Speed Demon (7 page)

Adam murmured really well. It was like fingers walking up and down my back.

“Thanks. You look hot,” I said, because I didn’t do subtle.

Adam laughed. “I figured if Brad Pitt, Russell Crowe, and Colin whatever his name is could pull it off, why can’t I?”

“You can,” I assured him. Yay me for having a hot boyfriend.

I would be such a loser moron if I screwed that up and I just wasn’t going to.

We were eating chips, talking, listening to creepy mood music, and letting Zoe parade through the family room ten times as each phase of her angel costume was put into place, while I wondered where Isabella was. I texted her three times and got no answer as the clock ticked toward six. Trick-or-treaters were going to be ringing the bell any minute. Levi was making some serious headway into a bowl of trail mix when Isabella opened the front door and walked in, shedding her coat.

Levi choked on a nut, coughing it back into his hand, his face turning red. “Isabella?” he asked, voice laced with shock.

I understood the feeling. My best friend had lost her mind. She was wearing a bikini top, bikini bottoms, and filmy chiffon pants that vaguely pretended to cover her legs but let you see everything. She had failed to share with me that she was going to dress as the Slutty Genie.

She looked completely nonchalant and gave him a smile. “Hey, Levi. What’s up?”

My Mary Janes clicking on the hardwood floor, I marched over to her and headed her off in the entryway. “What are you wearing? And why are you so late?”

“I’m Jasmine,” she said with a frown. “The Disney princess. See?” She pointed to the headband she was wearing over her black hair.

“Iz. I realize Jasmine showed her stomach, but she was only a cartoon. You’re like an inch from naked.”

“It’s a costume. Besides, I look good in it. Why is that a big deal?”

Help. Where was I supposed to go with that? “I just don’t think that you need to take it all off to impress Levi. He’s not like that.”

“I’m not taking it all off. Give me some credit, God. It’s just a costume.”

“A nonexistent costume.”

Isabella glared at me. “What is your problem? Now that you’re with Adam you get to be the morality police? I’ve worn less than this on stage in productions and recitals, so chill out.”

I found that seriously hard to believe, but I let it go. “So why are you late?”

“I had to wait until my mom left to put this costume on. She’d freak out if she saw me wearing this.”

Hello. You would think that would clue her in that maybe it was over the top, but then again, when did any of us think our mothers were in any way reliable about evaluating our clothes? Iz’s mom wore appliquéd sweatshirts with horse heads on them, and I always thought that was probably where the phrase “take the horse out back and put it down” came from. Those sweatshirts needed to be shot and killed.

I was debating saying something else when Zoe came back into the room, her halo bouncing. She was holding a big fluff of white in her arms as she came over to Isabella and me. “Look at Marshmallow Pants! He’s an angel too.”

Wow. He was. And I noticed that the cat, which had been a she the day before, was now a he. Who knew what its gender really was, but it was definitely an angel, no doubt about it. There was lots of white satin, tulle, and gold trim. The feather halo strapped onto the cat’s head and secured under his chin was a nice touch.

I couldn’t believe my mother had actually let Zoe talk her into buying a pet angel costume for the cat. That was crazy. My mom didn’t do cutesy, nor did she waste a dime when she didn’t have to. But somehow she had agreed to the über-precious costume for the cat, who clearly didn’t appreciate the beauty of his current appearance. Angry black eyes blinked up at me and I almost felt sorry for the little smoosh-faced critter.

Levi didn’t seem to feel bad for it at all. He had wandered over and was laughing loudly. “Dude. No way.” He reached out and made the halo wave back and forth. “What a sweet, pretty kitty.”

Zoe didn’t recognize sarcasm and she smiled happily. “He is a pretty kitty.”

Marshmallow Pants started to squirm in her arms. “I think he wants down, Zoe.”

She clung tighter, but he was flipping and turning, determined to jump to the floor. Probably to go bribe a bulldog to eat his costume off of him.

“I’ll take him,” Levi said and reached for the cat.

Zoe lost her grip and the cat leaped onto Levi’s chest. He grabbed at it, stumbling off balance and Isabella let out a cry of alarm. I thought the cat was just panicked and would jump to the floor and take off, but before I could blink, the animal was climbing Levi’s chest, claws digging in.

