Gilt Hollow (25 page)

“Yes, but I need a bit more time to wrap things up here. How about next Sunday?” He had to make sure Willow would stop digging into things that could get her killed.

“Good thinking. It'll give me a chance to work on your mother.”

“Okay, see you then.” He lowered the phone.

“Ashton?”

Slowly, he lifted the speaker back to his ear. “Yes, Dad?”

“I'm glad you called . . . son.”

The emotion in his dad's voice loosened something in Ashton's chest, but he wasn't about to let his father off that easily. He lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

Ashton sunk down on the edge of the bed. For four long years he'd dreamed of coming back home, and not just for revenge. He loved this house—where generations of Kellers had grown up and raised families of their own. He'd missed Gilt Hollow in all its eclectic glory. And a rough plan had begun to form in his mind; he'd graduate, work on a local farm, and defer college until his trust fund kicked in. Then he'd study business and eventually buy Twisted Beauty, expanding it to take over the whole building. Maybe make the first floor a pub with a stage where he could bring in indie bands.

He had zero interest in learning real estate and becoming a clone of his parents. His shoulders slumped. Maybe someday he could come back, but for now it was best for everyone if he disappeared.

He had one last hope. It was thin at best, but he had to try. After digging through his duffel bag, he unfolded a slip of paper and made another call. This time to an old friend.

I
t's Isaiah. I'm sure of it. He came looking for me at the Martins' house. Probably to lure me outside.” Willow jabbed her scalpel into the pumpkin's eye with a glee bordering on psychotic. It was two days until the big party, and Mom had sent her and Ashton to the backyard and put them on carving duty. Willow's life might be totally out of control, but jack-o'-lanterns she could handle.

“Heck of a lot of good that does us, since his dad's the chief of police.” Ashton scooped out a spoonful of orange guts and splatted them onto a newspaper. “Besides, the knife they found at the scene had been wiped clean of fingerprints, and Penelope said the voice that threatened her was muffled. She hasn't been able to give the police any more information.”

“Can't we go to the county prosecutor or something? Tell them that the police chief and his son are psychopaths? I'm pretty sure that sort of thing runs in families.” An unseasonably warm breeze ruffled Willow's hair. The hint of dryness in the air made her want to soak up the sun before it disappeared for the long Ohio winter.

“Yes, but for that we'll need solid evidence. Which—”

Willow finished his sentence. “Which is what you're working on that I could ruin if I get too close. I know! But I'm starting to feel like you just made that up so I'll stop snooping. I'm telling you, Colin's family is hiding something. If I could just . . .”

A plop of wet goop struck Willow's face. She jerked back and crossed her eyes to see strings of pumpkin pulp hanging
from her nose. Ashton bounced on his toes, eyes dancing, spoon loaded and ready.

“Ashton!” She swiped at the stinking mess and raised her knife. “I have a scalpel, don't make me use—” Another splat.

“That's it!” Willow lunged and grabbed a handful of guts, flinging them just as another mass smacked her chest. Ashton hooted his victory and ducked behind the table.

“Ugh!” She dodged another missile and then reached for more ammo, but the moment she did, pumpkin innards splattered her neck and face. Rethinking her strategy, Willow faked one direction, and then spun and sprinted around the end of the table. Ashton raised his hand to fling more gunk, but then froze, his eyes widening just before she threw herself at him. He let out a startled grunt as she tackled him to the ground and began to rub her arms and face against him like a cat.

Within a matter of seconds, she'd completely slimed him. His chest shook beneath her and she realized he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Willow giggled as he sucked in a sharp breath.

He gripped her arms and rolled to the side so they lay in the damp grass facing each other. “You're surprisingly strong for such a little thing.” Grinning, he pulled a clump of seeds out of her hair and flicked them away.

Willow brushed a glob of pulp from his throat, her fingers grazing warm skin. “I imagine that has something to do with my mass, times the velocity as I ran . . .”

Ashton wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. “I get it, science girl.” He cupped her face and leaned in, his lips hovering a hair's breadth from hers as he murmured, “Velocity times mass equals momentum.” He kissed her top lip and then lifted his head.

Sparks ignited all over Willow's body. He sure knew how to sweet-talk a girl.

