“We have to go,” Jem said.“Right now.”
33
When Jem and Tean pulled up in front of Rainbow House, Tean was still on the phone with the 911 dispatcher, trying to explain why they needed an emergency response.Jem tuned the words out, all his attention on the house.It was a windless night, almosttoostill.Balloons lined the path from the sidewalk to the porch.Black and gold decorations framed the door under a banner that said THE FAIRY-TALE MASQUERADE.Warm light painted the inside of the glass.
Jem didn’t bother parking neatly; he slid the Subaru up against the curb, killed the engine, and hopped out of the car.A door slammed behind him, and Tean’s footsteps followed as Jem sprinted toward the door.
The slap of his ROOS on the sidewalk.
Treads creaking as he went up the stairs to the old porch.
Golden streamers, more black balloons, a paper cutout meant to look like Sleeping Beauty’s castle.He grabbed the door handle, and it wouldn’t turn.
“Locked,” he said.“I’m going around back.”
“Hold on,” Tean said.Then, into the phone, “This is a life-or-death situation—”
“Hang up and call Orsino.”Jem sprinted the length of the porch.“And stay out of the house.”
“Jem!Wait!”
Jem didn’t look back.
The porch wasn’t a wraparound, but it did have a second set of stairs leading off the side.Dead grass rustled underfoot as he ran through the darkness.Then he reached the backyard.There was more light here because the large family room of Rainbow House had big windows, and the back door had a half lite.Jem headed for the door.
But something stepped in front of the half lite: a silhouette the height of a man, with a long muzzle, fur catching the light.Something was off about his posture; he carried himself hunched over, as though in pain.The wolfman paused at the door, and Jem heard the deadbolt thump home.Then the wolfman lifted his head.The mask hid the man’s features, but this had to be Reed.Not Zeb; he wasn’t big enough.And not Kai—he didn’t have the same batshit energy.The wolfman stared at Jem.And then he turned, shouting something, the words muffled by the glass.He disappeared deeper into the house, probably to find someone to tell him what to do.
People were really fucking stupid, sometimes.
Take the door, for instance.
Jem broke into a run again.This time, though, he bent as he ran and scooped up one of the pavers lining a flowerbed.He hit the half lite with it, and the glass shattered.Shards tumbled inside and made a tinkling sound on the floor.Jem did a sloppy second pass with the paver, knocking the bigger fragments out of the bottom of the frame.Music spilled out now—“Old Town Road”.A man was shouting, “Somebody answer me!”The air against Jem’s face was warm and smelled sweet; it took his brain a second to make the connection to a fog machine.
Then he was reaching through the broken half-lite, and he flipped back the deadbolt.The door swung open, and Jem stepped inside.
Gold streamers draped the walls, fluttering as cold air rushed into the room.The usual furniture—the oversized sofas and loveseats and ottomans where, most days, kids were sprawled—were gone.In their place, round tables and chairs had been set up.The tables were set for eight, and each table had a centerpiece that looked like a 3D-printed fantasy castle.More balloons were weighted down at different points around the room, and there were even freestanding background pieces that were supposed to look like windows and doorways.Against one wall, a craft station held blank masks, feathers, glitter, and glue.A temporary dance floor had been laid down in front of a DJ setup, and overhead hung a banner that said, TONIGHT, WE TAKE OFF OUR MASKS AND LIVE OUR HAPPY EVER AFTER.
The man—Reed—was still shouting, “Zeb!Zeb!He’s here!”
Nasha lay in the opening to the hallway.She was wearing what looked like Prince’s old clothes, baggy and purple, and the way her head was turned showed that her throat had been cut.Another pair of shoes showed beyond her.Someone else the wolves had already cut down.Another person dead.
It was like it always was, when everything flowed, when he was riffing and he knew—heknew—he couldn’t fuck it up.Not even if he tried.
It stops tonight.
Jem started into the house.He was cutting between the tables, checking the far side of the room, trying to spot where the voice was coming from, when he tripped.
Something soft.
He caught himself, hand slapping a table, and looked down.
Ammon lay on the floor.His eyes were closed, and blood soaked the front of his shirt.
A metallic thud made Jem glance up.Two of the wolfmen stood on the far side of the room—Reed, and a second, bigger one who had to be Zeb.At Zeb’s feet was a five-gallon jerry can.He carried another can in one hand; in his other, he held a knife.
“Howdy boys,” Jem said.He rolled his wrist, letting the paracord unspool, the hex nut wobbling.The other hand went into his pocket and came out with the antenna.“Free tip: the police are on their way, so you’d better fuck right off if you don’t want to find out what it’s like for some white supremacist asshole to make you the block bitch.”
Reed turned, as though he might spot the police coming into the house.But Zeb stared at Jem.The mask gave back nothing.Light flickered on the fake fur.Then Zeb kicked the jerry can.It toppled over, and liquid splashed out.A sweet, metallic smell reached Jem a moment later: paint thinner.
