Page 12 of Devils' Day Party
I don’t have the energy tonight.
Instead, I decide to walk to the bus stop.
It’s a good thirty-minute walk, but I enjoy the peace and quiet, book bag swinging by my side as I cut through the woods, taking a shortcut past the creek and around the edge of the lake. The terrain’s a bit rougher, but there’s little chance of running into anyone out here, so the extra effort it takes is worth it.
Fortunately, I make it to the bus stop just in time to hop on, sighing in relief as my ass hits the seat and I put my head in my hands, forgetting briefly about my mask. My fingers come away stained with glitter as I tear it off and clutch it in my lap. After the crap I’ve been through today, I’d be an idiot to attend the Devils’ Day Party tonight.
I’d be an idiot not to.
I can’t let the Knight Crew start dictating where I go and what I do; I never have.
I lean my head back against the seat for the rest of the drive, not even bothering to open my eyes when we stop and several other people get on. After ten grueling stops in the middle of nowhere, we end up at the edge of Devil Springs, where the Diamond Point Mobile Home Park sits, surrounded by trees. It’s not a bad place to live; there’s not a resident here who doesn’t take pride in their home and yard. I’m not ashamed of it, despite what the Knight Crew might want to believe.
“I’m home!” I call out, tossing my bag on the sofa and knowing that if my moms are in the studio out back, that they won’t hear me. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or frustrated when Mama Jane peeks her head out of the kitchen.
“I’m making tea. Do you want some?” I shake my head, and she frowns, slipping back into the kitchen to answer the whistle of the teapot. All around me, art fills the colorful walls from floor to ceiling. There are original oil paintings, framed prints, wall hangings made of metal, and mosaic tiles. The entire house is a spectacle, somewhere between a gallery and a maelstrom. “Are you sure you don’t want tea?” Mama Jane asks, reappearing with her dark hair coiffed on the top of her head, the only mark on her otherwise perfect clothes and skin a bit of blue paint on her left elbow. An elfin mask sits atop her head, just in front of her bun, the skin speckled with freckles, just like the ones on Mama Cathy’s face.
“I’m sure,” I say, noticing as her eyes drift to my bloodied knees and stained dress shirt. Jane was raised in a house where people didn’t talk about their feelings. That means, of course, that we talk about our feelings a lot here.
I brace myself for an interrogation, just before my little sisters rush in the back door, covered in paint and wearing matching butterfly masks. They’re not twins, but they might as well be. My moms decided to get pregnant at the same time, with the same donor sperm they used with me. The girls were born two days apart, and they’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.
“What took you so long to get home?” Emma asks, sweeping her mask back from her gray eyes. They’re a bit bluer than mine, but less green than Katie’s.
“And where’s Little Bee?” Katie asks, frowning, her own black and orange butterfly mask reminding me of the Diana fritillary necklace I received today. The broken pieces are still in my backpack, a mystery for another day.
“Broke down,” I say, and Mama Jane cocks a brow at me, holding out the cup of tea I didn’t want. I take it anyway, just to get her off my back. I feel irrationally irritated right now, pissed off at the Knight Crew for my car, for hurting me, for making me feel like they might take things too far one day. I exhale sharply as Jane takes a step closer, opening her mouth to ask about the car.
“It just wouldn’t start. No big deal. We can deal with it tomorrow.”
“Karma,” she begins, her voice a warning, but I just need a moment alone to decompress. It’s been a long day, and I still have to decide if I’m going to the party tonight. It feels like giving up to stay home, but at the same time, I’m just so goddamn tired. If anything, that’s what the Knight Crew’s managed to do—wear me down. I could sleep until the end of senior year.
“Karma, come paint with us,” Emma blurts before Jane gets a chance to continue. “We’re making a mural in the carport. It’s the Horned God.” Cool, a pagan deity on the side of our house in a deeply religious small town. I decide to voice my opinion aloud.