He lowered his mouth again and kissed her with slow deliberation, as if she were a dessert and he wanted to savor every mouthful. Willow ran her hands over his strong shoulders and then laced her fingers in the hair curling against his neck. He gripped her waist and their mouths opened together. Urgency flooding her veins, Willow kissed him until she couldn't breathe—and didn't want to.

The sound of a throat clearing intruded into her bliss, but she ignored it, drowning in the feel of Ashton's skin, the taste of his lips. Until a deep voice said, “I didn't expect a heartfelt reunion, but a thank you might be nice.”

Ashton pulled back and then leaned his forehead against hers. “Sorry. I've gotta take care of this.” He planted a quick kiss on her chin, then released her and sprang to his feet. “This better be good, Rozelle.”

Willow sat up and self-consciously straightened her shirt and plucked pumpkin bits from her hair. Ashton gripped the other boy's hand and raised it between them as they pounded each other on the back in a one-armed guy hug. Willow stood and examined the other boy. Tattoos swirled around the tan skin of his upper arms, and he wore some kind of pendant on a black cord around his throat. He was tall but not quite as muscular as Ashton. With his straight dark hair and the exotic tip to his eyes, he reminded Willow of a real-life Aladdin.

“Willow”—Ashton glanced back at her and then turned to the boy—“this is my old roommate from JJC, Toryn Rozelle.”

When she shook his hand and his eyes danced with mischief, the image of the iconic Arabian thief was complete. She
smiled at him, seemingly unable to help herself. He grinned back and then released her hand and pulled a roll of papers out of his back pocket. Turning to Ashton, he said, “I dug up what you asked for, man. But I'm not sure it's all that helpful.”

Ashton took the papers, and Willow read over his shoulder. It was a police report from four years ago. She raised her eyes to Toryn. “Are you a hacker or something?”

His perpetual grin still in place, he replied, “Nope. I just know one who owed me a favor.”

Ashton glanced up. “Doesn't just about everyone owe you a favor?”

Toryn shrugged. “It's a living.”

“One that's going to get you thrown back in the clink. And I won't be around to back you up next time.”

Toryn raised two palms in defense. “Whoa, okay, I'll lay off the criminal activity and go work at McDonald's.”

“Yeah, right.” Ashton went back to reading the report.

Willow skimmed the document and found Daniel Turano's name. She had to weed through the legal jargon but pieced together that Daniel claimed to have witnessed another boy selling drugs. The dealer was described as average build, average height, and wearing a beanie over his hair—which could be half the teen boys in Gilt Hollow.

“He covered it up,” Ashton ground out. “I can't freaking believe it.”

“But if Isaiah was dealing, Daniel still knew it. We could tell the DA that the chief buried the witness testimony.” Willow was grasping at straws, and she knew it. Taking this to the county prosecutor would only make them look like fools.

“Sorry, man, I know you were hoping for something solid,” Toryn said.

“Yeah.” Ashton's shoulders slumped, his mouth dragging into a frown. This had been his last hope to reopen the investigation.

“I'm not giving up,” Willow vowed. “We can still find the evidence we need.”

“But at what cost?” Ashton spun on her. “No one else is getting hurt because of me!”

Toryn shifted from foot to foot. “Um . . . I gotta go, dude.”

Ashton stared Willow down for several more seconds before breaking eye contact and digging in his pocket. He handed a wad of bills to Toryn, who folded them with a smile. “Nice doin' business with you. Let's hook up in Cincy next week. If you and your old man need an intern, I'm your guy. I'm not above making coffee or kissing a little corporate butt.”

“Dude, shut up.” Ashton strode forward, grasped Toryn's shoulder, and guided him around the side of the house.

“What? You told me to go legit, and real estate beats flip-pin' burgers . . .”

Toryn's words disappeared into the sudden vacuum swirling in Willow's head. What was he talking about? Ashton was going to Cincinnati? Had he talked to his parents? Was he going for a visit . . . or something more permanent?

When Ashton came back around the house, both of his hands jammed into his pockets, the look on his face confirmed Willow's worst fears.

“You're leaving?” Willow croaked.

