Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two

â€Å"Are you kidding? I barely got off suspension in time to be allowed to come tonight.† Of course, at the moment Gabe was wishing the timing hadn't been so helpful. â€Å"I'm lucky I didn't get expelled.† â€Å"Mr. Reese had it coming. Everyone knows that.† â€Å"Yeah, he did,† Gabe said, a sudden edge sharpening his tone. Everyone at school was wary of Mr. Reese, but there wasn't much they could do until the math teacher crossed a line he shouldn't have. All the upperclassmen knew about Mr. Reese, too, but Gabe wasn't about to stand by while he stalked that clueless freshman kid†¦ Still, knocking out a teacher was a bit extreme. There was probably some better way to have handled the situation. His parents had been supportive, though, as usual. Logan interrupted his thoughts. â€Å"Maybe we should take off,† Logan said. â€Å"I'd feel bad-if Celeste needs a way home†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"That girl is not your type, Gabe.† She's pure evil-and a full-on whore, Logan could have added, but those just weren't the kinds of things you wanted to say about any girl while Gabe was in hearing range. â€Å"Let her get a ride with the guy sticking his tongue down her throat.† Gabe sighed and shook his head. â€Å"I'll wait to make sure she's okay.† Logan groaned. â€Å"I can't believe you asked her. Well, can we ditch out long enough to pick up a few decent CDs at least? Then we could hijack that pile of crap the DJ's playing†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"I like the way you think. I wonder if the limo driver would mind a side trip†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Logan and Gabe ended up in a mock argument over the best CDs to retrieve-the top five were obvious, but from there down the list was a little more subjective-both of them having a better time than they'd had all evening. It was funny, but as they joked around, Gabe had a sense that they were the only ones having a good time. Everyone in the room seemed to be frowning about something. And over in the corner by the stale cookies, it looked like a girl was crying. Wasn't that Evie Hess? And another girl, Ursula Tatum, also had red eyes and smeared mascara. Maybe the music and the punch weren't the only things about this prom that sucked. Clara and Bryan looked happy, but aside from those two, Gabe and Logan-both recently humiliated and rejected-seemed to be enjoying themselves more than everyone else. Less perceptive than Gabe, Logan didn't register the negative atmosphere until Libby and Dylan started arguing; abruptly, Libby stalked off the dance floor. That caught his attention at once. Logan shifted his weight, his eyes glued to Libby's departing figure. â€Å"Hey, Gabe, do you mind if I ditch you?† â€Å"Not at all. Go for it.† Logan nearly sprinted after her. Gabe wasn't sure what to do with himself now. Should he find Celeste and ask whether she minded if he bailed? He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of prying her loose from someone else in order to ask, though. He decided to get another bottle of water and find the quietest corner possible to wait for the evening to drag to an end. And then, as he went searching for that quiet corner, Gabe felt the strange pull again, stronger than he'd ever felt it in his life; it was like someone was drowning in black waters and screaming to him for help. He glanced around frantically, wondering where the urgent call was coming from. He couldn't understand the vital, jagged edge of this distress. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. For just a moment, his eyes locked on one girl-on her back, as she was walking away from him. The girl's hair was black and glossy, with a mirrorlike sheen. She wore a spectacular floor-length dress the color of flames. As Gabe watched, her earrings flashed once, like little red sparklers. Gabe began walking after her in an almost unconscious movement, drawn by the wrenching need that surrounded her. She turned slightly, and he got a glimpse of an unfamiliar pale, aquiline profile-full ivory lips and black slanting brows-before she ducked through the ladies' room door. Gabe was breathing hard with the effort of not following the girl into no-man's-land. He could feel her need sucking at him like quicksand. He leaned against the wall across from the bathroom, folded his arms tight across his chest, and tried to talk himself out of waiting for the girl. This lunatic instinct he had was way off base. Wasn't Celeste proof of that? It was all just imagination. Maybe he should leave now. But Gabe couldn't force his feet to move one step away. Though the girl barely reached five foot three inches in her stiletto heels, something about her figure-whip-slender and rod-straight as a fencing foil-made her appear tall. She was a walking contradiction in more ways than height-both dark and light with her inky hair and chalky skin, both delicate and hard with her tiny, sharp features, and both inviting and repellent with the mesmerizing undulations of her body under the hostile expression on her face. Only one thing about her was not ambiguous-her dress was, without question, a work of art: Bright red tongues of leather flame bared her pale shoulders and licked down her willowy curves until they kissed the floor. As she crossed the dance floor, female eyes followed the pathway of the dress with envy and male eyes followed it with lust. There was another phenomenon that followed her; as the girl in the fiery dress passed through the dancers, little gasps of horror and pain and embarrassment rippled out from around her in strange eddies that could only be coincidence. A high heel cracked, twisting the ankle inside it. A satin dress split along a seam from thigh to waist. A contact lens popped out and was lost on the dirty floor. A vital bra strap snapped in two. A wallet slipped from a pocket. An unexpected cramp announced an early period. A borrowed necklace scattered in a shower of pearls to the floor. And on and on-little disasters spinning small circles of misery. The pale dark girl smiled to herself as if she could somehow sense that misery in the air and enjoy it-taste it, perhaps, considering the way she licked her lips in appreciation. And then she frowned, furrowing her brow in fierce concentration. The one boy who was watching her face saw a strange red glitter near her earlobes, like shooting red sparks. Everyone else turned just then to stare at Brody Farrow, who clutched his arm and shouted in pain; the slight movement of the slow dancing had dislocated his shoulder. The girl in the red dress smirked. With her heels ringing sharply against the tile