple rashes which circled his eyes. In the flickering light, the bumps appeared to be moving.
Oliver waved a hand to his side, and a woman seemed to teleport there. “And this is my wife, Veronica.”
Veronica wore a black sequin gown with a tapered fringe that hung to her shins. She’d paired the gown with matching sleeve gloves and a headband which sparkled with diamonds. Lisa stared at them with eyes that sparkled nearly as brightly.
At first glance, Carlos thought Veronica was beautiful—if he didn’t look too closely. But when he did, the closer examination revealed similar ailments to those afflicting her husband and child.
Leprosy? Carlos guessed. We shouldn’t be here.
Together, the husband and wife looked like a couple headed to a 1920’s gala. Carlos assumed they were dressed up for a Halloween party. If that was the case, were they leaving the children home alone without a babysitter? No matter how he added it all up, nothing made any sense.
Oliver’s eyes met Carlos’s stare. “We were heading out for some Halloween mischief, but it appears the party has come to us this year instead, doesn’t it, dear?”
Veronica hooked her arm around her husband’s. “It does, my love. It does indeed. Aren’t they delightful?”
Oliver smacked his lips together. “Delightful, mmm, yes.”
Lisa yelped, her hand recoiling. “So cold!”
Carlos hadn’t even noticed that Sophie was in the room, much less that she had reached for Lisa’s hand. The girl was like a phantom, moving unseen and unheard.
“Ah, I see you’ve met our precious daughter, Sophie.” Oliver puffed out his chest, beaming with pride. “That just leaves our boy, Junior.” He swung his arm back.
A toddler sat in a high chair at the far end of the table. A tattered and filthy rag circled his head, covering his eyes. Carlos hadn’t noticed the boy before that moment. The child seemed to have materialized out of thin air, possessing an ethereal quality which matched his sister’s. Fork in hand, the boy pounded on the table.
“Enough of this,” Breck said, unsheathing his knife. He stepped up to Oliver and pressed its point under his neck. The man’s skin folded over it like laundry hung out to dry. “Since we’re making introductions, let me introduce you to my pointy friend here. Knife meet Oliver. Oliver”—he pressed the point into the man’s skin—”meet Knife.”
“Delightful!” Oliver’s smile broadened. “Aren’t they delightful, love?”
“They certainly are, dear,” Veronica answered.
Lisa held out her hand. “The headband, por favor.”
“Oh, this thing?” The woman pulled the headband off. Like strings of glue, the skin beneath it stretched and snapped. Patches of hair hung in matted blotches around the band. A horizontal line of raw red tissue ran across Veronica’s forehead.
She handed the band to Lisa. “Go ahead. Try it on.” She laughed. “You know, there was a time when I wouldn’t have let the likes of you anywhere near my jewels. But our wealth hardly seems as important now as it once did. Still, it has its uses.”
“Keeps the electricity running,” Oliver said. Then as if realizing his gaff, he laughed. “Oh ho! Guess we forgot to pay that bill, honey.”
Lisa backed away, her nose twitching in disgust. It took another second for the rank odor, like that of rotten pork, to reach Carlos’s nostrils.
Removing the knife from Oliver’s neck, Breck grabbed the headband and tossed it into his pillowcase. “That’s a good start. Now, what else you got?”
“I propose a trade.” Oliver swiped a palm through the air, his movement so quick and effortless it was hardly noticeable.
Silence.
Then screaming. Breck fell to his knees, his hand covering his right eye. Blood oozed under his palm, running onto his bite mask.
Fast as lightning, little Sophie snatched something from the floor and shoved it into her mouth. Junior began to cry.
“Sophie!” Veronica scolded. “It was our selfishness that got us into this predicament to begin with. You know Junior needs those more than you. Now he’ll only have three matching sets to choose from.”
“Sorry,” Sophie mumbled, her mouth full.
Carlos took in the scene. Breck on the floor, sobbing and convulsing. Sophie licking her lips. The blind kid, cloth gone and empty sockets revealed, wailing and pushing his chair away from the table. Sweating, he pulled his mask off and tossed it onto the floor. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together slowly, yet he had no idea what picture they were forming. He was too horrified to move, too shocked to scream.
Samson recovered first. He raised his gun and put two bullets into Oliver’s chest.
The blast sent Oliver staggering back against the wall. He slid down it, ending in a sitting position on the floor.
Veronica pressed her hands against her cheeks, her mouth dropping in awe. “Wonderful!”