“Um . . .” That didn’t look good. Did the cat sense Levi was a demon? And should I grab it? I didn’t want to get scratched myself, and really, Levi was a big boy. He could handle it. It was just a cat using Levi’s black cotton shirt like a climbing wall. No biggie. Cats did that and you just pried them off.

Zoe screamed when Marshmallow Pants reached Levi’s chin and bit him. Ouch. That had to sting. Levi was stumbling backward and he connected with the edge of the coffee table. He tripped and fell and the cat went with him as I stood stupidly and blinked. I have crappy reflexes, what can I say? But all I could think was,
What the
. . . ? Now Isabella was shrieking along with Zoe and I was thinking I really needed to come up with a strategy or actually do something. Levi and the cat were a spilled pile of black and white, Levi on his back, Marshmallow Pants on top of him, hissing and spitting.

Okay, I was slow, but not cruel. Someone had to do something besides scream so I ran forward, figuring I could just shove the cat off. But the sweet, pretty kitty was mauling Levi’s face, swiping rapidly with front claws like he was scratching to the bottom of the litter box. Levi was twisting, his eyes closed to protect them, his hands struggling to disconnect the cat’s claws from his shirt. I pulled and pried, Levi pushed, and together we finally managed to get the cat off of him and onto the carpet. Though the minute the cat was off, he tried to jump right back on Levi.

“Hey!” I yelled, hoping to scare the crazy ball of fur as I shoved him away from Levi again.

Levi sat up, breathing hard, though he looked more mad than scared or hurt. He glared at the cat. “Don’t start with me,
Marshmallow Pants
.”

The name was spoken with total mockery, and I swear the cat knew he was being dissed because he let out some freaky low growl and tried to take another swipe at Levi. But by then Adam had come over and he picked the cat up with one hand, holding it far away from his own chest as he turned to Zoe. “Does he have a crate?”

“No.”

“Well, then he’s going in your room and we’re closing the door.” Adam carried the cat toward the stairs, and I had to admire his take-charge attitude. It must have been the gladiator costume inspiring him.

I looked at Levi, who was still sitting on the floor. “Are you okay?” He had bloody scratches all over his face and neck. Yikes. Those had to sting.

“I’m fine.” Levi hauled himself off the floor, scowling.

I bit my fingernail, feeling bad and wondering if I should get him a cold washcloth or something. It wasn’t exactly like he could Neosporin his face or slap Band-Aids on or anything, but it seemed like he should at least wash those scratches.

Dirk was staring wide-eyed at Levi, his wrapping paper costume making a wrinkling sound as he moved. “Dude, that was freaky.”

“No big deal.” Levi turned to Zoe, who was crying big wet tears. “Hey, it’s okay, squirt. I’m fine.” He ditched the glare he’d been wearing and picked her up and wiped the tears off her cheeks with the bottom of his sleeve.

God. He could be so cute when he was being sweet. I felt a funny little catch in my gut, like indigestion.

“I’m sorry Marshmallow Pants doesn’t like you,” Zoe said, her words forced out between sobs.

“It’s cool. He just knows the score. He wants to be your favorite, but he knows I already am.” Levi bounced her a little on his hip and gave her a grin. “Right?”

She nodded, sniffling up a mass of mucus. “Uh-huh.”

“So we’ll just have to fight it out and see who wins. But you’re worth the pain.”

“That’s true,” she said, ever modest, my little sister.

Levi laughed. “Alright, time for you to hit the streets and beg for candy. I’m going to wash my face.”

“I’ll help you,” Isabella offered.

Oh, that was subtle.

Levi raised an eyebrow as he set Zoe down. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

But Isabella followed him upstairs anyway, and five pairs of female eyes followed her movement. The guys were oblivious as usual, but Darla, Madison, Jamie, Sara, and Cecily had all made mental notes. They were so going to go home and call Amber. Her cell phone would be exceeding her minutes that night as they all warned her that Isabella was trying to move in on her man.

Drama-rama. So not my thing.

Though I have to say it seemed to follow me everywhere.

“Let’s play a game,” Darla suggested.

“What is this, 1962, Barbie?” Dirk asked her, rolling his eyes.

