Invitations were sent via Snapchat. The self-destructing image was of Laura Riggs’s house—the front yard riddled with tombstone doodles—and the caption read Your . . . Time . . . Has . . . Come . . . 8PM.
Fear is a powerful motivator and I knew if anything was going to get the other seniors off their asses, it was an ominous reminder of their existential dilemma.
There was no way we’d be smuggling the cauldron out of Covington Kitchen without my parents noticing, so I had to ask Dad for a ride to Laura’s. He dropped me, Dylan, and the cauldron off at seven, but not before saying, “Mom wants me to tell you to—”
“Be safe,” I replied. “I know, I know.”
“Have fun,” he corrected me. “You guys deserve a night to let your hair down.”
“We do indeed,” I said. “But that’s not what this is about. We’ll call you in a few hours when we need a lift home. Or sooner if it backfires.”
Dylan and Laura were the only ones who knew my plans, and while they were both willing to help because they didn’t have anything better to do, I doubt they believed I’d actually accomplish my goals. Laura, dressed entirely in black, met us at the car and helped us wheel the cauldron on a dolly through her garage and down a makeshift ramp into her basement.
“Your parents don’t care about stains and all that?” I asked her.
“OxiClean does wonders,” Laura said. “Besides, my folks are down the shore for at least three days. A lot can be fixed in three days.”
The cauldron was the size of a large beach ball and we filled it to the top with cheap vodka, peach schnapps, pineapple juice, and seltzer. We hung a tray with dry ice inside the rim to give it a smoky effect and tossed an aquarium pump in the liquid to whip up some bubbles.
“Hey, if anyone’s down with Wicca and all that shit, it’s me,” Laura said. “But I don’t know why we can’t do a bunch of Jell-O shots and let the night lead wherever it leads.”
“A bit of theater goes a long way,” I said. “Remember Katelyn’s memorial service? The pictures? The music? The spectacle?”
“Not to mention the crying,” Laura said. “I hope that’s not the scene you’re going for.”
“The reason the memorial was so effective wasn’t because people loved Katelyn,” I explained. “It’s because they loved themselves, and the drama of the event made them confront all their lost potential. You know what I mean? ‘If only I was a better person. If only I was a healthier person.’ That sorta thing.”
“If only I had been there when it happened,” Dylan added.
“Bingo,” I replied.
“Fine, fine, whatever,” Laura said. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do again?”
“Light some candles and fetch me your father’s robe.”