by Dima Zales
Okay, I had been wearing a flannel shirt, along with my favorite faded Levi’s and a pair of well-worn boots, whereas she’d had on a denim mini-skirt, tight top, and wedges. I must have looked like a total hick to her. Cottonwood High was a small pond, but even it had its hierarchy. Yet somehow Sydney had seen something in me that she found interesting. True, I knew she was safe to be friends with — the charm that made sure only congenial souls resided in Jerome also ensured that members of the clan only made friends with those we could trust. Still, she’d stuck by me through everything, and I knew she’d defended me to some of her other friends from the more popular crowd.
“I do trust you,” I said finally. “I guess I just didn’t want to drag you into this.”
“Into what?”
“We don’t know for sure. But it’s not good.” Quickly, I told her about the dark presence in my aunt’s shop, the nightmare, the need for increased vigilance. “None of us really know what’s going on,” I finished. “But we have to be really careful, so that means I can’t even go into Cottonwood without some kind of escort. I’d love to go with you guys to Crown King. But I just can’t.”
Through all this, Sydney’s expression had grown steadily more troubled. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I had no idea. But can’t you guys, I don’t know, call in reinforcements or something?”
It would take way too much time to explain to her the alliances and hierarchies of the clans, how we were more or less friendly with the de la Pazes, or the Cortez family farther out to the west, true, but that didn’t mean we wanted to reveal any weakness to them. Admitting we were up against something we couldn’t handle was not something any of us wanted to do. Not yet, anyway. Not until all other resources had been exhausted.
I shook my head. “It’s usually every clan for themselves. It’s our problem, so we have to take care of it on our own. And it’s gotten better — I mean, since we stepped up the protection here, I haven’t had any more bad dreams or seen or felt any other dark presences. Maybe what we’re doing is enough. Even so, we don’t want to take any chances.”
“I can see why,” Sydney replied, and shivered. Then she added, in a too-hearty tone, “Well, it’s a good thing that the dance is right here in Jerome. They can’t keep you from going to that, can they?”
That worry had been hanging out in the back of my mind, but since no one had said anything to the contrary, I guessed that the dance was still considered safe enough. “No. I’m not saying we won’t have the Hogwarts contingent hanging out and keeping an eye on things, but if I can’t be safe at Spook Hall, a block away from where I live, then I can’t really be safe anywhere, can I?”
“I guess not.” She reached out and touched a strand of the beaded fringe of her Halloween dress, running it between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know how you do it, though.”
“Do what?”
“Keep on acting normal, as if you don’t have this horrible thing hanging over your head. I’d never want to leave my room.”
I shrugged. “Because I don’t have any other choice.”
Despite everything, the next two weeks practically flew by. There were no more incursions — no dark shapes skulking around town, no nightmares to wake me, gasping, from sleep. I also didn’t dream of him at all, but I was willing to accept that loss for the time being. Maybe his absence from my dreams meant he was finally going to make a real-world appearance.
The days grew colder, the leaves on the trees changing in earnest now, bright yellow for the cottonwoods in the river bottoms, flame orange and red for the oak and sumac around town. I’d always loved the fall, loved to watch the blaze of color around me and in the valley below. Now, though, despite no further incidents, I found myself watching the shadows more closely, looking over my shoulder more often. My aunt probably would have applauded my caution, but I hated it. I didn’t want to live that way.
And somehow — driven by desperation, probably — she managed to dig up two new candidates to make their attempts at the ritual kiss. No go for either one, of course. The second one came by two days before the Halloween dance, and I found myself even more irritated than usual by my failure.
“Can you wait until after the dance for the next one?” I’d demanded irritably, almost as soon as he left. I did allow myself a moment of guilt; the poor guy had driven here all the way from California. Not that I had much control over the situation, so my guilt was probably misplaced…and that made me crabbier than ever. “I’ve got enough on my mind as it is.”
“We can’t afford to wait, and you know it,” Aunt Rachel had said in imperturbable tones, as she continued to fold T-shirts and tidy up the display a rowdy group of college kids had wrecked.
Maybe they’d just picked up on my vibe…the whole time that group of laughing guys and girls were in the store, I’d watched them in some envy, wishing I could be that angst-free and oblivious. Hell, I wished I could just go to college like a normal person. But one of them had been wearing a Northern Pines University sweatshirt, which meant they had to have come down from Flagstaff…and which meant they were students at the last college I could ever possibly attend.
“I know we can’t afford to wait,” I told my aunt. Then, wanting to change the subject, “So are you and Tobias coming to the dance after all?”
“I think so,” she’d replied. “It’s probably best if there are as many of us there as possible…in case.”
In case dark vaporous figures started oozing out of the walls or something, I supposed. But, depressing as the situation was, better that than the alternative. All I could do was hope we wouldn’t have such a huge McAllister contingent there that they’d max out the occupancy of the place, thus defeating any chance of dancing with someone I hadn’t known since I was in diapers. Bad enough that Adam had already announced his intentions of accompanying Sydney and me to the dance. Anthony was working at the wine tasting room until eight that night and had promised to come up to Jerome as soon as he could, but he still wouldn’t be able to get to the dance much before nine.
