[english] Prom Nights From Hell

Author : Stephenie Meyer

In this exciting collection of paranormal tales, best-selling authors Stephenie Meyer (Twilight), Kim Harrison (Once Dead, Twice Shy), Meg Cabot (How to Be Popular), Lauren Myracle (ttyl), and Michele Jaffe (Bad Kitty) take prom mishaps to a whole new level—a truly hellish level. Wardrobe malfunctions and two left feet don't hold a candle to discovering your date is the Grim Reaper—and he isn't here to tell you how hot you look.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



The Exterminator's Daughter

Meg Cabot

Mary

The music is pounding in time to my heartbeat. I can feel the bass in my chest-badoom, badoom. It's hard to see across the room of writhing bodies, especially with the fog from the dry ice, and the flickering light show coming down from the club's industrial ceiling overhead.

But I know he's here. I can feel him.

Which is why I'm grateful for the bodies grinding against one another all around me. They're keeping me hidden from his view-and from his senses. Otherwise he'd have smelled me coming by now. They can detect the scent of fear from yards away.

Not that I'm scared. Because I'm not.

Well. Maybe a little.

But I have my Excalibur Vixen crossbow 285 FPS with me, with a twenty-inch-long Easton XX75 (the tip, formerly gold, now replaced with hand-carved ash) already cocked and ready to be released at the merest pressure from my finger.

He'll never know what hit him.

And, hopefully, neither will she.

The important thing is to get a clean shot-which won't be easy in this crowd-and to make it count. I'll probably only get one chance to shoot. Either I'll hit the target... or he'll hit me.

"Always aim for the chest," Mom used to say. "It's the largest part of the body, and the spot you're least likely to miss. Of course, you're more likely to kill than wound if you aim for the chest rather than the thigh or arm... but what do you want to wound for, anyway? The point is to take 'em down."

Which is what I'm here to do tonight. Take 'im down.

Lila will hate me, of course, if she figures out what really happened... and that it was me who did it.

But what does she expect? She can't think that I'm just going to sit idly by and watch her throw her life away.

"I met this guy," she'd gushed at lunch today, while we were standing in line for the salad bar. "Oh my God, Mary, you wouldn't believe how cute he is. His name's Sebastian. He's got the bluest eyes you've ever seen."

The thing about Lila that a lot of people don't get is that beneath that-let's face it-slutty exterior beats the heart of a truly loyal friend. Unlike the rest of the girls at Saint Eligius, Lila's never pulled an attitude with me about the fact that my dad's not a CEO or plastic surgeon.

And yeah, okay, I have to tune out about three-fourths of what she says because most of it is stuff that I have no interest in-like how much she paid for her Prada tote at the end-of-season clearance sale at Saks, and what kind of tramp stamp she's thinking about getting next time she's in Canc��n.

But this caught my attention.

"Lila," I said. "What about Ted?"

Because Ted's all Lila has talked about for the past year, ever since he finally got up the guts to ask her out. Well, I mean, all she's talked about besides the Prada sales and back tattoos.

"Oh, that's over," Lila said, reaching for the lettuce tongs. "Sebastian's taking me clubbing tonight-at Swig. He says he can get us in-he's on the VIP list."

It wasn't the fact that this guy, whoever he was, claimed to be on the VIP list of the newest and most exclusive club in downtown Manhattan that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Don't get me wrong-Lila's beautiful. If anyone is going to be approached by a random stranger who happens to be on the most sought-after VIP list in town, it would be Lila.

It was the thing about Ted that got to me. Because Lila adores Ted. They're the quintessentially perfect high school couple. She's gorgeous, he's a star athlete... it's a match made in teen heaven.

Which is why what she was telling me did not compute.

"Lila, how can you say it's over between you and Ted?" I demanded. "You two have been going out forever"-or at least since I arrived at Saint Eligius Prep in September, where Lila was the first (and, to date, pretty much the only) girl in any of my classes to actually speak to me-"and it's the prom this weekend."

"I know," Lila said, with a happy sigh. "Sebastian's taking me."

"Seb-"

That's when I knew. I mean, really knew.

"Lila," I said. "Look at me."

Lila looked down at me-I'm small. But, as Mom used to say, I'm fast-and I saw it at once. What I should have seen from the beginning, that ever-so-slightly glazed expression-the dull eyes... the soft lips-that I've come to know so well over the years.

I couldn't believe it. He'd gotten to my best friend. My only friend.

Well. What was I supposed to do? Sit back and let him take her?

Not this time.

You'd think seeing a girl with a crossbow on the dance floor of Manhattan's hottest new club would maybe generate a comment or two. But it is Manhattan, after all. Besides, everyone is having too good a time to notice me. Even-

Oh God. It's him. I can't believe I'm finally seeing him in the flesh...

Well, his son, anyway.

He's more handsome than I ever imagined. Golden-haired and blue-eyed, with movie star-perfect lips and shoulders a mile wide. He's tall, too-although most guys are tall-compared with me.

Still, if he is anything like his father, well, then, I get it. I finally get it.

I guess. I still don't-

Oh God. He's sensed my gaze. He's turning this way-

It's now or never. I raise my bow:

Good-bye, Sebastian Drake. Good-bye forever.

But just as I have the bright white triangle of his shirt front in my scope, something unbelievable happens: A bright bloom of cherry red appears exactly where I've been aiming.

Except I haven't pulled the trigger.

And his kind doesn't bleed.

"What's that, Sebastian?" Lila shimmies up to him to ask.

"Dammit! Somebody"-and I see Sebastian raise his stunned cerulean gaze from the scarlet stain on his shirt to Lila's face-"shot me."

It's true. Someone has shot him.

Only it wasn't me.

And that's not all that doesn't make sense. He's bleeding.

Except that's not possible.

Not knowing what else to do, I duck behind a nearby pillar, pressing the Vixen to my chest. I need to regroup, figure out my next move. Because none of this can really be happening. I couldn't have been wrong about him. I did the research. It all makes sense... the fact that he's here in Manhattan... the fact that he went after my best friend, of all people... Lila's dazed expression... everything.

Everything except what just happened.

And I had just stood there, staring. I had had a perfect shot, and I'd blown it.

Or had I? If he's bleeding, then that must mean he's human. Doesn't it?

Except if he's human, and he's just been shot in the chest, why is he still standing?

Oh God.

The worst of it is... he saw me. I'm almost sure I felt that reptilian gaze pass over me. What will he do now? Will he come after me? If he does, it's all my own fault. Mom told me never to do this. She always said a hunter never goes out alone. Why didn't I listen? What was I thinking?

That's the problem, of course. I hadn't been thinking at all. I'd let my emotions get the better of me. I couldn't let what happened to Mom happen to Lila.

And now I'm going to pay for it.

Just like Mom.

Crouching in agony, I try not to imagine what Dad's going to do when the New York City police ring our doorbell at four in the morning and ask him to come to the morgue to ID his only daughter's body. My throat will be gouged open, and who knows what other atrocities will be done to my broken body. All because I didn't stay home tonight to work on my paper for Mrs. Gregory's fourth-period U.S. History class (topic: the temperance movement in antebellum Civil War America, two thousand words, double-spaced, due Monday), like I was supposed to.

The music changes. I hear Lila squeal, "Where are you going?"

Oh God. He's coming.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



And he wants me to know that he's coming. He's playing with me now... just like his father played with Mom, before he... well, did what he did to her.

Then I hear a strange sound-a sort of whoosh-followed by another "Dammit!"

What is happening?

"Sebastian." Lila's voice sounds bemused. "Someone is shooting ketchup at you!"

What? Did she just say... ketchup?.

And then, as I carefully turn to try to get a look past the pillar to see what Lila is talking about, I see him.

Not Sebastian. His shooter.

And I can hardly believe my eyes.

What's he doing here?

Adam

It's all Ted's fault. He's the one who said we should follow them on their date.

I was like, "Why?"

" 'Cause the dude's trouble, man," Ted said.

Except there's no way Ted could have known that. Drake had basically turned up from out of nowhere outside Lila's Park Avenue apartment building just the night before. Ted had never even met him. How could he know anything about the guy? Anything at all?

But when I mentioned this, Ted said, "Dude, have you looked at him?"

I have to admit, the T Man has a point. I mean, the guy looks like he walked straight out of an Abercrombie Fitch catalog or something. You can't trust a guy who's that, well, perfect.

Still, I'm not down with following other guys around. It's not cool. Even if, like Ted said, it was just to make sure Lila didn't get into trouble. I know Lila is Ted's lady-ex-lady now, thanks to Drake.

And okay, she's never been the shiniest fork in the drawer.

But following her on this date with the dude she's hooked up with? That just seemed like a bigger waste of time than-well, that two thousand-word, double-spaced essay I've got due in Mrs. Gregory's U.S. History class on Monday.

Then Ted had to go and suggest I bring the Beretta 9mm.

The thing is, even though it's just a water pistol, toy guns that look as real as that are illegal in Manhattan.

So I haven't really had an opportunity to use mine much. Which Ted knows.

And is probably why he kept going on about how freaking hilarious it would be if we soaked the guy. Because he knew I wouldn't be able to resist.

The ketchup was my idea.

And, yeah, it is pretty juvenile.

But what the hell else am I going to do on a Friday night? It beats a U.S. History paper.

Anyway, I told the T Man I guessed I'd be down with his plan. So long as I was the one who got to do the shooting. Which was fine with Ted.

"I just gotta know, man," he'd said, shaking his head.

"Know what?"

"What this Sebastian dude's got," he said, "that I don't."

I could've told him, of course. I mean, it's pretty obvious to anyone who freaking looks at Drake what he's got that Ted doesn't. Ted's a decent-looking guy and all, but Abercrombie material he is not.

Still, I didn't say anything. Because the T Man was really hurtin' over this one. And I could sort of understand why. Lila's just one of those girls, you know? All big brown eyes and big, well, other parts, too.

But I won't go there on account of my sister, Veronica, who says I need to stop thinking of women as sex objects and start thinking of them as future partners in the inevitable struggle to survive in postapocalyptic America (which Veronica's writing her senior thesis on because she feels the apocalypse is going to occur sometime in the next decade, due to the country's current state of religious fanaticism and environmental recklessness, both of which were present at the fall of Rome and various other societies that no longer exist).

So that's how me and the T Man ended up at Swig-fortunately, Ted's uncle Vinnie is their liquor distributor, which is how we got in, and without having to go through the metal detector like everybody else-shooting ketchup at Sebastian Drake with my Beretta 9mm water pistol. I know I was supposed to be home doing that paper for Mrs. Gregory, but a guy's got to have some fun, right?

And it was fun to see those red stains spurting all over the guy's chest. The T Man was actually laughing for the first time since Lila sent him that text message during lunch, telling him that he was on his own for the prom, because she was going with Drake.

Everything was going great... until I saw Drake staring at that pillar over to one side of the dance floor. Which didn't make any sense. You'd have thought he'd have been looking over at us, in our VIP booth (thanks, Uncle Vinnie), considering that's the direction the ketchup assault was coming from.

That's when I noticed there was somebody hiding behind it. The pillar, I mean.

Not just any somebody, either, but Mary, that new girl from my U.S. History class, the one who never talks to anybody but Lila.

And she was holding a crossbow.

A crossbow.

How the hell did she get a crossbow through the metal detector? No way does she know Ted's uncle Vinnie.

Not that it matters. All that matters is that Drake's staring at the pillar Mary's crouched behind like he can see straight through it. There's something about the way he's looking over at her that makes me... well, all I know is that is not where I want that guy looking.

"Moron," I mutter. Mostly about Drake. But also about myself, a little. And then I aim and shoot once more.

"Oh, snap," Ted yells happily. "Did you see that? Right in the ass!"

That gets Drake's attention, all right. He turns...

... and suddenly, I get what they mean about blazing eyes. You know, in Stephen King books, or whatever? I never thought I'd actually see a pair.

But that's exactly what Drake's got, as he stares at us. Eyes that are most definitely blazing.

Come on, I find myself thinking in Drake's direction. That's right. Come on over here, Drake. You wanna fight? I've got a lot more than just ketchup, dude.

Which isn't exactly true. But it doesn't end up mattering, because Drake doesn't come over anyway.

Instead, he disappears.

I don't mean that he turns around and leaves the club.

I mean that one minute he's standing there, and the next he's... well, he's just gone. For a second the fog from the dry ice seems to get thicker-and when it clears, Lila is dancing by herself.

"Here," I say, thrusting the Beretta into Ted's hand.

"What the-" Ted scans the dance floor. "Where'd he go?"

But I've already taken off.

"Grab Lila," I yell back at Ted. "And meet me out front."

Ted utters some pretty choice expletives after that, but no one even notices. The music's too loud, and everyone's having too good a time. I mean, if they didn't notice us shooting at some dude with a ketchup-filled water gun-or a few seconds later, that dude literally vanishing into thin air-they're hardly likely to notice Ted shouting the F word.

I reach the pillar and look down.

She's there, panting as if she's just run a marathon or something. She's got the crossbow clutched to her chest like a kid's security blanket. Her face is as white as notebook paper.

"Hey," I say to her, gently. I don't want to startle her.

But I do anyway. She practically jumps out of her skin at the sound of my voice and turns wide, frightened eyes up at me.

"Hey, take it easy," I say. "He's gone. Okay?"

"He's gone?" Her eyes-green as the Great Lawn in Central Park in May-stare up at me. And there's no missing the terror in them. "How-what?"

"He just vanished," I say with a shrug. "I saw him looking at you. So I shot him."

"You what?"

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



I can see that the terror has disappeared as suddenly as Drake did. But unlike with Drake, there's something in its place: anger. Mary is mad.

"Oh my God, Adam," she says. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea who that guy even is?."

"Yeah," I say. The truth is, Mary's pretty cute when she's mad. I can't believe I never noticed before. Well, I guess I've never seen her get mad. There's not a lot to get all heated up about in Mrs. Gregory's class. "Lila's new man. That guy's such a loser. Did you get a look at his pants?"

Mary just shakes her head.

"What are you doing here?" she asks me in a slightly stunned voice.

"Same thing as you, apparently," I say, eyeing the crossbow. "Only you've got way more firepower. Where'd you get that? Are those even legal in Manhattan?"

"You're one to talk," she says, meaning the Beretta.

I hold up both hands in an I-surrender sort of way. "Hey, it was just ketchup. But that's definitely not a suction cup I see on the end of that thing. You could do some major damage-"

"That's the idea," Mary says.

And there's so much animosity-Mom keeps encouraging Veronica and me to instead use descriptive language to express ourselves-in her voice, that I know. I just know.

Drake's her ex.

I have to admit, I feel sort of weird when I realize this. I mean, I like Mary. You can tell she's pretty smart-she's always done the reading when Mrs. Gregory calls on her-and the truth is, the fact that she hangs around Lila, dim as she is, proves at least she's not a snob, since most of the girls at Saint Eligius won't give Lila the time of day... ever since that cell-phone photo went all around school of exactly what she and Ted were doing in the bathroom at that loft party downtown.

Not that there's anything wrong with what they were doing, if you ask me.

Still. I'm kind of disappointed. I'd have thought a girl like Mary would have better taste than to go out with a guy like Sebastian Drake.

Which I guess goes to prove that what Veronica's always saying about me is right: What I don't know about girls could fill the East River.