He stopped a foot away from her. “Yeah.”

“Just like that, you're giving up.” It wasn't a question.

“This has to end before someone else is killed. The only way that's going to happen is if I'm gone.” He reached for her, but Willow stepped away.

“When were you going to tell me?” She had to fight to keep the panic out of her voice.

He lifted a shoulder. “I don't know . . . I'd hoped Toryn would find something solid, but Kagawa covered his tracks too well.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I'm . . . not sure.”

She stepped into him, anger flashing across her skin. “Minutes ago you . . . you kissed me like you might die if you stopped, all the while knowing you were leaving! When were you going to tell me? After we did it?”

“No! Geez, Wil. I wouldn't do that to you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It sounds stupid, but I wanted to take you out. Just once. On a proper date.”

“The ball? How ridiculously classic! You were going to show me the time of my life and then ride off into the sunset? Well, forget it!” She pushed against his chest with both hands. “Our date's off!”

Willow spun on her heel and stalked toward the house, her pulse raging in her ears.

“Can't you see I'm doing this for you?” Ashton called.

She spun around. “Really? Because to me it seems like you're running away.”

Tears scalding her eyes, Willow turned and fled. She didn't want him to know he'd broken her heart. Again.

T
he mayor's antebellum mansion appeared to float in a sea of fog as Willow and Lisa approached arm in arm, the gauzy material of their costumes brushing in a whisper. Eerie music filled the air, old-fashioned gas lanterns lined the winding driveway, and fairy lights twinkled in the trees. Beautiful and haunting, the atmosphere ignited memories from years past. All the times Willow and Ashton had attended with her dad, his eyes twinkling behind whatever creature he'd painted on his face.

Lisa squeezed Willow's hand. “I'm sorry I'm your date instead of . . . you know.”

Willow had survived the last few days by stuffing her feelings down into the basement of her soul where no one would ever find them. She was good at it. She'd had a lot of practice after Ashton left the first time. But she didn't want to talk about him now. “Let's just focus on tonight. I've been coming to this ball since I was a kid. It's totally over the top. You're going to love it.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” Lisa's voice quivered as they reached the first bend in the driveway. Thick mist swirled up their legs and the sounds of moaning spirits echoed all around them.

“Don't be a ninny,” Willow chided as a Victorian ghost drifted by covered in iridescent paint from her crow-topped hat to the sweeping hem of her bell-like skirt. “I'm the one who's supposed to have the anxiety disorder.”

“Where I'm from, you follow your instincts, and if something doesn't feel right, you cut and run . . . or you die.”

“That might be a tad bit dramatic.” Willow's words were drowned out by the blast of organ keys as all the lights in the yard blinked off. Lisa shrieked, and every window in the house flashed like lightning with thunder booming close behind.

After a few beats of silence, the haunted tune wound back up and the lights flickered on one by one. There were a few nervous laughs, and a nearby Jack Skellington whooped and pumped a spindly arm.

“You were saying?” Lisa demanded. “That was just dang creepy.”

“That's kind of the point.”

Once inside, they checked their coats, and Willow stopped to look at her costume in the hall mirror. Lisa had painted Willow's face with swirls of black, purple, and silver so that it appeared that a mask was tattooed to her skin. The tiny crystals glued to her temples, fake violet-tipped eyelashes, and lavender-glitter lipstick transformed her into something magical—Willow the Wicked Fairy, to be precise. Lisa had thought it would be hilarious to make straitlaced Willow dark and herself light.

Willow had to admit, being someone else felt kind of freeing. She smoothed the gossamer layers of her skirt and straightened the laces of her bodice while trying not to imagine what Ashton would have thought. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. He'd be gone tomorrow anyway.

Pushing down the rise of grief and anger, Willow lifted her chin and smiled as Lisa joined her in the mirror, all pink, gold, and fluffy—Lisa the Light Fairy. Willow scratched her scalp where the purple extensions clipped into her hair.

“Stop messing!” Lisa smacked Willow's hand away from her elaborate updo of braids and curls. “You'll ruin my masterpiece.”

A woman with an enormous blue wig drifted behind them, and they both spun and shouted, “Effie!”

