Nancy Lake and the Case of the First Date

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Oh.”

  “I know. Totally boring. Unlike working in a comic shop.” Or battling psychics and robbing banks. I really miss that last one. I was so good at it. Change of subject time before the questions begin. “So, where’s this party anyway? How far away?”

  “Um … few more minutes, I guess.”

  “How close are you with this Finn guy? Why’d he invite you?”

  “I-I tutored him in Algebra last year. He’s a pretty cool guy, you know, considering. I-I really don’t think this is a trick.” He pauses. “Do-do you?”

  “Hope not.”

  More icky silence follows. I think I just brought the mood down. Crap! I didn’t mean to. I’ve just spent years having my face shoved into the worst of man- and monster-kind. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is. And I have seen, like, way too many John Hughes movies to trust anyone with a popped collar or letterman jacket. At least neither of them was named Blaine.

  I try to lighten the mood by talking about the DC Comics reboot and if Henry Cavill makes an awesome Superman or not. We drive to, like, literally the middle of nowhere. Logan makes a few wrong turns since we can’t really see the signs, but we do find the house at the end of a dirt road eventually.

  Finn’s father must be the richest man in Oklahoma because we end up at a house that rivals the mansion. It’s newer, like two McMansions glued together with cobblestone exterior and lights lining the driveway, illuminating the house and the manicured bushes and trees. Someone has good taste. Still, we must have the wrong place because there are only a few cars in front, no music, and no people outside making out or puking in the bushes. Maybe we are gonna get Carrie’d.

  “I think we’re early,” I say.

  Logan glances over, worry breaking through his smile. “We’re not. We’re late. Finn texted nine thirty sharp. He-he did say it was an intimate get together.”

  It’s still weird. I don’t like this, not at all. There’s something—

  The front door opens. Framed in the light, I can see a grinning Finn. With a sigh, Logan turns off the car before I can suggest we get the Hell-o Kitty out of here. Finn saunters off the porch to greet us. I follow Logan out of the car and meet the dude halfway.

  “I was getting worried,” Finn says. “I texted you.”

  “I was driving. Sorry we-we’re late,” Logan mutters.

  I stare at Blaine 2.0. Study him really. Nothing out of the ordinary about him, except no guy should have fuller and shinier hair than me. Totally unfair.

  He notices me and flashes a brilliant smile. “That’s okay,” Finn says. “You’re both here now. Everyone’s already inside. Come on.”

  Logan smiles nervously at Finn, then glances at me for confirmation. I give a tiny shrug and take the first step. Finn starts back toward the house, glancing back at us. “I never got your name, did I? I’m so rude. I’m Finn Morrissey.”

  “Nancy Lake. Nice place.”

  “Thanks. You don’t go to Roosevelt do you?”

  “No, I’m homeschooled.”

  “Cool.” He opens the front door for me. “Ladies first.”

  I step inside the dim foyer. The good taste extends inside. Going from living in a ranch-style house in Ohio then moving to a mansion, you learn the difference between high end and crap. The owner of this house has shiny marble end tables that match the ivory marble floor and sweeping staircase. There are fresh flowers on every surface with every vibrant color of the rainbow represented. When I imagined a party, this isn’t what I envisioned. Besides the luxury venue, there are, like, no people. Shouldn’t people be milling around with red solo cups, making out on those steps as house music blasts? The closest thing I can detect is the Celtic music faintly playing in another room. I wanted the teenage version of Sodom and Gomorrah not, like, the London Symphony. Something about this is so not kosher.

  Finn ushers us to the sitting room, which I only recognize as such from Miss Mousey Crappy Hair’s insistence we watch boring Downton Abbey. (I swear, Thomas is the only interesting guy in that whole show.) At least there are actual people in here, though just enough for, like, a dinner party or something. Caitlyn and Bryce sit on the couch with a guy and girl my age huddled in the corner dressed to party talking to each other, eyes shifting at the others. My danger antenna spikes up and spins like a bleeping satellite tapping Morse code. Pretty sure it’s saying, Get out now.

