But sitting with the boys and their new friends doesn’t fare much better. Everyone is talking about tonight’s party. No one seems more excited than Adam, who almost looks like his old self here, in his element, surrounded by admiring girls.
“What do you think about all of this?” I whisper to Henry, who’s seated beside me.
He shrugs. “I mean, our parents won’t be there. And it’s just student council. It’s not like they’re going to go savage and wreck the place. How bad can it be?”
Something about the way he says this—the clear and obvious hope—twists at my chest. I see that hope in Adam’s demeanor too. Both boys are so ready and willing to place it in the wrong hands.
Because these people—the student council members—might not wreck any possessions or valuables in the Abbott house tonight. But I have a strong feeling something will end up broken.
14
There are no streetlamps on the road outside the Abbotts’ wrought iron gate, so I use my phone’s light as I approach on foot. A few cars are already lined up along the road, and another rolls up behind them, shutting off its engine.
Lydia gets out quickly, locking the door three times, apparently for good measure. “Hayden, wait up!” She hurries to my side, shivering as she looks up at the gate, where three enormous ravens are perched atop it, silhouetted in moonlight. “This place is creepy as hell. Why have we never had a Halloween party here before?”
“Because everyone at school is horrible to the Abbotts.”
She keeps her gaze on the birds. “Maybe we wouldn’t be if they hosted more parties.”
“Glad that’s all it takes to assuage your fears about them.” I start to push the gate open. “You know, you can move your car inside if you want. They’ve got plenty of space to park on the property.”
Lydia laughs. “Oh, sure. I’ll just lock myselfandmy car inside. Make it so I have absolutely no escape when they try to murder me.”
“You’re the one who said they’d never try to kill us tonight.” We start up the winding path to the mansion beneath the bony branches of the birch trees.
“Yeah, but then I started thinking. They could drug one of us, keep us locked in the basement, tell everyone else we went home. Leaving my car in a visible spot could be the only clue they’re lying.”
“Good thinking.”
“Thanks.”
“How are you feeling about being president?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject.
“I mean, overwhelmed,” she says, her voice shrinking. “I only ran for VP because Kennedy said there weren’t any cool people on student council this year—no offense.”
“Why would I find that offensive?” I mutter.
“She wanted me to do it with her, and now that she’s not here, I’m all by myself. Completely alone.”
“Completely.”
“But I mean, I’ll be okay. I’ll handle it,” she says as if it were the bravest act ever undertaken by a high school senior. “And I guess it’ll look good on a college application.” She stops in her tracks, chin tilted skyward. “Damn.”
Ahead lies the mansion, its turrets and pointed arches towering over us. Its face is blanketed in moss, like it’s been hidden back here behind the trees, asleep for centuries.
“Yeah,” I say, the sound of music already drifting out as we make our way up the stone steps of the porch, ornate railings weathered and woven in vines. Taking hold of the brass knocker, I hit it twice before opening the door myself. We follow the voices to the kitchen, where someone has set up a drink station.
Immediately, I notice a sullen-looking Bram across the kitchen. He leans against a cabinet, nursing a red Solo cup. He’s dressed in a fitted black T-shirt, and my eyes roam to his bare, toned arms. Whenhe spots me, his lips curve in the faintest trace of a smile.
“Girls!” Liam says, raising his own plastic cup. Beside him, a couple of other guys are cracking open beers. “Help yourselves to a drink. We were just about to go on a tour of the castle. Weren’t we?” He grins at Bram.
“No,” Bram says flatly, “we weren’t.”
“Aw, come on. Show us the cellars where your ancestors used to torture people.”
At this, Bram’s face lights up, almost imperceptibly. “You’ve twisted my arm,” he says with a shrug. “Though it’s technically a dungeon, not a cellar. Follow me.” He starts walking, then pauses, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Maybe we can put one of you in the iron maiden.”
“Bram,” I scold. “Stop it.”
