Page 24 of Roses & Ruin

Chapter 8

“Deliaaaaa,” Charlie whines around the Twizzler in her mouth, slapping the leather arm of the chesterfield. “Hurry up. I wanna be drunk already.”

“You sound drunk already,” Naomi grumbles. She’s sitting on Delia’s bed, her fingers flying over her phone screen.

“Art cannot be rushed,” Delia says loftily, dotting shimmery white powder at the corner of her eye. “Also, I’m almost done—calm your tits.”

Bianca, perched a little stiffly on the other end of the chesterfield sofa, leans toward Charlie. “Can I have a Twizzler?” she whispers.

Charlie yanks out the one in her mouth with a snap and offers it to Bianca.

“Never mind,” she says politely.

“Your loss, baby blue.” Charlie snorts, whipping the candy rope back into her mouth. Bianca doesn’t seem to know whether to be charmed or change seats.

I’m on my bed, hugging my legs to my chest, watching all four girls banter, joke, and tease each other. Ever since Delia met Charlie and Naomi on campus last week, we’ve all been hanging out together. Soon Bianca from art class joined our group, as well.

“We should get those painted.” Delia’s finished her makeup, looking red carpet worthy, and is now eyeing my feet. She pushes my big toe into the mattress. “I’m thinking oxblood.”

“Oxblood?” Charlie, a strict vegetarian, wrinkles her nose. “The hell is an oxblood?”

“A very rich, dark shade of maroon,” I say.

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Just call it blood. No need to bring cows into this.”

“Blood is bright red. This isn’t like that. It’s more like older blood. Blood that’s been sitting there for a while.” Delia smirks at Charlie, her dark eyes devious. “Like…imagine your tampon near the end of your period.”

The room erupts into general noises of disgust while I snicker into my knees. Charlie snatches one of my pillows and throws it at Delia, who catches it deftly.

“You need to come with a warning label, Delia,” Naomi snorts.

Bianca’s lips make a thin, pale line. Delia raises a brow at me.

“Awfully quiet, Rose,” she teases. “Did I shock you into silence?”

“Nah.” I make a show of wiggling my toes. “Go for it. Make ’em look like used tampons on day five.”

Charlie launches to her feet with a loud clap. “Welp. I officially need an entire bottle of vodka now.” She waggles a finger at Delia and me. “You guys are some sick puppies, lemme tell you.”

“We’re not puppies, we’re wolves.” I laugh, scooting off my bed.

“By the way,” Charlie says, “where the hell are you taking us, Delia?” She pins Delia with a look as she shrugs on her long wool coat. Bianca glances up from buckling her boots, curious.

“I’d like to know myself,” Naomi says as she peeks in the mirror, making last-minute adjustments to her curls.

Delia throws an exasperated hand at the ceiling. “It’s on the edge of campus. That’s all I’m telling you because, oh, wait, it’s a surprise.”

—

Delia brings us to a small, unmarked brick building that’s seen better days. Tucked just outside campus on a small half-forgotten side street, it would be easy to miss.

“Delia,” Charlie says evenly, “did you bring us here to murder us?”

“Maybe,” Delia says, pushing open the door, the motion causing a few flakes of peeling paint to flutter to the ground. “Come on.”

The inside of the bar is certainly a surprise. Everything’s bathed in low red light from mismatched antique-looking chandeliers hanging at odd heights from the ceiling. Candles burn in tiny niches in the brick wall, pale wax dripping down them. All the bartenders are dressed in the same funeral-director all-black outfit.

But most striking, perhaps, are the many circular booths that fill the bar. The seating is beautiful: high-backed maroon cushions on deep-buttoned crushed-velvet upholstery. But the tables are painted to look blood-spattered, and the walls of the booths are covered in newspapers. Hanging low above the center of each table is a single Edison light bulb encased in a clear rectangular glass fixture with a sort of display case at the bottom housing an item. I can’t tell what most of the items are from this far away, but the lamp of the booth nearest to the door holds a bloody knife.