“Well, playing games is better than sitting around staring at each other. Frankly, I can only look at you for so long, Dirk.”

He made a face. “I’m going to pick through Kenzie’s DVD collection. We should watch a scary movie.”

The doorbell rang, and Reggie went to answer it and throw some candy from the dish by the door at my neighbors’ kids. My mom and Zoe were heading out the garage door to trick-or-treat themselves and Mom called to me, “Have fun. Be good!”

What does that mean, really? Be good? How does a person know she’s falling within her mother’s interpretation of Be Good? “Always!” I called back. What else was I going to say? Though I was tempted to just once say, “I will never be good—I am Satan, I want to drink your blood, have orgies, and hurt bunnies.” It would totally amuse me, but somehow I don’t think my mother would see the humor in it.

“Let the guys watch movies,” Madison said. “I’d rather play Bloody Mary Worth. Remember when we used to do that when we were like ten years old at slumber parties.” Her eyes rolled back in her head. “I believe in Mary Worth . . .” she droned.

“Let’s do it!” Darla said.

The other girls giggled and nodded. Isabella was still missing, probably busy asking Levi for a magic carpet ride in her naked Jasmine outfit.

I shrugged. “Sure.” A cranky old dead lady popping up in a mirror was nothing compared to Levi and an open air portal in which random demon prison guards could leap out at me at any given moment.

Bring it on.

Chapter Six

Seven of us stuffed ourselves into my upstairs bathroom for a little conjuring. The guys stayed downstairs to watch a movie, pass out candy, and engorge themselves on pizza, though Reggie did try to slip into the bathroom with us. He’d taken off his dish costume and was just in jeans and a T-shirt, but he didn’t exactly blend and Madison immediately kicked him out.

Isabella had joined us, but she was stony-faced and ignoring the questioning looks I kept shooting her.

“What do we do?” Cecily whispered.

“We need a mirror,” Madison said, her voice dramatic and low, her hands gesturing for emphasis. “A handheld one. We each have to turn around, look into the mirror in our hand at the reflection from the mirror behind us. We call to Mary, and then she should appear in the mirror, along with the face of our future husband. If she appears alone, as a skull, then it means you’ll die before you ever get married.”

“Eew,” Sara said. “That’s gruesome.”

My thoughts exactly.

“I’ll go first,” Darla said.

“There’s a compact mirror in the drawer on the left,” I told her.

She fished it out. Cecily, who was crammed up against the closed door, flicked off the light at Madison’s instructions.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but I could see the faint outline of Isabella’s shoulder next to me, and the top of Darla’s teased faux Barbie wig. We were all wedged in with zero space. “Good thing Dirk’s not in here with us,” I whispered. “Mary Worth would pass out from cologne inhalation.”

Everyone laughed.

“I can’t see anything,” Cecily whispered. “How are you supposed to see in the mirror?”

“I don’t know.”

But I could see Darla now that my eyes had adjusted, and she held up the compact mirror. “I believe in Mary Worth,” she said in a convincing voice. “I believe in Mary Worth. I believe in Mary Worth.”

She kept her gaze on the mirror in her hand, but she muttered out of the corner of her mouth to Madison, “Three times, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see anything?” Sara asked.

“I see . . . I see . . .” Darla shifted the mirror. “A zit on my chin.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding as everyone laughed. Not that I had expected her to see anything, but you never knew, did you?

“That stupid acne gel doesn’t work,” she complained. “This thing is big enough to have its own zip code. Yuck.”

She handed the mirror to Sara in disgust.

Sara repeated the process, though she rushed through the words and shifted the mirror around a lot. “All I see is the back of my head.”

Isabella took the mirror from Sara when she turned and handed it to her, but Iz was full of attitude about it, I could tell. She was making sounds of impatience and she only used one hand to hold up the mirror. Her voice was bored as she said, “Mary Worth, Mary Worth, Mary Worth.”

There was a long pause where Isabella stared into the mirror, longer than I would have expected given her clearly bad mood. But then I saw her eyes widen, and she brought the mirror forward, closer to her. Isabella went still, and all we could hear was each other’s suddenly anxious breathing. She was seeing something and we all knew it and we were all too freaked out to ask.