‘Yeah, I know I told you,’ Lydia said, giving me a gentle kick. ‘Every year we go to Hilton Head for the last week of summer vacation. One of Virginia’s fancy friends loans us their fancy house. You said you’d come with, remember?’
‘I did?’ I replied. ‘When?’
‘Before or after you found out you were a witch, fell in love with a werewolf, almost got trapped in an underground crypt and had to fight your psycho grandmother, you mean?’
I nodded.
‘Somewhere in the middle,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Either way, you’re not leaving me with my mother, Jackson, Virginia andJeremy,so don’t even think about trying to get out of it.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I replied, parking that problem for future me.
‘So, this non-date of yours,’ Lydia said, changing the subject. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘The only formal dress I own is the one Catherine had made for my Becoming,’ I said, thinking about the gorgeous white gown that had been hanging in the back of my closet for the last four weeks, unworn. ‘Will that do?’
‘Way too dressy for a party like this. I suffered through one a couple of years ago. It’s more fun-formal-fancy than debutante-formal-fancy.’
My face flattened with confusion.
‘I literally have no idea what you just said.’
‘Don’t sweat it.’ She picked up her can of Coke, took a sip and smacked her lips together. ‘You can wear something of mine.’
‘You own fun-formal-fancy party dresses?’
‘I contain multitudes. Let’s go take a look.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, pulling myself to my feet and wrapping my arms around her in a hug. ‘You’re the best, you know that?’
‘Sure do,’ she replied with a grin. ‘But it’s nice to be reminded every now and then.’
I draped my arm around her shoulders and she wrapped hers around my waist as we walked and talked. Not much had gone smoothly over the last few months, but as we strolled out of the cemetery and back up Abercorn in the direction of the Powell House, I was beyond grateful for her existence. Lydia was the best friend I’d ever had and I would do everything in my power to protect her.
Chapter Five
‘Will you please stop fidgeting?’ Ashley said as I fussed with my borrowed dress. ‘If you’re not comfortable, go get changed.’
‘Changed into what?’ I pulled up my left shoulder strap for the tenth time in the last sixty seconds. ‘Do you have something I could wear?’
‘Absolutely not.’
As helpful as ever.
Lydia had me try on every dress in her vast collection, declaring me a lost cause when I vetoed her first ten picks for being too short, too tight or both. By the time she was done, my arms ached from raising them up and down as she dressed me up like a Barbie doll, I was left with one vaguely wearable option, and no time or energy to shop for an alternative. Ashley rolled her eyes when I tugged at the lipstick-red hemline of the only dress that wouldn’t bring my father back from the dead just so he could say ‘There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that, missy.’
‘Just relax, would you?’ Ashley said. ‘There’s no reason to feel so self-conscious, I see kids wearing that kind of thing all the time.’
‘You don’t wear this kind of thing.’
She gave an offended snort. ‘That’s because I have no desire to walk around looking like a busted can of biscuits, thank you very much.’
‘I don’t understand what you just said but I know it didn’t make me feel better.’ I glanced at the clock; Jackson would be here in five minutes. No time to start from scratch. ‘Maybe I’d feel better if I put something over it, like a wrap or a sweater?’
‘Or a trash bag. We have some of those scented Hefty bags in the kitchen. They smell better than whatever perfume you’re wearing.’
She placed her romance novel face down on the sofa, pages splayed open as I let out a howl of despair.
‘Calm down, you’re going to a party not marching out to your death. Unless you’ve had a vision of marching out to your death at the party?’
