The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black: Book Two)

by Baum, Spencer

  But she imagined the party back at her house and thought better of it. Calling for help now meant her dad would hear about it, and the last thing on earth she wanted to do was explain to her dad how she got trapped in Columbia Heights with two flat tires.

  Jill looked at the clock. Five-forty. She wondered how long tire shops stayed open. She wondered where the nearest tire shop even was. She laughed at herself, realizing that she had never once set foot in a tire shop in her life and had never expected she would have to.

  “Okay, I’ll wait,” she said to the dispatcher.

  “I’m sorry we’re so behind, ma’am. I’ll have someone to you in an hour.”

  Jill gave the dispatcher more detailed instructions about where to find her car, then she ended the call. Ten seconds later, she was pushing open the heavy glass door at Riverwinds. The wonky doorbell decided this time to let out an unusually loud ping, as if notifying everyone inside to take notice of her entrance. As Jill stepped inside, she felt like the entire coffee shop was looking at her.

  She ignored everyone and went back to the empty seat she had left behind at the bar.

  “You’re back!” Zack said with a big grin on his face.

  “I’ve got car trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” he said. “You need a jump? I’ve got cables.”

  “No, it’s more complicated than that. I’ve got a tow truck coming in an hour.”

  “An hour, huh? Can I buy you a cappuccino?”

  Jill nodded.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Zack. “Don’t go away.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter 19

  The tow truck took an hour and a half, but Jill barely noticed. She and Zack were having too much fun. Riverwinds had a shelf of old parlor games and they partook of all of them, playing Parcheesi, Checkers, Hearts, and Backgammon. As they played, Della brought them sandwiches and coffee.

  “On the house,” Della said. “I heard about what happened to your car and I’m embarrassed for my neighborhood. Why would somebody do that?”

  Jill shook her head and said it was alright, that she’d get it taken care of.

  “It’s not alright,” said Della. “Times are tough but we’re all in this together. If people would just figure that out the world wouldn’t be such a nasty place.”

  When the tow truck arrived, Zack accompanied Jill to her car and helped the driver get it out of the tight parking space and onto the truck.

  “Where are you gonna take the car?” said Zack. “All the shops in the neighborhood are closed.”

  “I’ll have it towed back to Potomac,” Jill said. “I’ll leave it at the dealer. Let’s go inside. I need to…”

  Jill was about to say she needed to call a cab, but at that moment, she noticed that her phone was dead.

  “You need to what?”

  “My phone’s dead and the charger is getting towed away with my car.”

  “You need to use my phone?” Zack said, reaching into his pocket.

  “Can I? I need to call a cab.”

  “You don’t need to take a cab,” Zack said. “I’ll drive you where you need to go.” He pointed at a big red boat of a car parked on the other end of the lot.

  “That…thing? You want to drive me somewhere in that?” Jill said.

  “What?” said Zack. “It’s a classic. Come on. You’ve got to check it out. They don’t make cars like this anymore.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “Just come on. I can’t let you take a cab. We’ve had too much fun for me to put you in a taxi and say goodbye.”

  Deciding this was a fitting end to a strange afternoon, Jill followed Zack to his car and climbed inside. The car was old, as in made before Jill was born old. The seats were a mix of old leather and scratchy fabric. The radio was a long, straight line of numbers with a red plastic arrow that marked the station. The windows were hand cranked. The front seat was a giant bench. As Zack crawled inside and pulled the door closed behind him, it crashed with the weight of solid steel.

  “What kind of car is this?” said Jill.

  “A 1962 Corvair,” said Zack. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “I guess so,” said Jill.

  Zack fumbled with a giant keyring for a bit, finally settling on a small silver key that looked more suited for a house than a car. He put it in the ignition and pumped the gas pedal as the engine came to life.

  “This was the only car my grandpa ever owned,” said Zack. “He and I kept it running all these years with spare parts and a lot of elbow grease. When grandpa died, he left the car to me.”

  “That is pretty cool,” said Jill.

  The car rumbled out of the parking lot, the engine growling as Zack accelerated onto the road. Zack turned on the radio which, fittingly, was playing the oldies station.

  “Wow,” said Jill. “You really like the classics, don’t you?”

  “Oh you mean the radio,” Zack said with a laugh. “I only listen to that station when I’m in the car. These old speakers are meant to play Elvis and the Beatles.”

  “Tell me more about your band,” Jill said.

  “Well, you ever heard of Venomous Ploy or Scratch Symphony?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  Zack laughed. “Okay. What kind of music do you like?”

  Jill thought of the answer she had given to this question so many times. Jada Razor, Sabrina Limit—all the big pop stars that were appropriate for a student at Thorndike to enjoy.

  “Jazz,” she said, surprising herself with her honesty. “Sometimes I like to stream a jazz station on my computer while I work.”

  “While you work on what?”

  “I’m a bit of a geek,” said Jill. “I like working on my computer.”

  “You mean, like…design work.”

  “I mean programming. I like to program computers.”

  “For fun?”

  “For fun and for profit.”

  “Wow. You are full of surprises,” said Zack.

