Page 16 of Roses & Ruin

On Friday, the day of Autumn Fest, I wake up already nauseous from anxiety. What if I find him? What if I don’t?

What if I never see him ever again?

“Enough with the what-ifs!” Delia blows a puff of blond hair out of her eyes and taps my nose with the eyeliner pen. “It’s not gonna change our plans. Now, come on, do you want to look like the hottest witch at Payen or what?”

“Or what,” I half joke meekly, and she bops my nose again.

When I look at my reflection, my eyes go wide. Delia appears beside me, gazing at me through the mirror.

“I know it’s a lot,” she says, “but you look badass. And…you’re gonna wanna feel badass when you run into Mr. Disappearing Act. Not to mention hot. Devastatingly hot.”

Delia’s dressed me in an all-black fit-and-flare dress with black silk ribbon laces up the back. The sleeves are long, it’s a mock neck, and I’m wearing black tights and knee-high black boots (all courtesy of Delia), so I’m showing almost zero skin. But somehow, with Delia’s smoky cat-eye makeup and her smoothing out my natural waves, she’s managed to make me look…sexy? Her silver-studded leather harness helps too, the straps crisscrossing my chest.

“Do you like it?” Delia asks.

I throw my arms around her neck. “Thanks,” I whisper. “I…I feel hot?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” Delia jokes in Julian’s snotty English accent. She, of course, looks phenomenal in a black rockabilly-vibe dress with black lace trim on the bust and a cinched waist. But Delia could be wearing a pig carcass and look hot.

When Delia and I arrive at the library lawn, we both gasp. It looks awesome. A DJ dressed like a ghoul is on a platform. He leans into the microphone and shouts, “Payen, this next one is not a song, it’s a spell.” The large crowd of students dancing before him screams, and he throws down an EDM beat layered with the voices of monks singing Gregorian chants. There’s lots of fog—someone must have hooked up a supplemental machine—and warm golden lights are strung from the trees, lighting the path that leads to the library.

“God,” Delia says thickly, “I fucking love witches.” She bites her lip, swinging her hips to a surprisingly infectious bop, as she notices a cute girl with curly red hair in all black swathed in a velvet cape. The girl catches Delia’s eye and gives her a smile.

“Delia.” I give her a gentle nudge. “Go have fun. You should be dancing with hot witches, not indulging my insane drama. You helped me get here. I’m gonna go start my search—”

“Excuse me.” Delia arches a brow. “We’re a pack now. Lone wolves gotta stick together.”

A sweaty boy shoves a flyer in our faces. “Alright, some lone wolves! We’re doing a moon howling at midnight, so wherever you are, soon as it hits twelve, just—” He throws his head back and howls. After a thumbs-up, he scuttles off.

Delia and I burst into laughter.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s check the outside first. We’ll be faster if we split up.” Delia agrees to search the dance floor, and I tell her I’ll weave among the throng buying themed drinks, food, and other items at the small booths.

I scan the faces of everyone I pass. Nearly everyone is in black, a few with sigils painted on their foreheads. I peer at the people in line at the candy-corn popcorn station and the apple cider booth, but I don’t see anyone I recognize.

At one point, I nearly knock over one of the many jars of candles because I see a flash of thick dark hair—but of course, it’s not him. By the time I’ve been soaked with a spray bottle at a booth labeled Aura Cleansing, I’m sure I’ve searched everyone on my side.

“No sign of him. You have any luck?” Delia appears at my elbow. “Ooh, you’re sweaty.” She glances at my dripping forehead.

“No, that’s just water. I got my aura cleansed.”

Delia bites back a laugh, watching me wipe my cheeks on my sleeves. “Library?” she says after I’m dry.

“Library,” I agree.

As soon as we step into the library, the mood shifts. The pulsing beat is muted when the door closes. They’ve done an excellent job decorating this already grand, ancient building. But now, every light comes from candles.

The library staff they have working tonight have opted to wear costumes: black, high-collared Victorian dresses. All the other students in here are whispering, speaking in hushed voices. As always, I pause in the atrium, gazing up at the stained-glass mural of the giant tree, the sky and clouds. I think, Who could walk in here with anything but reverence?

According to the sign at the front desk, the two main areas of interest inside the library for Autumn Fest are a small tent where someone does tarot readings and, one floor up, another small tent where someone does palm readings. There’s a line for both.

“Split up again?” Delia suggests.

“Yeah, one of us takes palm, the other takes tarot.” I’m about to ask which she’d prefer when the cute girl with red hair and a cape from outside joins the tarot line. She catches Delia’s eye and flutters her fingers in a little wave.

“I’ll take tarot,” Delia says at the same time I say, “You take tarot.” Her face breaks out into a genuine, wide grin.

“It’s like you’ve known me my whole life,” she says. “Good luck.” She sashays over to the end of the line, where the girl is twirling her hair, and I head up the stairs to where the palm reader is.