Mary

I can't believe this. I mean, that I'm standing in the alley next to Swig, talking to Adam Blum, who sits behind me in Mrs. Gregory's fourth-period U.S. History. Not to mention Teddy Hancock, Adam's best friend.

And Lila's ex.

Whom Lila is currently steadfastly ignoring.

I've taken the ash-tipped arrow from the stock and slipped it back into my case. There will be, I know now, no extermination tonight.

Although I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn't the one who got snuffed out. If it hadn't been for Adam... well, I wouldn't be standing here right now, trying to explain to him something that's... well, frankly inexplicable.

"Seriously, Mary." Adam is regarding me with somber brown eyes. Funny that I'd never noticed how good-looking he is before now. Oh, he's no Sebastian Drake. Adam's hair is as dark as mine and his irises are dark as syrup, not blue as the sea.

But he does fairly well for himself with his broad-shouldered swimmer's physique-he's led Saint Eligius Prep to the regional finals in the butterfly two years in a row-and a six-foot frame (so tall that I practically have to crane my neck to see up into his face, my own height being a sadly disappointing-to me, anyway-five feet). He's a more than middling student and popular, too, if you count all the freshman girls who swoon every time he passes them in the hallway (not that he seems to notice).

There's nothing inattentive about the way he's staring at me now, though.

"What's the deal?" he wants to know, one of his thick dark eyebrows lifted with suspicion as he eyes me. "I know why Ted hates Drake. He stole his girl. But what's your beef with him?"

"It's personal," I say to him. God, this is so unprofessional. Mom will kill me when she finds out.

If she ever finds out.

On the other hand... well, Adam probably did just save my life. Even if he doesn't know it. Drake would have eviscerated me-right there in front of everyone-without thinking twice about it.

Unless he decided to play with me first. Which, knowing his father, is exactly what he would have done.

I owe Adam. Big-time.

But I'm not about to let him know it.

"How'd you get in there?" Adam wants to know. "Don't even tell me you made it through the metal detector with that thing."

"Of course I didn't," I say. Seriously, boys are so silly sometimes. "I got in through the skylight."

"On the roof?"

"That is generally where they keep skylights," I point out to him.

"You're so immature," Lila is saying to Ted. Her voice is soft and breathy, even if what she's saying isn't. She can't help it, though. She's just caught in Drake's spell. "What on earth were you hoping to accomplish?"

"You've barely known this guy a day, Lila." Ted's got his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks ashamed of himself... but defiant at the same time. "I mean, I could've gotten you into Swig if that's where you'd wanted to go. Why didn't you tell me? You know about my uncle Vinnie."

"It's not about what clubs Sebastian can get me into, Ted," Lila is saying. "It's about... well, just him. He's... perfect."

I have to swallow hard to keep down the vomit that's risen into my throat.

"Nobody's perfect, Li," Ted says, before I have a chance to.

"Sebastian is," Lila enthuses, her dark eyes glittering in the light from the single bulb illuminating the club's emergency side door. "He's so beautiful... and intelligent... and worldly... and gentle-"

That's it. I've heard more than I can take.

"Lila," I snap. "Shut up. Ted's right. You don't even know the guy. Because if you did, you'd never call him gentle."

"But he is," Lila insists, the glitter in her eyes fading to a warm glow. "You don't even know-"

A second later-I'm not even sure how it happened-I have her by the shoulders, and I'm shaking her. She's six inches taller than me and outweighs me by a good forty pounds.

But that doesn't matter. In that moment, all I want to do is knock some intelligence into her.

"He told you, didn't he?" I hear myself yell at her, hoarsely. "He told you what he is. Oh, Lila. You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl."

"Whoa." Adam is trying to pry my hands off Lila's bare shoulders. "Hey, now. Let's all calm down-"

But Lila wrenches herself out of my grasp and whirls on us with a triumphant expression.

"Yes," she cries with that exultant throb in her voice I recognize only too well. "He told me. And he warned me about people like you, Mary. People who don't understand-can't understand-that he comes from a line as ancient and as noble as any king's-"

"Oh my God." I'm itching to slap her. The only reason I don't is because Adam reaches out and grabs me by the arm-almost as if he'd read my mind. "Lila. You knew? And you went out with him anyway?"

"Of course I did," Lila says with a sniff. "Unlike you, Mary, I have an open mind. I'm not prejudiced against his kind, the way you are-"

"His kind? His kind?" If it wasn't for Adam holding me back-and murmuring, Hey, take it easy-I'd have thrown myself at her and attempted to beat some common sense into her vapid blond head. "And did he happen to mention how his kind survives? What they eat-or should I say drink-to live?"

Lila looks contemptuous. "Yes," she says. "He did. And I think you're making way too big a deal out of it. He only drinks blood he buys from a plasma center. He doesn't kill-"

"Oh, Lila!" I can't believe what I'm hearing. Well, I mean, I can, considering that it's Lila. Still, I would have thought that even she wouldn't be naive enough to fall for that one. "That's what they all say. They've been feeding that line to girls for centuries. I don't kill humans. It's total b.s."

"Hold on." Adam's grip on my arm has gotten quite a bit looser. Unfortunately, now that I'm at liberty to do so, I don't feel like smacking Lila anymore. I'm too disgusted. "What's going on here?" Adam wants to know. "Who drinks blood? Are you talking about-Drake?"

"Yes, Drake," I say tersely.

Adam stares down at me in disbelief, while beside him, his friend Ted whistles.

"Man," Ted says. "I knew there was something I didn't like about that guy."

"Stop it!" Lila cries. "All of you! Listen to yourselves! Do you have any idea how bigoted you sound? Yes, Sebastian is a vampire-but that doesn't mean he hasn't got the right to exist!"

"Uh," I say. "Considering that he's a walking abomination to humankind and has been feeding on innocent girls like you for centuries, actually, he doesn't have the right to exist."

"Wait a minute."...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



"You don't understand." Lila tosses back her long blond hair. "He's not a tick, Mary. Sebastian loves me too much to bite me. But I know I can change his mind. Because he wants to be with me forever, as much as I want to be with him forever. I know it. And after tomorrow night, we will be together forever."

"What's tomorrow night?" Adam wants to know.

"The prom," I say woodenly.

"Right," Lila prattles on. "Sebastian's taking me. And though he doesn't know it yet, he's going to give in to me there. Just one bite and I'll have eternal life. Come on, you guys, how cool is that? Wouldn't you want to live forever? I mean, if you could?"

"Not that way," I say. Something inside of me aches. Aches for Lila, and aches for all the girls who've gone before her. And will come after her, too, if I don't do something about it.

"He's meeting you at the dance?" I force myself to ask her. It's hard to speak, because all I want to do is cry.

"Right," Lila says. Her face still has the same vacant expression she wore inside the club, as well as earlier today in the lunchroom. "He'll never be able to resist me-not in my new Roberto Cavalli gown, with my neck all exposed beneath the silver light of the full moon..."

"I think I'm going to throw up," Ted volunteers.

"No, you're not," I say. "You're going to take Lila home. Here." I reach into my satchel and pull out a crucifix and two containers of holy water, then hand them to him. "If Drake shows up-although I don't think he will-throw these at him. Then get yourself home, after you've dropped off Lila."

Ted looks down at what I've shoved into his hands. "Wait. That's it?" he wants to know. "We're just going to let him kill her?"

"Not kill," Lila corrects him cheerfully. "Turn me. Into one of his kind."

"We aren't going to do anything," I say. "You guys are going to go home and leave this to me. I've got it under control. Just make sure Lila gets back safely. She should be all right until the dance. Evil spirits cannot enter an inhabited house unless invited!" I narrow my eyes at Lila. "You didn't invite him inside, did you?"

"Whatever," Lila says, tossing her head. "Like my dad wouldn't go too ballistic if he found a guy in my room."

"See? Go home. You, too," I add, to Adam.

Ted takes Lila by the arm and begins to lead her away.

But Adam, to my surprise, stays where he is, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

"Um," I say to him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes," Adam says calmly. "You can start at the beginning. I want to know everything. Because if what you're telling me is true, if it weren't for me, you'd be a speck on the wall in the club back there. So start talking."

Adam

If you had told me just an hour or two ago that I'd be ending my evening with a trip to Mary-from-U.S.-History-class's penthouse apartment over in the East Seventies... well, I'd have told you that you were high.

But that's exactly where I find myself, following Mary past her sleepy doorman (who doesn't raise so much as an eyebrow at her crossbow), and then up the elevator to her place, which is decorated in mid-nineteenth-century Victorian chic-at least as near as I can judge, considering all the furniture looks like it came out of one of those boring miniseries my mom likes to watch on PBS, featuring girls named Violet or Hortense or whatever.

There are books everywhere-and not Dan Brown paperbacks, either, but big, heavy books, with titles like Demonology in Seventh-century Greece and A Guide to Necromancy. I look around, but I don't see a plasma screen or an LCD. Not even a regular TV.

"Are your parents professors or something?" I ask Mary as she throws down the crossbow and heads to the kitchen, where she pulls open the fridge and reaches for two Cokes, one of which she hands to me.

"Something like that," Mary says. This is what she's been like the whole way to her place: not exactly brimming with the explanations.

Not that it matters, though, since I already told her I'm not leaving until I get the whole story. The thing is, I really don't know what to think about all this so far. On the one hand, I'm relieved Drake isn't who I thought he was-Mary's ex-boyfriend. On the other hand... a vampire?.

"Come on," Mary says, and I follow her because... well, what else am I supposed to do? I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't believe in vampires. I think Lila's just gotten herself involved with one of those freaky goth dudes I saw on Law Order that one time.

Although Mary's question-"Then how do you explain his disappearance from the dance floor into thin air like that?" - bugs me. How did the guy do that?

Then again, there are tons of questions like that one that I don't have the answers for. Like this new one that occurred to me: How can I get Mary to look at me the way Lila looked at that guy, Drake?

Life is full of mysteries, as my dad likes to say, many of which are also wrapped up in enigmas.

Mary leads me down a dark hallway toward a partly open door, from which light spills. She taps on the door, then says, "Dad? Can we come in?"

A gruff voice says, "By all means."

And I follow Mary into the strangest room I've ever seen. At least in a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side.

It's a laboratory. There are test tubes and beakers and vials everywhere. Standing in front of some of them is a tall, white-haired-professor type in a bathrobe, messing around with a concoction in a clear container that's bright green and vigorously generating large amounts of smoke. The old dude looks up from this and smiles as Mary comes into the room, his green-eyed gaze-a lot like Mary's-darting toward me curiously.

"Well, hello," the guy says. "I see you've brought a friend home. I'm so glad. I've been thinking lately that you spend far too much time alone, young lady."

"Dad, this is Adam," Mary says casually. "He sits behind me in U.S. History. We're going to my room to do homework."

"How nice," Mary's father says. It doesn't seem to occur to him that the last thing a guy my age is likely to be doing in a girl's bedroom at two in the morning is homework. "Don't study too hard, now, children."

"We won't," Mary says. "Come on, Adam."

"Good night, sir," I say to Mary's dad, who beams at me before turning back to his smoking beaker.

"Okay," I say to Mary as she leads me down the hall once more, this time to her room... which is surprisingly utilitarian for a girl's bedroom, containing only a large bed, a dresser, and a desk. Unlike in Veronica's room, everything is put away, except for a laptop and an MP3 player. I take a quick look at Mary's play list when she's busy rifling around in the closet for something. Mostly rock, some RB, and a little rap. No emo, though. Thank God. "What's going on? What's your dad doing with all that stuff?"

"Looking for a cure," Mary says from the closet, her voice muffled.

I've moved across the ornate Persian carpet toward her bed. There's a framed photo on her nightstand. It's of a pretty woman, squinting into the sunlight and smiling. Mary's mother. I don't know how I know it. I just do.

"A cure for what?" I ask, picking up the photo for a closer look. Yep, there they are. Mary's lips. Which, I haven't been able to stop noticing, are kind of curled up at the ends. Even when she's mad.

"Vampirism," Mary says. She emerges from the closet holding a long red dress. It's wrapped in clear plastic from the dry cleaner's.

"Uh," I say, "I hate to be the one to tell you this, Mary. But there's no such thing as vampires. Or vampirism. Or whatever it is."

"Oh yeah?" The ends of Mary's mouth are curled up even more than usual.

"Vampires were just made up by that guy." She's laughing at me. I don't mind, though, because it's Mary. It's better than her ignoring me, which is what she's done for most of the time I've known her. "That guy who wrote Dracula. Right?"

"Bram Stoker did not make up vampires," Mary says, the smile vanishing. "He didn't even make up Dracula. Who's an actual historical figure, by the way."

"Yeah, but a dude who drinks blood and can turn into a bat? Come on."

"Vampires exist, Adam," Mary says quietly. I like how she says my name. I like it so much that I don't even notice at first that she's staring at the photo I'm holding. "And so do their victims."

I follow the direction of her gaze. And nearly drop the photo.

"Mary," I say. Because it's all I can think of to say. "Your... your mom? Is she... did she..."

"She's still alive," Mary says, turning to throw the red dress, in its slippery clear plastic bag, onto the bed. "If you can call it living," she adds, almost to herself.

"Mary..." I say in a different...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Five



I shudder. I can't help it. Even though she's not exactly my type, it's not pleasant to think of Lila as some vampire's midnight snack.

"Aren't you worried," I ask, hoping to change the subject a little, "that Lila's just going to tell Drake not to show up at the prom since we'll be there waiting?"

I say we and not you because there is no way I'm letting Mary go after this guy alone. Which I know Veronica would think is sexist, too.

But Veronica's never seen Mary smile.

"Are you kidding me?" Mary asks. She doesn't seem to notice the we. "I'm counting on her telling him. That way he'll show up for sure."

I stare at her. "Why would he do that?"

"Because killing the exterminator's daughter will totally raise his crypt cred."

Now I'm blinking at her. "Crypt cred?"

"You know," she says, tossing her ponytail. "It's like street cred. Only among the undead."

"Oh." Strangely, this does make sense. As much as anything else I've heard this evening. "They call your dad the, um, 'exterminator'?" I'm having a hard time picturing Mary's dad wielding a crossbow the way she did.

"No," she says, the smile vanishing. "My mom. At least... she used to be. Not just vampires, either, but evil entities of all kinds-demons, werewolves, poltergeists, ghosts, warlocks, genies, satyrs, loki, shedus, vetelas, titans, leprechauns-"

"Leprechauns?" I echo in disbelief.

But Mary simply shrugs. "If it was evil, Mom killed it. She just had a gift for it... A gift," Mary adds softly, "I really hope I've inherited."

I just sit there for a minute. I have to admit I'm a little stunned by everything that's gone down over the past couple of hours. Crossbows and vampires and exterminators? And what in the world is a vetela? I'm not even sure I want to know. No. Wait. I know I don't want to know. There's a humming noise inside my head that won't stop.

The weird thing is, I kind of like it.

"So," Mary says, lifting her gaze to meet mine. "Do you believe me now?"

"I believe you," I say. What I can't believe, actually, is that I do. Believe her, I mean.

"Good," she says. "It would probably be better if you didn't tell anybody. Now, if you don't mind, I need to start getting things ready-"

"Great. Tell me what you need me to do."