The woman turned her chalk-white face to them and lifted a gloved hand. “You look fabulous, darlings.”

Willow and Lisa exchanged grins and followed the techno-beat of a Sam Smith-Disclosure remix into the packed ballroom glittered with candlelight and cobwebs. A life-sized mausoleum housed the DJ booth, where Jeff White, dressed as a zombified member of the Grateful Dead, mixed songs like a master. Colorful costumed couples mingled and danced across the floor, making it hard to know where to look first.

“Okay, maybe this is cool,” Lisa admitted.

A hand touched Willow's shoulder, and she turned to find Brayden wearing a long black robe with his red hair combed over his forehead, a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck, and wand in his hand. “Oh my gosh, Ron! It's perfect!” She'd always thought Brayden looked like a Weasley.

He smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Brayden hadn't taken their breakup well. She'd stuck to the truth and explained that since Ashton had returned, she'd felt conflicted. But she hadn't talked to Brayden since Ashton told everyone he was leaving town. “Sure.”

She turned to Lisa and found her heading off to dance with an alien who had fingers for teeth. With a shrug, Willow turned to Brayden and let him lead her to a corner by a black cauldron spilling mist onto the floor. Nearby, a green-faced witch ladled out cups of the bubbling brew.

“Willow, I tried to call you all day.”

“I know. I wasn't answering.”

Brayden ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick out on one side.

“Stop.” Willow reached up and smoothed down his bangs. “You're ruining the Ron effect.”

A corner of his mouth curled. “Thanks. You look awesome, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at the sparkling layers of her skirt. She actually felt pretty.

“I'm glad you didn't come with
him
.”

Willow didn't have to ask who he was talking about.

“Not that I'm jealous or anything, but now that he's leaving . . . I still kinda hoped we could—”

“I'm not ready, Brayden. I'm sorry.” Willow glanced over her shoulder, hoping to find Lisa and lose herself in the frenetic mass of dancers.

“You're one of the smartest people I know,” he said. “Have you ever thought that Ashton might be guilty? Even once?”

Willow clenched her teeth.

“No, really.” He stepped closer. “Think about it. Everything that's happened since he returned . . . How do you know he didn't orchestrate it all? And then took advantage of your belief in him? Every bit of evidence I've seen points directly back to Ashton. Including the video we watched with our own eyes.”

Willow shot Brayden a withering look. “I was with Ashton when Penelope was stabbed, remember?”

“But for how long? They don't know exactly when it happened. Could Ashton have attacked her before he came to find you?”

His brown eyes searched hers, and the blood seemed to
drain from Willow's chest. Thinking back, Willow had no solid proof that Ashton hadn't destroyed Colin's jersey or trashed Isaiah's locker or even robbed the record store. Only his word. He'd never been around when she'd received the threatening SnapMail messages. What if they were his way of warning her to stay out of it? What if he'd just wrecked his bike and no one ran him off the road?

A girl dressed as a ratty doll with long red hair and demented eyes smashed into Brayden's arm. “Dance with me, Ron!”

“Hold on, Yo.” Brayden steadied the drunken girl. “Willow, just promise me you'll consider it.”

Willow nodded as Yolanda tugged Brayden out onto the floor. When she and Brayden finally broke eye contact, Willow began to drift around the edge of the room in a daze. Was it possible her feelings for Ashton had clouded her judgment? Did she have any proof that one word Ashton had said to her was true? She believed he didn't push Daniel on purpose, but what if Penelope had learned about his other crimes and he'd tried to silence her? The insane rage on his face as he'd punched Colin had terrified her; it was as if he'd turned into a different person. Could he be leaving to escape before he was caught?

“Is that you, Willow?”

She turned to find Pastor Justin hanging out by the hors d'oeuvre table, wearing his usual costume of a floor-length brown robe and the heavy cross necklace of a monk. “Hi, Pastor.”

“Can I offer a severed finger or gelatinous eyeball, perhaps?” He gestured toward the table of spooky treats.

“No, thanks.”

Pastor Justin looked past her. “Is Dee here?”

“Nope, Mom's busy with last-minute preparations for our after-party. You should stop by.”