  Zack took the entrance ramp to the highway, squeezing into a spot in the long line of headlights.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this,” said Jill.

  “Don’t be. I’m having a great time. And I’m the one who got myself into this.”

  The radio went to commercial and they didn’t speak for a while, both of them strangely mesmerized by the fast-talking salesmen on the speakers. When the music came back, Zack turned the volume down.

  “I can see why you might want to get away from Thorndike sometimes,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Jill asked.

  “I mean coming all the way out to Columbia Heights for coffee—I understand why you want to get away. You’re different than the other students at your school, aren’t you?”

  More than you know, Jill thought, but didn’t say.

  “Someone who likes to program computers for fun—what’s going to happen to that when you graduate and join high society? Will you still get to do that?”

  “I’m sure I will,” Jill said. “I don’t tend to do what people expect me to do. My mother’s a computer programmer, you know. Just because you don’t have to work doesn’t mean you don’t want to.”

  “Man…you’re more disciplined than I am. If I was one of those DC socialites with all that money, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “I’m sure you’d find a good way to spend your time,” Jill said.

  As they neared her neighborhood, Jill found herself feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Something about her life—she didn’t want to share everything with Zack. She didn’t want him to see where she lived…to get visual evidence of how wealthy she was. She felt like once they pulled into her neighborhood, with its sprawling estates, homes that took up entire blocks, each with a fleet of luxury cars in long circular driveways…

  “Do you want to do something tonight, Zack?”

  “Do what?” Zack said.

  It was a
good question. What was she asking him? The sun had set. She needed to get out to Sutter’s Field for Brawl in the Fall.

  “I don’t know,” Jill said. “Anything.”

  It was like the words weren’t entirely hers, like there was a disconnect between her brain and her mouth.

  I need to get home; I’ve got someplace to be, were the words she needed to say.

  “I’m having a good time and I want to go out with you,” was what she actually said.

  “Go out? Like…on a date?” Zack said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, not at all, I just want to be clear about what we’re doing. You got a little weird there at the coffee shop. If you’ll recall, I wanted your phone number and--”

  “I know, I know. You’ll have to forgive me for all that. I get a bit nervous about cute guys taking an immediate interest in me.”

  “You think I’m cute?”

  “Just turn the car around already and take me someplace!”

  Zack laughed and pulled to the far left lane to make a U-Turn.

  “Very good. As of now, you and I are on a date. Where do you wanna go?”

  “Anywhere but here,” Jill said.

  “I think I can accommodate that,” said Zack.

  Chapter 20

  Before Melissa went to Sutter’s Field for Brawl in the Fall, she paid a visit to Annika Fleming. She spent nearly an hour with the girl and learned many interesting things. When she was done searching Annika’s mind, she made her forget about the encounter and sent her on her way. That visit made both Annika and Melissa half an hour late to the Brawl. By the time Melissa stepped onto the field, the festivities were well underway.

  The thirty-foot bonfire was already raging. In front of the bonfire loomed the boxing ring. Together, bonfire and boxing ring created a world of spotlight and shadow, the bonfire like some demon sun lighting up the night, the poles and ropes of the boxing ring creating long lines of crisscrossing darkness in the crowd. Dancing, stumbling, wandering students were everywhere, roaming between tailgate parties. Pickup trucks with kegs of beer, limos with girls sticking out of open sunroofs, lawn chairs and picnic tables, blankets in the grass tethered by bottles of wine and champagne…

  There were barbecue grills and meat smokers, pop-up tents, camping trailers with floodlights, giant speakers standing tall on stainless steel tripods, blasting hip-hop and other modern noise over the top of the party and into the night. It was a magnificent scene of debauchery. It made Melissa happy to see.

  Immortals were welcome at Brawl in the Fall, but Daciana had always asked them to remain hidden. Unlike the Masquerade, where the students behaved with perfect manners out of respect for their host, at the Brawl, students were in charge. If you can get away with it, you’re welcome to do it, was the instruction to students on this night of unsupervised bedlam. No teachers, parents, or other chaperones were allowed. Everyone at the party was eighteen or younger, either in real years on this earth, or in medical age of an immortal body. As the night went on, the event would take on a Lord of the Flies feel to it.

  “That’s what makes it so fun,” Daciana said to Melissa once. “We send these kids to a clearing deep in the woods, and for one night in their lives they let out the inner animal. Once that animal’s out, it’s hard to ever put it back in again. Every one of them will do things at this party that in the future will serve as a reminder to them of who they truly are and what they’re capable of. Years later, when they are all adults and they inherit the empire of their parents, they won’t question the morality of the system they perpetuate. They will know in their hearts that they are a part of it, that they are guilty. They will have sealed in their guilt by their own actions on this night.”

  The boxing tournament was the central event of the night, but it was just one of many traditions associated with the party. The bonfire was another. As the night went on and the bonfire’s fuel was expended, students would keep it alive with things other than wood. Boys who were particularly confident in their appearance (and their ability to withstand the cold) would throw in their shirts. Girls feeling extra drunk and rebellious would toss in their bras. Every class chose their least favorite textbook from school and brought their copies to the party to throw in the fire. And throughout the night, whenever anyone felt like it, bottles of booze were heaved at the flames so everyone could cheer at the explosion of glass and flaming liquor.