floor, she strode down the hall to the ladies' room. Faint moans of pain and chagrin trailed after her. A crowd of girls hovered in front of the wall-length mirrors inside the bathroom. They only had a moment to gape at the stunning dress, to notice how the slight girl inside it shivered briefly in the stuffy, too-warm room, before the chaos distracted them. It started with Emma Roland stabbing herself in the eye with a mascara wand. She flailed in dismay, striking the full glass of punch in Bethany Crandall's hand, which then drenched Bethany and stained three other dresses in the most inconvenient places. The atmosphere in the restroom was suddenly hotter than the temperature as one girl-sporting a hideous green smear across her chest-accused Bethany of throwing the punch on her purposely. The pale dark girl only smiled slightly at the brewing fight, and then strode to the farthest stall in the long room and locked the door behind her. She did not make use of the privacy the way one might expect. Instead-showing no fear of the less-than-sterile environment-the girl leaned her forehead against the metal wall and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands, balled into sharp little fists, also rested against the metal as if for support. If any of the girls in the ladies' room had been paying attention, they might have wondered what was causing the red glow that shone dully through the crack between the door and the wall. But no one was paying attention. The girl in the red dress clenched her teeth tightly together. From between them, a hot spurt of bright flame shot out and singed black patterns into the thin layer of tan paint on the metal wall. She started to pant, struggling with an invisible weight, and the fire burned hotter, thick fingers of red crackling against the cold metal. The fire reached up to her hair, but did not scorch the smooth, inky locks. Traces of smoke began to seep from her nose and ears. A shower of sparks popped from her ears as she whispered one word through her teeth. â€Å"Melissa.† Back out on the crowded dance floor, Melissa Harris looked up, distracted. Had someone just called her name? There didn't seem to be anyone close enough to be responsible for the low sound. Just her imagination, then. Melissa looked back at her date and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Melissa wondered why she had agreed to go to the prom with Cooper Silverdale. He wasn't her type. A small boy, consumed with his own importance, with too much to prove. He'd been oddly hyper all night, bragging about his family and his possessions nonstop, and Melissa was tired of it. Another faint whisper caught Melissa's attention, and she turned. There, too far across the crowd to be the source behind the sound, Tyson Bell was staring straight at Melissa over the head of the girl he danced with. Melissa looked down at once, shuddering, trying not to care who he was with, forcing herself not to look. She moved closer to Cooper. Boring and shallow, maybe, but better than Tyson. Anyone was better than Tyson. Really? Is Cooper really the better option? The questions popped into Melissa's thoughts as if they came from someone else entirely. Involuntarily, she glanced up into Tyson's heavily lashed dark eyes. He was still staring. Of course Cooper was better than Tyson, no matter how beautiful Tyson was. That beauty was just part of the trap. Cooper babbled on, stumbling over his words as he tried to capture Melissa's interest. You're out of Cooper's league, the thought whispered. Melissa shook her head, embarrassed for thinking that way. It was vain. Cooper was just as good as she was, as good as any other boy. Not as good as Tyson. Remember how it was†¦ Melissa tried to keep the images out of her mind: Tyson's warm eyes, full of longing†¦ his hands, rough and soft against her skin†¦ his rich voice that made even the most common words sound like poetry†¦ the way just the lightest pressure of his lips against her fingers could send her pulse sprinting in her veins†¦ Her heart thumped, aching. Deliberately, Melissa dredged up a new memory to combat the rebel images. Tyson's iron fist smashing into the side of her face without warning-the black spots blossoming in front of her eyes-her hands bracing against the floor-vomit choking in her throat-raw pain shaking her whole body- He was sorry. So sorry. He promised. Never again. Unwanted, the image of Tyson's coffee eyes swimming with tears clouded her vision. Reflexively, Melissa's eyes sought Tyson. He was still staring. His forehead creased, his eyebrows pulled together, grief-stricken†¦ Melissa shuddered again. â€Å"Are you cold? Do you want my-?† Cooper half-shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and then stopped himself, his face flushing. â€Å"You can't be cold. It's so hot in here,† he said lamely as he withdrew the offer, buttoning the jacket back into place. â€Å"I'm fine,† Melissa assured him. She forced herself to look only at his sallow, boyish face. â€Å"This place kinda sucks,† Cooper said, and Melissa nodded, happy to agree with him. â€Å"We could go to my father's country club. There's an incredible restaurant, if you're in the mood for dessert. We won't have to wait for a table. As soon as I mention my name†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Melissa's attention wandered again. Why am I here with this little snob? asked the thought that was so strangely unfamiliar in her head, though it came in her own voice. He's a weakling. So what if he couldn't hurt a kitten? Isn't there more to love than safety? I don't feel the same need in my stomach when I look at Cooper-when I look at anyone besides Tyson†¦ I can't lie to myself. I still want him. So much. Isn't that love, that wanting? Melissa wished she hadn't drunk so much of that vile, burning punch. It was impossible to think clearly. She watched as Tyson left his partner stranded and crossed the floor until he stood right in front of her-the perfect broad-shouldered football hero cliche. It was as if Cooper didn't exist there between them. â€Å"Melissa?† he asked in his melting voice, sorrow twisting his features. â€Å"Melissa, please!† He held his hand out toward her, ignoring Cooper's wordless spluttering. Yes yes yes yes yes chanted in her head. A thousand memories of desire rocked through her. Her clouded mind buckled. Hesitantly, Melissa nodded. Tyson smiled in relief, in joy, and pulled her around Cooper and into his arms. It was just so easy to go with him. Melissa's blood ran through her veins like fire. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two The mist of nothing slipped slowly from me in a painful series of prickles and the sound of two people arguing. I felt sick, not from my entire back tingling so painfully I could hardly stand to breathe, but from the feeling of helpless fear that the hushed, back-and-forth voices pulled from my past. I could almost smell the moldy fluff of my stuffed rabbit as I had curled into a ball and listened to the two people who were my entire world frighten me beyond belief. That they had both told me it hadn't been my fault hadn't lessened my grief at all. Grief I had to hold inside until it became a part of me. Pain that adhered to my bones. To cry in my mother's arms would say I loved her more. To cry into my dad's shoulder would say I loved him best. It was a crappy way to grow up. But this†¦ this wasn't my parents arguing. It sounded like two kids. I took a breath to find it came easier. The last of the haze started to fade with the tingles, and my lungs moved, aching as if someone were sitting on them. Realizing my eyes were shut, I opened them to find a blurry black just before my nose. There was a heavy, plasticky smell. â€Å"She was sixteen when she got in that car. It's your fault,† a young but masculine voice said hotly, oddly muffled. I was getting the distinct impression that the argument had been going on for some time, but I only remembered snatches of it amid uneasy thoughts of nothing. â€Å"You are not going to put this on me,† a girl said, her voice just as hushed and determined. â€Å"She was seventeen when he flipped her coin. This is your screwup, not mine. God save you, she was right in front of you! How could you miss it?† â€Å"I missed it because she wasn't seventeen!† he shot back. â€Å"She was sixteen when he picked her up. How was I supposed to know he was after her? How come you weren't there? You slipped up big time.† The girl gasped in affront. I was cold. Taking a deeper breath, I felt a surge of strength. Fewer tingles, more aches. It was stuffy, my breath coming back warm to me. It wasn't dark; I was in something. â€Å"You little piss-ant!† the girl snapped. â€Å"Don't tell me I slipped up. She died at seventeen. That's why I wasn't there. I was never notified.† â€Å"But I don't do sixteen,† he said, his voice going nasty. â€Å"I thought he was flipping the boy.† I suddenly realized the black blur throwing back my breath was a sheet of plastic. My hands came up, and my nails pushed through it in a stab of fear. Almost panicking, I sat up. I'm on a table? It sure felt hard enough for one. I shoved the plastic off me. Two kids were standing by a set of dirty white swinging doors, and they spun in surprise. The girl's pale face went red, and the guy backed up as if embarrassed to have been caught arguing with her. â€Å"Oh!† the girl said, tossing her long dark braid behind her. â€Å"You're up. Uh, hi. I'm Lucy, and this is Barnabas.† The guy dropped his eyes and waved sheepishly. â€Å"Hey,† he said. â€Å"How you doing?† â€Å"You were with Josh,† I said, my finger shaking as I pointed, and he nodded, still not looking at me. His costume looked odd next to her shorts and tank top. Both of them wore a black stone pendant around their necks. They were dull and insignificant, but my eye went to them because they were the only thing the two shared. Other than their anger at each other and their surprise at me. â€Å"Where am I?† I said, and Barnabas winced, a tall form scuffing his feet against the tile. â€Å"Where's Josh?† I hesitated, realizing I was in a hospital, but†¦ Wait a minute. I was in a freaking body bag? â€Å"I'm in the morgue?† I blurted. â€Å"What am I doing in the morgue?† Moving wildly, I got my legs out of the plastic bag and slid to the floor, heels clicking in some weird counterpoint as I caught my balance. There was a tag on a rubber band around my wrist, and I yanked it off, taking some hair along with it. I had a long rip in my skirt, and heavy grease marked it. Dirt and grass were plastered to me, and I stank of field and antiseptic. So much for getting my deposit back. â€Å"Someone made a mistake,† I said as I shoved the tag in a pocket, and Lucy snorted. â€Å"Barnabas,† she said, and he stiffened. â€Å"This is not my fault!† he exclaimed, rounding on her. â€Å"She was sixteen when she got in that car. I don't do sixteen! How was I supposed to know it was her birthday?† â€Å"Yeah? Well, she was seventeen when she died, so it is your problem!† Dead? Were they blind? â€Å"You know what?† I said, feeling more steady the longer I stood here. â€Å"You two can argue till the sun goes nova, but I have to find someone and tell them I'm okay.† Heels clicking, I headed for the dirty white twin doors. â€Å"Madison, wait,† the guy said. â€Å"You can't.† â€Å"Watch me,† I said. â€Å"My dad is going to be so-o-o-o ticked.† I strode past them, getting twenty feet before a feeling of disconnection hit me. Dizzy, I put a hand to an empty table as the odd sensation roared from nowhere. My hand cramped where it rested, and I pulled it away as if burned when it seemed the coldness of metal had touched my bone. I felt†¦ spongy. Thin. The soft hum of the ventilation grew muffled. Even the pounding of my heart became distant. I turned, hand to my chest to try and make it feel normal again. â€Å"What†¦Ã¢â‚¬  From across the room, Barnabas shrugged his thin shoulders. â€Å"You're dead, Madison. Sorry. You get too far from our amulets, and you start to lose substance.† He gestured to the gurney, and I looked. My breath slammed out of me. Knees buckling, I half fell against the empty table. I was still there. I mean, I was still on the gurney. I was lying on the cart in a torn body bag, looking far too small and pale, my elaborate dress bunched up around me in an elegant display of forgotten grace out of time. I was dead? But I could feel my heart beat. Limbs going weak, I started to crumple. â€Å"Swell. She's a fainter,† the girl said dryly. Barnabas lurched forward to catch me. His arms slid around me and my head lolled. At his touch, everything rushed back: sounds, smells, and even my pulse. My lids fluttered. Inches from me, Barnabas's lips pressed tight. He was so close, and I thought I could smell sunflowers. â€Å"Why don't you shut up?† he said to Lucy as he eased me to the floor. â€Å"Show a little compassion? That's your job, you know.† The cold from the tile soaked into me, seeming to clear the gray about my sight. How could I be dead? Did the dead pass out? â€Å"I'm not dead,† I said unsteadily, and Barnabas helped me sit up and put my back to a table leg. â€Å"Yes, you are.† He crouched beside me, his brown eyes wide and concerned. Sincere. â€Å"I'm really sorry. I thought he was going to flip Josh. They usually don't leave evidence like a car behind like that. You must really be a broken feather in their wing.