Her face clouds with trouble. "Adam," she says. And there's something about the way her lips form my name that makes me feel a little crazy... like I want to throw my arms around her and race around the room at the same time. "I appreciate the offer. I really do. But it's too dangerous. If I kill Drake-"

"When you kill him," I correct her.

" - chances are, his father is going to show up," she goes on, "looking for revenge. Maybe not tonight. And maybe not tomorrow. But soon. And when he does... it isn't going to be pretty. It's going to be awful. A nightmare. It's going to be-"

"Apocalyptic," I finish for her, a slight shiver going down my spine as I speak the word.

"Yes. Yes, exactly."

"Don't worry," I say, ignoring the shiver. "I'm all set for that."

"Adam." She shakes her head. "You don't understand. I can't-well, I can't guarantee I'll be able to protect you. And I certainly can't let you risk your life like that. It's different for me, because-well, because of my mom. But you-"

I stop her. "Just tell me what time I'm picking you up."

She stares at me. "What?"

"Sorry," I say. "But you're not going to the prom by yourself. End of story."

And I must have looked really scary or something as I said it, because even though she opens her mouth to argue, she closes it again when she gets a look at my face, and only says, "Um. Okay."

Still, she has to add, "It's your funeral," just to have the last word.

Which is fine with me. She can have the last word.

Because I know now that I've found her: my future partner in the inevitable struggle to survive in post-apocalyptic America.

Mary

The music is pounding in time to my heartbeat. I can feel the bass in my chest-badoom, badoom. It's hard to see across the room of writhing bodies, especially with the flickering light show coming down from the ballroom's ceiling.

But I know he's here. I can feel him.

And then I see him, moving across the dance floor toward me. He's holding two glasses of bloodred liquid, one in either hand. When he gets close enough, he hands me one of the glasses, then says, "Don't worry, it's not spiked. I checked."

I don't reply. I just sip the punch, grateful for the liquid-even if it is a little too sweet-because my throat is so dry.

The thing is, I know I'm making a mistake. Letting Adam do this, I mean.

But... there's something about him. I don't know what it is. Something that sets him apart from all the rest of the dumb jocks in school. Maybe it's the way he saved me back at the club when I lost my nerve, his shooting at Sebastian Drake-progeny of the devil himself-with a ketchup-filled squirt gun.

Or maybe it's the way he was so nice about my dad, not cracking any jokes about him being like Doc from the Back to the Future movies and even calling him sir. Or the way he picked up my mom's photo like that and seemed so stunned when I told him the truth about her.

Or maybe it's just the way he looked when he showed up at quarter to eight this evening, so impossibly handsome in his tux-and even holding a red rose corsage for me... despite that less than twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't even known he was going to the prom (good thing tickets were available for sale at the door).

Oh well. Dad was ecstatic, for once acting like a normal parent, snapping photos-"For your mother to see, when she's better," he kept saying-and trying to slip twenty-dollar bills into Adam's hand, telling him to "treat Mary to an ice cream after the dance."

Which frankly made me decide I like Dad better when he never comes out of the lab.

Still. I knew I was making a mistake by not sending Adam packing right away. This is no job for amateurs.

This is... this is...

... beautiful. I mean, that's how the ballroom looks. I almost gasped when I entered it on Adam's arm. (He insisted. So we'd look like a "normal couple" if Drake was there already and watching.) The Saint Eligius Prep prom committee really outdid themselves this year.

Securing the four-story grand ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria was a feat all on its own, but transforming it into such a sparkling romantic wonderland? Miraculous.

I just hope all those rosettes and streamers are fireproof. I'd hate to see them go up in the flames that are bound to appear when Drake's corpse begins to self-conflagrate after I stab him in the chest.

"So," Adam says, as we stand on the edge of the dance floor, sipping our punch in a silence that's-to be frank-quickly gotten a little uncomfortable. "How's this going to go down, anyway? I don't see your crossbow anywhere."

"I'm just going with a stake," I say, showing him my leg through the slit up the side of my gown. I'd strapped a hand-carved piece of ash there, using Mom's old thigh holster. "Keeping it sweet and simple."

"Oh," Adam says, after choking on his punch a little. "Okay."

I realize he hasn't looked away from my inner thigh. I hastily lower my skirt.

And it occurs to me-for the first time-that Adam might be in this for reasons other than wanting to liberate his best friend's girlfriend from the spell of a bloodsucking fiend.

Except... can such a thing even be possible? I mean, he's Adam Blum. And I'm just the new girl. He likes me, sure, but he doesn't like me. He can't. I've probably only got about ten minutes left to live. Unless something radically alters what I'm pretty sure is about to go down.

Blushing, I keep my gaze on the gyrating couples in front of us. Mrs. Gregory from U.S. History is one of the chaperones. She's going around, trying to keep girls from grinding on their dates. She might as well try to keep the moon from rising.

"It'd probably be best if you kept Lila busy," I say, hoping he doesn't notice that my cheeks are now as scarlet as my gown, "while I'm doing the staking. We don't want her throwing herself in my path just to try to save him."

"That's what I dragged Ted here for," Adam says, nodding toward Teddy Hancock, who's sitting slumped at a nearby table, looking out at the dance floor in a bored manner. Like the rest of us, he's just waiting for Lila-and her date-to arrive.

"Still," I say. "I don't want you anywhere near me when... you know."

"I heard you the first nine million times you told me," Adam mutters. "I know you can take care of yourself, Mary. You've made that abundantly clear."

I can't help wincing a little. He's not having a good time. I can tell.

Well, so what? I didn't ask him to come!...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Six



I'm too stunned to do anything to stop him, really. Well, okay, as the initial shock of it is wearing off, I find I don't want to stop him. I'm stunned to realize that... well, I like how it feels, being in Adam's arms. It feels good. It feels safe. It feels warm. It feels... well, almost as if I were a normal girl, for a change.

Not the new girl. Not the exterminator's daughter. Just... me. Mary.

It's a feeling I could get used to.

"Mary," Adam says. He's so much taller than me that his breath tickles the tendrils that have fallen from the updo that I've twisted my hair into. I don't mind, though, because his breath smells good.

I look up at him dreamily. I can't believe I never noticed-really noticed-how handsome he is before now. Well, last night, actually. Or maybe I noticed, but it never really registered, because what would a guy like him ever see in a girl like me? In a million years, I never thought I'd end up at the prom with Adam Blum...

And okay, sure, he only asked me because he obviously feels sorry for me, on account of my mother being a vampire and all. But still.

"Hmmm?" I say, smiling up at him.

"Uh." Adam seems uncomfortable, for some reason. "I was wondering if-you know, when this is all over, and you've dusted Drake, and Lila and Ted are back together-you'd want to, um..."

Oh God. What's happening? Is he... is he about to ask me out?. Like on a real date? One that doesn't include sharp, pointy objects?

No. This isn't happening. This is a dream or something. In a minute, I'm going to wake up, and it's all going to go away. Because how could such a thing even be possible? I can't breathe, I'm so sure I'll break whatever spell we're both under if I do...

"Yes, Adam?" I ask.

"Well." He can't seem to make eye contact anymore. "Just if you'd want to, you know, maybe hang out-"

"Excuse me." The deep voice that interrupts Adam then is all too familiar. "But may I have this dance?"

I close my eyes in frustration. I cannot believe this. I am never going to get a guy I actually like to ask me out at this rate. Never. Never. Never. I am going to stay a freak-the product of similar freaks-for the rest of my life. Why would a guy like Adam Blum ever want to go out with me in the first place? The child of a vampire and a mad scientist? Let's face it. Not going to happen.

And I've had it. I've had it up to here.

"Listen, you," I say, whirling around to face Sebastian Drake, whose blue eyes widen a little at the fire in mine. "How dare you come oozing around..."

But then my voice trails off. Because suddenly all I can see are those eyes...

... those hypnotically blue eyes, which suddenly make me feel like I could dive into them, letting their warmth wash over me in sweet, soft waves...

It's true he's no Adam Blum. But he's looking at me in a way that makes it clear he knows that, and that he's sorry for it, and that he's going to do everything he can to make it up to me... more than make it up to me, even...

And the next thing I know, Sebastian Drake is taking me into his arms-gently, so gently-and leading me from the dance floor toward a set of French doors through which I can see a night-darkened garden, bathed in twinkling fairy lights and moonlight... just the kind of place to which you'd expect to be led by the golden-haired descendant of a Transylvanian count.

"I'm so glad we finally have the chance to meet," Sebastian is saying to me in a voice that seems to caress me like a feather-soft touch. Everyone and everything we've left behind us-the other couples; Adam; a stunned Lila, staring after us jealously; Ted, staring jealously at her; even the streamers and rosettes-seems to melt away as if all that exists in the world is me, the garden that I find myself in, and Sebastian Drake.

Who is reaching up to smooth some loose tendrils away from my face.

In a dim, inner recess of my mind, I remember that I'm supposed to be afraid of him... to hate him, even. Only I can't think why. How could I possibly hate someone as handsome and sweet and gentle as he is? He wants to make me feel better. He wants to help me.

"You see?" Sebastian Drake is saying, as he lifts one of my hands and presses it, softly, against his lips. "I'm not so terrifying, am I? I'm just like you, actually. Just the child of-let's face it-a very formidable person, who's trying to figure out his own place in the world. We have our burdens, do we not, you and I, Mary? Your mother says hello, by the way."

"M-my mother?" My brain seems to be as filled with fog as this garden we're standing in. Because while I can picture my mother's face, I can't remember how Sebastian Drake could possibly know her.

"Yes," Sebastian says, his lips now moving from my hand and up toward the crook of my elbow. His mouth feels like liquid fire against my skin. "She misses you, you know. She doesn't understand why you won't join her. She's so happy now... she doesn't know the pain of illness... or the indignity of aging... or the heartbreak of loneliness." His lips are on my bare shoulder now. I'm having trouble breathing. But in a good way. "She is surrounded by beauty and love... just like you could be, Mary." His lips are by my throat. His breath, so warm, has seemed to cause my spine to go limp. But it's all right, because one of his strong arms has gone around my waist, and he's holding me up, even as my body, as if of its own volition, is arching backward, allowing him an unobstructed view of my bare throat.

"Mary," he whispers against my neck.

And I feel so peaceful, so serene-something I haven't felt in years, not since Mom left-that my eyelids drift closed...

And the next thing I know, something cold and wet hits me in the neck.

"Ow," I say, opening my eyes and slapping a hand there... then pulling it away to find my fingers slick with some kind of clear moisture.

"Sorry," Adam calls from where he's standing a few feet away, his arms stretched out in front of him, the mouth of his Beretta 9mm water pistol aimed right at me. "I missed."

A second later, I am gasping for air as a thick cloud of acrid, burning smoke hits me in the face. Coughing, I stagger away from the man who, just seconds before, had been holding me so tenderly, but is now clutching at his smoldering chest.

"Wha-" Sebastian Drake gasps, pounding at the flames leaping from his chest. "What is this?"

"Just a little holy water, dude," Adam says, as he continues pumping away at Drake's chest. "Shouldn't bother you. Unless, of course, you're a member of the undead. Which, unfortunately for you, it appears you are."

And a second later, I've come back to my senses and am reaching beneath my skirt for my stake.

"Sebastian Drake," I hiss, as he sinks to his knees before me, howling in pain. And rage. "This is for my mother."

And I plunge the hand-carved piece of ash deep into the place where his heart would have been.

If he'd had one.

"Ted," Lila says, in a syrupy voice, as her boyfriend lies across the contoured plastic bench with his head in her lap.

"Yes?" Ted asks, looking up at her adoringly.

"No," Lila says. "That's what I'm getting for my tattoo next time I'm in Canc��n. Across the small of my back. The word Ted. So from now on, everyone will know I belong to you."

"Oh, honey," Ted says. And pulls her head down so he can stick his tongue in her mouth.

"Oh my God," I say, looking away.

"I know." Adam's returned from throwing a glow-in-the-dark twelve-pound bowling ball down the disco-lit lane. "I almost liked her better when she was under Drake's spell. But I guess it works out better this way. Ted'll hurt a lot less than Sebastian. That was a strike, by the way. In case you missed it." He slides onto the bench beside me and looks down at the scoring sheet in the glow of the lamp just above my head. "Well, what do you know? I'm winning."

"Don't get cocky," I say. Although I have to admit, he has a lot to brag about. Not just winning at Night Strike bowling, either.

"Just tell me," I say as he reaches up and finally pulls off his bow tie. Even in the weird disco lights of Bowlmor Lanes-the bowling alley where we'd retreated for our post-prom activities, a mere nine-dollar cab ride from the Waldorf-Adam still looks obscenely handsome. "Where'd you get the holy water?"

"You gave a bunch of it to Ted," Adam says, looking down at me in some surprise. "Remember?"

"But how'd you get the idea to put it in the water gun?" I demand. I'm still reeling from the evening's earlier activities. Midnight bowling is fun and all. But nothing can really compare with slaying a two-hundred-year-old vampire at the prom.

Too bad he'd fizzled into ash out in the garden, where no one but Adam and I could see it. We'd have been voted prom king and queen for sure, instead of Lila and Ted, who are both still wearing their crowns... although they've tilted a little rakishly, due to all the kissing.

"I don't know, Mare," Adam says, filling in...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



The Corsage

Lauren Myracle

Readers, beware! The following story was inspired by "The Monkey's Paw," first published in 1902 by W. W. Jacobs, which scared the dickens out of me when I was a teenager. Be careful what you wish for, indeed!

- LAUREN MYRACLE

Outside, the wind whipped around Madame Zanzibar's house, making a loose rain-pipe thump against the siding. The sky was dark, though it was only four o'clock. But within the garishly decorated waiting room, three table lamps shone brightly, each draped with a jewel-toned scarf. Ruby hues lit Yun Sun's round face, while bluish-purple hues gave Will the mottled look of someone freshly dead.

"You look like you've risen from the grave," I told him.

"Frankie," Yun Sun scolded. She did a head jerk toward Madame Z's closed office, worried, I suppose, that she might hear and be offended. A red plastic monkey hung from the office doorknob, indicating that Madame Z was with a client. We were up next.

Will made his eyes go vacant. "I am a pod person," he moaned. He stretched his arms out toward us. "Please to give me all your hearts and livers."

"Oh no! The pod person has taken over our beloved Will!" I clutched Yun Sun's arm. "Quick, give him your hearts and livers, so he'll leave mine alone!"

Yun Sun shook free. "Not amused," she said in a tone both singsongy and threatening. "And if you're not nice to me, I will leave."

"Stop being such a pooter," I said.

"I will take my thunder thighs and I will march right out of here. Just watch."

Yun Sun was on a my-legs-are-too-fat kick, just because her superslinky prom dress needed a little letting out. At least she had a prom dress. And a for-sure chance to wear it.

"Bleh," I said. Her grouchiness was endangering our plan, which was the whole reason we were here. The night of the prom was getting dangerously close, and I was not going to be the sad shell of a girl who sat home alone while everyone else went crazy with glitter dust and danced ironically in spectacular three-inch heels. I refused, especially since I knew in my heart of hearts that Will wanted to ask me. He just needed a little encouragement.

I lowered my voice, all the while smiling at Will like la la la, just girl talk, nothing important! "It was both of our idea to do this, Yun Sun. Remember?"

"No, Frankie, it was your idea," she said. And she did not keep her voice down. "I've already got my date, even though he's going to be squished to death by my thighs. You're the one hoping for a last-minute miracle."