“What?” Lisa asked, stepping aimlessly backward, her lips quivering.
“Aren’t they marvelous, dear?” Oliver stood and dusted himself off. “One for each of us.”
Junior crawled over to Breck, jabbed his stubby thumb and forefinger into the man’s remaining eye, and plucked it out cleanly.
Sophie snatched the eyeball from his hand.
“Sophie!” Veronica scolded. “You give that back to your brother right now!”
The ghastly little girl pouted. “But I like the eyes!” Nevertheless, she did as she was told.
Junior took the eye and fitted it into his own empty socket. Carlos gagged as the eye blinked. He tucked his shotgun against his shoulder, not knowing where to aim it.
Sophie knocked her brother aside and lunged at Breck, her mouth opened wide to expose row after row of sharp, needlelike teeth. She sank them into Breck’s collar. The man’s agony echoed throughout the room.
Samson sprang into action, firing rounds into Sophie’s head. Pulpy gore spattered the floor. Veronica leapt toward Samson, but Carlos snap-fired. The shotgun’s blast altered the woman’s course midair. She crashed down and slid across the floor but quickly sprang back up to her feet.
Examining the massive wound to her stomach, she tsked. “This was my favorite dress.”
“Let’s go!” Carlos yelled, grabbing Lisa by her elbow.
“What about Breck?” she asked, clearly shell-shocked.
He spun her around and, with a reluctant glance over her shoulder, saw the children devouring a soon-to-be, if not already, dead member of his crew.
“Where are you going?” Oliver called from somewhere behind them as they ran. “You don’t have to go. You’re welcome here.”
Samson reached the door first, but he was still struggling to open it by the time Carlos and Lisa caught up. “It’s . . . stuck.” He strained.
“Try the lock,” Carlos said, turning to cover their backs.
“It’s not . . . the goddamn . . . lock.”
“Stay back!” Carlos warned as Oliver charged. He blasted the man in the center of his chest. As Carlos reached into his pocket to reload, Veronica was upon him. She grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him against the wall. As he collapsed, his head hit the floor so hard his vision blurred.
Struggling to stay conscious, he saw Lisa draw a Taser from her bag and fire it at Veronica. Carlos lifted a hand in warning, but he was too late. Sophie sank her teeth into Lisa’s calf. The stun gun fell from Lisa’s hand, and she followed it, kicking at the girl.
Carlos passed out as the sound of gunfire ceased and the screaming began in earnest.
***
He awoke to find a familiar face staring down at him. “Lisa?”
The face smiled, exposing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “She’s very pretty,” Sophie said from behind Lisa’s face. She smoothed out a wrinkle and tucked the skin closely around her eyes, hiding the rotting muscle beneath. “I’m lucky to have such a good one to wear.”
“Now, now,” Veronica admonished as she worked an iron over a board. “We don’t play with our food.”
Carlos tried to move but found himself tied to a chair. Samson sat bound beside him, still unconscious. Lisa’s headless body lay naked and sprawled out on the table. Huge swaths of skin were missing. The smell of sizzling meat beneath the iron made Carlos’s stomach roil.
“What are you?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“The Japanese have a name for us,” Oliver said, sitting across from Carlos. “But then again, they think we just go around eating corpses, which is so last century.”
“Corpses means dead people, Daddy!” Sophie blurted, meat and sinew filling the gaps in her smile.
“That’s right, dear.” Oliver laughed and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. His mouth formed a thin line, and he whispered, “We found a way to outrun death and the hell that awaited us. Unfortunately, it requires . . . replacement parts sometimes. We are so happy the holiday brought us all together.”
With a long black scythe of a pinky nail, Oliver cut into his forehead along the hairline. He circled his face, down the jawline, around the chin, then back up the other side. Black blood oozed from the cut, the smell of infection filling the room.
“You see, when you look like this . . . ” He peeled off his face and tossed it to Junior, who snatched it up greedily. Maggots wormed their way in and out of Oliver’s exposed face, his true face, purple and gray like rotting hamburger. “Let’s just say we had to find a way to reinvent ourselves.”
Veronica cackled. “A way to blend in.”
Oliver stood and walked around the table toward Carlos, larvae falling from his face like rice at a wedding. “My wife is partial to your face. I think it’ll serve me well for the next decade or so.”
“No!” Carlos begged, squirming and kicking as Oliver’s pinky nail dug into his skin and began its circle.