Sydney didn’t have a problem with Adam because she’d always thought he was kind of cute, and I hadn’t quashed him because he had helped me a lot the day I saw the apparition — and afterward, too, mostly by backing off on his declarations of undying love for me. At that point I had to take what I could get.
Great-Aunt Ruby had called me into her presence several times, wanting a progress report. Not that there was much to tell her, since nothing had really happened. But she wanted to know the details of the warding spells we kept refreshing at twelve-hour intervals, wanted me to tell her if I’d noticed anything unusual about any of the tourists who’d visited the shop. Of course I hadn’t, because they were the usual mix of people from within the state coming up for weekend getaways and those who’d come from much farther away, visiting Jerome because it was almost as much a place to see in Arizona as Sedona or even the Grand Canyon.
Not that I would know what the Grand Canyon looked like in person. That was Wilcox territory.
And all the while my great-aunt was watching me, I was studying her in return, looking for any signs that might indicate she was feeling weaker, or failing somehow. I couldn’t see any; she looked as bright-eyed and sharp-minded as she ever had, and I told myself that maybe she’d simply wanted me to start preparing for the day when she would be gone, even if that might be somewhere far off in the future.
Wishful thinking, probably. But right then, wishes were about all I had.
7
A rare rainstorm threatened the day of the dance, but the weather-workers of the coven — including Adam — quietly got together and nudged those moisture-laden clouds a little farther to the west, so they might hold off for another twelve hours. Messing with the weather wasn’t something we did lightly, but sometimes a little meddling was in order. A critical observer might have noticed that it never rained or snowed during any of Jerome’s most important events: the Halloween dance, the holiday lighti
ng ceremony…the Mardi Gras dance in February.
Even so, it was a gray sort of day, not the kind to inspire much enthusiasm. It helped a little that Sydney came up early, saying she wanted to give me a manicure, because I needed red nail polish to match the lipstick, and between that and watching her spend a good hour curling her hair while my nails dried, we managed to use up a large chunk of the afternoon. And after that Aunt Rachel fed us smoked chicken enchiladas and her famous Spanish rice, saying she knew we’d be drinking and so had better lay down a good base first. I noticed Sydney didn’t make much protest, despite the tight-fitting dress she’d be wearing later; no one in their right mind turned down my aunt’s enchiladas.
Then it was time to change, and the two of us headed up to my room to put on our dresses and makeup. That is, Sydney insisted on doing my makeup, too, since she was the expert. I didn’t bother to protest, since deep down I had to acknowledge that I wanted to know what I’d look like with real makeup on and not some hastily applied lip gloss.
“I’d love to smoke up your eyes,” she said as she worked away on my face, dabbing foundation on with a sponge, “but you’re doing a red lip, and that would be too much. We don’t want you looking like a streetwalker.”
“Well, it would fit the neighborhood,” I joked. Hull Avenue, where Spook Hall was located, had been the center of the red light district back when Jerome was a bustling mining town.
“But it wouldn’t fit you,” she said severely, then set down the sponge and picked up a brush, lightly applying blush in upward motions along my cheekbones.
“Probably not.”
For the next few minutes she worked in silence, expertly tracing liner along my upper lids, brushing on mascara, using a pencil to define my brows before at last applying the red lipstick. Finally she said, “Okay, I think I’m done. It’s pretty amazing…but don’t peek until you have the dress on.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I just shook my head, feeling the unfamiliar weight of my hair gathered into a low chignon. But I did as she requested, keeping my eyes cast downward at the Persian rug on the floor as I went behind the mirror and took off my shirt and jeans, then pulled on the unfamiliar and not very comfortable hose I had to wear under the gown.
“Goddess, people actually wear these horrible things every day?” I muttered as I wriggled into the pantyhose.
“Oh, stop grousing. I can only imagine what you’d say if you had to wear something historical with a corset.”
“I would’ve put my foot down about that,” I retorted.
“Quit bitching and get that dress on already. It’s almost eight.”
I didn’t bother to point out that she’d just spent almost a half hour doing my makeup. Instead, I stepped into my gown and drew it up, then gave the zipper a quick mental yank. Then I sort of pushed and pulled until everything more or less felt as if it were in the right place. I’d left my borrowed shoes back here so I could step into them easily once I was dressed, and I did that now, then came out from behind the mirror.
“About time,” Sydney began, and then she stopped, staring at me. “Wow.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. Look at yourself.”
Almost fearfully, I turned and regarded myself in the mirror. Well, that is, I knew it was me, but it definitely didn’t look like me. My usually unruly hair was sleek and shining, my mouth full under its coating of red lipstick. Long gold earrings danced against my neck, and the dress, with its built-in padding, was doing some spectacular things to my cleavage.
“It’s…nice,” I said finally.
“Nice? Give me a break. Adam’s going to take one look at you in that and have a heart attack.”