† My thoughts flashed to the crash, and I put a hand to my stomach. Josh had been there. I remember that. â€Å"He thinks I'm dead. Josh, I mean.† From across the room came Lucy's caustic â€Å"You are dead.† I sent my gaze to the gurney, and Barnabas shifted to block my view. â€Å"Who are you?† I asked as the dizziness slipped away. Barnabas stood. â€Å"We, ah, are Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions Personnel. Evaluation and Recovery.† I thought about that. Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions†¦ R.E.A.P.E.R.? Holy crap! A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled up, eyes fixed on me on the gurney. I was here. I was alive! That might be me, but I was standing here, too. â€Å"You're grim reapers!† I exclaimed, feeling my way around the table and putting it between us. My toes started to go numb, and I stopped, my gaze darting to the amulet around Barnabas's neck. â€Å"Oh my God, I'm dead,† I whispered. â€Å"I can't be dead. I'm not ready to be dead. I'm not done yet! I'm only seventeen!† â€Å"We're not grim reapers.† Lucy had her arms crossed defensively as if it were a sore spot. â€Å"We're white reapers. Black reapers kill people before their coin should be flipped, white reapers try to save them, and grim reapers are treacherous betrayers who brag too much and won't survive to see the sun turn back to dust.† Barnabas looked embarrassed as he shuffled his feet. â€Å"Grim reapers are white reapers who were tricked into working for†¦ the other side. They don't do much culling since black reapers don't let them, but if there is a sudden, massive death toll, you know they'll show to pull a few souls early, in as dramatic a way as possible. They're hacks. No class at all.† This last was said with a bitter voice, and I wondered at the rivalry, backing up until I started going spongy again. Eyeing their amulets, I edged forward until the feeling went away. â€Å"You kill people. That's what Seth said. He said something about culling my soul! You do kill people!† Barnabas ran a hand across the back of his neck. â€Å"Ah, we don't. Most of the time.† He glanced at Lucy. â€Å"Seth is a black reaper, a dark reaper. We only show up when they target someone out of time, or there's been a mistake.† â€Å"Mistake?† My head swung up in hope. Did that mean they could put me back? Lucy came forward. â€Å"You weren't supposed to die, see. A dark reaper took you out before your coin should have been flipped. It's our job to stop them, but we can't sometimes. We're here to make a formal apology and get you where you're going.† Frowning, she looked at Barnabas. â€Å"And as soon as he admits it was his fault, I can get out of here.† I stiffened, refusing to look at me on the gurney. â€Å"I'm not going anywhere. If you made a mistake, fine. Just put me back! I'm right there.† I took a step forward, scared out of my mind. â€Å"You can, right?† Barnabas winced. â€Å"It's kinda too late. Everyone knows you're dead.† â€Å"I don't care!† I shouted. Then my face went cold in a sudden thought. Dad. He thought I was†¦ â€Å"Dad†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I whispered, panicking. Taking a breath, I turned to the swinging doors and broke into a run. â€Å"Wait! Madison!† Barnabas shouted, but I hit the doors hard, stumbling through them even though they only swung three inches. But I was in the next room. I had sort of passed through them. As if I weren't even there. There was a fat guy at a desk, and he looked up at the tiny squeak the doors made shifting. His little piggy eyes widened, and he took a huge breath. Mouth open, he pointed. â€Å"There's been a mistake,† I blurted, heading to the open archway and the dimly lit hall. â€Å"I'm not dead.† But I was feeling really weird again. Misty and thin. Stretched. Nothing sounded right, either, and the gray was edging my sight to make a tunnel-like vision. Behind me, Barnabas pushed through the doors. Immediately the world shifted to normal. It was the amulet he wore that kept me solid. I had to get me one of those. â€Å"Yes, she is,† he said, never slowing down until he grabbed my wrist. â€Å"You're hallucinating. She's not really here. Neither am I.† â€Å"Where did you come from?† the guy managed, staring. â€Å"How did you get in there?† Lucy shoved in, the swinging door banging against the wall to make me and Desk Guy jump. â€Å"Madison, quit being a stiff. You gotta go.† This was too much for the technician, and he reached for the phone. I twisted my wrist, but Barnabas wouldn't release me. â€Å"I have to talk to my dad!† I exclaimed, and he yanked me off balance. â€Å"We're leaving,† he said, a new threat in his eyes. â€Å"Right now.† Frantic, I stomped on his foot. Barnabas howled, his gangly form bending double as he let go. Lucy laughed at him, and I darted for the hallway. Try to stop me, I thought, then ran right into something big, warm, and smelling of silk. I backed up, becoming scared when I saw it was Seth. He had killed me with a sword that left no mark when driving me off a cliff failed to do it. He was a dark reaper. He was my death. â€Å"Why are there two of you?† he asked as he looked at Barnabas and Lucy. The cadence of his voice was familiar, but the sound of it hit my ears wrong. And the scent of sea now smelled like rot. â€Å"That's right,† he added, pulling his gaze back to me, and I shuddered. â€Å"You died on the anniversary of your birth. Two reapers. My, my, my. Such the drama queen, Madison. I'm glad you're up. It's time to go.† Hunched and afraid, I retreated. â€Å"Don't touch me.† â€Å"Madison!† Barnabas shouted. â€Å"Run!† But there was only the morgue to run to. Lucy got in front of me, hands spread wide as if she could stop Seth with her will alone. â€Å"What are you doing here?† she said, voice shaking. â€Å"She's already dead. You can't flip her twice.† Seth scuffed his shoes confidently. â€Å"As you said, I flipped her coin. She's mine if I want her.† Barnabas paled. â€Å"You never come back for them. You're†¦Ã¢â‚¬  His eyes darted to the stone about Seth's neck. â€Å"You're not a black reaper, are you?† Seth grinned as if it was a big joke. â€Å"No. I'm not. I'm a little bit more. More than you can handle. Leave, Barnabas. Just walk away. It won't hurt if you do.† I stared at Barnabas, helpless. His brown eyes met mine, saw my fear. I watched him visibly gather his courage. â€Å"Barnabas!† Lucy shouted, terrified. â€Å"Don't!† But Barnabas launched himself at the dark figure in black silk. In a motion so casual it was frightening, Seth turned to smack him with the back of his hand. Arms and legs flailing, Barnabas flew backward, hitting the wall and slumping to the floor, out cold. â€Å"Run!