Dead Girls' Dance

“How long…?’”

“Before sunrise. Five in the morning,’” Hess said. “It’ll all be over before dawn. For Monica, too, if Shane’s dad isn’t just bluffing.’”

“He’s not bluffing,’” Claire said numbly. “Oh God. That’s not much time.’”

“Better than what Oliver wanted. He wanted to do it at sunset tonight. The mayor backed him off, but only to the legal deadline. There won’t be any last-minute stays of execution.’” Hess shifted; his chair creaked. “Claire, you need to prepare yourself. There’s no miracle coming; nobody’s going to have a change of heart. He’s going to die. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.’”

She didn’t have the heart to argue with him, because she knew, deep down, that he was right. “Thank you,’” she whispered. “I have to go now.’”

“Claire. Don’t try. They’ll kill you.’”

“Good-bye, Detective.’”

She hung up, put the phone down on the counter, and braced herself with stiffened arms. When she looked up, Eve was watching her with bright, strange eyes.

“All right,’” Claire said. “If I have to be a zombie, I’ll be a zombie.’”

Eve smiled. “Cutest zombie ever.’”

Claire had never worn this much makeup in her life, not even at Halloween. “You wear this every day?’” she asked as Eve stepped back to look at her critically, makeup sponge still in hand. “It feels weird.’”

“You get used to it. Close your eyes. Powder time.’”

Claire obeyed, and felt the feathery touch of the powder brush as it glided over her face. She fought back an urge to sneeze.

“Okay. Now, eyes,’” Eve said. “Hold still.’”

It went on like that for a while, with Claire passively sitting and Eve working whatever dark magic she was working. Claire didn’t know. There was no mirror, and she was weirdly reluctant to see what was happening to her, anyway. It felt a little like she was losing herself, although that was stupid, right? How you looked wasn’t you. She’d always believed that, anyway.

Eve finally stepped back, studied her, and nodded. “Clothes,’” she said. Eve herself had put on a black corset thing, a tattered black skirt, and a necklace of skulls with matching earrings. Black lipstick. “Here you go.’”

Claire took off her blue jeans and T-shirt with great reluctance, then sat down to put on the black hose. They had white death’s-head symbols in a line, and she couldn’t figure out if they were supposed to go front or back. “Where do you find this stuff?’” she asked.

“Internet. Skulls go in the back.’”

After the adventure of the hose, the black leather skirt—knee-length, jingling with zippers and chains—seemed almost easy. Claire’s legs felt cold and exposed. She hadn’t been in a skirt in…when? Not since she was twelve, probably. She’d never liked them.

The top was a black net thing, stretchy and tight, see-through with a black skull and crossbones printed on it. “No way,’” she said. “It’s transparent!’”

“You wear it over a camisole, genius,’” Eve said, and tossed a black silky thing to her. Claire slipped it over her head, then fought her way into the clingy embrace of the skull shirt. “Watch the makeup!’” Eve warned. “Okay, you’re good. Excellent. Ready to take a look?’”

She wasn’t, but Eve didn’t seem to notice. She steered her into the bathroom, turned on the light, and put her arm around Claire. “Ta da!’” Eve said.

Oh my God, Claire thought. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

She looked like Eve’s ski

Well, at least she’d blend in, and if anybody was looking for her, they’d never, ever recognize her. She wouldn’t recognize herself. And somehow she just knew there’d be pictures on the Internet later.

Claire sighed. “Let’s go.’”

Eve drove the black Cadillac onto campus and parked in the faculty lot—a blatant violation, but then, Eve didn’t give a crap about campus tickets, either. It was the closest parking to the frat house. So close, in fact, that Claire could see the lights blazing from every window, and hear the low thudding thump of the bass rattling through the car.

“Wow,’” Eve said. “They’ve gone all out this year. Good old EEK.’”

There was a graveyard around the house—tilting tombstones, big creepy-looking mausoleums, some decaying statues. There were also zombies—or, Claire guessed, party guests—lurching around and doing their best Night of the Living Dead parody for their friends’ cameras.

The dull roar of the party was audible even through the car’s closed windows.

“Stay close,’” Eve said. “Let’s find Sam, yeah? In and out.’”

“In and out.’” Claire nodded.

They got out and ran the short distance to the graveyard.

At close range, the tombstones were either foam rubber or Styrofoam, and the mausoleum was a dressed-up storage building, but it looked great. Zombie hands were reaching up out of the dirt. Nice touch, Claire thought. She came close to one, and it turned and groped her ankle. Claire screamed and jumped back into Eve, who caught her. “Jesus, guys, grow up,’” Eve said, and crouched down to look at the ground. “Where are you?’”

“Right here!’” A trapdoor covered with sod lifted up, and a geeky-looking frat boy wearing a pledge board stuck his head out. “Uh, sorry. Just kidding. I have to—’”

“Grope girls and look up their skirts. Yeah. Tough work, pledge.’” Eve stood up and brushed dirt from her knees. “Carry on.’”

He gri

“Wow,’” Claire said. “How many of them are there? In the ground?’”

“Just the pledges,’” Eve said. “Come on. If Sam’s here, he’ll be talking to people. He loves to talk.’”

If Sam could talk, and anyone could hear him, it was more than Claire could imagine. The music was pounding so loud that she felt it like physical waves through her body, and she had to fight back an urge to cover her ears. Eve had put Claire’s hair up in little pigtails, and she missed having it over her ears to block out the roar. “I need earplugs!’” she yelled in Eve’s ear. Eve mimed a What did you say? “Never mind!’”

The Epsilon Epsilon Kappa fraternity house was trashed. Claire suspected it was usually trashed, but this was extra special—plastic cups everywhere, drinks soaking into carpet, a chair broken in the corner, and drunks sleeping on the sofa. And this was just the foyer. Two guys stepped into their path and held out their hands in the universal gesture for Don’t even think about it; they were big, muscular guys dressed in white face paint with black T-shirts that said UNDEAD SECURITY on them. “Invitations?’” one of them yelled. Claire exchanged a look with Eve.

“Ian Jameson invited me!’” she screamed back. “Ian Jameson!’”

The security guys had a list. They checked it, and nodded. “Upstairs!’” one yelled. “Last door on the left!’”

She didn’t intend to find Ian, but she nodded anyway. She and Eve pressed between the two security guys—who were maybe a little too close—and stepped over the threshold into the wildest party Claire had ever seen in her entire life.

Not that her experience was wide, but still…she was pretty sure Paris Hilton would have classified this as wild. Despite the fact that alcohol was ba

The main room was kind of a dance floor, people pressed up against each other and swaying. Claire stood in the doorway, frozen with sudden dread. It looked like a room full of dead people. Worse—dead, drunk, horny people.