Charmed (20 page)

B
ishop leans across the dashboard, squinting up at the mansion on the hill.

“Man, Bianca has a lot of time on her hands, doesn’t she?”

Bianca’s place has been completely transformed for her Halloween party. Caution tape borders the property, and dozens of headstones and zombies stick out from mounds of dirt on the lawn. Flickering jack-o’-lanterns lead up to the front door, which is covered in cobwebs and creepily lit by a spotlight; orange pumpkin lights (which I know from experience that Bianca got some minions from the cheerleading
squad to put up for her) are strung around all the windows and in the big poplar out front.

“You are cordially invited to Bianca’s
HallowSCREAM!
party,” Bishop says, mocking Bianca’s girlie, high-pitched voice. “The When: Saturday, October thirtieth. The Who: anyone who’s anyone.” He gives a hearty chuckle, crumpling up the party invitation I got from the trash at school. “Is she for real?”

“Unfortunately,” I mutter.

But actually, I used to love Bianca’s annual Halloween rager. I mean, who doesn’t like getting dressed up in a crazy costume and dancing till you can hardly breathe? But the last place I thought I’d be while my best friend was missing is at a party, let alone one at my sworn enemy’s house. But Bishop and I didn’t have any luck speaking to Samantha’s parents (and trust me, we tried—over and over and over. Mrs. Hornby wouldn’t even come to the door when I said I just needed to talk to her about getting back on the cheerleading squad). We
did
, however, find out that the friend who’d gone to school with Samantha the day she went missing was Brooke McDonald.

Here’s what I know about Brooke:

Suffice it to say, I’ve kept my distance from the girl. But the last person to see Samantha Hornby before she was kidnapped
must
know something. And according to the infallible Internet, this is where Brooke is going to be tonight.

“Are we going to do this or what?” Bishop asks.

I’d rather jump into the path of an oncoming train, but I sigh, “All right. Let’s go.”

Music spills out of the mansion’s open windows and rattles the pavement so hard that it feels like a minor earthquake under my feet. Chants of “Fight, fight, fight” emanate from the backyard, and I can spot the shadow of a person bent over puking in Bianca’s rosebushes.

It’s only ten o’clock.

“Don’t forget this.” Bishop tosses something over the roof of the car. I catch it and groan.

“Don’t be such a poor sport,” he says.

I put on the fluffy bunny ears as Bishop pulls a hockey jersey over his head. He grins at me.

“I don’t see why we have to wear costumes,” I mutter.

“Because it makes us stand out less,” he says, rounding the car. “And because you look cute.” He gives me a peck on the cheek and pulls me across the front lawn.

My stomach roils with nerves. Going into Bianca’s house could end badly. Scratch that—
will
end badly. I wouldn’t dream of setting foot in her place if I wasn’t seriously desperate and seriously short on time.

“Myra Mains. Ima Goner,” Bishop says, checking out the names on the headstones as we pass. “Nice.”

“Trust me. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I lead him through the front door.

Even jam-packed with sloppy-drunk teens and covered in plastic cups and beer bottles, the inside of Bianca’s house doesn’t disappoint.

All the furniture has been draped with tattered white sheets, as if the house has been abandoned for ages. The ceiling drips cobwebs and spiders and bats, and Gothic candelabra cover nearly every surface. There’s a bar in one corner called “Boos and Spirits,” which serves Bianca’s signature bright green punch with floating ice “fingers,” and the dining room table has been set for an elaborate dinner for five skeletons, with fake maggots crawling out of the turkey-dinner feast. A football player dances suggestively with a female skeleton while a crowd cackling with laughter gathers around him.

“Whoa,” Bishop says.

It’s pretty impressive when you can shock a warlock.

I thread my fingers through his and pull him farther into the house.

The party might as well be the set of a porno. In three seconds flat, I spot a sexy cat, a sexy nurse, a sexy cop, and
a couple making out so vigorously that they bump a framed family photo off the wall. Three girls run giggling down the stairs in nothing but their underwear while boys hoot their approval.

Bishop’s smiling a little too brightly. I roll my eyes.

“Okay. She’s got short black hair and she usually wears a headband,” I say.

“Got it.”

We push through the crowded living room, scanning the faces for a sign of Brooke.

Someone jumps out in front of me and yells, “Boo!”

I gasp, more so because of the screaming-in-my-face part than the demented clown mask with leering smile and rotten teeth.

“Did I scare you?” Jarrod pushes the mask up onto his head and gives me a big, goofy grin that makes his glassy eyes sparkle.

“Yeah, I almost peed my pants,” I say flatly.

He doesn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm. “Where the hell you been? We missed you.”

I wince as his toxic booze breath wafts over me.

“Around,” I choke out. “Hey, have you seen Brooke McDonald?”

His eyes move over to Bishop, then down over our outfits. “What are you guys supposed to be?”

“Hockey player and puck bunny,” Bishop chimes in proudly.

Jarrod keels over laughing, slapping his knee. “That’s
good, man.” He straightens up and does a little unbalanced flourish with his arms. “Can you guess what I am?”

I take in the rest of his outfit, which consists of a pair of jean overalls over a bare chest. “Uh, a dead clown farmer?” I guess, indulging him.

He reels with shock. “Man, you’re good!”

I sigh. “So, Brooke McDonald? From the soccer team?”

