Party Ghoul

by Sarina Dorie

  Most people. She didn’t feel that much fonder of Mrs. Angelopoulos, who’d had the audacity to die during her class. Vega could only imagine how peeved the principal would be.

  “She could have died of a stroke,” Vega said, wishing she could believe it. Again, she saw a face from the past, Vincent’s face, his eyes red like blood.

  “I think extreme speed can make people’s eyes look like that too.” Orsolya kept staring at the woman’s face, her own mournful. “And the way I saw her speeding through here, that could have caused her eyes to do that.”

  “But the speed wouldn’t have killed her.” Vega circled the corpse and then the bathtub. She used a spell to check to see if someone had hexed the tub rather than Mrs. Angelopoulos.

  Nothing was there that indicated magic other than a levitation spell and transportation magic. She assumed both were remnants of Mrs. Angelopoulos’s spells.

  A gnome poked his head out of a hole nearby and watched them. He sniffed at the air.

  Orsolya waved a shovel menacingly at the gnome, who ducked out of view. “Falling out of a bathtub going a hundred miles per hour could kill someone.”

  Vega shook her head. “She wasn’t going that fast by this point.” The tracks etched into the grass from the bathtub indicated she had slowed before being hurled out. “Look at the grass around her. There’s no blood. She doesn’t even have any scratches or swellings.” Vega saw no bruises.

  Mrs. Angelopoulos hadn’t died from the impact. Vega wished she had.

  “So she died of a stroke. Natural causes aren’t a big mystery.” Orsolya patted down the nearest mound of dirt with her shovel. “Just call the Department of Magical Violations. Let them know what happened. They’ll contact the next of kin and handle things.”

  “But what if this witch didn’t die of natural causes?” Vega avoided the accusing glare of the deceased’s bloodshot eyes. “She had an enemy in the class who happened to be on the school grounds at her time of death.” Vega would have liked to be able to prove it was someone else’s fault rather than her own, but she didn’t know how. She had to be able to ensure no one from the Witchkin Council would conclude she’d been the culprit.

  Vega waved a hand at the student’s eyes. “What else could cause her to look like this? What could look like a magically induced stroke? Or look like a portal accident?” She bit her lip, wondering if she’d revealed too much.

  What she actually needed was a spell to prove who had caused the death.

  Orsolya snorted. “How would you know what a portal accident looks like?”

  “Research,” Vega said quickly. “Reading books.” That part was true. She had tortured herself looking at photos of what someone looked like after passing into the wrong kind of portal and dying. There were spells to detect whether portal magic had been used, but she had never studied those methods.

  She had never thought she would need to. She wasn’t an advocate of portals as a method of travel. Yet she would probably have to someday if she was going to pass her Merlin-class Celestor exams.

  “Just books?” Orsolya squinted at Vega. “Have you seen someone die this way before?”

  “No.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

  Vega hadn’t been there to see someone die from a portal. She had used her Celestor powers of divination to see the past. She’d seen how a friend had looked after he’d died. His eyes had been red as blood.

  With a sinking feeling, Vega accepted her own dismal fate. She was guilty of manslaughter. The Witchkin Council wouldn’t overlook this offense—namely because she had no one else to blame for the dead.

  Vega feared she had dug her own grave this time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Past: Vincent’s Starry Night

  During Vega’s junior year in high school, after her friend Ruth died and she’d made a spectacle of herself at the funeral, she was sentenced to a lifetime of detentions—or at least for a month and a half until winter vacation. She had lunch detentions, after-school detentions, after-dinner detentions, and weekend detentions. She was grounded from attending pegasus polo games, air pelota practice and intramurals, school dances, and from leaving campus.

  None of those activities particularly tempted her in her depression. The only two places she wanted to go were the library and the graveyard. She was banned from both.

  Even though Vega had to take tonics that would supposedly cure her proclivities and had counseling appointments twice weekly to ensure she didn’t have cravings to hurt people, Vega’s life was as miserable as it had been before.

  Her true punishment was losing Ruth.

  During the first week of her punishment, on Thursday afternoon, she was confined to the detention hall. The dean was supposed to be supervising her and the only other female student in the room, but he was called away. Vega focused on her astrology homework. She didn’t look up when the door creaked open.

  Only when she heard the squeak of sneakers on the tile floor approaching did her gaze leave her textbook. Her eyes went wide as she realized it was Vincent.

  He had become a good friend since Vega’s boyfriend Kenji had died during the summer. In truth, she suspected he was more than a friend, but she didn’t want to think too much about that.

  Vincent was wearing his school uniform, but it didn’t manage to hide his athletic physique. His blond hair was wind tossed and rakishly unkempt, his bangs in his green-bronze eyes. He had the kind of heart-stopping smile that girls swooned over at pegasus polo games. Whether it was his good looks or siren magic, even Vega wasn’t completely immune to his charm.

  She looked at the empty desk of the detention monitor, the closed door, the other student napping across her desk. Her heart lurched at the thought of him interrupting her solitude of imprisonment. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him there or not.

  “What are you doing here?” Vega slid out of the chair attached to the desk.