“Of course.” He grinned, and her suspicion that he had feelings for her mother solidified. But her mind churned with too many questions to analyze how she felt about her mom's dating life. She picked up a cake pop decorated like a miniature candied apple and twirled it in her fingers. “Pastor, do you think it's possible to be completely wrong about someone? To believe with all your heart that they're one way, only to find out you were wrong all along?” She felt stupid asking such a vague question, but she was desperate for guidance—for some idea how to deal with the doubts Brayden had planted in her mind.

The pastor seemed to consider for a moment. “Some people call it intuition, but I know that the Spirit of God lives within all believers. If you look for wisdom, you'll know the answer. Even if it isn't what you expect.”

It was exactly the kind of mystical advice she'd anticipated from him, but for some reason it helped. “Thanks.” She gave him a genuine smile before continuing on her way. An '80s punk song blared from a nearby speaker, the base pounding in her chest. She needed a minute alone to think.

Tossing the cake pop into a wastebasket, she headed across the enormous room to a set of french doors, but before she could walk outside, a clown snagged her arm. “Let's dance!” She didn't recognize the fake high-pitched voice, but she let the clown lead her into the mass of dancers just as a slow song began. Willow faced her partner and swallowed a gasp at the hollowed out eyes and enormous mouth full of jagged teeth. Multitoned hair stuck out of a bald cap at crazy angles, topped by a miniature hat. The clown tugged her close, and she felt a strong, muscled body beneath his colorful jumpsuit.

Willow pushed against his chest. “You're crushing my wings.”

His hold only tightened, and as he leaned in, the scents of grease paint and Axe body spray made her want to gag. “You've been a naughty little fairy, haven't you?”

Willow arched back and stared into the cold blue eyes of Colin Martin.

Anger buzzed across her skin. She'd had enough bullying to last a lifetime. Gripping Colin's arms, she rose on her toes and hissed, “Let me go or I'll kick your balloons so hard you'll talk like Bozo for the rest of your life.”

Colin reared his head back and laughed hysterically. Several faces turned at his display, but between the masks and makeup, Willow didn't recognize a single one of them. Colin twirled her in a circle and toward the doors leading out to the garden. Willow dug her heels in. No way was she letting him take her away from the party.

He bent down and whispered, “What's wrong? I thought you wanted to be alone with me. Isn't that why you were hiding in my room?”

A prickle crawled up Willow's spine. His mom must have told him. Colin released her just inside the doors and tipped her chin up so she was forced to look at his hideous face. “Bring me my key or I'll crush more than your wings.”

He danced off into the crowd, and Willow stumbled out onto the veranda. After making sure she was alone, she leaned against the stone railing and opened the small glitter-covered purse hanging on a string across her chest. Tucked inside, next to her lipstick and phone, sat Colin's key. She didn't know why she'd taken the stupid thing in the first place, but fear of someone finding it had prompted her to carry it everywhere she went.

Worried Colin might see her, she snapped the bag shut. But that didn't stop the questions rattling through her brain. Why did Colin want it so desperately? What secrets did the ancient key unlock? Maybe she'd missed something vital hidden inside the box in his room. But did it really matter? Ashton had given up, so why shouldn't she?

Willow turned to lean on the banister. Flickering lanterns hung from the trees, illuminating disembodied ball gowns made of chicken wire that appeared to float across the lawn amid crooked tombstones. Laughter echoed up to her, and she saw a girl dart across the path, chased by a boy dressed as a werewolf.

Loneliness smacked into Willow like a wall of water, drenching her from head to toe in an icy chill. She'd believed herself invisible for years, but somehow this was worse. Knowing what it felt like to have Ashton back—how his presence jolted her into vibrant life—only to have that ripped away. It was as if all the color had been leached out of the world.

She wasn't sure about everything Pastor Justin had said, but when she felt confused, talking to her dad always seemed to help. She gazed up into the clear night sky sprinkled with stars.
Dad, could I really have been so wrong about Ashton?
Usually she could imagine her dad's voice in her head and exactly what he would say, but this time he was silent.

Awareness hummed along her shoulders, and she glanced to her right. Her heart skipped several beats. At the other end of the veranda, a figure dressed in head to toe black lounged against the railing, watching her.