Saint Shade: the masked acrobat-magician hybrid whose online following is seven times my own, and boy do I fucking hate that fact. His videos are thirst-trap catnip for the internet: a slow roll of his body across silks, a deck of cards that catch fire mid-air, a coy tilt of his mask as if he’s about to reveal his face but never does.
Today’s upload: him shirtless, balancing upside down on one hand while making an entire deck of cards levitate in a perfect circle around him. His face might be covered by that mask—the devils horns, the black halo, the Romanesque golden details, and the black gaiter that covers his nose and mouth beneath the mask—but his perfected arms, chest, abs, and that ridiculous tattoo of a four leaf clover that’s on right side of his lower abdomen, they’re all on full display.
I bite my lip. Hard. Damn. He might just be on the tiny screen in my hand, but I blush like he’s right here in my bedroom with me.
The comments are already feral:
Such a pretty set of necklaces, Saint Shade.
I volunteer as tribute.
I’m not Cinderella, but I know it fits.
I add my own:
Please, Shade? Just one little peek behind the mask? You tell me where and when. I’ll be waiting.
Almost immediately, I scroll back to an older video of his—a fire-eating stunt that had me swearing under my breath the first time I saw it. My comment sits pinned at the top:
Hot doesn’t even begin to cover it. Never been so thirsty in my life.
And just beneath it—his reply.
Maybe you should let me show you what comes after thirsty.
My cheeks flush, and something pulls tight in my lower belly.
I’ve been drooling over him in his comments for months now. And he’s been replying. To every damn comment.
I may hate that he has more followers than me, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to climb the man and ride him like a bicycle.
I watch two more of his videos. Then three. Half an hour slips by before my eyes flick up to the time. “Shit,” I curse myself as I scramble to my feet. “Horny time is over, Willow. You’ve got a man to kill.”
I step out of my bedroom and find both of my sisters in the living room. Opal is wearing a golden dress that makes her look like a goddess. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, a floral crown perched on her head. “You sure you don’t want tocome with me? It feels weird that you’re going out alone. I don’t like it. And there’s free tequila shots at my party.”
I would definitely rather be going with my baby sister, but tonight is a night for business, and I’ll do anything to keep my nighttime hobby a secret from her. “Next year. I made some promises to some other girls. There’s no getting out of what I have planned for tonight.”
Our sister Iris doesn’t even look up from her laptop at the counter. She’s got her black-and-white outfit ironed crisp as always, dark bob falling across her cheek. She has no Halloween plans. She never does. That just isn’t Iris. “Both of you be careful. You know how many women get roofied on Halloween?”
“That’s why I never drink anything I didn’t pour myself,” I say as I lean in and kiss her cheek, even as she hands me a tiny vial.
“Just in case you get yourself in a sticky situation,” she says with a pointed look.
I simply grin as I slip it into my bra, the only place to hide anything in this skintight outfit. She has no idea how helpful I will find her little concoction tonight.
“You hear that, Opal?” Iris says as she looks up at our younger sister and tosses her a little vial as well. “Next time it might be more than molly.”
“Hmm, molly,” Opal says as she smiles that ethereal grin of hers. “I had some good experiences on molly. Very mind-opening.”
Iris just smirks and shakes her head. She’s not going to be one to speak out against our sister doing psychedelics. Iris runs an online apothecary. Her specialty? Shrooms. She’s brilliant in utilizing them in a therapeutic (although illegal) way. Her research should be studied around the world, but again, shrooms are illegal. Her focus is on microdosing, but she’swatched over Opal half a dozen times when she took a heroic dose.
And guess who among us deals with their trauma best? Who is the most healed from the wild shit we went through in our young childhood?
Opal.
Shrooms are magic mushrooms in more than the way they make you hear colors. I really should try a hero dose myself. But my unresolved trauma is productive for society.
The Vale girls are never boring.