  “Everyone, Elephant and Nancy have arrived,” Finn says. “You know Caitlyn and Bryce, and Elephant I think you know Chris and Tiffany from school.”

  “Hey,” the boy with the greasy brown hair and face says.

  “Hey,” Tiffany, the overweight girl with glasses says.

  Oh snap, I think I’ve heard of these parties. Dog fights or dinner with schmucks. Assholes invite the grossest people they can find and whoever’s guest sucks the most wins. I’m around evil all the time, it’s kind of, like, my job, but this totally ranks up there on the evil scale. I glance at Logan who just smiles at the others. I don’t think they have a clue.

  “Drinks, anyone?” Finn asks from the huge bar. “We’re having absinthe. Ever had it?”

  “Um, yeah, no,” I say.

  “You have to try it,” Finn insists.

  Before I can answer, I hear a female laugh in the next room. Not like a girl, more of a woman, followed by the low murmur of a man’s voice, but I can’t make out the words.

  “My parents,” Finn says as if reading my mind. “They’ll leave us alone.”

  “So, we’re, like, it?” I ask. “Are we going to play board games or something?”

  Our three hosts exchange glances. “Actually, “Finn says, “we thought we’d try another type of game.”

  “Ever been to a séance?” Caitlyn asks with a smirk.

  Oh, hell. The others perk up at that last word. At least I’m not going home with “ugliest face” award or whatever. No, I get to play Medium. These things have two ways of going. Nothing happens, which is the most likely, or these morons open a portal, let some evil being slip in to raise hell, and then the F.R.E.A.K.S. will have to come in to save them, and I’ll get a lecture. Will so loves his lectures.

  Now I can’t leave. Crap. I can tell by their goofy smiles the others are excited. People sure do love the occult. I probably would too if I didn’t live with it, like, every day. I know from personal experience vampires aren’t sparkly (and are way hotter than R-Pats), werewolves are totally emo, and most ghosts do nothing but complain and demand things like “contact this person” and “find my will.” Lame.

  “You really know how to contact the dead?” I ask.

  “I found this great book,” Caitlyn says.

  Finn strolls over with two glasses filled with green liquid. Never had absinthe. I take a sip. Ugh, nasty. Logan tries it too with the same reaction.

  “I know the taste’s weird but we need it to open consciousness or something according to the book,” Bryce says from the couch. “Just one will do.”

  I need a clear head. I learned from a master how to pretend to drink. Maybe Oliver gave Logan lessons too because I see him playacting as well. The other two guests have almost finished theirs.

  “So, should we get started or …” I shrug.

  “No, we have to wait until exactly ten forty-seven, when the moon and stars are in perfect alignment or something,” Caitlyn instructs.

  Finn sits beside his friends on the couch, wrapping his arm over Caitlyn’s shoulders. “You two should relax.” He pulls out a joint from his pocket. “This could help.”

  Like me, Logan visibly tenses and we exchange a look. I live with a house full of federal agents, one of whom has super-smell. Will specifically told me if he ever smelled pot or cigarettes on my breath, he’d burn my comic collection. And ever since Miss Mousey Crappy Hair got her hooks into Oliver, Will’s about a hair’s breadth fro
m going nuclear at all times. Now is so not the time to test that threat.

  “No thanks,” I say.

  “Yeah, I-I-I’m driving,” Logan says.

  “Party poopers,” Bryce says.

  “Come on, don’t be an afterschool special, Bryce,” Finn chuckles. He lights the joint. “No pressure here.” He inhales then passes it to Caitlyn. “But seriously, you two look ready to run away. Sit down.”

  Tiffany’s eyes begin to droop a little. Guess someone can’t hold her hallucinogenic alcohol. “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  Caitlyn rises. “Someone needs the powder room.” The blonde hustles over to Tiffany, whose eyes shut even farther. “Come on, Tiff. Let’s freshen up. Excuse us.”

  Caitlyn escorts the wobbly girl out of the room. I’m now alone in a room with like four dudes, and instead of feeling darn lucky, I just want to go. There is something in the air I don’t like, and I’m not talking about the drugs. These people are just too … friendly.