"Yun Sun!" I glanced at Will, who turned red. Bad Yun Sun, throwing it out in the open like that. Bad, bad, naughty girl!

"Ow!" she yelped. Because I'd whacked her.

"I am very mad at you," I said.

"Enough with the coyness. You do want him to ask you, don't you?"

"Ow!"

"Um, you guys?" Will said. He was doing that adorable thing he did when he was nervous, when his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Although, huh. That was kind of an icky image. It made me think of bobbing for apples, which was only one step away from bobbing for Adam's apples.

But. Will was indeed possessed of an Adam's apple, and when it moved up and down in his throat, it was indeed adorable. It made him look so vulnerable.

"She hit me," Yun Sun tattled.

"She deserved it," I countered. But I didn't want it to go further, this line of conversation that was already too revealing. So I patted Yun Sun's totally unfat leg and said, "However, I forgive you. Now shut up."

What Yun Sun failed to get-or more likely, what she totally got and yet failed to appreciate-was that not all things needed to be said aloud. Yes, I wanted Will to ask me to prom, and I wanted him to do it soon, because "Springtime Is for Lovers" was only two weeks away.

And fine, the name of the dance was dorky, but springtime was for lovers. It was an indisputable truth. Just as it was an indisputable truth that Will was my forever boy, if only he could get past his enduring bashfulness and make a frickin' move. Enough chummy shoulder slugs and giggling, snorting tickle wars! Enough clutching each other and shrieking, blaming it on our Netflix copies of The Body Snatchers or They Come from the Hills! Couldn't Will see that I was his for the taking?

He'd almost popped the question last weekend, I was ninety-nine-point-five percent sure. We'd been watching Pretty Woman, an overblown romance which never failed to amuse. Yun Sun had disappeared into the kitchen for snacks, leaving the two of us alone.

"Um, Frankie?" Will had said. His foot tap-tap-tapped against the floor, and his fingers flexed on his jeans. "Can I ask you something?"

Any fool would have known what was coming, because if he'd just wanted me to turn up the volume, he'd simply have said, "Hey, Franks, turn up the volume." Casual. Straightforward. No need for any preparatory remarks. But since there were preparatory remarks...

well, what could he possibly have wanted to ask me besides "Will you go to prom?" Eternal delight was right there, only seconds away.

And then I'd blown it. His palpable nervousness triggered a spaz-out of my own, and instead of letting the moment play out, I'd skittishly changed the subject. BECAUSE I WAS A FREAK.

"Now see, that's the way it's done!" I said, pointing at the TV. Richard Gere was galloping on his white steed, which was really a limo, to Julia Roberts's castle, which was really a crappy third-story apartment. As we watched, Richard Gere climbed out of the sun roof and scaled the fire escape, all to win the affections of his beloved.

"None of this namby-pamby 'I think you're kinda cute' baloney," I went on. I was blathering, and I knew it. "We're talking action, baby. We're talking grand gesture of love."

Will gulped. And said, "Oh." And blinked at Richard Gere in a startled-teddy-bear way, thinking, I'm sure, that he could never, ever compare.

I stared at the TV, knowing I'd sabotaged my prom night happiness through my own stupidity. I didn't care about "grand gestures of love"; I just cared about Will. But brilliant me, I'd gone and scared him off. Because in actual real reality, I was an even bigger wimp than he was.

But no more-which was why we were here at Madame Zanzibar's. She would tell us our futures, and unless she was a total hack, she would state the obvious as an impartial observer: Will and I were meant for each other. Hearing it spoken so plainly would give Will the guts to try again. He'd ask me to prom, and this time I'd let him, even if it killed me.

The plastic monkey twitched on the office doorknob.

"Look, it's moving," I whispered.

"Oooo," Will said.

A black man with snow-white hair shuffled out of the office. He had no teeth, which made the lower half of his face look puckered, like a prune.

"Children," he said, tipping his hat.

Will stood up and opened the front door, because that's the kind of guy he was. A gust of wind nearly toppled the old man, and Will steadied him.

"Whoa," Will said.

"Thank you, son," the old man replied. His words came out mushy, because of the no-teeth thing. "Reckon I best skedaddle before the storm blows in."

"I think it already has," Will said. Past the driveway, tree branches thrashed and creaked.

"This weensy old wind?" the old man said. "Aw, now, this is just a baby waking up and wanting to be fed. It'll be worse before the night is over, mark my words." He peered at us. "In fact, shouldn't you children be home, safe and sound?"

It was hard to take offense when a toothless old-timer called you "children." But come on, this was the second time in twenty seconds.

"We're juniors in high school," I said. "We can take care of ourselves."

His laugh made me think of dead leaves.

"All right, then," he said. "I'm sure you know best." He small-stepped onto the porch, and Will gave a half wave and shut the door.

"Crazy coot," came a voice from behind us. We turned to see Madame Zanzibar in the office doorway. She wore hot pink Juicy Couture sweatpants with a matching hot pink top, unzipped to her clavicle. Her breasts were round and firm and amazingly perky, given that she didn't seem to be wearing a bra. Her lipstick was bright orange, to match her nails, and so was the end of the cigarette she held between two fingers.

"So, are we coming in or are we staying out here?" she asked the three of us. "Unveiling life's mysteries or leaving well enough alone?"

I rose from my chair and pulled Yun Sun with me. Will followed. Madame Z ushered us into her office, and the three of us scrunched together in an overstuffed armchair. Will realized it was never going to work and lowered himself to the floor. I wiggled to make Yun Sun give me more room.

"See? They're sausages," she said, referring to her thighs.

"Scooch," I commanded.

"Now," Madame Z said, crossing in front of us and sitting behind a table. She puffed on her cigarette. "What's your business?"

...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



Gee, thanks, Madame Z, I thought. Could we dig a little deeper here? Give me something to work with?

"But is he-I mean, the person-going to act on his passion?" I was brazen, despite my knotted stomach.

"To act or not to act... that is the question?" Madame Z said.

"Yes, that is the question."

"Ahhh. That is always the question. And what one must always ask oneself-" She broke off. Her eyes flew to Will, and she paled.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothing," she said.

"Something," I said. Her message-from-the-spirits performance wasn't fooling me. She wanted us to think she'd been suddenly possessed? That she'd had a stark and powerful vision? Fine! Just get to the bloody answer!

Madame Z made a show of pulling herself together, complete with a long, shaky draw on her cigarette. Looking dead at me, she said, "If a tree falls in a forest, and no one's there to hear it, does it still make a sound?"

"Huh?" I said.

"That's all I've got. Take it or leave it." She seemed agitated, so I took it. Although I made cuckoo eyes at Yun Sun when Madame Z wasn't watching.

Will claimed not to have a specific question, but Madame Z was oddly insistent on relaying a message to him anyhow. She waved her hands over his aura and warned him sternly of heights, which was curiously appropriate as Will was an avid rock climber. What was more curious was Will's reaction. First his eyebrows shot up, and then a different emotion took over, like some secret anticipatory pleasure. He glanced at me and blushed.

"What's going on?" I asked. "You have your sneaky face on."

"Exsqueeze me?" he said.

"What are you not telling us, Will Goodman?"

"Nothing, I swear!"

"Don't be stupid, boy!" Madame Z harped. "Listen to what I'm saying."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," I said. "He's a total Mr. Safety." I turned back to Will. "For real. Do you have a fabulous new climbing spot? A brand-new shiny carabiner?"

"It's Yun Sun's turn," Will said. "Yun Sun, go."

"Can you read palms?" Yun Sun asked Madame Z.

Madame Z exhaled, and she was barely engaged as she traced her finger over the plump pad below Yun Sun's thumb. "You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be," she told her. That was it. Those were her pearls of wisdom.

Yun Sun seemed as underwhelmed as I was, and I felt like protesting on all our behalves. I mean, seriously! A tree in the forest? Be careful of heights? You will be as beautiful as you allow yourself to be? Even with her somewhat convincing touches of atmospheric creepiness, the three of us were getting cheated. Me in particular.

But before I could say anything, a cell phone on the desk rang. Madame Z picked it up and used a long orange nail to punch the talk button.

"Madame Zanzibar, at your service," she said. Her expression changed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She grew brisk and annoyed. "No, Silas. It's called a... yes, you can say it, a yeast infection. Yeast infection."

Yun Sun and I shared a glance of horror, although-I couldn't help it-I was also delighted. Not that Madame Z had a yeast infection. I mean, ick. But that she was discussing it with Silas, whoever he was, while all of us listened in. Now we were getting our money's worth.

"Tell the pharmacist it's the second time this month," Madame Z groused. "I need something stronger. What? For the itching, you idiot! Unless he wants to scratch it for me!" She twisted on her swivel chair, pumping one Juicy Coutured leg over the other.

Will looked up at me, his brown eyes wide with alarm. "I will not be scratching it for her," he stage-whispered. "I refuse!"

I laughed, thinking it a good sign that he was showing off for me. The Madame Z experience hadn't gone as intended, but who knew? Maybe it would end up having the desired effect after all.

Madame Z pointed at me with the lit end of her cigarette, and I ducked my chin contritely, like Sorry, sorry. To distract myself, I focused on the strange and varied clutter on her shelves. A book called Magic of the Ordinary and another titled What to Do When the Dead Speak-But You Don't Want to Listen. I nudged Will with my knee and pointed. He mimed choking the poor deceased bastard, and I snortled.

Above the books I saw: a bottle of rat poison, an old-fashioned monocle, a jar of what looked like fingernail clippings, a stained Starbucks cup, and a rabbit's foot, claws attached. And on the shelf above that was... oh, lovely.

"Is that a skull?" I asked Will.

Will whistled. "Holy cannoli."

"Okey-doke," Yun Sun said, averting her eyes. "If there really is a skull, I don't want to know about it. Can we leave now?"

I took her head in my hands and pointed her in the right direction. "Look. It still has hair!"

Madame Z snapped her cell phone shut. "Fools, every one of them," she said. Her pallor was gone; apparently talking to Silas had shaken her out of her funk.

"Ahh! I see you found Fernando!"

"Is that whose skull that is?" I asked. "Fernando's?"

"Oh God," Yun Sun moaned.

"Wormed his way to the surface after a gully washer, out in Chapel Hill Cemetery," Madame Z told us. "His coffin, that is. Crappy wooden thing, must'a been from the early nineteen hundreds. No one left to care for him, so I took pity on him and brought him here."

"You opened the coffin?" I said.

"Yep." She seemed proud. I wondered if she'd worn her Juicy Couture during the grave robbing.

"That's gross that it still has hair," I said.

"He still has hair," Madame Z said. "Show some respect."

"I didn't know dead bodies had hair, that's all."

"Skin, no," Madame Z said. "Skin starts to rot right away, and believe me, you don't want to smell it when it goes. But hair? Sometimes it keeps growing for weeks after the deceased has made his crossing."

"Wowzers." I reached down and tousled Will's honey-colored curls. "Hear that, Will? Sometimes the hair keeps growing."

"Amazing," he said.

"What about that?" Yun Sun asked, pointing to a clear Tupperware container in which something reddish and organlike floated in clear liquid. "Please tell me it didn't come from Fernando, too. Please."

Madame Z waved her hand, like Don't be ridiculous. "That's my uterus. Had the doc give it to me after my hysterectomy."

"Your uterus?" Yun Sun looked ill.

"I'm going to let 'em toss it in the incinerator?" Madame Z said. "Fat chance!"

"And that?" I pointed to a clump of dried-up something on the highest shelf. This show-and-tell was proving far more enjoyable than our actual readings.

Madame Z followed my gaze. She opened her mouth, then closed it. "That's nothing," she said firmly, although I noticed she had a hard time tearing her eyes from it. "Now. Are we done here?"

"Come on." I made praying hands. "Tell us what it is."

"You don't want to know," she said.

"I do," I said.

"I don't," Yun Sun said.

"Yes, she does," I said. "And so does Will. Right, Will?"

"It can't be worse than the uterus," he said.

Madame Z pressed her lips together.

"Please?" I begged.

She muttered something under her breath about idiot teenagers and how she refused to take the blame, whatever came of it. Then she stood up, pawing the top shelf. Her bosom didn't jiggle, but stayed firm and rigid beneath her top. She retrieved the clump and placed it in front of us.

"Oh," I breathed. "A corsage." Brittle rosebuds, their edges brown and papery. Sprigs of graying baby's breath, so desiccated that puffs of fiber dusted the table. A limp red ribbon holding it all together.

"A peasant woman in France put a spell on it," Madame Z said in a tone that was hard to decipher. It was as if she were compelled to speak the words, even though she didn't want to. Or, no. More like she did want to but was struggling to resist. "She wanted to show that true love is guided by fate, and that anyone who tries to interfere does so at her own peril."

She moved to return the corsage.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



"Wait!" I cried. "How does it work? What does it do?"

"I'm not telling," she said stubbornly.

"'I'm not telling'?" I repeated. "How old are you, four?"

"Frankie!" Yun Sun said.

"You're just like all the rest, aren't you?" Madame Z said to me. "Willing to do anything for a boyfriend? Desperate for a heart-stopping romance, no matter the cost?"

I felt my face go hot. But here it was, out on the table. Boyfriends. Romance. Hope flickered in my chest.

"Just tell her," Yun Sun said, "or we'll never get to leave."

"No," Madame Z insisted.

"She can't, because she made it up," I said.

Madame Z's eyes flashed. I'd provoked her, which wasn't nice, but something told me that whatever it was, she hadn't made it up. And I really wanted to know.

She put the corsage in the middle of the table, where it sat doing absolutely nothing.

"Three people, three wishes apiece," Madame Z declared. "That's its magic."

Yun Sun, Will, and I looked at one another, then burst out laughing. It was ludicrous and at the same time perfect: the storm, the wacko, and now the ominously issued pronouncement.

And yet the way Madame Z regarded us made our laughter trickle off. The way she regarded Will, especially.

He tried to resurrect the hilarity.

"So, why don't you use it?" he asked in the manner of a teenager being helpful and polite.

"I did," she said. Her orange lipstick was like a stain.

"And... were your three wishes granted?" I asked.

"Every last one," she said flatly.

None of us knew what to say to that.

"Well, has anyone else used it?" Yun Sun asked.

"One other lady. I don't know what her first two wishes were, but her last was for death. That's how the corsage came to me."

We sat there, all silliness squelched. The situation felt unreal, yet here we were, in this moment.

"Dude, that's spooky," Will said.

"So... why do you keep it?" I asked. "If you've used up your three wishes?"

"Excellent question," Madame Z said after staring at the corsage for a few heavy seconds. She pulled a turquoise lighter from her pocket and struck a flame. She picked up the corsage with a fierce determination, as if committing to a course of action long overdue.

"No!" I yelped, snatching it from her grasp. "Let me have it, if you don't want it!"

"Never. It should be burned."

My fingers closed over the rose petals. They were the texture of my grandfather's wizened cheek, which I stroked when I visited him at the nursing home.

"You're making a mistake," Madame Z warned. She reached to reclaim the bundle, then jerked her hand back convulsively. I sensed the same internal warring as when I first goaded her into speaking of the corsage, as if the corsage had an element of actual power over her. Which was ridiculous, of course.

"It's not too late to change your fate," she managed.