† Lucy shouted, pushing me toward the morgue. â€Å"Stay in the sun. Don't let the black wings touch you. We'll get help. Someone will find you. Get out of here!† â€Å"How?† I exclaimed. â€Å"He's in front of the only door.† Seth moved again, this time backhanding Lucy. She crumpled where she stood, leaving only me since the technician had either passed out or was hiding under the desk. Jaw trembling, I stood to my full height-such as it was-and tugged my dress straight. Deeper in it yet, apparently. â€Å"She meant,† Seth said, his voice both familiar and strange, â€Å"to run through the walls. You had a better chance against the black wings in the sun than with me under the ground.† â€Å"But I can't†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I started, then looked at the swinging doors. I went through them, having shifted them open only a few inches. What the heck was I? A ghost? Seth smiled, chilling me. â€Å"Nice to see you, Madison, now that I can really†¦ see you.† He took off his mask and let it drop. His face was beautiful, like chiseled stone made soft. I licked my lips and went cold to the bone when I remembered him kissing me. Holding one arm to myself, I backed away, trying to get out of Barnabas's and Lucy's influence so I could run through the walls. Hey, if Mr. Creepy thought I could do it, then maybe I could. Seth followed, step for step. â€Å"We leave together. No one will believe I culled you unless I throw you at their feet.† Heels clicking, I kept moving. My gaze darted to Barnabas and Lucy, both still sprawled on the tile. â€Å"I'd rather stay, thanks.† My heart pounded, and my back hit the wall. A little yelp slipped from me. I was far enough away from them that I should be misty, but I wasn't. I stared at Seth, then at that black stone about his neck. It was the same. Damn it! â€Å"You don't have a choice,† he said. â€Å"I'm the one that killed you. You're mine.† He reached out, grabbing my wrist. Adrenaline surged, and I twisted. â€Å"The hell I am,† I said, then kicked him in the shins. He clearly felt it, grunting as he bent in pain, but didn't let go. He had put his face in my reach, though, and grabbing his hair, I slammed his nose against my rising knee. I felt cartilage snap, and my stomach turned. Cursing in a language that hurt my head, he let go and fell back. I had to get out of here. I had to be solid or I'd never make it. Heart pounding, I grabbed the stone about his neck, pulling the necklace over his ears and off him. It tingled in my hand like fire, and I clenched my fingers around it, willing to suffer if it meant I would be whole. Seth hit the floor, gaping up at me with red blood covering his face. He looked as surprised as if he had run into a glass wall. â€Å"Madison†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Barnabas rasped from the floor. I turned, seeing him stare at me with pain-laced, unfocused eyes. â€Å"Run,† he gasped. Seth's amulet in my hand, I turned to the open hallway†¦ and I ran. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two EIGHT HOURS EARLIER†¦ â€Å"Foxy girls know that silence may be golden-but only for four seconds. Anything longer and you re heading for Awkward Avenue,† Miranda read, then frowned at the book. â€Å"If you feel the countdown creeping, make him an offer! A simple ‘Would you like some nuts? said with a smile can break the silence stagnation in a snap. Remember, foxy is as foxy does.† Miranda was starting to deeply distrust How to Get-And Kiss! – Your Guy. Leaning against the side of the black Town Car parked in the loading zone at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport that June evening, she thought of how totally thrilled she'd been when she'd found it at the bookstore. It looked like an and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after dream come true in book form-who wouldn't want to learn â€Å"The Five Facial Expressions That Will Change Your Life† or â€Å"The Secrets of the Tongue Tantra Only Da Pros Know†? – but having done all the exercises, she wasn't convinced of the transformative powers of the Winsome Smile or spending half an hour a day sucking on a grape. It wasn't the first time a self-help book had let her down-Procrastinate No More and Make Friends with YOU had both been total disasters-but it was depressing because she'd had such high hopes this time. And because, as her best friend, Kenzi, recently pointed out, any senior in high school who acted like Miranda did around her crush really, really needed help. She tried another passage. â€Å"Rephrase one of his questions back to him, adding that hint of suggestion with a raised eyebrow. Or pick up the conversation with a pickup line! You: Are we in the china section? Him: No, why? You: Because you are fine. If china isn't your thing, this one never fails to launch-You: Are you wearing space pants? Him: No, why? You: Because your butt is-â€Å" â€Å"Hello, Miss Kiss.† Miranda looked up and found herself staring up at the cleft chin and tanned face of Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds. She must have been really distracted to not even have heard his heartbeat when he approached. It was distinctive, with a little echo at the end, kind of like a one-two-three cha-cha beat (she'd learned about the cha-cha beat from You Can Dance! another massively unfortunate self-help experience). He'd probably have trouble with that when he got old, but at twenty-two it didn't seem to be stopping him from going to the gym, at least from the looks of his pecs, biceps, shoulders, forearms, wrists- Stop staring. Since she had an attack of Crazy Mouth whenever she tried to talk to a cute guy-let alone Santa Barbara's youngest sheriff's deputy, who was only four years older than she and who surfed every morning before work and who was cool enough to get away with wearing sunglasses even though it was almost 8:00 p.m.-she said, â€Å"Hi, deputy. Come here often?† Causing him to frown. â€Å"No.† â€Å"No, you wouldn't, why would you? Me either. Well, not that often. Maybe once a week. Not often enough to know where the bathrooms are. Ha-ha!† Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you'd utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions. â€Å"Good book?† he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, â€Å"A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad† out loud. But life did not come with a trapdoor. â€Å"It's for a school project. Homework. On, um, mating rituals.† â€Å"Thought crime was more your thing.† He hit her with one of his half smiles, too cool to pull out a big grin. â€Å"You planning on foiling any more convenience store heists any time soon?