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“Really think you’re what?” Astrid said, reaching past me to swipe a chocolate.
Ivy and I looked at each other, snagged. I stalled by grabbing a chocolate of my own and shoving it in my mouth. As I bit down, I almost gagged. Ugh. Hazelnut.
“We were just saying how lucky they are that they all got into their first choice,” Ivy improvised.
“And I was just saying … do you really think we’re not going to get in to ours?” I added quickly, toying with the locket around my neck. “Ivy’s totally superstitious, so she thinks our chances are somehow, like, less now.”
Astrid just looked at us, one cheek filled with chocolate, making her look part chipmunk.
“What do you think?” Ivy asked.
Astrid chewed slowly and swallowed. “I think you losers should stop worrying and start partying.”
She grabbed both our hands and dragged us back toward the dancing, shoving us into the center of the circle, where we joined Portia—who was back on her feet—and Noelle and Tiffany. Noelle grabbed me up in her arms and, with an incredibly straight face, started to lead me in what I think was a cha-cha. Laughter bubbled up in my throat, and I vowed right then and there that I wouldn’t think about Eliza Williams or the book of spells for the rest of the night.
Tonight was about my Billings sisters—the ones who were alive and well and by my side. Not the dead ones who were haunting my dreams.
The lights on the dance floor throbbed to the beat of the music, which vibrated the floor beneath my feet. Every step was uncertain as I tried to weave my way through the crowd, shoving a bare-backed sumo-wrestler type with my elbow, taking the pinpoint stiletto of a black Louboutin in the toe. Everywhere I looked there were unfamiliar faces, all distorted by punk makeup and dyed hair.
Where was she? I knew she was here somewhere, but everyone was so tall, so sweaty, so … bizarre.
Suddenly, someone slipped past me, the silky smooth fabric of a black robe tickling the skin on my arm. I felt a cold whoosh in my lungs as the figure passed, and I turned for a better look, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd. Then, out of the corner of my eye, another robe. My heart caught with fear. This person stood stock-still in the middle of all the mayhem, face completely covered by the heavy, black hood. But I could tell I was being stared at, so I quickly turned away … and slammed right into another hooded figure, its chest so solid I bounced off. I wanted to reach up and rip the hood free, find out who or what was underneath, but something told me not to. Something told me I wouldn’t like what I found. Sweat popped up along my brow as I whirled off, fighting the crowd, desperate to get away. I tripped over someone’s outstretched leg and suddenly found myself at the edge of the dance floor.
I took a shaky breath and laid my hand flat over my locket. Before me was the lobby of Billings House. There was the gleaming oak banister. The faded gold wallpaper. The framed photos of former Billings Girls lining the walls. The ancient but pristine Oriental carpet in the center of the floor. And there stood my friends. All of them. Wearing their black dresses, holding their candles. They smiled at me over the flickering lights. Noelle Lange, Kiran Hayes, Taylor Bell, Tiffany Goulborne, Natasha Crenshaw, Cheyenne Martin, Shelby Wordsworth, Vienna Clark, London Simmons, Rose Sakowitz, Portia Ahronian, Ariana Osgood. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a bleached white robe. My hair was combed out over my shoulders and gleamed in the candlelight. I felt warm and safe and at peace. Like those apparitions in their black garb could never hurt me. Then someone took my hand. I looked over and smiled.
“Astrid! There you are!” I said, throwing my arms around her neck.
“I’ve been here all along, love. Where have you been?” she asked.
She smiled as I released her, and the girls began to chant.
“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle.”
I smiled at Astrid as she gazed back at me, her eyes full of pride. Then, out of nowhere, a black cloth bag descended over her face. Astrid let out a bloodcurdling scream as she was dragged backward, away from me and toward the door.
“Astrid!” I shouted.
I looked to the sisterhood fo
r help, but they all simply stood there, their smiles placid, continuing their chant.
“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you—”
“Help! Noelle! Do something!”
Astrid screamed and kicked and flailed. The door behind her opened and she reached out, clutching the sides of the doorway with both hands.
“Stop!” I shouted, moving toward her. “Leave her alone!”
For the first time, the person who’d grabbed her showed her face, appearing over Astrid’s right shoulder. The straight blond hair. The condescending blue eyes. It was Cheyenne Martin.
“She’s mine now, Reed,” Cheyenne said through her teeth.
I whirled around to look at the sisters. The spot where Cheyenne had stood a moment before was empty. All that was left in her place was a pink cardigan sweater, in a pool on the floor.
“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle,” the sisters chanted.
Astrid let out one last, strangled scream as the door slammed behind her.