"What fate would that be?" I said. My voice broke. "The fate where a tree falls in the forest, but poor me, I'm wearing earplugs?"

Madame Z fixed me with her thick-lashed eyes. The skin around them was as thin as crepe paper, and I realized she was older than I originally assumed.

"You are a rude and disrespectful child. You deserve a spanking." She leaned back in her swivel chair, and I could tell-snap, like that-she'd released herself from the corsage's unhealthy hold. Or perhaps the corsage had done the releasing? "You keep it, that's your decision. I take no responsibility for what happens."

"How do you use it?" I asked.

She snorted.

"C'mon," I pleaded. I didn't mean to be a brat. It was just that it was so terribly important. "If you don't tell me, I'll do it all wrong. I'll probably... I don't know. Destroy the whole world."

"Frankie... let it go," Will said under his breath.

I shook my head. I couldn't.

Madame Z clucked at dim, foolish me. Well, let her.

"You hold it in your right hand and speak your wish aloud," she said. "But I'm telling you, no good will come of it."

"You don't need to be so negative," I said. "I'm not as stupid as you think."

"No, you're far more stupid," she agreed.

Will jumped in to redirect, because that's what he did. He hated all unpleasantness. "So... you wouldn't use it again, if you were able?"

Madame Z raised her eyebrows. "Do I look like I need more wishes?"

Yun Sun sighed loudly. "Well, I could sure use a wish or two. Wish me up Lindsay Lohan's thighs, will you?"

I loved my friends. They were so wonderful. I lifted the corsage, and Madame Z gasped and grabbed my wrist.

"For heaven's sake, girl," she cried. "If you're going to wish, at least make it for something sensible!"

"Yeah, Frankie," Will said. "Think of poor Lindsay-you want the girl to be thighless?"

"She'd still have her calves," I pointed out.

"But would they be attached? And what movie producer's going to hire a girl who's just a torso?"

I giggled, and Will looked pleased with himself.

Yun Sun said, "You guys. Ew."

Madame Zanzibar's breathing was uneven. She might have resolved to wash her hands of me, but her fright, when I lifted the withered rosebuds, hadn't been contrived.

I placed the corsage in my messenger bag, careful not to squish it. And when I drew out my wallet, I paid Madame Z twice the amount she'd quoted. I didn't elaborate, just handed over the bills. She counted them, then assessed me in a bone-tired, orange-lipsticked way.

Fine, then, her demeanor conveyed. Just... beware.

We headed to my house for pizza, because that was our Friday night ritual. Saturdays and Sundays, too, more often than not. My parents were on sabbatical in Botswana for the semester, which meant Chez Frankie was party central. Except we didn't have actual parties. We could have; my house was miles from town on an unmaintained dirt road, with no nearby neighbors to complain. But we preferred our own company, with an occasional pop-in from Jeremy, Yun Sun's boyfriend. Jeremy thought Will and I were weird, though. He didn't like pineapple on his pizza, and he didn't share our taste in movies.

The rain pounded the roof of Will's pickup as he navigated the winding curves of Restoration Boulevard, past the Krispy Kreme and the Piggly Wiggly and the county watertower, which stretched toward the sky in lonely glory. The cab of the truck was crowded with all three of us scrunched in, but I didn't mind. I had the middle seat. Will's hand brushed my knee when he shifted gears.

"Ah, the cemetery," he said, nodding as we reached the wrought iron gates to his left. "Shall we have a moment of silence for Fernando?"

"We shall," I said.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the rows of tombstones, and I thought to myself what eerie and disturbing places cemeteries really were. Bones. Rotted-away skin. Coffins, which sometimes came undug.

I was glad to get home. I went from room to room flicking on all the lights while Will ordered the pizza and Yun Sun shuffled through this week's Netflix arrivals.

"Something cheerful, 'kay?" I called from the hall.

"Not Night Stalker?" she said.

I joined her in the den and sifted through the stack. "How about High School Musical? There is nothing the slightest bit creepy about High School Musical."

"Surely you jest," Will said, clicking off his phone. "Sharpay and her brother doing their sexy dance with maracas? You wouldn't call that creepy?"

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



I laughed.

"But you girls go on, knock yourselves out," he said. "I've actually got an errand to run."

"You're leaving?" Yun Sun said.

"What about the pizza?" I said.

He opened his wallet and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the coffee table. "It'll be here in thirty minutes. My treat."

Yun Sun shook her head. "And again I say: You're leaving?. You're not even staying to eat?"

"There's something I need to do," he said.

My heart constricted. I ached to keep him here, even if just for a little longer. I darted back to the kitchen and pulled Madame Z's corsage-no, my corsage-out of my bag.

"At least wait till I've made my wish," I said.

He looked amused. "Fine, wish away."

I hesitated. The den was warm and cozy, pizza was on the way, and I had the two greatest friends in the world. What else did I truly want?

Duh, the grasping part of my brain told me. Prom, of course. I wanted Will to ask me to prom. Maybe it was selfish to have so much and still want more, but I pushed that line of reasoning away.

Because look at him, I thought. Those kind brown eyes, that lopsided smile. Those ridiculously angelic curls. The entire sweetness and goodness that was Will.

He hummed the Jeopardy! theme song. I raised the corsage.

"I wish for the boy I love to ask me to prom," I said.

"And there you have it, folks!" Will cried. He was far too euphoric. "And what boy wouldn't want to take her to prom, our fabulous Frankie? Now we'll just have to wait and see, won't we, whether her wish will come-"

Yun Sun cut him off. "Frankie? Are you okay?"

"It moved," I said, cringing away from the corsage, which I'd flung to the floor. My skin was clammy. "I swear to God, it moved when I made the wish. And that smell! Do you smell it?"

"Noooo," she said. "What smell?"

"You smell it, Will. Don't you?"

He grinned, still on whatever high he'd been on since... well, since Madame Z warned him away from heights. A clap of thunder rumbled, and he shoved my shoulder.

"Next you're going to blame the storm on the evil wish fairies, aren't you?" he said. "Or, no! You're going to go to bed tonight, and tomorrow you'll tell us you found a hunched and skulking creature on your comforter, smiling a twisted smile!"

"Like rotting flowers," I said. "You honestly don't smell it? You're not playing with me?"

Will dug his keys out of his pocket. "See you on the flip side, homies. And, Frankie?"

"What?"

Another boom of thunder shook the house.

"Don't give up hope," he said. "Good things come to those who wait."

I watched through the window as he dashed to his truck. The rain was coming down in sheets. Then I turned to Yun Sun, a balloony feeling pushing everything else away.

"Did you hear what he said?" I grabbed her hands. "Oh my God, do you think it means what I think it means?"

"What else could it mean?" Yun Sun said. "He's going to ask you to prom! He's just... I don't know. Trying to make a big production out of it!"

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"No idea. Hire a skywriter? Send a singing telegram?"

I squealed. She squealed. We jumped about in a frenzy.

"Got to hand it to you, the wish thing was brilliant," she said. She flicked her finger to indicate giving Will the push he needed. "And the rotting flowers? Verrrry dramatic."

"I honestly did smell it, though," I said.

"Ha-ha."

"I did."

She looked at me and shook her head, amused. Then she looked at me again.

"Well, it must have been your imagination," she said.

"I guess," I said.

I picked the corsage up off the floor, holding it gingerly between my thumb and forefinger. I took it to the bookshelf and dropped it behind a row of books, glad to have it out of sight.

The next morning I trotted downstairs, hoping foolishly to find... I don't know. Hundreds of MMs spelling out my name? Pink hearts sketched in silly string on the windows?

Instead, I found a dead bird. Its tiny body lay on the welcome mat, as if it had flown into the door during the storm and bashed its brains in.

I scooped it up with a paper towel and tried not to feel its soft weight as I delivered it to the outside trash bin.

"I'm sorry, little bird, so pretty and sweet," I said. "Fly to heaven." I dropped in the corpse, and the lid slammed shut with a bang.

I returned inside to the sound of the ringing phone. Probably Yun Sun, wanting an update. She'd left with Jeremy at eleven last night, after making me swear to tell her the minute Will made his bold move.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, after glancing at the caller ID and seeing that, yep, I was right. "No news yet-sorry."

"Frankie..." Yun Sun said.

"I've been thinking about Madame Z, though. Her whole don't-mess-with-fate mumbo jumbo."

"Frankie-"

"Because how could Will asking me to prom lead to anything bad?" I walked to the freezer and grabbed a box of frozen waffles. "Spit's going to fly from his mouth and land on me? He'll bring me flowers, and a bee'll zip out and sting me?"

"Frankie, stop. Didn't you watch the morning news?"

"On a Saturday? I don't think so."

Yun Sun made a gulping sound.

"Yun Sun, are you crying?"

"Last night... Will climbed the watertower," she said.

"What?!" The watertower was easily three hundred feet tall, with a sign at the bottom prohibiting anyone from ascending. Will always talked about climbing to the top, but he was such a rule-follower that he never had.

"And the railing must have been wet... or maybe it was lightning, they don't yet know..."

"Yun Sun. What happened?"

"He was spray painting something on the tower, the stupid idiot, and-"

"Spray painting? Will?"

"Frankie, will you shut up? He fell! He fell off the watertower!"

I gripped the phone. "Jesus. Is he okay?"

Yun Sun was unable to talk for sobbing. Which I understood, sure. Will was her friend, too. But I needed her to pull it together.

"Is he in the hospital? Can I go visit him? Yun Sun!"

There was wailing, and then a shuffling sound. Mrs. Yomiko took over.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Five



"Will died, Frankie," she said. "The fall, the way he landed... he didn't make it."

"I'm sorry... what?"

"Chen is on his way to get you. You'll stay with us, yes? As long as you want."

"No," I said. "I mean... I don't..." The box of waffles fell from my hand. "Will didn't die. Will couldn't have died?"

"Frankie," she said, her voice infinitely sad.

"Please don't say that," I said. "Please don't sound so..." I didn't understand how to make my mind work.

"I know you loved him. We all did."

"Just wait" I said. "Spray painting? Will doesn't spray paint. That's something a pothead would do, not Will."

"Let's get you to the house. We'll talk about it then."

"But what was he spray painting? I don't understand!"

Mrs. Yomiko didn't answer.

"Let me speak to Yun Sun," I pleaded. "Please! Put on Yun Sun!"

There was a muffled exchange. Yun Sun came back on.

"I'll tell you," she said. "But you don't want to know."

A cold feeling spread over me, and suddenly, I didn't want to know.

"He was spray painting a message. That's what he was up there doing." She hesitated. "It said, 'Frankie, will you go to prom with me? "

I sank to the floor, next to a box of waffles. Why was there a box of waffles on the kitchen floor? "Frankie?" Yun Sun said. Tinny, faraway sound. "Frankie, are you there?"

I didn't like that tinny sound. I pressed the Off button to make it go away.

Will was buried in the Chapel Hill Cemetery. I sat, numb, through the funeral, which was closed-coffin because Will's body was too mangled to be viewed. I wanted to say good-bye, but how did you say good-bye to a box? At the grave site, I watched as Will's mother threw a handful of dirt into the hole where Will lay. It was horrible, but the horror felt distant and unreal. Yun Sun squeezed my hand. I didn't squeeze back.

It rained that evening, a gentle spring shower. I imagined the ground, damp and cool around Will's coffin. I thought of Fernando, whose skull Madame Zanzibar had liberated after his coffin shifted in the wet earth. I reminded myself that the east side of the cemetery, where Will was buried, was newer, with tidy landscaping. And of course there were modern ways of digging graves now, more efficient than men with shovels.

Will's coffin wouldn't come undug. It was impossible.

I stayed with Yun Sun for nearly two weeks. My parents were called, and they offered to return from Botswana. I told them no. What good would it do? Their presence wouldn't bring Will back.

At school, for the first few days, kids talked in hushed tones and stared at me as I passed. Some thought it was romantic, what Will did. Others thought it was stupid. "A tragedy" was the phrase most often used, spoken in mournful tones.

As for me, I haunted the halls like the living dead. I would have ditched, but then I'd have been corralled by the counselor and forced to talk about my feelings. Which wasn't going to happen. My grief was my own, a skeleton that would rattle forever within me.

One week after Will's death, and exactly one week before prom, kids started talking less about Will and more about dresses and dinner reservations and limos. A sallow girl from Will's chemistry class got upset and said prom should be canceled, but others argued no, prom must go on. It's what Will would have wanted.

Yun Sun and I were consulted, since we were his best friends. (And since I, though they didn't say it, was the girl he died for.) Yun Sun's eyes welled with tears, but after a shaky moment, she said it would be wrong to ruin everyone's plans, that sitting home and mourning wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Life goes on," she said. Her boyfriend, Jeremy, nodded. He put his arm around her and drew her close.

Lucy, president of the prom committee, placed her hand over her heart.

"So true," she said. She turned to me with an overly solicitous expression. "What about you, Frankie? Do you think you could get behind it?"

I shrugged. "Whatever."

She embraced me, and I staggered.

"Okay, guys, we're on!" she called, bounding across the commons. "Trixie, back to work on the cherry blossoms. Jocelyn, tell the Paper Affair lady we need a hundred blue streamers and don't take no for an answer!"

On the afternoon of the dance, two hours before Jeremy was due to pick up Yun Sun, I crammed my stuff in my duffel bag and told her I was going home.

"What?" she said. "No!" She put down a hot roller. Her makeup lay in front of her on her vanity, her Babycakes body glitter and Dewberry lip gloss, and her dress hung over the hook of her open bathroom door. It was lilac, with a sweetheart neckline. It was gorgeous.

"It's time," I said. "Thank you for letting me stay so long... but it's time."

Her mouth turned down. She wanted to argue, but she knew it was true. I wasn't happy here. That in itself wasn't the issue-I wasn't going to be happy anywhere-but moping around the Komikos' house was making me feel trapped and making Yun Sun feel helpless and guilty.

"But it's prom," Yun Sun said. "Won't that be weird, being alone in your house on the night of prom?" She came over to me. "Stay till tomorrow. I'll be quiet when I come in, I swear. And I promise not to go on and on about... you know. The after-parties and who hooked up and who passed out in the girls' bathroom."

"You should get to go on about that stuff, though," I said. "You should stay out as late as you want and come in as loudly as you want and be giddy and spazzy and all that." Unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. "You should, Yun Sun."

She touched my arm. I pulled away, but in what I hoped was an unobvious manner.

"So should you, Frankie," she said.

"Yeah... well." I heaved my bag over my shoulder.

"Call me any time," she said. "I'll keep my cell on, even at the dance."

"Okay."

"And if you change your mind, if you decide you want to stay-"

"Thanks."

"Or even if you decide to come to prom! We all want you there-you know that, right? It doesn't matter that you don't have a date."

I winced. She didn't mean it the way it sounded, but it most certainly did matter that I didn't have a date, because that date would have been Will. And I didn't have him not because he liked another girl or was suffering from a terrible case of the flu, but because he was dead. Because of me.

"Oh God," Yun Sun said. "Frankie..."

I waved her off. I didn't want any more touching. "It's all right."

We stood in a bubble of awkwardness.

"I miss him, too, you know," she said. I nodded. Then I left.