† That had been a mistake. Not stopping the guys who'd held up Ron's 24-Hour Open Market #3, but sticking around long enough to let the police see her. For some reason they'd found it hard to believe that she'd just been leaning against the lamppost when it fell across the front of the robbers' car as it sped through the intersection. It was sad how suspicious people were, especially people in law enforcement. And school administration. But she'd learned a lot since then. â€Å"I'm trying to keep it to one heist a month,† she said, hoping for a light, ha-ha-I'm-just-kidding-foxy-is-as-foxy-does tone. â€Å"Today it's just my regular job, VIP airport pickup.† Miranda heard his cha-cha heartbeat speed up slightly. Maybe he thought VIPs were cool. â€Å"That boarding school you go to, Chatsworth Academy? They let you off campus any time you want or only certain days?† â€Å"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, if you're a senior. We don't have classes then,† she said and heard his heartbeat pick up more. â€Å"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons free. What do you do for fun?† Was he asking her out? No. Way. NOWAYNOWAYNOWAY! Flirt! she ordered herself. Winsome Smile! Say something! Anything! Be foxy! Now! â€Å"What do you do for fun?† she repeated his question back to him, raising one eyebrow for that hint of suggestion. He seemed taken aback for a second, then said very formally, â€Å"I work, Miss Kiss.† Please give a warm welcome to Miranda Kiss, our new Miss Idiot Girl of the year, she thought. Said: â€Å"Of course. Me too. I mean, I'm either driving clients or at team practice. I'm one of Tony Bosun's Bee Girls? The Roller Derby team? That's why I do this,† meaning to point to the Town Car but bashing it with her hand instead. â€Å"You have to be a driver for Tony's company, 5Bs Luxury Transport, to be on the team. We usually only have games on the weekends, but we practice on Wednesdays, sometimes on other days†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Crazy Mouth trailed off. â€Å"I've seen the Bees play. That's a professional team, isn't it? They let a high school student play?† Miranda swallowed. â€Å"Oh, sure. Of course.† He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. â€Å"Okay, I had to lie to get on the team. Tony thinks I'm twenty. You won't tell him, will you?† â€Å"He believed you were twenty?† â€Å"He needed a new jammer.† Deputy Reynolds chuckled. â€Å"So you're the jammer? You're good. I can see why he might have made an exception.† Eyeing her some more. â€Å"I never would have recognized you.† â€Å"Well, you know, we wear those wigs and the gold masks over our eyes so we all look the same.† It was one of the things she liked about Roller Derby, the anonymity, the fact that no one knew who you were, what your skills were. It made her feel invulnerable, safe. No one could single you out for†¦ anything. Deputy Reynolds took his sunglasses all the way off now to look at her. â€Å"So you put on one of those red, white, and blue satin outfits? The ones with the short skirts and that cute cape? I'd like to see that sometime.† He smiled at her, right into her eyes, and her knees went weak and her mind started playing out a scenario involving him without his shirt but with a pitcher of maple syrup and a big- â€Å"Well, there's my lady,† he said. â€Å"Catch you.† And then walked away. – stack of pancakes. Miranda watched him go up to a woman in her early twenties-thick blond hair, thin but muscular-put his arm around her, and kiss her neck. The kind of woman whose bras had tags that said, SIZE 36c, not MADE BY SANRIO in them. Heard him saying excitedly, â€Å"Wait until we get to the house. I've got some amazing new toys, something special just for you,† his voice husky, heart racing. As he passed Miranda, he lifted his chin in her direction and said, â€Å"You stay out of trouble.† â€Å"Yeah, you too,† Crazy Mouth told him. Miranda wanted to bang her head against the top of the car at how idiotic she was. She tried to give a Lite Laff (expression number four from the book) but ended up making herself choke instead. When they were across the parking lot, she heard the woman asking who she was and heard Deputy Reynolds say, â€Å"The local Town Car driver.† â€Å"She's the driver?† the woman said. â€Å"Looks like one of those girls from Hawaiian Airlines you used to date, but younger. And cuter. You know how your judgment gets around cute young girls. You're sure I don't need to be concerned?† Miranda heard him laugh, the genuine amusement in his voice as he said, â€Å"Her? Baby, she's just a high school student who has a crush on me. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about.† And thought: Trap. Door. Now. Please. Sometimes having superhearing supersucked. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two And he wants me to know that he's coming. He's playing with me now†¦ just like his father played with Mom, before he†¦ well, did what he did to her. Then I hear a strange sound-a sort of whoosh-followed by another â€Å"Dammit!† What is happening? â€Å"Sebastian.† Lila's voice sounds bemused. â€Å"Someone is shooting ketchup at you!† What? Did she just say†¦ ketchup?. And then, as I carefully turn to try to get a look past the pillar to see what Lila is talking about, I see him. Not Sebastian. His shooter. And I can hardly believe my eyes. What's he doing here? Adam It's all Ted's fault. He's the one who said we should follow them on their date. I was like, â€Å"Why?† † ‘Cause the dude's trouble, man,† Ted said. Except there's no way Ted could have known that. Drake had basically turned up from out of nowhere outside Lila's Park Avenue apartment building just the night before. Ted had never even met him. How could he know anything about the guy? Anything at all? But when I mentioned this, Ted said, â€Å"Dude, have you looked at him?† I have to admit, the T Man has a point. I mean, the guy looks like he walked straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog or something. You can't trust a guy who's that, well, perfect. Still, I'm not down with following other guys around. It's not cool. Even if, like Ted said, it was just to make sure Lila didn't get into trouble. I know Lila is Ted's lady-ex-lady now, thanks to Drake. And okay, she's never been the shiniest fork in the drawer. But following her on this date with the dude she's hooked up with? That just seemed like a bigger waste of time than-well, that two thousand-word, double-spaced essay I've got due in Mrs. Gregory's U.S. History class on Monday. Then Ted had to go and suggest I bring the Beretta 9mm. The thing is, even though it's just a water pistol, toy guns that look as real as that are illegal in Manhattan. So I haven't really had an opportunity to use mine much. Which Ted knows. And is probably why he kept going on about how freaking hilarious it would be if we soaked the guy. Because he knew I wouldn't be able to resist. The ketchup was my idea. And, yeah, it is pretty juvenile. But what the hell else am I going to do on a Friday night? It beats a U.S. History paper. Anyway, I told the T Man I guessed I'd be down with his plan. So long as I was the one who got to do the shooting. Which was fine with Ted. â€Å"I just gotta know, man,† he'd said, shaking his head. â€Å"Know what?