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I gave her a deadpan look. “I’m going as the bride of death.”
It was that or the bride of Frankenstein, and I didn’t have enough green eyeshadow to cover my entire face.
“Creepy, I love it,” said Honey’s new friend, a squat bronze-skinned woman with bright amber eyes behind heavy rectangular-framed glasses, long brunette hair, and a violently red coat, scarf, and hat combo. Her lipstick was the same pillarbox shade. “I’m going as a zombie.” She held up her costume on its wire hanger and gave the decayed green dress a wiggle. “But with massive cleavage obviously, because I’m a woman and I couldn’t possibly wear a costume without both nipples poking people in their eyes.”
I snorted. I liked her.
I’d just begun to smile when a shoulder rammed into mine, throwing me aside, and I hit a shelf full of porcelain teddy bears fishing in a koi pond so hard that pain exploded down my side and I gasped a cry.
“Hey, watch it!” Honey snapped, instantly at my side. I was surprised to find a hand with violently red fingernails helping me back to my feet, sweeping dust off my coat where I’d slammed into stock that definitely hadn’t been rotated in the past six months.
“Are you alright?” she murmured, peering into my eyes.
I nodded. “Thanks…”
“Darya,” she supplied. “You’re Cat, right? And the guy you were with at breakfast is Byron? Honey was talking about you.”
“That’s us,” I agreed, and snapped around to face Honey when a rough male voice raised in volume.
“Do you know who you’re talking to, worm? I’m Orwell Ford. As in, I own this island. So when I want to get past, you move out of the fucking way.”
Honey squared her shoulders, but she didn’t fight him. She just muttered, “Asshole.”
Without a word, Darya and I flanked Honey, and I kept none of my emotions off my face when I faced the arrogant bastard. He probably got everything he wanted because he was from a family with a fancy name and endless money and he had passable looks. Not the tall, dark, handsome vibe of his cousin, and the sneer made him uglier, but I knew the type. Entitled, superior, cruel.
Make him regret sneering at your friend. You know his type. You know the damage boys like him can do if left unchecked.
“There’s a thing you might not have heard of,” I said before I could stop my mouth, anger overriding any anxiety that might have hit if I’d actually thought before acting. “It’s called a queue. Do you need a moment to Google it? I’ll wait.”
Orwell laughed, somehow still managing to sneer. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Someone standing in the queue who won’t be walked all over.” I had a fancy name and money too, and I was so fucking sick of men like him, who thought they could bully their way through the world. Memories flashed, but I shoved them away, angry enough to battle my mind into submission for once.
A long arm slung over Orwell’s shoulder, and Duncan Ford appeared like a movie star stepping out of the shadows, his megawatt smile making my stomach curdle.
“Let’s not make enemies before term’s even started, shall we, Orly?” Ford threw a beatific smile at me, Honey, and Darya. “Nice to meet you ladies.”
His smile lingered a little too long before he guided Orwell away, his eyes staying on me a beat too long for comfort. And I didn’t miss the fact they’d both made their way to the front of the line anyway. Duncan was just a pro at doing what Orwell had clumsily tried to achieve.
And I got the sense that neither of them would forget us talking back despite Orwell being the ass the shoved me into a fucking shelf.
“Great,” I muttered, checking my wedding dress was still intact. “I’ve pissed off the guy hosting the damn party. Tonight is going to be great.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CAT
“Stand still,” Byron huffed, doing my makeup but under protest and complaining the whole time. Honey had expressly refused to help because she needed to straighten her hair, slick it back, and spray it black to fully achieve her black cat Halloween costume. Which left me and Byron trying to figure out how to paint a skull on my face.
“I am standing still,” I retorted, adjusting my weight. The rustle of not-silk brushed my legs as Byron painted a long stroke of white paint down the hollow of my cheek, mirroring it on the other side.
“There,” he said, standing back to admire his work. “No wait, one sec.” His tongue stuck out as he narrowed his eyes and swiped more white paint on my neck, down to my chest. “Now you’re done. You look badass, Cat.”
I peered into the mirror I’d hung above my desk and grinned. Hey, I did look badass. He’d done a really good job with shadows and highlights, bringing out the gauntness of my cheeks so I looked skeletal, the white paint adding details until I didn’t look creepy—just scary and pretty, all at once.
“I legitimately love you, By,” I told him, grabbing him into a fierce hug. “Now where did you put your wig? I’ll help you style it.”
Between us, we were a very fetching trio of black cat (sexy), male vampire (grumpy), and bride of death (scowling as I tried to walk in the platforms Honey made me wear instead of my Converse.)