I returned to my empty house to find that the electricity was out. Perfect. This happened more often than it should have: Afternoon thunderstorms threw tree branches into the transformers, and entire neighborhoods lost power for several hours. Or the power would go out for no reason. Maybe too many people had their air conditioners on and the circuits overloaded, that was my theory. Will's theory was ghosts, ha ha ha. "They've come to spoil your milk," he'd say in a spooky voice.

Will.

My throat tightened.

I tried not to think about him, but it was impossible, so I let him exist there with me in my mind. I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich, which I didn't eat. I went upstairs and lay on my bed without turning down the covers. Shadows deepened. An owl hooted. I stared at my ceiling until I could no longer make out the spider-web cracks.

In the dark, my thoughts went places they shouldn't. Fernando. Madame Zanzibar. You're just like all the rest, aren't you? Desperate for a heart-stopping romance?

It was that very desperation that gave birth to my stupid Madame Zanzibar plan and even stupider wish. That's what prodded Will into action. If only I'd never taken the damn corsage!

I bolted upright. Oh my God-the damn corsage!

I grabbed my cell and held down the "three," Yun Sun's speed dial. ?One? was for Mom and Dad; ?two? was for Will. I still hadn't deleted his name, and now I wouldn't have to.

"Yun Sun!" I cried when she answered.

"Frankie?" she said. "S.O.S." by Rihanna blared in the background. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Better than fine! I mean, the power's out, it's pitch-black, and I'm all alone, but whatever. I won't be for long." I giggled and fumbled my way into the hall.

"Huh?" Yun Sun said. More noise. People laughing. "Frankie, I can hardly hear you."

"The corsage. I've got two wishes left!" I jogged downstairs, zinging with glee.

"Frankie, what are you-"

"I can bring him back, don't you get it? Everything will be good again. We can even go to prom!"

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Six



Yun Sun's voice grew sharp. "Frankie, no!"

"I'm such an idiot-why didn't I think of it before?"

"Wait. Don't do it, don't make the-" She broke off. I heard a "whoops," followed by drunken apologies and someone saying, "Oh, I love your dress!" It sounded like everyone was having fun. I'd soon be having fun with them.

I made it to the den and approached the bookshelf where I'd left the corsage. I patted the tops of the books and then the space behind them. My fingers found softness, like petals of skin.

"I'm back," Yun Sun said. The background sounds had diminished, suggesting she'd stepped outside. "And, Frankie, I know you're hurting. I know that. But what happened to Will was just a coincidence. A terrible, terrible coincidence."

"Call it what you want," I said. "I'm making my second wish." I plucked the corsage from behind the books.

Yun Sun's anxiety intensified. "Frankie, no, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"He fell from three hundred feet! His body was... they said he was mangled beyond... that's why they had a closed casket, remember?"

"So?"

"He's been rotting in a coffin for thirteen days!" she cried.

"Yun Sun, that is a tasteless thing to say. Honestly, if it were Jeremy being brought back to life, would we even be having this conversation?" I drew the flowers to my face, lightly touching the petals with my lips. "Listen, I've got to go. But save some punch for me! And Will! Ooo, make that lots of punch for Will-I bet he'll be absolutely crazed with thirst!"

I flipped my phone shut. I held the corsage aloft.

"I wish for Will to be alive again!" I cried exultantly.

The stench of decay thickened the air. The corsage curled, as if the petals were shrinking in on themselves. I flung it away on autopilot, just as I'd shake off an earwig that chanced to light on my hand. But whatever. The corsage wasn't important. What was important was Will. Where was he?

I glanced around, ridiculously expecting him to be sitting on the sofa, looking at me like You're scared of a bunch of dried flowers? Pitiful!

The sofa was empty, a gloomy, looming shape by the wall.

I darted to the window and peered out. Nothing. Just the wind, fluttering the leaves on the trees.

"Will?" I said.

Again nothing. A tremendous well of disappointment opened inside me, and I sank into my father's leather armchair.

Stupid Frankie. Stupid, foolish, pathetic me.

Time passed. Cicadas chirped.

Stupid cicadas.

And then, so faint, a thud. And then another. I straightened my spine.

Gravel popped on the road... or maybe the driveway? The thuds came closer. They were labored and with the odd offbeat of a limp, or of something being dragged.

I strained to hear.

There-a thump, ten feet away on the porch. A thump that was distinctly inhuman.

My throat closed as Yun Sun's words wormed back to me. Mangled, she'd said. Rotting. I wasn't paying attention before. Now it was too late. What had I done?

I jumped out of the chair and fled to the entry hall, safe from the eyes of anyone-or anything-who might choose to peer through the den's wide windows. What, exactly, had I brought back to life?

A knock echoed through the house. I whimpered, then clapped my hand over my mouth.

"Frankie?" a voice called. "I'm, uh... yikes. I'm kind of a mess." He laughed his self-deprecating laugh. "But I'm here. That's the important thing. I'm here to take you to prom!"

"We don't have to go to prom," I said. Was that me sounding so shrill? "Who needs prom? I mean, seriously!"

"Yeah, sure, this from the girl who would kill for the perfect romantic evening." The knob rattled. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

I hyperventilated.

There was a series of plops, like overripe strawberries being dropped into the trash, and then, "Aw, dude. Not good."

"Will?" I whispered.

"This is so uncool... but do you have any stain remover?"

Holy crap. Holy, holy, holy crap.

"You're not mad, are you?" Will asked. He sounded worried. "I came as fast as I could. But it was so frickin' weird, Frankie. Because, like..."

My mind flew to airless caskets, deep in the ground. Please, no, I thought.

"Forget it. It was weird-let's leave it at that." He tried to lighten things up. "Now are you going to let me in, or what? I'm falling to pieces out here!"

I pressed my body against the hall wall. My knees buckled, I wasn't doing too well with muscle control, but I reminded myself that I was safe behind the solid front door. Whatever else he was, Will was still flesh and bones. Well, partially. But not yet a ghost who could move through walls.

"Will, you've got to go," I said. "I made a mistake, okay?"

"A mistake? What do you mean?" His confusion broke my heart.

"It's just... oh God." I started crying. "We're not right for each other anymore. You understand, don't you?"

"No, I don't. You wanted me to ask you to prom, so I asked you to prom. And now for no good reason... ohhh! I get it!"

"You do?"

"You don't want me to see you! That's it, isn't it? You're nervous about how you look!"

"Um..." Should I run with this? Should I say yes just so he would leave?

"Frankie. Dude. You have nothing to worry about." He laughed. "One, you're beautiful; and two, compared to me, there's no way you won't look like... I don't know, an angel from heaven."

He sounded relieved, as if he'd had a niggling sense of something being off, but couldn't quite place his finger on it. But now he knew: It was Frankie having self-esteem issues, that's all! Silly Frankie!

I heard a shuffling, and then the bump of a small wooden lid. My body tensed, because I knew that bump.

The milk box-crap. He'd remembered the key in the milk box.

"I'm letting myself in," he called, slump-thumping back to the front door." 'Kay, Franks? 'Cause all of a sudden I'm, like, dying to see you!"

He laughed, jubilant. "I mean, wait, that came out wrong... but, heck, guess that's the theme of the night. Everything's coming out wrong-and I do mean everything!"

I fled to the den, where I got on my hands and knees and frantically patted the floor. If only it weren't so dark!

The deadbolt stuck, and Will jangled the key. His breathing was clotted.

"I'm coming, Frankie!" he called. Jangle, jangle. "I'm coming as fast as I can!"

My fear ratcheted so high that I was thrown into an altered state of reality. I was gasping and crying out, I could hear myself, and my hands were blind feelers, pawing and slapping as I crawled.

With a thunk, the bolt slid home.

"Yes," Will crowed.

The door swished over the frayed carpet at the exact instant my fingers closed on the crumbling corsage.

"Frankie? Why is it so dark? And why aren't you-"

I squeezed my eyes shut and spoke my final wish.

All sounds ceased, save for the rustle of wind in the leaves. The door, continuing its slow trajectory, bumped against the doorjamb. I stayed where I was on the floor. I sobbed, because my heart was breaking. No, my heart was broken.

After several moments, the cicadas once again took up their yearning chorus. I rose to my feet, stumbled across the room, and stood, shivering, in the open doorway. Outside, a pale shaft of moonlight shone on the deserted road.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



Madison Avery and the Dim Reaper

Kim Harrison

Chapter One

If British general, a damsel in a dress, and a pirate walk into a gym, I thought as I gazed over the bodies moving in a mind-numbing chaos of pent-up, inexperienced, teenage lust. Leave it to Covington High to turn prom into a joke. Not to mention my seventeenth birthday. What was I doing here?

Prom was supposed to be real dresses with a live band, not rented costumes with canned music and streamers. And my birthday was supposed to be... anything but this.

"You sure you don't want to dance?" Josh yelled in my ear, sending his sugary breath over me. I tried not to grimace, keeping my gaze fixed on the clock beside the gym's Scoreboard and wondering if an hour was long enough to stay and not get the third degree from my dad. The music was dull-the same rhythmic thump over, and over, and over. Nothing new in the last forty minutes. And the bass was way too loud.

"Yep," I said, edging away in time with the music when his hand tried to creep to my waist. "Still don't want to dance."

"Something to drink?" he tried again, and I cocked my hip, crossing my arms to hide my cleavage. I was still waiting for the boob fairy to show up, but the dress's corset shoved everything up and together to make it look like I had more than I did, making me self-conscious.

"No, thanks," I said with a sigh. He probably didn't hear me, but he got the gist, seeing as he looked away, watching everyone move. Long ballroom gowns and skimpy barmaid costumes mixed with swashbuckling pirates and sailors. That was the theme of the prom. Pirates. God! I had worked for two months on the prom committee at my old school. It was going to have been freaking fantastic, with a moonlit barge and a real band, but no-o-o-o. Mom had said Dad needed to spend time with me. That he was going through a midlife crisis and had to reconnect with something from his past that didn't involve arguing. I think she just got scared when she caught me sneaking out for a late cappuccino and shipped me back to Dad and Dullsville USA knowing I listened to him more than her. Okay, so it had been after midnight. And I might have been after more than caffeine. And yeah, I'd already been grounded from staying out too late the previous weekend, but that's why I had to sneak out.

Running the stiff lace of my colonial dress between my fingers, I wondered if any of these people had a clue what a real party looked like. Maybe they didn't care.

Josh was standing a little in front of me, bobbing his head in time with the music and clearly wanting to dance. Nearby at the food table was the guy who had skulked in after us. He was looking my way, and I gave him a stare, wondering if he was after me or Josh. Seeing my attention on him, the guy turned away.

My gaze fell back on Josh, who had begun to almost dance halfway between me and the moving people. Actually, I mused as he shifted and bobbed his head to the music, his costume made his thin, awkward height work for him-a traditional British general's red and white, complete with fake sword and epaulets. His father's idea, probably, since he was the VIP of VIPs at the research facility that had kept everyone employed when the military base moved to Arizona, but it did go with the overdone lace-and-corset thing I had on.

"Come on. Everyone else is dancing," he coaxed when he saw me look at him, and I shook my head, almost feeling sorry for him. He reminded me of the guys in the photography club pretending the darkroom door had locked to try to get a little action. It just wasn't fair. I had spent three years learning how to fit in with the cool chicks, and now I was right back with the nice but unpopular guys, mowing down cupcakes in the gym. And on my birthday, too.

"No," I said flatly. Translation: Sorry, I'm not interested. You may as well give up.

Even thick-headed, awkward, broken-glasses Josh got that one, and he stopped his almost-dancing to fix his blue eyes on me. "Jesus, you're a bitch, you know that? I only asked you out because my dad made me. If you want to dance, I'll be over there."

My breath caught, and I gaped at him as if he had punched me in the gut. He cockily raised his eyebrows and walked away with his hands in his pockets and his chin raised. Two girls parted so he could walk between them, and they hunched into each other in his wake, gossiping as they glanced at me.

Oh my God. I'm a pity date. Blinking fast, I held my breath as I fought to keep the room from going blurry. Crap, not only was I the new girl, but I was a freaking pity date! My dad had made nice to his boss, and he made his son ask me out.

"Son of a dead puppy," I whispered, wondering if everyone was looking at me or if it was just my imagination. I tucked my short blond hair behind my ear and backed to the wall. Leaning against it with my arms crossed, I tried to pretend Josh had gone to get some pop. Inside, I was dying. I had been dumped. No, I had been dumped by a geek.

"Way to go, Madison," I said sourly, just imagining the gossip on Monday. I spotted Josh at the food table, pretending to ignore me without being obvious about it. The guy in the sailor outfit who had followed us in was talking to him. I still didn't think he was one of Josh's friends, even though he was jostling his elbow and pointing at the girls dancing in dresses cut too low for the gyrating they were doing. That I didn't recognize him wasn't surprising since I'd been avoiding everyone for the simple reason I wasn't happy being here and I didn't mind anyone knowing it.

I wasn't a jock or a nerd-though I had belonged to the photography club back home. Despite my efforts, I apparently didn't fit with the Barbie dolls. And I wasn't a goth, brain, druggie, or one of the kids who wanted to play scientist like their mommies or daddies at the research facility. I didn't fit anywhere.

Correction, I thought as Josh and the sailor laughed. I fit with the bitches.

The guy followed Josh's attention to another group of girls, who were now giggling at something Josh had said. His brown hair was frizzed out under his sailor's cap, and his crisp white outfit made him look like all the other guys who'd chosen sailor over pirate. He was tall, and there was a smooth grace to his movements that said he'd quit growing. He looked older than me, but he couldn't be too much older. It was the prom.

And I don't have to be here, I thought suddenly, shoving myself away from the wall with my elbows. Josh was my ride home, but my dad would pick me up if I called.

My motion to weave through the crowd to the double doors slowed in worry. He'd ask why Josh wasn't bringing me home. It would all come out. The lecture to be nice and fit in I could deal with, but the embarrassment...

Josh was watching me when I glanced up. The guy with him was trying to get his attention, but Josh's eyes were on mine. Mocking me.

That did it. No way was I going to call my dad. And I wasn't getting into a car with Josh, either. I'd walk it. All five miles. In heels. And a long cotton dress. On a damp April night. With my boobs scrunched together. What was the worst that could happen? A runaway cow incident? Crap, I really missed my car.

"Way to go, girl," I muttered, gathering my resolution along with my dress, head down as my shoulders bumped into dancers on my way to the door. I was so out of here. People were talking, but I didn't care. I didn't need friends. Friends were overrated.

The music melted into something fast, and I brought my attention up when the crowd seemed to shift, awkwardly changing rhythm. I jerked to a stop when I realized I was a step away from running into someone. "Sorry!" I shouted over the music, then froze, staring. Holy crap, Mr. Sexy Pirate Captain. Where had he been the last three weeks, and were there more where he came from?

I'd never seen him before. Not in the entire time I'd been stuck in this town. I would have remembered. Maybe exerted myself a little more. Flushing, I dropped my skirt to move my hand to cover my cleavage. God, I felt like a British tart with everything shoved up like that. The guy was dressed in a clingy black pirate costume, a pendant of gray stone lying on his chest. I could see it where the collar parted. A Zorro-style mask hid his upper face. The wide silk tails of it trailed down his back to mix with his luscious wavy black hair. He stood taller than me by about five inches, and as I ran my gaze over his tight figure, I wondered where he'd been keeping himself.

Certainly not the band room or Mrs. Fairel's U.S. Government class, I thought as the spinning lights played over him.

