Page 149 of Devils' Day Party
Either tonight they share, or I stay away from them altogether.
“I want you as my girl,” Raz says, standing up and lifting his chin defiantly. He's such a cocky prick, his dirty blonde hair mussed, red eyes narrowed, sharp mouth curved in a smirk. “Just mine. How about that, Karma?”
“How about you earn it?” I retort, and Raz laughs, shaking his head at me. There's a flash of something in his gaze that I don't quite catch, but then it's gone and I'm not sure if I imagined it or not.
“You know what? You had the balls to ask, so why the fuck not? We'll even triple-team if you want us to.” He shoves his chair in and throws his hands up. “We'll play your game tonight, Karma. Like you said, it is Devils' Day. It's a night for finding rules and breaking them.” He pulls his leather mask from his back pocket and slips it on.
“If you want three devils on your ass all night, then I'm game.” Barron puts his mask on next. Calix pulls his black mask from his pocket and looks at it for a minute, rubbing his thumb over the leather. He hands it over to me and I take it, purposely bumping my fingers against his.
“I have another red one in the car,” he says, standing up. “I'll wash the dishes. Get dressed.”
I struggle to keep my jaw off the floor as he sweeps the cups, plates, and teapot off the table.
Calix Knight … washing dishes.
They say magic happens on Devils' Day.
They must be right.
As I move down the hallway in a daze, that niggling feeling is back, that unwanted, awful feeling that tells me what I need in order to break the time loop.
Sacrifice.Darkness is just beginning to kiss the horizon when we arrive at the party, climbing out of the Aston Martin to a rapt audience. Dozens of pairs of eyes reflect back the light, as if the Devil Springs students are predators instead of teenagers. Painted fingers reach up to adjust masks with papier-mâché moth wings or store-bought monster maws.
Their masks are nothing like the ones at Crescent Prep, where each one is a piece of original art, shrouded in mystery and money and magic. The ones here are … just masks. It’s a bit of a relief, actually, to be surrounded by teenagers instead of a court made up of cruel, dark faeries.
“Crescent Prep, huh?” one of the students says, stepping forward in a maniacal looking demon mask, eyes wild, teeth just a bit too real to be glued to a cardboard face. “Thought you guys were too good for us.” The boy steps back and grabs the chain-link gate, dragging it open and allowing us into the party proper. “But, on Devils’ Day, all are welcome.”
There’s a massive bonfire in the middle of the Devil Springs Junkyard, much bigger than the ones we make in the woods. Theirs, too, is piled with old, broken furniture and stolen tree limbs, fed with gasoline and youthful rage. Instead of a live band, one of the students has put down the top on an old green Mustang, music blaring from its speakers.
“Hollow” by Icon for Hire is playing as revelers feed the bonfire and dance in a circle around it, wielding metal pipes, more animal than human. The darkening sky lights up with flames as orange tongues flick up toward the stars.
“Let’s go,” Barron says, striding forward in his white coat with the curled tails, his ass a slice of perfection in those black leather pants of his. Raz, Calix, and I start after him, entering into a fray of red Solo cups, cheap beer, and raucous laughter.
“The poor man’s Devils’ Day,” Raz says with a laugh and a grin so sharp it looks like his face is being sliced in half by the sharp shadows cast from the bonfire. He snatches a bottle of beer from a big plastic bucket filled with half-melted ice, and pops the top with one of the bottle openers sitting nearby.
Much to my surprise and pleasure, he hands the beer to me before going back for his own.
Calix’s dark eyes watch the interaction carefully, but he doesn’t say anything. Tonight, he’s dressed in a black velvet coat that hangs to the ground. It’s unbuttoned, and he’s shirtless underneath, his black jeans too tight and covered with bloodred glitter. Yet another new outfit. How many he has, I’m not sure, but enough that I’ve never seen him dressed in the same one twice.
Part of me, a very distant part, feels bad about what Sonja did to Erina. Yet … just yesterday, Erina killed April. And Calix. She shot Raz.
She’s clearly dangerous, but I don’t know that bullying or violence are solutions for anything.
One thing I do know: saving Pearl isn’t the magical act of sacrifice the universe is looking for from me. Clearly, I’ve missed the memo on something here.
