Sequins and fake blood catch the low lighting, creating a surreal constellation of what can only be Halloween excess. Piano music—impressive, aggressive, and almost angry—crashes through the space, battling the occasional burst of laughter and drunken teen revelry.
The air is thick with expensive cologne and designer perfume, a cloud of olfactory one-upmanship that makes my nose wrinkle with the memory of it all. This is Demetri’s world, and subtlety has never been his strong suit.
“Wow,” Logan whispers beside me, his eyes wide as we materialize fully into the scene. “I forgot how over-the-top Demetri’s Halloween parties used to be.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say as I nod to my mother in all of her celestial glory. “Happy Halloween.”
Demetri’s estate looms ahead of us like an homage to gossamer-riddled castles, better long-forgotten, in a century not our own. It’s a white overgrown box punctuated by lots of stonework and enough wrought iron to outfit a prison. A boil of volcanic clouds swirls around the periphery, pulsing with red and purple hues—because we all know that weather manipulation is one of Demetri’s favorite party tricks.
Bodies swarm both inside and out of his mausoleum of a mega mansion while raucous music pumps into the night from somewhere behind the property. The storm brewing in that piano, however, is definitely coming from within. The whole scene is exactly as I remember it, a perfect replica of a particular Halloween party that changed everything.
“Look.” I nudge Logan, pointing toward a group emerging from a maze set up to the far right under a canopy of twinkle lights. “It’s the bitch squad themselves, right on cue.” I laugh as they charge this way in all of their mean girl glory.
And there they are—Chloe, Lexy, Michelle, Em, and Nat, all dressed in their indistinguishable slutty outfits, each one less imaginative than the last. Way back when they had earned their nefarious nickname, and it only seems right to invoke it here in the past.
Chloe is predictably dressed as a sleazy nurse, which feels like cosmic irony, considering she could technically heal people with the Celestra blood coursing through her veins, but finds hurting them so much more satisfying.
Michelle sports a barely-there devil costume that matches her personality, and she keeps glancing around like a predator—probably looking for Logan to sink her claws into.
Lexy, Em, and Nat are all short skirts and boobs, and I have no idea what the hell they’re supposed to be dressed up as. Probably just sluttier versions of themselves if that were possible.
Giselle trails behind them, looking like a confused mermaid, complete with sparkly aqua tail and silver glittering heels. She’s got a pair of bright pink seashells covering her boobs and not a whole lot else going on. Giselle would be Gage’s sister, once deceased.
“Really?” I scoff, watching Giselle struggle to walk in that ridiculous,raunchy getup. “Who dressed her? And Emma let her little girl go out of the house like this?” I shake my head with the quasi-judgment. “On second thought, I bet Emma and Dr. O haven’t laid eyes on their sweet baby girl just yet this evening.” How I’d love to be there when Emma drops dead of a pearl-clutching heart attack. “Want to bet Emma’s home right now, convinced Giselle’s at the library?”
Logan nods. “This explains why Emma drinks wine in a coffee mug.”
We watch as Chloe and her minions head toward my younger self, who’s standing awkwardly in her cheerleader costume at the base of the stairs. So very original, I know. But honestly, that cheer outfit felt more like a costume than a team uniform at times. And I think I was supposed to be a zombie cheerleader. But then again, I could have just been tired. And let’s face it, the damp Paragon air has never been a friend to my curls.
“I see you chose irony as your costume,” the younger version of me quips to Chloe with far too much teenage bravado.Lord knows she’s no healer. I remember the thought well. And I wasn’t wrong.
“And I see you chose reality as yours,” she bites back without missing a beat. “An ugly cheerleader.”
The group breaks out in cackles that sound like witches gathering around a cauldron, and I laugh a little despite myself.
A group of zombie cheerleaders from East walk by and giggle to themselves while gawking in our direction. Obviously, the look was a running theme.
“One, two, three!” their leader shouts. “West sucks!” they scream in unison.
I recognize Carly Foster and Carson Armistead even from a distance. They once drove all the way to West just to graffitisluton my locker. The dedication was almost impressive. Chloe got it worse—they keyed her car AND spray-painted her house. Hating those two is the only thing Chloe and I have ever agreed on. Plotting their downfall with Chloe was the only time we didn’t want to kill each other. And dare I say, we downright bonded over it.
“Wow, I hate them,” younger me whispers as Chloe shoulders up to her. “But don’t worry, Chloe. I hate you far more. You’ll always hold that special place on my shit list. I’d never dethrone you as the biggest abhorrence of my life.”
“What a mess,” I whisper to Logan, watching my younger self shift uncomfortably. “But I’ll admit, I had decent comebacks even then.”
“You still do,” Logan says, his eyes tracking his younger self as he appears on the scene.
Chloe smirks at younger me as if I were nothing more than a stench in her nostrils before making her way back to the bitch squad and Giselle. What looks like a missed opportunity from the Queen of Mean is almost always a telltale sign she’s saving her venom for maximum damage. And it’s almost always a telltale sign she’s planning something that’ll make me wish she’d just insulted me instead.
A pair of arms encircle the younger version of me from behind, and I turn to see Gage Oliver’s gorgeous, smiling face. He’s wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and his killer dimples. Honestly, the dimples would have been enough.
Logan clears his throat and gives my hand a squeeze.
“Sorry,” I mouth and wince at my blatant Oliver worship. But then, not a lot has changed.
“And what are you supposed to be?” younger me asks just as someone tickles her ribs from behind, and she leaps out of Gage’s arms and into Logan’s with a scream.
“You scared the crap out of me.” She swats him on the stomach.