"My apologies," he said, taking my hand, and my breath caught, not because he was touching me, but because his accent wasn't Midwestern. Sort of a slow, soft exhalation laced with a crisp preciseness that told of taste and sophistication. I could almost hear the clink of crystal and soft laughter in it, the comforting sounds that more often than not had lulled me to sleep as the waves pushed on the beach.

"You aren't from around here," I blurted as I leaned to hear him better.

A smile grew, his dusky skin and dark hair almost a balm, so familiar amid the pale faces and light hair of the Midwestern prison I was in. "I'm here temporarily," he said. "An exchange student, in a manner of speaking. Same as you." He glanced disdainfully at the people moving around us with little...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



The mist of nothing slipped slowly from me in a painful series of prickles and the sound of two people arguing. I felt sick, not from my entire back tingling so painfully I could hardly stand to breathe, but from the feeling of helpless fear that the hushed, back-and-forth voices pulled from my past. I could almost smell the moldy fluff of my stuffed rabbit as I had curled into a ball and listened to the two people who were my entire world frighten me beyond belief. That they had both told me it hadn't been my fault hadn't lessened my grief at all. Grief I had to hold inside until it became a part of me. Pain that adhered to my bones. To cry in my mother's arms would say I loved her more. To cry into my dad's shoulder would say I loved him best. It was a crappy way to grow up.

But this... this wasn't my parents arguing. It sounded like two kids.

I took a breath to find it came easier. The last of the haze started to fade with the tingles, and my lungs moved, aching as if someone were sitting on them. Realizing my eyes were shut, I opened them to find a blurry black just before my nose. There was a heavy, plasticky smell.

"She was sixteen when she got in that car. It's your fault," a young but masculine voice said hotly, oddly muffled. I was getting the distinct impression that the argument had been going on for some time, but I only remembered snatches of it amid uneasy thoughts of nothing.

"You are not going to put this on me," a girl said, her voice just as hushed and determined. "She was seventeen when he flipped her coin. This is your screwup, not mine. God save you, she was right in front of you! How could you miss it?"

"I missed it because she wasn't seventeen!" he shot back. "She was sixteen when he picked her up. How was I supposed to know he was after her? How come you weren't there? You slipped up big time."

The girl gasped in affront. I was cold. Taking a deeper breath, I felt a surge of strength. Fewer tingles, more aches. It was stuffy, my breath coming back warm to me. It wasn't dark; I was in something.

"You little piss-ant!" the girl snapped. "Don't tell me I slipped up. She died at seventeen. That's why I wasn't there. I was never notified."

"But I don't do sixteen," he said, his voice going nasty. "I thought he was flipping the boy."

I suddenly realized the black blur throwing back my breath was a sheet of plastic. My hands came up, and my nails pushed through it in a stab of fear. Almost panicking, I sat up.

I'm on a table? It sure felt hard enough for one. I shoved the plastic off me. Two kids were standing by a set of dirty white swinging doors, and they spun in surprise. The girl's pale face went red, and the guy backed up as if embarrassed to have been caught arguing with her.

"Oh!" the girl said, tossing her long dark braid behind her. "You're up. Uh, hi. I'm Lucy, and this is Barnabas."

The guy dropped his eyes and waved sheepishly. "Hey," he said. "How you doing?"

"You were with Josh," I said, my finger shaking as I pointed, and he nodded, still not looking at me. His costume looked odd next to her shorts and tank top. Both of them wore a black stone pendant around their necks. They were dull and insignificant, but my eye went to them because they were the only thing the two shared. Other than their anger at each other and their surprise at me.

"Where am I?" I said, and Barnabas winced, a tall form scuffing his feet against the tile. "Where's Josh?" I hesitated, realizing I was in a hospital, but... Wait a minute. I was in a freaking body bag? "I'm in the morgue?" I blurted. "What am I doing in the morgue?"

Moving wildly, I got my legs out of the plastic bag and slid to the floor, heels clicking in some weird counterpoint as I caught my balance. There was a tag on a rubber band around my wrist, and I yanked it off, taking some hair along with it. I had a long rip in my skirt, and heavy grease marked it. Dirt and grass were plastered to me, and I stank of field and antiseptic. So much for getting my deposit back.

"Someone made a mistake," I said as I shoved the tag in a pocket, and Lucy snorted.

"Barnabas," she said, and he stiffened.

"This is not my fault!" he exclaimed, rounding on her. "She was sixteen when she got in that car. I don't do sixteen! How was I supposed to know it was her birthday?"

"Yeah? Well, she was seventeen when she died, so it is your problem!"

Dead? Were they blind? "You know what?" I said, feeling more steady the longer I stood here. "You two can argue till the sun goes nova, but I have to find someone and tell them I'm okay." Heels clicking, I headed for the dirty white twin doors.

"Madison, wait," the guy said. "You can't."

"Watch me," I said. "My dad is going to be so-o-o-o ticked."

I strode past them, getting twenty feet before a feeling of disconnection hit me. Dizzy, I put a hand to an empty table as the odd sensation roared from nowhere. My hand cramped where it rested, and I pulled it away as if burned when it seemed the coldness of metal had touched my bone. I felt... spongy. Thin. The soft hum of the ventilation grew muffled. Even the pounding of my heart became distant. I turned, hand to my chest to try and make it feel normal again. "What..."

From across the room, Barnabas shrugged his thin shoulders. "You're dead, Madison. Sorry. You get too far from our amulets, and you start to lose substance."

He gestured to the gurney, and I looked.

My breath slammed out of me. Knees buckling, I half fell against the empty table. I was still there. I mean, I was still on the gurney. I was lying on the cart in a torn body bag, looking far too small and pale, my elaborate dress bunched up around me in an elegant display of forgotten grace out of time.

I was dead? But I could feel my heart beat.

Limbs going weak, I started to crumple.

"Swell. She's a fainter," the girl said dryly.

Barnabas lurched forward to catch me. His arms slid around me and my head lolled. At his touch, everything rushed back: sounds, smells, and even my pulse. My lids fluttered. Inches from me, Barnabas's lips pressed tight. He was so close, and I thought I could smell sunflowers.

"Why don't you shut up?" he said to Lucy as he eased me to the floor. "Show a little compassion? That's your job, you know."

The cold from the tile soaked into me, seeming to clear the gray about my sight. How could I be dead? Did the dead pass out? "I'm not dead," I said unsteadily, and Barnabas helped me sit up and put my back to a table leg.

"Yes, you are." He crouched beside me, his brown eyes wide and concerned. Sincere. "I'm really sorry. I thought he was going to flip Josh. They usually don't leave evidence like a car behind like that. You must really be a broken feather in their wing."

My thoughts flashed to the crash, and I put a hand to my stomach. Josh had been there. I remember that. "He thinks I'm dead. Josh, I mean."

From across the room came Lucy's caustic "You are dead."

I sent my gaze to the gurney, and Barnabas shifted to block my view. "Who are you?" I asked as the dizziness slipped away.

Barnabas stood. "We, ah, are Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions Personnel. Evaluation and Recovery."

I thought about that. Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions... R.E.A.P.E.R.?

Holy crap! A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled up, eyes fixed on me on the gurney. I was here. I was alive! That might be me, but I was standing here, too. "You're grim reapers!" I exclaimed, feeling my way around the table and putting it between us. My toes started to go numb, and I stopped, my gaze darting to the amulet around Barnabas's neck. "Oh my God, I'm dead," I whispered. "I can't be dead. I'm not ready to be dead. I'm not done yet! I'm only seventeen!"

"We're not grim reapers." Lucy had her arms crossed defensively as if it were a sore spot. "We're white reapers. Black reapers kill people before their coin should be flipped, white reapers try to save them, and grim reapers are treacherous betrayers who brag too much and won't survive to see the sun turn back to dust."

Barnabas looked embarrassed as he shuffled his feet. "Grim reapers are white reapers who were tricked into working for... the other side. They don't do much culling since black reapers don't let them, but if there is a sudden, massive death toll, you know they'll show to pull a few souls early, in as dramatic a way as possible. They're hacks. No class at all."

This last was said with a bitter voice, and I wondered at the rivalry, backing up until I started going spongy again. Eyeing their amulets, I edged forward until the feeling went away. "You kill people. That's what Seth said. He said something about culling my soul! You do kill people!"

Barnabas ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Ah, we don't. Most of the time." He glanced at Lucy. "Seth is a black reaper, a dark reaper. We only show up when they target someone out of time, or there's been a mistake."

"Mistake?" My head swung up in hope. Did that mean they could put me back?

Lucy...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



"Dad!" I stood in the open front door, heart pounding as I listened to the silence seep up from the tidy, well-ordered state my dad kept the house in. Behind me, a lawn mower droned in the early sun. The gold haze spilled in to glint on the hardwood floors and the banister leading upstairs. I had run the entire way in my heels and that obnoxious dress. People had stared, and that I wasn't a bit tired kind of freaked me out. My pulse was fast from fear, not exertion.

"Dad?"

I stepped in, my eyes pricking with emotion when from upstairs came my dad's incredulous, shaky voice calling, "Madison?"

I took the stairs two at a time, tripping on my skirt and clawing my way up the last step. Throat tight, I rustled to a stop in the doorway to my room. My dad was sitting on the floor amid my boxes, opened but never unpacked. He looked old, his thin face gaunt with heartache, and I couldn't move. I didn't know what to do.

Eyes wide, he stared as if I weren't there. "You never unpacked," he whispered.

A hot tear ran down to my chin, coming from nowhere. Seeing him like this, I realized he did need me to remind him of the good stuff. No one had ever needed me before. "I... I'm sorry, Dad..." I managed as I stood there, helpless.

He took a breath and snapped out of it. Emotion lit his face. In a surge of motion, he stood. "You're alive?" he breathed, and I gasped when he took the three steps between us and brought me to him in a crushing hold. "They said you were dead. You're alive?"

"I'm okay," I sobbed into his chest, the release washing through me so hard it was painful. He smelled like the lab he worked in, of oil and ink, and nothing ever smelled so good. I couldn't stop my tears. I was dead-I think. I had an amulet, but I didn't know if I was going to be able to stay, and the fear of that fed my helplessness. "I'm okay," I said around a hiccupping sob. "But there was a mistake."

Half laughing, he pushed me back enough to see my face. Tears brightened his eyes, and he smiled as if he'd never stop. "I was at the hospital," he said. "I saw you."

The memory of that pain crossed behind his eyes, and he touched my hair with a shaking hand as if to reassure himself I was real. "But you're okay. I tried to call your mother. She's going to think I'm crazy. More crazy than usual. I couldn't leave a message telling her you were in an accident. So I hung up. But you're really okay?"

My throat was tight, and I sniffed loudly. I was not going to give up my amulet. Never. "I'm sorry, Dad," I said, still crying. "I shouldn't have gone with that guy. I never should have. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"Shhhh." He pulled me back into a hug, rocking me, but I only cried harder. "It's okay. You're all right," he soothed, his hand brushing my hair. But he didn't know I really was dead.

His breath catching, my dad halted in a sudden thought. He put me at arm's length, and the cold that spilled into me when he looked me over ended my tears in a soft sniffle. "You're really fine," he said in wonder. "Not a scratch on you."

I smiled nervously, and one of his arms slipped from me. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you. I-"

There was a soft scuff at the door. My dad's eyes shot over my shoulder, and I turned to find Barnabas standing awkwardly next to a short man in a loose, martial arts kind of an outfit. It was billowy. Not functional at all. He was upright and thin, with sharp features and very dark skin. His eyes were a deep brown, heavily lined at the corners. His hair, too, said he was old, the tight curls graying at the temples.

"I'm sorry," my dad said, pulling me to stand beside him. "Did you bring my daughter home? Thank you."

I didn't like Barnabas's grimace, and I had to work to not hide behind my dad. His arm was still around me, and I didn't want to move. Crap. I think Barnabas had brought his boss. I wanted to stay. Damn it, I don't want to be dead. This isn't fair!

The dark man made a rueful face. "No," he said, the word having a pleasant crispness. "She managed that all by herself. God knows how."

I wiped my eyes, frightened. "They didn't bring me home," I said, shifting nervously. "I don't know them. I've seen the guy," I added, "but not the old man."

Still, my dad smiled neutrally, trying to piece it together. "Are you from the hospital?" he asked, and then his face hardened. "Who's responsible for telling me my daughter was dead? Someone's head is going to roll over this."

Barnabas cringed, and his boss sniffed his agreement. "Truer words have not been said, sir." His eyes traveled over my room, taking in the pink walls, white furniture, and opened boxes never fully unpacked. They landed on me last, and I wondered what conclusions he'd made. With my life ending so abruptly, I was sort of like my room-everything was here, but nothing out of the boxes. And now everything would get taped back shut and shoved into a closet, all the good stuff never seen or realized. I'm not done yet.

I stiffened when the man took a step into my room, a thin hand raised placatingly. "We need to talk, child," he said, striking me cold.

Oh God. He wanted me to go with him.

I clutched the amulet to me, and my dad's grip on me tightened. He saw my frightened eyes and finally understood something was wrong. Shifting, he put himself between me and the two people in the doorway. "Madison, call the police," he said, and I reached for the phone on the bedside table. That I had unpacked.

"Ah, we need a moment," the old man said.

I pulled my attention up as he waved his hand like a bad actor in a science fiction movie. The hum of the open line cut off, and from outside, the mower quit. Shocked, I stared at the phone, then my dad standing between me and the two men. He wasn't moving.

My knees felt watery. Setting the phone back in the cradle, I stared at my dad. He seemed all right. Apart from the not-moving thing.

The old man sighed, and my attention jerked to him. Son of a dead puppy, I thought, cold and scared. I wasn't leaving without a fight.

"Let him go," I said, my voice trembling. "Or I'll... I'll..."

Barnabas's lips quirked, and the man arched his eyebrows. His eyes were a grayish blue. I could have sworn they had been brown. "You'll what?" he said, taking a firmer stance on the carpet with his arms over his chest.

I glanced at my dad, frozen. "I'll scream, or something," I threatened.

"Go ahead. No one will hear you. It will be a pop of nothing, too fast to be heard."

I took a breath to chance it, and he shook his head. My breath exploded out of me and I backpedaled when he lurched into the room. But he wasn't coming for me. Yanking my white chair from the vanity, he sat with his small body at an angle. He dropped an elbow onto the top and then cradled his forehead in his hand as if weary. He made an odd picture against the music box and girl stuff.

"Why can't anything be easy?" he muttered, fingering my ceramic zebras. "Is this a joke?" he said louder at the ceiling. "Are you laughing? Getting a good laugh out of this, are you?"

I looked at the door, and Barnabas shook his head in warning. Fine. There was still the window-though with this dress, I might kill myself if I fell. Oh, wait. I was dead already. "Is my dad okay?" I asked, daring to touch his elbow.

Barnabas nodded, and the old man brought his gaze back to me. Grimacing as if making a decision, he extended his hand. I stared at it, not reaching for it. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said firmly. "Madison, was it? Everyone calls me Ron."

I stared at him, and he slowly put his arm down. His eyes were brown again. "Barnabas told me what you did," he said. "Can I see it?"

Surprised, I fidgeted, my fingers sliding off my dad's arm. Man... this was creepy. It was like the entire world had stopped, but I was a walking dead, so I guess my dad being frozen was a small thing. "See what?"

