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I’d ignored the flyers. Ignored the texts from Mack asking if I had a costume. Ignored the way the whole town buzzed with anticipation as October 31st approached.

I wasn’t going because Carolina might be there, and I didn’t trust myself to stay away from her. Jacqueline didn’t need to attend to hear about it. If someone reported us within twenty feet of each other, she’d probably turn me into something small and squishy.

But then Mack showed up at my apartment with a garment bag and a stubborn expression.

“You’re going,” he said, draping the bag over my couch.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He unzipped the bag, revealing a black suit with a velvet cape and a white ruffled shirt. “Vampire costume. Ironic, I know. But it works.”

“I’ll embarrass myself.”

“You’ll do that anyway.” He grinned. “Might as well do it in style.”

I stared at the costume, then at my friend. “Why are you pushing this?”

“Because you’ve been moping for three days since the library. Because Carolina’s been asking about you. She’s trying to slip away from the coven reception tonight. And because...” He hesitated. “Because I think you need to see her, even if it’s dangerous. Even if it’s stupid. Especially if it’s stupid.”

I laughed, a bitter sound. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’m a bear shifter. Terrible influence is practically part of the benefits package.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, Logan. One night. One dance. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I thought of Jacqueline’s cold smile. Of her power. Of what she’d do if she caught me touching her daughter.

“She could kill me,” I said quietly.

“She could,” Mack agreed. “But she could also do that tomorrow, or next week, or whenever she feels like it. The curse proves that. You’re already living on borrowed time.” He met my eyes. “So why not spend it with the person who makes you feel alive?”

I looked at the costume. Looked at my empty apartment. Looked at the life I’d been living for a year: small, scared, alone.

“Fine,” I said. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

Paws, Claws & Fangs had been transformed.

The usual neon signs were dark, replaced by thousands of candles that floated near the ceiling, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Fake cobwebs draped every surface, so realistic I suspected they might actually be magical. The bar was serving smoking cocktails in cauldrons, and someone had spelled the jukebox to play only songs from before 1950.

It was beautiful. And terrifying. And I was already sweating in the velvet cape.

I stood near the back, clutching a drink I didn’t need, scanning the crowd for red hair. The room was packed with werewolves in fur and fangs, witches in pointed hats, vampires in capes and corsets. Everyone was masked, which should have made me feel safer, but it just made me feel more exposed. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could be reporting back to Jacqueline.

“Nervous?”

I jumped, nearly spilling my drink. A woman stood beside me, her face hidden behind a silver mask shaped like a crescent moon. But I knew that voice. I’d been hearing it in my dreams.

“Carolina,” I breathed.

She turned to face me, and I forgot how to speak.

Her costume was simple and devastating and made my dead heart race. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves, slit high on one thigh to reveal a silver garter shaped like a snake eating its own tail. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders, unbound and wild, crowned with a delicate circlet of black roses. She wore no pointed hat, no broom, no cartoon witch accessories.

She just looked like herself. Like power and grace and everything I wasn’t.

“You came,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music.

“You shouldn’t talk to me,” I said, even as I stepped closer. “Your mother...”