I sat up a little straighter. Once every two weeks. The same time frame I’d discovered for the monsters. It could be a coincidence, but…Cole had tried to tell me something about the tracks and traps today. He’d had injuries the night after I’d seen Bridezilla. We’d envisioned fighting the monsters together.
He had to see them in real life, too. He just had to.
“When the boys are missing,” I said, trying not to give in to excitement, “do you know where they go?”
“Nope, but like I said, they’re always beat-up the next day. Some of them even miss days or weeks of school afterward. Strange, if you ask me, but Dr. Wright never gives them any lip about it, so why should I?”
Another bead of evidence. The length of recovery time. Serious injuries from serious creatures. Were he and his friends actually seeking out and warring with those monsters?
If so…that would mean the monsters were real. That would mean my dad had been the sanest person at home. That would mean everything he’d ever said was true, and I had wrongly blamed him for his paranoia.
“I hope you’re excited because this club rocks!” Kat said. “Technically kids our age aren’t allowed in, but Cole and company always are. Probably has to do with their scariness factor. Anyway, Frosty had me put on the list, and because he secretly hopes I’ll do exactly this and spy on him, I’m just positive he hasn’t removed my name.”
Forget spying. I wanted to talk with Cole. Wanted to ask him questions about the monsters and the visions, gauge his reactions. He wouldn’t tell me outright, and I wouldn’t ask outright, but maybe I could trick him into spilling. Or, I don’t know, flirt until he couldn’t help himself. I looked down at my T-shirt and jeans. As I’d already learned, this outfit would not convince him to drop any secrets.
“Uh…Kat?”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a laugh, clearly knowing exactly what was bothering me. “We’re making a pit stop first. We’ll be smoking by the time we arrive at the club, you have my word.”
* * *
Smoking wasn’t the right term. Kat drove us to Reeve’s house and by the time Reeve finished with us, we were five-alarm blazing and should probably have been hosed down.
Apparently, Reeve had attended a school of beauty over the summer—which brought me to my next apparently. Apparently, Reeve was loaded.
She lived in a tall and sprawling mansion, with white columns, domed ceilings, chandeliers dripping with thousands of crystal teardrops, winding staircases and plush rugs with the most elaborate weave work. Out back was a pool as big as a football field. Oh, and there was an entirely separate section of the house where the servants lived.
Yeah. Servants.
Reeve dressed us in slutty, too-tight outfits and hooker heels. My “outfit,” or as I liked to call it, my Band-Aid, consisted of an ice-blue corset top, a micro-mini skirt with dark blue ruffles and ripped-up leggings. Black boots laced up to just under my knees.
With my pale skin, I’d never been one to wear makeup, but Reeve knew exactly what colors to apply to make my eyes pop, my cheeks appear rosy and my lips look like “plump candy apples all the boys will want to bite.” Her words, not mine.
Kat wore a long-sleeved top that veed all the way down to her navel, “forcing” her to ditch her bra. At least her legs were covered by a pair of skinny jeans, the lucky girl. Rather than jewelry, Reeve had given her a boy’s necktie that would play hide-and-seek with her chest.
Reeve dressed in a black-and-white polka-dot dress that flared at the hips and ended at the knees. She reminded me of a sexy seventies housewife.
Sometime during my transformation, Wren and Poppy arrived.
“I can’t believe we’re ditching the game for this,” Poppy said, gorgeous in a tank top, jean shorts and cowgirl boots.
“Better to support our friends than our team,” Wren said, “as long as you swear we’re not going to the club so that Ali can hook up with Cole and his gang of societal sores.”
Kat held up her hand, palm out. “Swear.”
As Poppy studied herself in the full-length mirror, she said, “Societal sores? Yes, they are losers, but is the witchiness really necessary, Wren?”
“I’m not a witch!” Wren said with a stomp of her foot.
“Are, too. The guy at Starbucks hit on me, not you, and you’re lashing out.”
“He totally hit on me.”
“Did not.”
“Did too!”
They continued to argue as we walked to Reeve’s SUV. Night was in full swing, casting shadows over the house and driveway. Porch lights offered the occasional safe haven, and kept me going. Fear would not control me tonight, though. I wouldn’t let it. Tonight was too important, my mission too critical.
On the drive, I spied what could have been a rabbit-shaped cloud. I told Reeve to slow down, convinced for a moment that we were going to wreck. But wonder of wonders, I must have been mistaken. We reached the club safely, no wreck, no deaths.
Kat gave her name to two ginormous bouncers I would have run screaming from in any other situation, and they allowed us to bypass the hundreds waiting to get in. We sailed inside, loud, raucous music instantly assailing my ears.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Kat had to shout to be heard.
Wonderful wasn’t the right word. I’d seen things like this on TV, of course. Read about them in books. Listened to lectures from my mom. But this was exciting mixed with scary and sprinkled with a whole lot of this really can’t be happening right in front of me.
On the dance floor, men and women were writhing with Cirque du Soleil flexibility. At the bar, guys were doing body shots off girls. In the corners, a whole lot of making out was going on. I smelled sweat and perfume and a few things I couldn’t identify.
Building-wise, there were two floors. The bottom was where the dancing and socializing were done, and the top was for VIPs, maybe. An iron railing circled the second tier, allowing a clear view for those at the edge of a separate sectioned-off area. There I could make out black leather couches and chairs, iron tables and—
Cole.
Oh, glory, there he was. He sat on one of the couches, facing me, with Frosty beside him. He was talking to someone across from him and laughing. That amusement softened his face, making him look less scary and more Hollywood. He wasn’t wearing a hat tonight. Dressed in a black T-shirt that looked as if it had been painted on he was total smex appeal, and I wished I could see his lower half.