  “Why us?” I ask.

  “What?” Finn asks.

  “Why’d you ask us? Why not your, like, real friends?”

  “Because they weren’t interested,” Finn says without missing a beat. “Knew you all were into the freaky, paranormal stuff. Was I wrong?”

  Seems plausible. Still, I’ve technically been a federal agent for three years now and worked on dozens of cases. There’s something about Finn’s pleasant smile and Bryce’s tinge of like annoyance and boredom that bothers me. They should be having fun, not going through the motions. Finn takes another toke then holds it out to Chris, who smiles nervously before walking over to get the joint. He stumbles on his last step. How much did he drink before we got here? Doesn’t stop him from smoking the whacky tobaccy too. I’m kind of glad some of them are, like, totally whacked out of their gourds. Less likely we’ll be facing an Exorcist scenario during and after the séance. It does happen, you know.

  Chris plops himself down next to Finn, eyes fluttering as he inhales again.

  “You should, uh, go easy there, Chris,” my date pipes up.

  “He’s just having fun, man,” Bryce says. “You should try it.”

  Okay, screw this. You know what? These morons are so on their own. I hope the séance works and a demon soul rapes them and they end up spewing pea soup all over this ritzy furniture. We’re so leaving.

  But first I really have to pee. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Down the hall, second door on the left,” Finn answers.

  “I, uh, need to go too,” Logan says.

  “So that’s what you’re into,” Bryce chuckles. “I knew you were a freak, but I had you pegged as a furry not a golden showers man.”

  I have the strongest urge to throw my glass at his head, but before I get the chance, Finn says, “Just shut up, Bryce. Stop being such a dick.”

  “Come on, Logan,” I say, tugging on his sleeve. His head remains tilted like a sad puppy, much like Chris’s, though for different reasons, as I lead him out of the room. We set our full glasses down on an end table in the hall. “Let’s go.”

  “Yeah. I-I’m sorry I brought you here.”

  “No, I wanted to come. Maybe we can still catch a movie or something. I really do have to pee, though. You should go in and tell them I want to go. Blame me, say … I have cramps or something, I don’t know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me just …” I point down the hall to the bathroom. Logan nods before returning to the sitting room to make our excuses. I really hope they don’t make his life even hellier at school because we’re ditching the party. I…

  Huh. I stop halfway to the bathroom to admire the wooden statue of a satyr with long curved horns underneath a vibrant oil painting of um … eww. An orgy. A group of naked men and women are screwing in the forest, and not only with each other. Satyrs, horses … one guy even seems to be humping a tree. The really disturbing part is they’re, like, oblivious to the blood covering their naked bodies from the woman on the altar with her guts spilling out. Double eww. I keep walking.

  I’m surprised to find the bathroom door open. No girls in sight. Must be upstairs. After peeing and washing my hands, I smooth my hair and re-apply my lipstick. So much for my first party. Assholes, disgusting drinks, trying to talk to the dead. Whatever happened to raves? I guess the movies are more my speed anyway. I must have the tamest wild side of any teenager in the history of like ever. Good thing Logan—

  The sound of shattering glass and a thump somewhere in the house startles me. I listen for a minute, but there’s no repeat. Whatever. When I step into the hall, I hear a woman’s laughter then a man’s behind the closed sliding door across from me. Finn’s parents must have friends over.

  “What about the other girl?” a man in that room asks.

  “In the bathroom,” I think Finn says.

  “She going to be a problem like this one was?” another man asks.

  “Yeah, she didn’t touch the drink,” Finn answers.

  “Then go get—”

  Oh crap-a-doodle-doo. I don’t wait for the last word. I rush down the hall to the sitting room. Gone. The room’s empty. No Logan. Now I feel the panic. Like, total, hobbling panic I haven’t felt since that night in Colorado with the zombies closing in and Irie blowing her stack, literally almost killing us as we huddled in a crypt held together only by Bea’s sheer force of will. For the first time in months I actually wish she was here. Or at least her machete Bette.

