The Casquette Girls (33 page)

Did I really just think that? And more importantly, do I have vampire problems?

As I texted my plans to my father, images of pedicures, underage drinking, and rounds of Truth or Dare flipped through my mind – all things I could handle.
What’s the worst that could happen at a slumber party?

At least I was already dressed for the occasion. And at least now I wasn’t lying to Isaac when I told him I already had plans. For some reason, guilt still plagued me.

I don’t know if it was Isaac, the anticipation of prep-school hazing, the pirate massacre, or the fact that the overhead light was now flickering on and off, but I was soon in a tizzy. I closed my eyes and sucked air in through my nose until the lightbulb finally behaved.

“Two more bodies have been reported today,” the DJ said as I turned on the radio. I sat at the vanity. A sound bite of the police chief was plugged: “We’re not answering any questions. At the moment, all we can say is that the victims were missing a lot of blood.”

I began aggressively separating my waves into two messy braids.

“As everyone knows, the city is operating with only one functioning hospital, and the morgue is completely overwhelmed, which means there is a queue for autopsies and we’re losing more evidence while we wait.” He sounded flustered. The poor man probably hadn’t slept much since the Storm.

The radio host cut back in. “And we have Jack on the line, a pastry chef from the Warehouse District.”

“Yes, hello, Jack Whitaker here. Rumor has it that the National Guard has set up shop in the old Brown’s Milk Factory. Supposedly, they hooked up generators to the old refrigeration system so they can use it to store corpses yet to be processed.”

“There you have it, folks. This city is so broken we don’t even have the resources to deal with our dead, but this won’t come as a shock to locals, who are still struggling to find food, gasoline, medical supplies, and, of course, their relatives. If these bodies weren’t Storm related, then this message is going out to the killer. Just because the N.O.P.D. is backed up, it doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have our eyes on you. Citizens, be alert. This is the Wolfman, signing off.”

Chills crawled up my arms.

Without moving, I twisted the dial and welcomed the familiar trills of Mr. Jones’s trumpet. The nostalgia lasted for only a few bars before being interrupted by obnoxious honking from the street.

An unfamiliar grey Porsche SUV was parked in front of my house, engine running – not Désirée’s white monstrosity. I strained to see the driver.
Ugh, Annabelle. I guess there was a change in plans.

I grabbed my bag, snapped off the lights, and ran down the stairs, but as soon as I opened the front door, Désirée pushed her way inside, backing me into the hallway.

“Hey,” I said as she shut the door behind her. “Are we—”

“Where is your room?”

“Up the stairs, why?”

Without waiting for an invitation, she ran up, dragging me behind her.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” I snickered.

She quickly began digging through my drawers, slamming each one shut until she got to my lingerie.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She spun around and stared me up and down with that look of disapproval I was getting used to. But I was unsure why my ankle-rolled sweatpants and thrifted Mickey Mouse T-shirt were unacceptable for a sleepover.
Shees
h
.
She tossed me a cream-colored, satin camisole from the drawer and then started pulling my shirt off. I swatted her hands away.

“You are going to have to trust me on this one.”

Coming from Désirée Borges, these were not words that made me comfortable, but the urgency in her voice made me obey. I ripped off my tee and slipped on the slinky cami I had taken from a box of my mother’s abandoned things a couple years ago. It barely covered my stomach. I was tugging on it when a pair of tiny black spandex shorts hit my face.

“Shorts, now. Do not say anything to Annabelle about changing your clothes, and especially don’t say I made you do it.”

Her comment activated my defenses for the night as I realized she was breaking some kind of code.
Is Désirée actually doing me a solid?

I slipped on the shorts, which had become far too short after I’d hit my final growth spurt, and she watched me untangle the
gris-gris
from my chain and tuck it into the slip. “Where did you get that necklace?” she asked.

“Umm, your grandmother gave it to me.”

“No, not the
gris-gri
s
.
The other one?”

“Oh, family heirloom.”

“Hmm,” she said as if contemplating, and then turned to dig through my closet. “Put on these.” She tossed me a pair of plastic flats. I let them fall to the floor.

“I’m not wearing jellies. There’s still glass everywhere—”

“Flip-flops?”

“Ugh, no! How does that help? I am wearing sneakers or my Docs.” I was beginning to regret accepting this invitation. I stepped into my boots to show her I meant it. Her eyes went to the ceiling.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me back down the stairs. Her behavior made no sense, especially since she was slumber-party-ready in an oversized cotton T-shirt and leggings.

I caught a glimpse in the hallway mirror as we went out the door. I looked completely ridiculous in the shiny shorts, nothing but cream-colored lace covering my cleavage, burgundy Docs, and two messily braided pigtails. I looked like a bumpkin teen prostitute.

“Who cares?” I whispered with a sigh. “It’s just a sleepover with a bunch of snobby girls.”

I pulled the gate closed and felt the mechanical pieces lock. Annabelle honked the horn again as I leapt down the stoop.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting,” I said, squeezing myself into the back next to Dixie. “I couldn’t find my phone.”

Désirée shot me a look of approval from the front passenger seat.

Crammed into the row behind us were four freshman girls wearing a mix of boxer shorts and scrubs, and one timid-looking girl who had on some kind of unfortunate moo-moo. Dixie had obviously given careful consideration to her outfit: a purple, satin nightgown and a matching robe. As if that wasn’t enough, she wore giant, purple, furry slippers that looked like tie-dyed sheep dogs.

The minions next to her were fellow classmen, Jaime, in a Tweety Bird nightie, and Bri, in a XL Saint’s jersey with seemingly nothing on underneath. She caught me looking at her ankle boots and had to tighten her lips to contain giggles – the shoes were unusually fancy for such an occasion. Something was up.

