Sancte Diaboli

Saint

The boys haven’t been back all day, though it’s not quite sundown. I’ve had three glasses of champagne, thanks to Tillie and Bailey, and the workers who had spent all day setting everything up are only now leaving. There are a few people who are already here, even though nothing starts for another three hours and I’m still panicking about what happened last night.

Swiping the black liner over my upper lid for dark wings, I pause.

“Breathe, Saint. You’re going to be fine.” Tillie pushes her stilettos on, straightening her clothes.

“She’s right. They’ll be back.” Bailey continues to press heat waves into her hair, with Natasha, her friend, beside her. They’re both already well and truly drunk, and I’m almost certain I saw Bailey slide a pill between her lips.

“That’s not it.” I stand, ru

The light pink linen gown hangs off my body loosely, but pinches in around my small waist. There are two large slits on either side of it, stopping above my hip bone. Yes, hip bone, as in I can’t wear panties under this thing. The bust is simple, yet Tillie still managed to find the most revealing outfit ever. It dips down in a heart, revealing my cleavage. I’ve never thought much about my boobs. They’re not big, but not small. I can fit them in the palm of my hand, but this outfit makes them look bigger. The curves swelling against the fabric. She tried to convince me to temporarily dye my hair pink, I told her no. The dress was enough. And the shoes. I lean down to tie and strap the gladiator-style heels up my calves, which wrap and tie all the way to my knees.

“My cousin is going to kill you,” Bailey singsongs to Tillie while brushing the wand of her gloss over her lips.

“I have been put on this earth to torment Bran Bran. He will be fine.”

After I’ve finished strapping on my heels, I take one final long look in the mirror. This is by far the most I’ve ever dressed up. Tillie has the Dia de Los Muertos makeup, and I said she could do a light shadow of a skull over half of my face. It’s not as detailed as Tillie’s, but it’s noticeable enough. My hair is in billowy waves that curve down my bare back and stop at my tailbone, and my makeup is heavy, with burgundy lips and dark smoky eyes.

I unlock my phone, ignoring Tillie and Bailey chatting and the fact I can hear music playing outside.

Saint: You never told me your name?

My throat swells. I feel a little guilty for texting the number back. I know I shouldn’t, but then I don’t know why I shouldn’t text the number back. I don’t know why I’m guilty or feeling this way.

?: Because I didn’t tell you.

I think over his last text.

Saint: Are you coming tonight?

There’s a long stretch of silence before the text bubbles appear.

?: You’ll have to find out.

I flip open my camera app after that and turn it onto selfie mode. “Photo?” I ask Tillie and Bailey.

They both throw smiles from behind me as I keep my face neutral. I flip through the two I took and choose one, opening Instagram and posting without a caption.

Bailey hands me my wine glass from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Come downstairs. I have someone you will want to meet.”

We follow Bailey down the hallway and out of mine and Brantley’s room. Once we hit the kitchen, it becomes obvious just how much they’ve changed everything in the house to match Halloween. There are orange, black, and gray lights spread throughout, with a diamond pumpkin-style chandelier. Bypassing the kitchen, we’re out on the patio area and I instantly stop in my tracks. A large bell tent is set up on the lawn, where music is drifting out from. Men and women and people our age flow in and out, laughing and talking amongst themselves. They may all be dressed different with a range of costumes, but one thing they all have in common, is they’re all wearing skull faces.

“Saint! I want you to meet Lena.” Bailey tugs on my hand and I turn to face who she’s gesturing to at the table.

“Hi,” I say, falling to the chair beside her. “Nice to meet you.”

Lena studies me closely, her eyes roaming up and down my body. I stop breathing. She has tattoos covering her skin, including a full neck tattoo that curves around her jawline, a little like Nate’s. She has a nose piercing and a lip piercing, and she’s dressed a little differently from how the rest of the girls are. With loose dark jeans, Nike sneakers, a white tee and a dark hoodie. I almost ask her if that’s what she’s dressed as, but then my mouth closes. I don’t care.

“Damn. So, who is this? A new Swan?” Lena licks her lips and it’s the first look I get at her tongue piercing.

Before I can say anything, I hear the loud rumble of cars pull up the driveway. “Boys are home…” Tillie says, rubbing her belly. She’s dressed as a pregnant woman, she said, since she isn’t in an actual outfit. Car doors slam closed.

My heart pounds in my chest.

Footsteps clap against the steps that lead up to the patio, and my breathing shallows.

I hear the distinct voices before they round the corner. Quickly, I divert my eyes away from them and bring my wine glass to my lips. My heart is beating painfully fast, causing sweat to bead on the nape of my neck. We haven’t seen each other at all since last night and now I feel flustered and uncomfortable. I keep my eyes locked on the tent to the side of us, so I don’t have to lose my soul when our gazes lock.

“Jesus Christ, Bran!” Tillie gasps, bursting up from her chair urgently. Instantly I know something is wrong, so I cave and turn to face him.

His skin is paler than normal, his eyes dark around the edges. His hand comes to the back of Lena’s neck before she looks up at him and they fist punch each other.

“Bran, you didn’t tell me you had a new girl in the group.”

Brantley ignores me, keeping his eyes on Lena and laughs. He laughed. He didn’t get mad, or correct her. He laughed. Something unfamiliar sets up shop inside of me and I don’t like it. I feel the bubbling poison of rejection hot against my skin. Maybe I gave him what he wanted and he’ll go back to ignoring me again. Isn’t that what I wanted anyway? It was. So why does it hurt so bad? We always think we know what we want until we’re met with what we don’t get.

“Whoopty” by CJ is playing loudly from the tent when he finally locks eyes with me. Air is snatched from my lungs and replaced with fire, as it spreads through my veins with every breath. Suddenly I can’t hear anything, and everyone around me disappears into the back of my mind. I chew on my bottom lip and bring my glass to my lips. That’s when I see it.

The wet patch over his front shoulder, the opposite side of his tattoo.

My mouth closes but my head involuntarily tilts. The distinct smell of liquid metal wafts up my nose. Before I can stop myself, I’m standing from my chair.

His eyes instantly drop down my body, the smile gone. Poof. Vanished and replaced with a snarl. I ignore him until I’m toe to toe with him. With these heels on, I’m still nowhere near as tall as him. Now I’m up to his chest, instead of his abs. I press my palm over the wet patch, but he snatches my wrist and pulls me in closer.