“Does Bianca know you’re here?” he asks, ignoring my question. “ ’Cause she’s gonna, like, bust a nut if she catches you.” He laughs so hard at his own joke that his face turns red.

“ ’K, nice seeing you.” I start to pass around him.

“Hey, wait.” He get so close that I have to remind myself it’s rude to wave someone’s bad breath away. “Have you…talked to Paige lately?” he asks.

I’m too stunned to answer.

“Because I kind of miss her, you know?” he adds. “She just left so suddenly.” His cheeks flush.

Paige? And…Jarrod? I don’t think I’d be more shocked if he’d announced his bid to run for the presidency, with Devon acting as vice.

“Um, yeah,” I say, once I’ve recovered. “She’s good.”

He smiles, swaying on the spot. “Well, tell her I said…just tell her I said hi.”

I think I’d keep staring at him all night if it weren’t for Bishop pulling me away. We work our way down the hall, flattening ourselves against the walls as two guys dressed as
conjoined twins pass by (sharing a pair of massive boobs, obviously).

Bishop gives a low whistle, and I elbow him in the gut.

In the kitchen, there’s a rowdy game of flip cup happening across the island, and two guys from the football team are hoisting a guy dressed as a Grim Reaper up to do a keg stand. The girls who ran through the living room have joined up with a group of equally pantless guys, and they all squeeze out through the patio doors toward the pool. I guess they “forgot” their suits and were “forced” to strip down to their underwear.

The patio doors slide open again, and a group fresh from the pool loudly enters the kitchen. Right away I spot Devon’s floppy blond waves. He’s calling to a friend to get him a beer from the cooler while he towels off his wet hair, his washboard abs on full display. It’s not hard to guess from his tight red board shorts and yellow towel that he’s dressed up as a Ken doll. Mostly because he wears the same costume every year.

Where Devon goes, Bianca is not far behind. And if she catches me, she might kick me out before I get a chance to talk to Brooke.

I start to shrink behind Bishop, but Devon looks up just in time to spot me. His face cracks into a huge smile. He drapes his towel around his neck and crosses over to me.

“Ind! I never thought I’d see you here.” He smiles down at me, his wet curls plastered against his forehead.

I suddenly feel Bishop’s eyes on me.

“Last place I thought I’d be,” I answer.

Devon just keeps smiling that huge, brilliant smile of his.

“Where’s Bianca?” I can’t help blurting out.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, probably sucking face with that college dude or something.”

So all’s not well in paradise, then. It shouldn’t make me this happy.

His friend shoves a beer into his chest, which he absently accepts. Devon can’t take his eyes off me.

“So what have you been up to?” he asks, with more interest than is strictly necessary.

I shrug. “Oh, you know—”

“Just slaying the same old dragons,” Bishop interrupts.

I cut him a look that could kill—I was under the strict impression we weren’t going to mention the dragon—but he just winks at me.

When I look back at Devon, he’s got his eyes narrowed on Bishop, his gaze moving from Bishop’s tattooed neck to his long hair to his leather jacket. Devon pushes his shoulders back and puffs up his chest in that characteristic way that announces a challenge. I sigh.

“Devon, meet my boyfriend, Bishop,” I say.

“Boyfriend?” Devon says.

Bishop gives him a cocky smile and waggles his eyebrows.

Oh man.

“Sorry, Devon, but we’re actually looking for someone: Brooke McDonald. Have you seen her?”

Devon continues to eye Bishop, but then he finally sweeps his gaze over to me. “Yeah, she’s outside. Why’re you looking for Brooke?”

I wave off his question. “Oh, just, you know, just some homework I missed.” I give a stiff laugh.

Devon’s brow creases, and he gives a little shake of his head. “She’s out back, by the pool. Hey, are you coming to the game next weekend? We’re playing L.A. High.”

“Oh, um, maybe.” I grab Bishop’s hand. “Nice chatting. Talk to you later!”

Bishop gives Devon a little salute as I pull him toward the patio door.

I spot Brooke right away. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to spot Brooke. She’s double-fisting drinks as she dances sloppily to an electronica song, sloshing beer everywhere so no one stands near her. She’s stripped down to boy shorts and a lacy bra, and someone’s drawn crude images across her stomach and arms with a Sharpie. I don’t know what she’s supposed to be dressed up as, except maybe the token drunk girl. A group of boys laugh at her, but she’s completely oblivious.

Huffing, I slide the door open. It’s hard to decide what I want to do first: get Brooke out of here to salvage some of her dignity, or sock every single one of the assholes laughing in the face.

I reach out and touch her shoulder. She startles, swinging around to see who’s touched her. Her glassy eyes finally focus on me, standing right in front of her.

“Look, isss Indigo,” she slurs to no one in particular. She tries to stand still, but her body sways like she just hit land after a long boat ride.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” I ask.

“ ’Bout what? I’m having fffun.” She lists sideways and beer sloshes out of her bottles, down the front of my shirt.

Ugh.

I look at Bishop.

“About Samantha,” he says. “Your friend who went missing.”

Brooke’s face darkens, her lip jutting out in a pout. “I don’t wanna talk about her. It makes me sssad.” She takes a swig of her beer, then coughs uncontrollably.

I snag the bottles out of her hands and slam them down on the patio table.

“Hey!” she protests. “Give that back.”

She tries to lunge for the bottles, but loses her footing and stumbles to the ground. Bishop catches her before her head smacks the pavement. I crouch down on my knees to get to eye level.