† â€Å"What this Sebastian dude's got,† he said, â€Å"that I don't.† I could've told him, of course. I mean, it's pretty obvious to anyone who freaking looks at Drake what he's got that Ted doesn't. Ted's a decent-looking guy and all, but Abercrombie material he is not. Still, I didn't say anything. Because the T Man was really hurtin' over this one. And I could sort of understand why. Lila's just one of those girls, you know? All big brown eyes and big, well, other parts, too. But I won't go there on account of my sister, Veronica, who says I need to stop thinking of women as sex objects and start thinking of them as future partners in the inevitable struggle to survive in postapocalyptic America (which Veronica's writing her senior thesis on because she feels the apocalypse is going to occur sometime in the next decade, due to the country's current state of religious fanaticism and environmental recklessness, both of which were present at the fall of Rome and various other societies that no longer exist). So that's how me and the T Man ended up at Swig-fortunately, Ted's uncle Vinnie is their liquor distributor, which is how we got in, and without having to go through the metal detector like everybody else-shooting ketchup at Sebastian Drake with my Beretta 9mm water pistol. I know I was supposed to be home doing that paper for Mrs. Gregory, but a guy's got to have some fun, right? And it was fun to see those red stains spurting all over the guy's chest. The T Man was actually laughing for the first time since Lila sent him that text message during lunch, telling him that he was on his own for the prom, because she was going with Drake. Everything was going great†¦ until I saw Drake staring at that pillar over to one side of the dance floor. Which didn't make any sense. You'd have thought he'd have been looking over at us, in our VIP booth (thanks, Uncle Vinnie), considering that's the direction the ketchup assault was coming from. That's when I noticed there was somebody hiding behind it. The pillar, I mean. Not just any somebody, either, but Mary, that new girl from my U.S. History class, the one who never talks to anybody but Lila. And she was holding a crossbow. A crossbow. How the hell did she get a crossbow through the metal detector? No way does she know Ted's uncle Vinnie. Not that it matters. All that matters is that Drake's staring at the pillar Mary's crouched behind like he can see straight through it. There's something about the way he's looking over at her that makes me†¦ well, all I know is that is not where I want that guy looking. â€Å"Moron,† I mutter. Mostly about Drake. But also about myself, a little. And then I aim and shoot once more. â€Å"Oh, snap,† Ted yells happily. â€Å"Did you see that? Right in the ass!† That gets Drake's attention, all right. He turns†¦ †¦ and suddenly, I get what they mean about blazing eyes. You know, in Stephen King books, or whatever? I never thought I'd actually see a pair. But that's exactly what Drake's got, as he stares at us. Eyes that are most definitely blazing. Come on, I find myself thinking in Drake's direction. That's right. Come on over here, Drake. You wanna fight? I've got a lot more than just ketchup, dude. Which isn't exactly true. But it doesn't end up mattering, because Drake doesn't come over anyway. Instead, he disappears. I don't mean that he turns around and leaves the club. I mean that one minute he's standing there, and the next he's†¦ well, he's just gone. For a second the fog from the dry ice seems to get thicker-and when it clears, Lila is dancing by herself. â€Å"Here,† I say, thrusting the Beretta into Ted's hand. â€Å"What the-† Ted scans the dance floor. â€Å"Where'd he go?† But I've already taken off. â€Å"Grab Lila,† I yell back at Ted. â€Å"And meet me out front.† Ted utters some pretty choice expletives after that, but no one even notices. The music's too loud, and everyone's having too good a time. I mean, if they didn't notice us shooting at some dude with a ketchup-filled water gun-or a few seconds later, that dude literally vanishing into thin air-they're hardly likely to notice Ted shouting the F word. I reach the pillar and look down. She's there, panting as if she's just run a marathon or something. She's got the crossbow clutched to her chest like a kid's security blanket. Her face is as white as notebook paper. â€Å"Hey,† I say to her, gently. I don't want to startle her. But I do anyway. She practically jumps out of her skin at the sound of my voice and turns wide, frightened eyes up at me. â€Å"Hey, take it easy,† I say. â€Å"He's gone. Okay?† â€Å"He's gone?† Her eyes-green as the Great Lawn in Central Park in May-stare up at me. And there's no missing the terror in them. â€Å"How-what?† â€Å"He just vanished,† I say with a shrug. â€Å"I saw him looking at you. So I shot him.† â€Å"You what?† Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two Gee, thanks, Madame Z, I thought. Could we dig a little deeper here? Give me something to work with? â€Å"But is he-I mean, the person-going to act on his passion?† I was brazen, despite my knotted stomach. â€Å"To act or not to act†¦ that is the question?† Madame Z said. â€Å"Yes, that is the question.† â€Å"Ahhh. That is always the question. And what one must always ask oneself-† She broke off. Her eyes flew to Will, and she paled. â€Å"What?† I demanded. â€Å"Nothing,† she said. â€Å"Something,† I said. Her message-from-the-spirits performance wasn't fooling me. She wanted us to think she'd been suddenly possessed? That she'd had a stark and powerful vision? Fine! Just get to the bloody answer! Madame Z made a show of pulling herself together, complete with a long, shaky draw on her cigarette. Looking dead at me, she said, â€Å"If a tree falls in a forest, and no one's there to hear it, does it still make a sound?† â€Å"Huh?† I said. â€Å"That's all I've got. Take it or leave it.† She seemed agitated, so I took it. Although I made cuckoo eyes at Yun Sun when Madame Z wasn't watching. Will claimed not to have a specific question, but Madame Z was oddly insistent on relaying a message to him anyhow. She waved her hands over his aura and warned him sternly of heights, which was curiously appropriate as Will was an avid rock climber. What was more curious was Will's reaction. First his eyebrows shot up, and then a different emotion took over, like some secret anticipatory pleasure. He glanced at me and blushed. â€Å"What's going on?