“Well, that’s really not what I was going for.” To put it mildly. Adam’s infatuation was already enough of a problem…what was he going to do after he saw me looking like this?
Sydney grinned. “No worries. I’ll run interference if I have to.” She came over and stood about a foot behind me, regarding herself critically in the mirror. “No one’s even going to notice me with you looking like that.”
“I highly doubt that.” Maybe at first glance my outfit was more eye-catching, but she looked like the perfect golden girl, with her hair curling over her shoulders and the gleaming fringe of her dress shimmering with every move she made. Also, that dress was short. Her legs looked about ten miles long in it. “Anyway,” I added, “why do you want people noticing you? I thought you were with Anthony.”
“I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want guys looking at me.”
“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
She grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “Yeah, probably not. But can we both agree that putting masks on top of all this is really a waste?”
My gaze flickered to the mirror. Sydney was a golden goddess, and I looked far more sultry and exotic than I’d ever thought I could. Wearing a mask did seem kind of silly. “You’re right. No masks.”
“Thank God.” A quick once-over of her ensemble in the mirror, and she asked, “So are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I went over to the bed and picked up the black fringed shawl I was using as a wrap — another loan from my aunt.
We clattered down the stairs and heard voices coming from the living room, where apparently Adam had been waiting for us. He’d been chatting with my aunt, the cowboy hat he was wearing as part of his costume tipped back on his head, but when I entered, Sydney a few paces behind, he apparently lost all power of speech. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. Great. Just what I’d been fervently hoping wouldn’t happen.
My aunt, bless her, scoped out the situation immediately and rose from the couch, exclaiming, “You girls both look wonderful! Sydney, it was so good of your friend to loan out her dresses!”
“Oh, well, she wasn’t going to wear them again, so she figured they might as well get some use,” Sydney replied, her voice full of suppressed laughter. I could tell she was having a hard time not bursting into giggles at Adam’s reaction to my appearance.
“You look great, too, Aunt Rachel,” I said. And she did — she’d sort of piled together some of the choicest boho pieces from her wardrobe, making an awesome gypsy fortune-teller costume. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and it looked as if she were possibly wearing every necklace she owned.
“Oh, well….” She waved a hand. “Tobias is running a little late, so you three should just go on ahead.”
“What, no armed escort?”
That remark earned me a sour look. “There are several…guardians…at the hall already, and you’ll have Adam with you.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” asked Sydney.
“In this case, unfortunately, yes.” My aunt softened her words with an accompanying smile. “But there is always strength in numbers, I suppose. Anyway, there are also a good many people on the street as well, so I think it should be safe enough.”
“Then let’s get going,” I said. “I want to get a decent table to sit at.”
That comment seemed to snap Adam out of his stupor. “Right. It’s better to get there early, or you end up having to stand all night.”
I had a feeling that really wouldn’t be an issue, that because of the bodyguards and my status as prima-in-waiting I’d somehow magically I’d get a table no matter how crowded it might be already, but there really wasn’t any reason to delay any longer. “Okay — we’ll hold some seats for you and Tobias.”
“No need for that. We’ll manage. You go and have a good time.”
That seemed to be our cue to leave, so the three of us left Aunt Rachel in the living room and trooped to the back door. The sun had been down for a few hours by then, and the night air that greeted us was already chilly. Sydney had decided against a shawl or coat and now looked as if she regretted it. Good thing we didn’t have far to walk.
Because she was there, Adam kept silent, although I notice
d how his gaze kept darting over at me. I pulled the shawl closer and pretended not to notice.
There was a line to get into the hall, but it looked as if we were early enough that we’d still be able to snag a table without having to resort to any magical intervention. We paid our ten dollars to get in — for a second I was worried that Adam would try to pay for my ticket, but one quelling look from me seemed to let him know I wasn’t going along with that idea — and found a spot toward the back of the room but on the side closer to the bar.
“You two want some drinks?” Adam asked, hovering at the table without sitting down.
“Bacardi and Diet Coke,” Sydney said promptly. One of her mottoes was definitely “never turn down a free drink.”
Since arguing with him about buying me a drink seemed petty, I made myself smile and say, “Whatever red wine they have would be great.”
“Got it.” He smiled back at me, and I hoped he wasn’t going to take my accepting his offer of a drink as a sign of encouragement. But then he headed off toward the bar, black frock coat flapping behind him. It was a nice-looking getup, I had to admit, although his boyish looks made it seem a little more Young Guns than Tombstone.
“Lose that shawl,” Sydney commanded. “You’re inside now, so stop covering up.”
I’d forgotten I was still clutching the shawl around me. I did feel safer with it resting on my shoulders and hiding my chest, but I had a feeling Sydney would forcibly pull it off if I didn’t ditch it. So I unwrapped it and draped it over the back of the chair, then made myself look around me instead of down at the alarming amount of cleavage I was currently displaying.
“Satisfied?” I asked.
“Much better.” She shifted in her seat and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. I supposed if she were going for an authentic flapper look she would’ve pinned it up somehow to make it simulate a bob, but she was far more interested in looking sexy than being authentic.