Just as my suspicions were aroused, I saw Annabelle Lee looking over my attire from her rearview mirror. A slow smile spread across her face. Something was
definitely
up.

“All right, ladies, per Sacred Heart tradition, you each have to wear one of these blindfolds until we reach the secret location.”

“Secret location?” peeped a small blonde from the back. “Aren’t we going to your house, Annabelle?”

“Don’t ask questions,” Jaime said as she turned and tied the first blindfold on her.

I searched Dixie’s face for any sign that she might know what the hell was going on. She didn’t seem too concerned, which made me wonder if she was in the know.

“Dixie, you tie Adele, and I’ll tie you,” Bri ordered.

“My pleasure,” Dixie said sweetly, securing the black cloth into a bow at the back of my head – just a little too tight, letting me know who was in control.

“Where are we going, Annabelle?” I asked. Suddenly the idea of being blindfolded by a bunch of girls who hated me didn’t seem like the smartest idea in the world.

“It’s not about where we’re going. It’s about how much fun we’re going to have.”

I could sense panic from the backseat, but I refused to ask another question or seem alarmed in any way. There’s no way I was going to give Dixie or any of these princesses the satisfaction.

* * *

The ride only took a few minutes, so I guessed we were still in the Quarter, or the Marigny, depending on how many stop signs she had blown through, although I couldn’t really imagine the Queen of Uptown going past Esplanade Avenue.

My door opened, and Annabelle helped me step out of the car. “Be careful, we wouldn’t want any mishaps before the party even starts.”

The phrase “kill them with kindness” suddenly had a whole new meaning. I tried not to grow nervous as Annabelle linked her arm through mine and pulled me up the curb onto the sidewalk. Behind us, Dixie wasted her breath complimenting Désirée, and, as per usual, Désirée ignored her.

We walked about two blocks, and then Annabelle commanded, “Quiet until we arrive.”

This would not be difficult for me; Dixie, on the other hand…

Feeling the stone under my feet, I deduced that we were still in the Quarter, and a few minutes later a loud creak gave away an iron gate. Then echoes of clacking high heels sounded like we were being shuffled down a narrow passage.
High heel
s
?
I dragged my hand along the wall. Brick.
We’re still outside… maybe heading into a courtyar
d
.
A damp breeze kicked up a familiar smell. It was dull, but I would have recognized it anywhere: the mix of booze and bleach that only a barroom could produce. I used to wake up to that scent as a child – right after my mother left, my father had kept me with him at work until the wee hours, too scared to let me leave his sight.

Annabelle led me up a flight of wooden stairs and into a space that must have been incredibly dark because now there wasn’t even the faintest bit of light coming through the blindfold. I was suddenly very aware that it must be close to 9 p.m. and we would soon be breaking curfew.

“All right, this is good. You can take off the blindfolds.”

It took only a second for my eyes to adjust to the minuscule amount of light shed by the single gas lantern in the dank room, and only another second to realize that the juniors were no longer sporting pajamas. Each was decked out in a tight dress, ready for a night out on the town. Jaime must have been wearing the turquoise halter number underneath her Tweety Bird nightie. I yanked on my camisole, feeling seriously inadequate next to her. The girl could easily have been a swimsuit model.

Terror cracked through Dixie’s pageant façade as she shed her robe.

“Flip-flops. Now!” she demanded from one of the freshmen, trading her ridiculous slippers.
I guess she hadn’t been in the know after al
l
.

My jaw clenched as I watched the rest of the juniors pull accessories from their bags
, but I was more terrified of what would happen at school on Monday if I bailed now than I was of proceeding. I peered down at myself.
Utterly ridiculou
s
.
Annabelle Lee was looking at me too, laughing and saying something to Désirée, who gave me a look that wasn’t exactly sympathy but seemed to say, “
I tried
.”

I guess my outfit was a serious improvement compared to the others being hazed. In a more risqué closet, my camisole could have been a top, and my shorts, hot pants. Just thinking the words “hot pants” was mortifying. The group of freshmen looked completely childlike in their pajamas. One girl seemed irate, and I could sense a revenge plot turning in her head, while the other three were on the verge of tears, anticipating the public humiliation that loomed ahead.

“Everyone ready?” Annabelle asked. “Follow my lead.”

A strange sense of familiarity crept up as we walked a series of quick twists and turns.
Where the hell are we?
I searched for clues, but it was so dark I might as well have had the blindfold on.

“Who do we have here?” a deep male voice echoed as we turned into a long hallway.

Annabelle signaled to the freshmen to walk past him.

“I don’t think so, sister. Let’s see some ID.”

He shined a flashlight, blinding us. His voice sounded familiar, but my eyes refused to peer into the bright light to get a look at him. Annabelle let out a hushed grunt in frustration, but then to my surprise she whipped a plastic rectangle over to the bouncer, who sighed but let her pass. Désirée, Bri, and Jaime each did the same and continued down the hallway.

Dixie’s stammered in her sweetest Texas-beauty-queen drawl, “Sir, it looks like I forgot my license. I can really be such a ditz sometimes.”

Sometime
s
?

“No ID, no entrance.”

As Dixie continued to try to flirt her way inside, I heard scuffles behind me and turned to find the freshmen scattering like mice. I didn’t have a fake ID either; I relaxed a little and began to follow them out.

“Little Addie—”

I stopped in my tracks.

“Adele, is that you?”

I walked back to the bouncer, who turned the flashlight on himself. An awkward smile spread across my face as I tried to act casual.