† I asked. â€Å"You have your sneaky face on.† â€Å"Exsqueeze me?† he said. â€Å"What are you not telling us, Will Goodman?† â€Å"Nothing, I swear!† â€Å"Don't be stupid, boy!† Madame Z harped. â€Å"Listen to what I'm saying.† â€Å"Oh, you don't have to worry about him,† I said. â€Å"He's a total Mr. Safety.† I turned back to Will. â€Å"For real. Do you have a fabulous new climbing spot? A brand-new shiny carabiner?† â€Å"It's Yun Sun's turn,† Will said. â€Å"Yun Sun, go.† â€Å"Can you read palms?† Yun Sun asked Madame Z. Madame Z exhaled, and she was barely engaged as she traced her finger over the plump pad below Yun Sun's thumb. â€Å"You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be,† she told her. That was it. Those were her pearls of wisdom. Yun Sun seemed as underwhelmed as I was, and I felt like protesting on all our behalves. I mean, seriously! A tree in the forest? Be careful of heights? You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be? Even with her somewhat convincing touches of atmospheric creepiness, the three of us were getting cheated. Me in particular. But before I could say anything, a cell phone on the desk rang. Madame Z picked it up and used a long orange nail to punch the talk button. â€Å"Madame Zanzibar, at your service,† she said. Her expression changed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She grew brisk and annoyed. â€Å"No, Silas. It's called a†¦ yes, you can say it, a yeast infection. Yeast infection.† Yun Sun and I shared a glance of horror, although-I couldn't help it-I was also delighted. Not that Madame Z had a yeast infection. I mean, ick. But that she was discussing it with Silas, whoever he was, while all of us listened in. Now we were getting our money's worth. â€Å"Tell the pharmacist it's the second time this month,† Madame Z groused. â€Å"I need something stronger. What? For the itching, you idiot! Unless he wants to scratch it for me!† She twisted on her swivel chair, pumping one Juicy Coutured leg over the other. Will looked up at me, his brown eyes wide with alarm. â€Å"I will not be scratching it for her,† he stage-whispered. â€Å"I refuse!† I laughed, thinking it a good sign that he was showing off for me. The Madame Z experience hadn't gone as intended, but who knew? Maybe it would end up having the desired effect after all. Madame Z pointed at me with the lit end of her cigarette, and I ducked my chin contritely, like Sorry, sorry. To distract myself, I focused on the strange and varied clutter on her shelves. A book called Magic of the Ordinary and another titled What to Do When the Dead Speak-But You Don't Want to Listen. I nudged Will with my knee and pointed. He mimed choking the poor deceased bastard, and I snortled. Above the books I saw: a bottle of rat poison, an old-fashioned monocle, a jar of what looked like fingernail clippings, a stained Starbucks cup, and a rabbit's foot, claws attached. And on the shelf above that was†¦ oh, lovely. â€Å"Is that a skull?† I asked Will. Will whistled. â€Å"Holy cannoli.† â€Å"Okey-doke,† Yun Sun said, averting her eyes. â€Å"If there really is a skull, I don't want to know about it. Can we leave now?† I took her head in my hands and pointed her in the right direction. â€Å"Look. It still has hair!† Madame Z snapped her cell phone shut. â€Å"Fools, every one of them,† she said. Her pallor was gone; apparently talking to Silas had shaken her out of her funk. â€Å"Ahh! I see you found Fernando!† â€Å"Is that whose skull that is?† I asked. â€Å"Fernando's?† â€Å"Oh God,† Yun Sun moaned. â€Å"Wormed his way to the surface after a gully washer, out in Chapel Hill Cemetery,† Madame Z told us. â€Å"His coffin, that is. Crappy wooden thing, must'a been from the early nineteen hundreds. No one left to care for him, so I took pity on him and brought him here.† â€Å"You opened the coffin?† I said. â€Å"Yep.† She seemed proud. I wondered if she'd worn her Juicy Couture during the grave robbing. â€Å"That's gross that it still has hair,† I said. â€Å"He still has hair,† Madame Z said. â€Å"Show some respect.† â€Å"I didn't know dead bodies had hair, that's all.† â€Å"Skin, no,† Madame Z said. â€Å"Skin starts to rot right away, and believe me, you don't want to smell it when it goes. But hair? Sometimes it keeps growing for weeks after the deceased has made his crossing.† â€Å"Wowzers.† I reached down and tousled Will's honey-colored curls. â€Å"Hear that, Will? Sometimes the hair keeps growing.† â€Å"Amazing,† he said. â€Å"What about that?† Yun Sun asked, pointing to a clear Tupperware container in which something reddish and organlike floated in clear liquid. â€Å"Please tell me it didn't come from Fernando, too. Please.† Madame Z waved her hand, like Don't be ridiculous. â€Å"That's my uterus. Had the doc give it to me after my hysterectomy.† â€Å"Your uterus?† Yun Sun looked ill. â€Å"I'm going to let 'em toss it in the incinerator?† Madame Z said. â€Å"Fat chance!† â€Å"And that?† I pointed to a clump of dried-up something on the highest shelf. This show-and-tell was proving far more enjoyable than our actual readings. Madame Z followed my gaze. She opened her mouth, then closed it. â€Å"That's nothing,† she said firmly, although I noticed she had a hard time tearing her eyes from it. â€Å"Now. Are we done here?† â€Å"Come on.† I made praying hands. â€Å"Tell us what it is.† â€Å"You don't want to know,† she said. â€Å"I do,† I said. â€Å"I don't,† Yun Sun said. â€Å"Yes, she does,† I said. â€Å"And so does Will. Right, Will?† â€Å"It can't be worse than the uterus,† he said. Madame Z pressed her lips together. â€Å"Please?† I begged. She muttered something under her breath about idiot teenagers and how she refused to take the blame, whatever came of it. Then she stood up, pawing the top shelf. Her bosom didn't jiggle, but stayed firm and rigid beneath her top. She retrieved the clump and placed it in front of us. â€Å"Oh,† I breathed. â€Å"A corsage.† Brittle rosebuds, their edges brown and papery. Sprigs of graying baby's breath, so desiccated that puffs of fiber dusted the table. A limp red ribbon holding it all together. â€Å"A peasant woman in France put a spell on it,† Madame Z said in a tone that was hard to decipher. It was as if she were compelled to speak the words, even though she didn't want to. Or, no. More like she did want to but was struggling to resist. â€Å"She wanted to show that true love is guided by fate, and that anyone who tries to interfere does so at her own peril.† She moved to return the corsage.