  His eyes were pink and puffy. She wondered if he had been crying. Ruth had been her roommate, like a little sister to her, but he had been Ruth’s friend too.

  “Dude, I came to see how you’re doing.” He wrapped his arms around her in a hug. His arms were warm and safe.

  He was as tall as she was, a rarity among teenage boys. She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and melt against him. But there were so many reasons she couldn’t do this.

  The only thing they had in common was losing Kenji. Maybe they had Ruth in common—and losing her too. Being close like this felt as if it were as much an insult to Ruth as Kenji. Ruth had adored Vincent and had thought she was in love with him. And here Vega was being disloyal to both the people she had lost.

  She despised herself.

  Vega stepped back from Vincent. “You’re going to get me in trouble. The dean will be back any second.”

  “He’ll be gone for a few minutes. Roberto, Mitch, and Duran created a distraction.”

  “Oh no! What did they do?” She cringed at the idea of them getting in trouble so Vincent could sneak in and see her.

  “It’s all cool. They’re just burning our school mascot into your athletic field. The adults will just think its school rivalry over the upcoming pegasus polo game.” He grinned. “It’s an epically awesome plan.”

  She shook her head in dismay. Had she been someone with more school spirit, she might have felt anger. All she could focus on was that Vincent’s friends were willing to undergo a stupid plan that could get them in trouble.

  Did they even know he’d thought this up so he could sneak in to see her? She remembered that look of shock on Roberto’s face when he had accidentally seen Vincent kiss her. Surely his friends disapproved of their relationship. They still thought of her as Kenji’s girlfriend.

  Vega still thought of herself as Kenji’s girlfriend.

  Vincent’s easy smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “They know? About us?” It was bad enough she had to know she hadn’t been loy
al to Kenji, but she hated the idea that they might know too.

  “They don’t know about that one time, but they know . . . I like you.” His eyebrow scrunched together. “Is that bad?”

  Vega exhaled, tension deflating from her frame. “I don’t know.”

  He drew her into his arms, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. At least he hadn’t told his friends about that time they’d slept together. It had been too soon after Kenji’s death, and they’d both been hurting. Vega hated herself for using him like that.

  And now she was stuck with the consequences. He was convinced he liked her and wanted a relationship with her. Didn’t he understand how much harder he was making this? Every time she saw his face she was reminded of her past mistakes.

  She patted Vincent’s shoulder. “You need to go before the dean comes back.”

  He squeezed her tighter. “It would totally be worth a year of detentions to get to see you for five minutes longer.”

  “You’re a moron.” She shoved him away.

  Still, she couldn’t help being flattered.

  He winked at her in that cocky way of his. “I’ll see you soon. Write me if you need anything.”

  There was no way Vega would be willing to do that. It would be as bad as admitting she needed help with something. She wasn’t willing to show weakness, even to her allies.

  But she did feel slightly less depressed after seeing him. Or it might have been the hug. She couldn’t tell which had made the ache of losing Ruth more bearable.

  The following morning, Vega received a scathing letter from her mother. This one was only two pages long, so that was probably a good sign. She chided Vega for a number of things: destroying her ball gown—not that she would have been permitted to wear the same dress twice, her public outburst that had made the Bloodmire name look bad, escaping from her imprisonment in the infirmary and staying out all night instead, and injuring her peers during her outburst—which meant Nashira had to appease other rich families with apologies and gifts.

  As if they couldn’t afford it.

  Nowhere in the scornful diatribe did her mother mention anything about forbidden magic. Did that mean the principal hadn’t told her what Vega had confessed? Nashira Bloodmire was savvy enough not to write personal details in notes that could be read by others. She wasn’t beyond leaving vague innuendos of what she knew in order to make a threat.

  Vega supposed she should have been happy, but nothing really made her happy. When she wasn’t thinking of Ruth; her sister, Callisto; or Kenji, she was pretending she didn’t feel ashamed of her actions. She had nearly gotten herself expelled. She had carelessly used forbidden magic in public and drawn the principal’s attention to her past deeds.

  When Mr. Reade crouched beside her desk during detention on Friday afternoon and spoke in that compassionate way of his, it only made her feel worse. “How are you doing, Vega? Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?”

  She nodded woodenly, knowing she wouldn’t.

  She hadn’t gone to the graveyard at night or tried to use forbidden magic to speak with Ruth or anyone else dead. Had she not been under such scrutiny, she would have tried. She didn’t think the nurse’s potions made her desire necromancy any less. The idea of meat, especially rotting corpse meat, still filled her with hunger.

  Her only reason for following the rules and steering clear of the cemetery and forbidden magic was Mr. Reade. She feared that if she were caught, Mr. Reade would be blamed again, and it would be her fault he was fired.

  During Vega’s third detention on Friday, this one in the evening after dinner, she was sharpening her pencil in Mr. Reade’s classroom when she noticed Vincent walking by the open door. He grinned and waved.

  She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Reade was bent over his desk correcting papers. She signaled for Vincent to go away. She didn’t want him to be spotted.

  She turned away from the pencil sharpener. “Mr. Reade, may I take the hall pass for a minute and use the restroom?”