  I need to find Logan. I need to find the others too, though that’s more of like a supplemental mission. I mean, anyone who watches TV knows never to drink something at a party you haven’t made yourself. If I don’t find them it may be Darwinism at work. Plus I don’t want to kiss any of the others, just Logan. Is that wrong? I … okay, stop. When things get bad I always do this, go off on like tangents to avoid the problem. But what the hell is the problem? I don’t—

  Behind me, I hear the door slide open in the hall and I spin that way. Finn steps out, that fake smile forming on his cute face. “Oh. Hi. I was just coming—”

  “Where are the others?” I snap.

  “In here with us. My parents set up some food. Are you okay?” he asks almost sounding convincing with his concern.

  “Send Logan out. I want to go.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, walking toward me.

  I slowly get into the defensive pose Will taught me for frontal assault, moving my right leg back and putting my weight there. I may not be strong, but I am wily. And I can always port away. He—

  Ouch!

  A fierce, violent pain slithers through the back of my head followed by darkness descending like a curtain until it’s all there is.

  Oh … frak.

  –––––

  Concussions suck balls. How does Bea do this all the time?

  My eyes weigh, like, a trillion pounds so opening them is really hard. I wake in a musky, grody, dark room filled with wine bottles and three other teens, one of whom I’m laying on. Not Tiffany or Chris, who remain in la-la land on the floor. Tiffany’s white face twitches as she attempts to fight her way out of the darkness.

  “Nancy?” Logan asks.

  The legs my head’s on shift. I manage to sit up, though I feel like little slivers of glass are burrowing deeper into my brain. Logan helps me upright to lean against the wooden rack behind us. His head has a bump the size of like an egg, which has cracked and leaks blood.

  “Are you okay?” he asks me.

  “Are you? You’re bleeding.”

  “So are you.”

  I touch the back of my head. Sticky blood mats the hair that I spent like an hour fixing. “Dicks! How long have we been down here?”

  “An hour according to my watch.”

  “What the frak is going on?”

  “I-I-I d
on’t know. I went back to tell them we were leaving, they looked at each other, then the next thing I know Finn punches me in the stomach and Bryce hits me with a statue. I woke up down here ten minutes ago.”

  “Well, whatever they want us for, it ain’t good. We have to get out of here.”

  “How? The door’s locked. Strong too. Think it’s made of oak. I checked, they took our cell phones. There are no windows. I don’t know what else we can do.”

  I do. I just don’t want to. Besides the fact that I don’t know how many bad guys are out there or their weapons situation, I’m gonna have to use my gift in front of the boy I like. I wanted to put off him knowing I’m a real freak at least until … well, until never. It’s not like we were going to see a whole lot of each other after this week anyway.

  And hell, porting may not even work. Bea’s gift doesn’t when she gets a concussion; Irie’s didn’t either. I need to be able to focus. I don’t want to port and, like, end up in the wall. It’d kill me. Of course so will the people who kidnapped and assaulted me probably. But I need to get these people out of here. Even if they later chase me with pitchforks and torches, I’m an officer of the law. Sort of. Not officially or anything. God, I so don’t want to leave this room. Maybe we can just drink a shit ton of wine so we won’t care when these people, like, rape and mutilate us.

  This is why I never come up with the battle plans. The world would be like overrun with monsters if I did.

  “I know how to get out of here,” I say before I lose my nerve.

  “You do?”

  “I was … um … I kind of lied to you. Like a lot. Um, I’m actually not in town with my family to sell tractor parts. They’re not even really my family, I just sort of, like, live and work with them. We’re … we fight monsters. Like zombies, werewolves, vampires—more you’ve never heard of. I’m with them because I used to rob banks and because I can teleport. Like Nightcrawler. Don’t hate me.”

  Logan stares at me, mouth agape. “They really hit you hard, huh? Oh God, we need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I’m not …” I groan in frustration. “I’ll show you.” Using the wooden slats of the rack, I manage to stand. Shitballs. A wave of nausea rides in like a fraking tsunami. Before I can stop myself I’m heaving beside Logan. He leaps up and holds my hair as I vomit again, this time all over the expensive wine bottles. Serves the bastards right. “Oh, God.”