Edward. That had been the idea. Not Scissorhands, though maybe next year. The sparkle version. Gray coat, black tee, Wayfarers, fangs, and a reckless amount of body glitter. She’d nailed it. Her camera roll said so: grinning with denture-store fangs glued to her canines, Lola dressed as Bella, Oscar as Jacob. A Halloween miracle.
She spat toothpaste, rinsed, and reached for the ibuprofen. Shook the bottle. One hollow click. Empty.
“Cool. Love that for me.”
Memory came back in pieces. The Hollow packed shoulder to shoulder. Witches. Devils. A superhero with his cape in the nachos. Her at the bar, glittering like a disco ball, slapping the counter and yelling,Everyone, we’re singing “Happy Birthday” to my friend or I’m turning you all into vampires!
Laughter, noise, a hundred off-key voices shouting Grace’s name. Oscar trying to harmonize. Lola crying from laughing too hard. Grace watching her through the mess of it, eyes bright, unguarded.
Alix remembered the thump of her own heartbeat, the bow she took with her sunglasses sliding crooked, glitter catching the neon like sparks.
And somewhere in all that chaos, her first call with Grace.
Grace.
Grace’s birthday. Grace standing in a pantry, of all places, lit by the weak bulb overhead, laughing as if the shelves of canned beans were a comedy club. And Grace being… well, fucking gorgeous.
Alix hadn’t really bothered to picture her before; imagining what “Gator” looked like had always felt like crossing some forbidden line in their Breakup Buddy bromance. But Jesus. When she had let her brain wander, she definitely hadn’t conjured this —bright hazel eyes steady enough to level her, lips that made promises just sitting there, skin flawless in a way that didn’t feel fair, and that sleek, glossy hair like it belonged in a shampoo ad instead of a pantry FaceTime.
Now, in the kitchen, her skull pulsing, she fussed with Phyllis’s fancy coffee maker and cursed herself for being a drunken idiot on their first video call.
The doorbell rang.
“Phyllis?” she called, because Phyllis had a habit of going out for yoga or a farmers market and returning without her keys,certain that Alix’s psychic gifts would detect her at the door. “Did you forget your?—”
She cracked the door open, T-shirt and underwear and bedhead and glitter, expecting Phyllis to be holding four bundles of kale and something inexplicably perfect, like the time she brought home a Venus fly trap. Instead, a Postmates driver smiled at her past a paper bag that smelled like heaven and hydration.
“Delivery for… Alix?” the driver read off their phone, then clocked the glitter and nodded like they’d seen this battlefield before. It was the day after Halloween in Silver Lake, after all. “You look like you need this.”
“I didn’t… Wait, what is it?” Alix asked.
They handed over the bag and a drink tray that sloshed with Gatorade and what looked like —could it be?!— mint tea in a lidded cup. Taped to the side was a receipt with no name.
Alix stared down at the bag, too hungover to do the mental gymnastics of subtle investigation. “Wait, who sent this?”
The driver shrugged, already backing down the steps. “Order said Gator. Tip was great. Feel better.”
Gator.Alix’s stomach did a giddy leap of excitement, and she didn’t even try to tamp down the dread of her stomach doinganythingright now. She closed the door with her hip, carried the offering to the table like a relic, and pulled out the contents like treasure: a small bottle of ibuprofen, two neon-blue Gatorades, a steaming mint tea (the scent alone was healing), and… She opened the compostable clamshell and just about wept. Inside was a still-warm everything bagel with a packet of vegan cream cheese, complete with two greasy hash brown patties on the side.
She popped two pills, chased them with Gatorade, and finally let herself smile. Her thumbs were already moving.
Alix
Are you an angel? How do you know exactly what I need and also where I live?
The three dots blinked. She took a bite of the bagel and groaned, then bit into the hash brown, all salt and starch and grease — complete, like a holy trinity. Another blink, another swallow, her pulse thudding somewhere near her ear where glitter had migrated.
Grace
Angel is strong, but I do accept compliments. And I asked you to share your location last night to make sure you got home okay. You don’t remember?
Alix slapped a hand over her eyes. God. What else didn’t she remember?
Alix
That doesn’t sound like me at all. I am subtle. I am elegant.
Grace