  He didn’t look up from correcting papers. “You just had a break half an hour ago.”

  Vega considered which lie would be the most convincing, a feminine hygiene emergency or diarrhea.

  “Don’t lie to me.” Mr. Reade set his quill down. “The only reason you want to take a break is that you finally noticed that young man trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes.”

  How did he know? She hated feeling guilty and ashamed like this.

  His tone was firm. “Tell that young man to go back to his school. You are in detention until winter break and will not be going to any games on Saturdays or outings on Sundays.”

  Vega’s shoulders slumped. Mr. Reade had spoken loud enough she suspected Vincent had heard. She poked her head out the door.

  Vincent planted a quick peck on her lips, startling her. He laughed.

  “Vincent, go away!” She didn’t even feel like being nice to him now. She hadn’t given him permission to kiss her.

  He winked. “I’ll come back at eight.”

  “I can’t. I’m in detention until nine.”

  He whispered. “I’ll come back at nine thirty. There’s a party tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows. “With dancing.”

  Dancing!

  He knew just how to tempt her.

  * * *

  The last couple of hours of detention, Vega corrected Latin papers for Mr. Reade. Before she left for her own room, he held up a stern finger in warning.

  “I hope you aren’t going to do anything wicked tonight.”

  She swallowed. “‘Wicked’?”

  “Forbidden magic. I don’t want to hear about you going to the graveyard or using pain magic, blood magic, or sex magic.” His face flushed pink with the last one.

  “No, sir,” she said.

  Vega suspected Mr. Reade had overheard Vincent and would catch her sneaking out, but he didn’t. Vega went to the party with Vincent.

  As promised, there was dancing.

  She didn’t care for the music. It was popular nineties music from the Morty Realm that other teens her age liked.

  In her head she said, “Failte!” Welcome. It was the Gaelic word the brùnaidhs had sung as they’d lost themselves in ecstatic dance during their private ceremony after Ruth’s funeral.

  Vega wanted to welcome that feeling she’d had the night the brùnaidhs had danced. When the brùnaidhs had left and she’d danced with Vincent, she’d been able to shed her sorrow for a short amount of time and lost herself as the brùnaidhs had.

  She wanted to become carefree and uncaring again.

  That night, Vega drank soda with high fructose corn syrup in it for the first time. She ate cheese pizza, even though she knew it would give her a stomachache. Vincent’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn’t admonish her.

  She also drank two beers. The sugar and the alcohol helped her appreciate the music more. She felt less self-conscious dancing with Vincent and being seen with him in public.

  It was liberating.

  If only she’d known corn syrup and alcohol combined were a magic potion to mask insecurities. It also made her sick. Vincent was the sweet kind of guy who held her ponytail while she vomited into a toilet.

  She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “We should do this again!”

  “Are you sure?” Vincent patted her back.

  “Totally,” she said, speaking in the language of surfer dudes she was certain he would understand.

  He stared into her face a little too adoringly considering she had just vomited. “You know, winter vacation is just around the corner. My parents could ask your parents if you could come stay with us during the holidays.”

  That sounded . . . serious. They weren’t even dating. It was one thing to party with Vincent, it was another matter to spend time with him and his family in just six weeks. Not that she wanted to spend winter vacation with her family. />
  In any case, it never mattered what she wanted. Only what her parents wanted. “My mother won’t approve because your family isn’t the richest family I could align myself with.”

  “Whoa dude, excuse me for saying so, but my family is twice as rich as your family!”

  Vega stared at him, confused. “You must be mistaken.”

  “The only reason your mom doesn’t like my mom is that she was at your house the day your sister died.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “It makes her uncomfortable to be reminded of what happened.”

  Vega shook her head. “You weren’t there that day.” She remembered the Fae who had abducted Callisto. Vega had been alone. No other children had been present.

  “Your mom was having a luncheon with some ladies inside. I wasn’t allowed to come because I got dirty playing with Donal the time before.” He shrugged. “I get it. People process grief in different ways. Your mom copes by pushing people away.”

  “And yours copes with alcohol.” She placed a hand on his arm. She wondered how Vincent coped with losing a brother.

  “Yeah, both my parents do.” His grim expression shifted to one of forced cheerfulness. “They’ll be passed out most of the time during the break. We’ll pretty much have free rein during vacation.”

  Vega couldn’t decide which was worse, growing close to Vincent and his family when she didn’t want to involve herself with one more nice person who probably wouldn’t survive this cruel world of magic or spending Christmas with her family, miserable as she deserved.

  “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know the next time I see you.” That sounded like a completely appropriate method for procrastination.

  “Well. . . . There’s another party tomorrow night.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking shy rather than exuding the confidence he showed off at games and with his friends. “Do you want to go?”

  “Okay.” She was spared from more conversation when her belly churned again, and she needed to evacuate more toxins from her system by praying to the porcelain god.

  * * *

  The pain of Ruth’s recent death layered on top of Kenji’s death only months before built in Vega a rising tide that wanted to break her. The potions the nurse gave her did nothing to appease the depression or the guilt.