  Gambling was another tradition. Before each match began, members of the Boxing Club set the odds on the fights and collected bets from the crowd. The bets were a losing proposition no matter which side you chose – part of the tradition was the club kept fifty per cent off the top to add to the prize money they gave to the winner of the tournament.

  In Melissa’s day, the prize money for Brawl in the Fall was eight hundred dollars. But that was before Coronation was such a Washington institution, and before Washington was such a massive center of wealth and power. Over the years, as the wealthy elite came to understand that Coronation was the best way to buy favor with the immortals, and the world came to know that there was nothing more valuable than an immortal’s favor, the sums of money that flowed at these events exploded.

  Now, a student came to Sutter’s Field with a minimum of five thousand dollars in his pocket. Some came with a lot more. After the boxing club took their share and added it to the pot, the winner of the Brawl could expect a million-dollar payout.

  And then, a week later at the Date Auction, the winner would turn around and pledge all that money to one of the girls wearing black. Some years a million dollars was enough to win. Some years it wasn’t.

  Melissa moved in and out of the shadows, making eye contact with students from time to time and instantly making them forget they saw her. She thought about the secrets she had pulled from Annika Fleming. The girl didn’t know much, and wasn’t in direct contact with Falkon, but what she did know was stunning. Thanks to Annika, Melissa now knew the Evans family had faked their deaths. She knew they were hiding in Brazil.

  She knew Jill Wentworth was involved.

  Where was Jill? Melissa had made two laps of the field and was yet to see her. It would be highly irregular for any senior at Thorndike, much less one from a respected family like Jill’s, to miss the Brawl.

  Jill had to be here. If she wasn’t, it meant something.

  *****

  Nicky felt anxious. Perhaps it was the strange start to the evening.

  Annika had arrived forty minutes late. Jill was yet to arrive at all. And Jill wasn’t answering her phone. Nicky had left three texts and two voicemails with no response.

  Nicky wanted to call Gia to discuss but didn’t have the chance. The moment she arrived at Sutter’s Field, Nicky was surrounded by people who wanted to party with her. At present, she was working her way through the crowd with Annika on her arm.

  “You’re turning heads everywhere we go,” Annika said. “That outfit is perfect.”

  “It’s also freezing,” said Nicky. “We should have come up with a jacket to go with it.”

  “Nonsense,” said Annika. “You never look good without a little bit of pain. A few more drinks in your belly and you’ll feel nice and warm.”

  As if on cue, Henry Medici jumped down from the tailgate of his truck and handed Nicky a plastic cup, shouting, “Go get ‘em New Girl!”

  Henry’s gift of beer was another Brawl in the Fall tradition. The girls wearing black were expected to show off how cool and fun they were…by drinking themselves into oblivion. Everywhere she went tonight, Nicky could expect someone to hand her a drink and watch her chug it. And when she was thoroughly sloshed, someone would ask her to give a toast.

  Nicky threw her head back and opened her throat to down the beer in a single chug. The students all around her cheered. Nicky winked at Henry Medici, then she and Annika moved on.

  They were ambling through some cliques from the junior class when Nicky spotted Marshall, or rather, spotted his mane of dark
hair sparkling in the firelight. He climbed the stairs to enter a silver camper on the south end of the clearing.

  “Whose camper is that?” Nicky asked.

  “Winthrop Drummond brought that,” said Annika. “Trashy, isn’t it?”

  “I want to go inside,” said Nicky.

  “Are you sure? Winthrop Drummond isn’t exactly your crowd.”

  “Just for a few minutes,” Nicky said.

  “You’re the boss,” said Annika.

  The camper, which had loomed so large in the clearing, felt tiny and cramped on the inside, and with a dozen people now rubbing elbows in the long, single room, Nicky felt like she was moving about inside a giant sardine can. Wooden cabinets ran the length of the ceiling on both sides, pushing all the tall people to the center. A galley kitchen had been transformed into a chaotic and messy wet bar in the back corner.

  Taking stock of the crowd inside, Nicky saw a bunch of people who meant nothing to her, and one who meant a lot.

  Marshall was leaning against a back wall, talking to Tony Huang. Nicky gave him a quick look that said, ‘I came here looking for you.’

  Winthrop Drummond came rushing from the back to greet them.

  “A girl wearing black,” he said. “What an honor. For you, a martini made with my best vodka.”

  Winthrop, and most everyone in this camper, had gone to Kim’s party at the Masquerade, and with the exception of Marshall, this party was a collection of nobodies from families worth ten million or less.

  Winthrop handed Nicky a drink in a kitschy martini glass with blue marbles in the stem.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette lighter. “We can’t have a girl wearing black come to my camper without giving a toast.” As he spoke, Winthrop popped open the lighter and dipped the flame into Nicky’s glass, turning her martini into a handheld torch with a glowing blue flame.

  “A flaming toast?” Nicky said.