"The stone," Ron said, and the hint of anxiety in his voice struck me like fire.

He wanted it. He wanted it, and it was the only thing keeping me alive. Or not quite dead. "I don't think so," I said, sure of its value when Ron's expression became alarmed as my hand crept up to feel the stone's cool surface.

"Madison," he soothed, standing. "I simply want to look at it."

"You want it!" I exclaimed, heart pounding. "It's the only thing keeping me solid. I don't want to die. You guys messed up. I'm not supposed to be dead! It's your fault!"

"Yes, but you are dead," Ron said, and my breath hissed in when he extended his hand. "Just let me look at it."

"I'm not giving it up!" I shouted, and Ron's eyes lit in fear.

"Madison, no! Don't say it!" he shouted, reaching.

I stumbled back out of my dad's questionable protection, clutching it. "It's mine!" I shrieked, my back hitting the wall.

Ron lurched to a halt, dismay clear on his old features as his arm dropped. The...

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



Restless, I sat on the roof in the dark, flicking stones into the night as I tried to realign my thinking. I wasn't alive, but I wasn't altogether dead, either. As I'd suspected, a careful questioning of my dad spanning the entire day confirmed that not only did he not have a clue I had been dead at the hospital, but he didn't even remember the accident. He thought I'd ditched Josh when I found out I was a pity date, got a ride home with Seth and Barnabas, and watched TV all night, pouting in my costume.

He wasn't pleased I had ruined the rental, either. I didn't appreciate him taking the cost of it out of my allowance, but I wasn't going to complain. I was here, sort of alive, and that was all that mattered. My dad seemed surprised at my meek acceptance of my punishment, telling me I was growing up. Oh, if he only knew.

I watched my dad closely all day as I unpacked and put my stuff in drawers and on shelves. It was clear he knew something wasn't right, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He hardly let me out of his sight, coming upstairs to bring me snacks and pop until I could have screamed. More than once I caught him watching me with a frightened expression, hiding it when he saw me return his gaze. Dinner was a forced conversation over pork chops, and after picking at my food for a good twenty minutes, I excused myself, claiming I was tired after last night's prom.

Yeah. I ought to be tired, but I wasn't. No, it was two in the morning, and here I was out on the roof, pitching stones, pretending to be asleep as the world turned in a chilly darkness. Maybe I didn't need to sleep anymore.

Shoulders slumping, I picked another bit of tar off the shingles and flicked it at the chimney. It hit the metallic cap with a ting, ricocheting into the black. I scooted up the shallow pitch of the roof, then tugged my jeans back up where they ought to be.

A faint feeling of unease crept through me, starting from the tops of my hands in a soft prickling, slipping inward with an increasingly jagged spike. The sensation of being watched exploded into existence, and I spun, gasping, when Barnabas fell out of the tree arching overhead.

"Hey!" I shouted, heart thumping while he landed in a crouch like a cat. "How about some warning?"

He rose to stand in the moonlit darkness with his hands on his hips. There was a faint shimmer on him visible right along with his disgust. "If I had been a black reaper, you'd be dead."

"Yeah, well, I'm already dead, aren't I?" I said, flicking a stone at him. He didn't move as it arched over his shoulder. "What do you want?" I asked sullenly.

Instead of answering, he shrugged his narrow shoulders and looked east. "I want to know what you didn't tell Ron."

"Excuse me?"

He stood still as a rock, arms crossed over his chest and staring. "Seth said something to you in that car. It was the only time you were out of my sight. I want to know what it was. It might be the difference between you getting to play out this lie of being alive, or you getting carted off to a black court." Now he moved, his motion rough and angry. "I'm not going to fail again, and not because of you. You were important to Seth before you stole that stone. That's why he came to get you at the morgue. I want to know why."

I looked down at the stone, glittering in the moonlight, then shifted my gaze to my feet. The awkward angle of the roof made my ankles hurt. "He said my name had come up too many times in the affairs of men, and he was going to cull my soul."

Barnabas moved, coming to sit beside me with a lot of space between us. "He's done that. You're not a threat now that you're dead. Why did he come back for you?"

Reassured by his more relaxed posture, I looked at him, thinking his eyes seemed silver in the moonlight. "You won't tell?" I asked, wanting to trust him. I needed to talk to someone, and it wasn't like I could call up my old friends and vent about being dead-as entertaining as that might be.

Barnabas hesitated. "No, but I might try to persuade you to tell him yourself."

That I could deal with, and I took a slow breath. "He said that his ending my pathetic life was his ticket into a higher court. He came back to prove he had... culled me."

I waited for a reaction, but there was none. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I lifted my head to meet his eyes. Barnabas was looking at me as if trying to figure out what it meant. Clearly not having an answer, he slowly said, "I think you should keep this to yourself for a while. He probably didn't mean anything by it. Forget it. Spend your time learning how to fit in."

"Yeah," I said with a sarcastic bark of laughter. "A new school is tons of fun."

"I meant fit in with the living."

"Oh." Okay. I was going to have to learn how to fit in, not at a new school, but with the living. Swell. Remembering the disastrous dinner with my dad, I bit my lip. "Uh, Barnabas, am I supposed to eat?"

"Sure. If you want to. I don't. Not much, anyway," he said, sounding almost wistful. "But if you're like me, you'll never be hungry."

I tucked my short hair behind my ear. "How about sleep?"

At that, he smiled. "You can try. I can't manage it unless I am bored out of my mind."

I picked a bit of tar off the shingles and flicked it at the chimney again. "How come I don't have to eat?" I asked.

Barnabas turned to face me. "That stone of yours is giving off energy, and you're taking it in. Basking in it. Watch out for psychics. They'll think you're possessed."

"Mmmm," I murmured, wondering if I could get any useful information about what was really going on from a church, but they were wrong about grim reapers, so maybe they didn't know as much as they thought.

I sighed, sitting in the dark on my roof with a white reaper-my guardian angel. Nice going, Madison, I thought, wondering if my life-or death, rather-could get any more screwed up. I slowly fingered the stone that kept me somewhat alive, wondering what I was supposed to do now. Go to school. Do my homework. Be with my dad. Try to make sense of who I was and what I was supposed to do. Nothing much had changed, really, apart from the no-eating-no-sleeping thing. So I had something worse than a black reaper gunning for me. I also had a guardian angel. And life, apparently, goes on, even if you aren't a participating part of it anymore.

Barnabas surprised me when he suddenly stood, and I leaned to look up at his height measured against the stars. "Let's go," he said, extending his hand. "I don't have anything to do tonight, and I'm bored. You're not a screamer, are you?"

My first thought was screamer? And then, go where? But what came out of my mouth was a lame, "I can't. I've been grounded. I can't set a foot outside the house apart from school until I pay for that costume." But I smiled, taking his hand and letting him help me rise. If Ron could make my dad forget I had died, I'd be willing to bet Barnabas could cover for me sneaking out a couple of hours.

"Yeah, well, I can't do anything about you being grounded," he said, "but where we're going, you won't be setting a foot anywhere."

"Huh?" I stammered, then stiffened when he moved behind me, taller because of the roof's pitch. "Hey!" I yelped when his arm went around me. But my protest vanished in shock at the gray shadow suddenly curving around us. It was real, smelling like my mom's feather pillow, and I gasped when his grip tightened and my feet left the roof in a downward drop of gravity.

"Holy crap!" I exclaimed as the world spread out beneath us, silver and black in the moonlight. "You have wings?"

Barnabas laughed, and with my stomach dropping in a tingling surge, we went higher.

Maybe... maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



Kiss and Tell

Michele Jaffe

Chapter One

"Sorry this wasn't more of a storybook ending," the man with his hands around her throat said, smiling, holding her eyes with his own as he choked her.

"If you're going to kill me, can't you just get on with it? This is kind of uncomfortable."

"What, my hands? Or the feeling that you're a failure-"

"I'm not a failure."

" - again."

She spit in his face.

"Still got some fire. I really admire that about you. I think you and I could have gotten along nicely. Unfortunately, there just isn't time."

She gave one last fight, clawing at his hands around her throat, his forearms, anything, but he didn't even flinch. Her fists fell hopelessly to her sides.

He leaned in so close to her face that she could feel him exhale. "Any last words?"

"Three: Listerine breath strips. You really need them."

He laughed and tightened the hands around her neck until they overlapped. "Good-bye."

For a second, his eyes burned into hers. Then she heard a sharp crack and felt herself fall to the floor as everything went black.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



EIGHT HOURS EARLIER...

"Foxy girls know that silence may be golden-but only for four seconds. Anything longer and you re heading for Awkward Avenue," Miranda read, then frowned at the book. "If you feel the countdown creeping, make him an offer! A simple 'Would you like some nuts? said with a smile can break the silence stagnation in a snap. Remember, foxy is as foxy does."

Miranda was starting to deeply distrust How to Get-And Kiss! - Your Guy.

Leaning against the side of the black Town Car parked in the loading zone at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport that June evening, she thought of how totally thrilled she'd been when she'd found it at the bookstore. It looked like an and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after dream come true in book form-who wouldn't want to learn "The Five Facial Expressions That Will Change Your Life" or "The Secrets of the Tongue Tantra Only Da Pros Know"? - but having done all the exercises, she wasn't convinced of the transformative powers of the Winsome Smile or spending half an hour a day sucking on a grape. It wasn't the first time a self-help book had let her down-Procrastinate No More and Make Friends with YOU had both been total disasters-but it was depressing because she'd had such high hopes this time. And because, as her best friend, Kenzi, recently pointed out, any senior in high school who acted like Miranda did around her crush really, really needed help.

She tried another passage. "Rephrase one of his questions back to him, adding that hint of suggestion with a raised eyebrow. Or pick up the conversation with a pickup line! You: Are we in the china section? Him: No, why? You: Because you are fine. If china isn't your thing, this one never fails to launch-You: Are you wearing space pants? Him: No, why? You: Because your butt is-"

"Hello, Miss Kiss."

Miranda looked up and found herself staring up at the cleft chin and tanned face of Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds.

She must have been really distracted to not even have heard his heartbeat when he approached. It was distinctive, with a little echo at the end, kind of like a one-two-three cha-cha beat (she'd learned about the cha-cha beat from You Can Dance! another massively unfortunate self-help experience). He'd probably have trouble with that when he got old, but at twenty-two it didn't seem to be stopping him from going to the gym, at least from the looks of his pecs, biceps, shoulders, forearms, wrists-

Stop staring.

Since she had an attack of Crazy Mouth whenever she tried to talk to a cute guy-let alone Santa Barbara's youngest sheriff's deputy, who was only four years older than she and who surfed every morning before work and who was cool enough to get away with wearing sunglasses even though it was almost 8:00 p.m.-she said, "Hi, deputy. Come here often?"

Causing him to frown. "No."

"No, you wouldn't, why would you? Me either. Well, not that often. Maybe once a week. Not often enough to know where the bathrooms are. Ha-ha!" Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you'd utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.

"Good book?" he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, "A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad" out loud.

But life did not come with a trapdoor.

"It's for a school project. Homework. On, um, mating rituals."

"Thought crime was more your thing." He hit her with one of his half smiles, too cool to pull out a big grin. "You planning on foiling any more convenience store heists any time soon?"

That had been a mistake. Not stopping the guys who'd held up Ron's 24-Hour Open Market #3, but sticking around long enough to let the police see her. For some reason they'd found it hard to believe that she'd just been leaning against the lamppost when it fell across the front of the robbers' car as it sped through the intersection. It was sad how suspicious people were, especially people in law enforcement. And school administration. But she'd learned a lot since then.

"I'm trying to keep it to one heist a month," she said, hoping for a light, ha-ha-I'm-just-kidding-foxy-is-as-foxy-does tone. "Today it's just my regular job, VIP airport pickup." Miranda heard his cha-cha heartbeat speed up slightly. Maybe he thought VIPs were cool.

"That boarding school you go to, Chatsworth Academy? They let you off campus any time you want or only certain days?"

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, if you're a senior. We don't have classes then," she said and heard his heartbeat pick up more.

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons free. What do you do for fun?"

Was he asking her out? No. Way. NOWAYNOWAYNOWAY! Flirt! she ordered herself. Winsome Smile! Say something! Anything! Be foxy! Now!

"What do you do for fun?" she repeated his question back to him, raising one eyebrow for that hint of suggestion.

He seemed taken aback for a second, then said very formally, "I work, Miss Kiss."

Please give a warm welcome to Miranda Kiss, our new Miss Idiot Girl of the year, she thought. Said: "Of course. Me too. I mean, I'm either driving clients or at team practice. I'm one of Tony Bosun's Bee Girls? The Roller Derby team? That's why I do this," meaning to point to the Town Car but bashing it with her hand instead. "You have to be a driver for Tony's company, 5Bs Luxury Transport, to be on the team. We usually only have games on the weekends, but we practice on Wednesdays, sometimes on other days..." Crazy Mouth trailed off.

"I've seen the Bees play. That's a professional team, isn't it? They let a high school student play?"

Miranda swallowed. "Oh, sure. Of course."

He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

"Okay, I had to lie to get on the team. Tony thinks I'm twenty. You won't tell him, will you?"

"He believed you were twenty?"

"He needed a new jammer."

Deputy Reynolds chuckled. "So you're the jammer? You're good. I can see why he might have made an exception." Eyeing her some more. "I never would have recognized you."

"Well, you know, we wear those wigs and the gold masks over our eyes so we all look the same." It was one of the things she liked about Roller Derby, the anonymity, the fact that no one knew who you were, what your skills were. It made her feel invulnerable, safe. No one could single you out for... anything.

Deputy Reynolds took his sunglasses all the way off now to look at her. "So you put on one of those red, white, and blue satin outfits? The ones with the short skirts and that cute cape? I'd like to see that sometime."

He smiled at her, right into her eyes, and her knees went weak and her mind started playing out a scenario involving him without his shirt but with a pitcher of maple syrup and a big-

"Well, there's my lady," he said. "Catch you." And then walked away.

- stack of pancakes. Miranda watched him go up to a woman in her early twenties-thick blond hair, thin but muscular-put his arm around her, and kiss her neck. The kind of woman whose bras had tags that said, SIZE 36c, not MADE BY SANRIO in them. Heard him saying excitedly, "Wait until we get to the house. I've got some amazing new toys, something special just for you," his voice husky, heart racing.

As he passed Miranda, he lifted his chin in her direction and said, "You stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, you too," Crazy Mouth told him. Miranda wanted to bang her head against the top of the car at how idiotic she was. She tried to give a Lite Laff (expression number four from the book) but ended up making herself choke instead.

When they were across the parking lot, she heard the woman asking who she was and heard Deputy Reynolds say, "The local Town Car driver."

"She's the driver?" the woman said. "Looks like one of those girls from Hawaiian Airlines you used to date, but younger. And cuter. You know how your judgment gets around cute young girls. You're sure I don't need to be concerned?"

Miranda heard him laugh, the genuine amusement in his voice as he said, "Her? Baby, she's just a high school student who has a crush on me. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."

And thought: Trap. Door. Now. Please.

Sometimes having superhearing supersucked.

 

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



Miranda loved the Santa Barbara airport, the way it looked more like an Acapulco Joe's Cantina than an official building with its adobe-style walls, cool terra-cotta floor, loopy blue and gold tile, and bougainvillaea careening down the walls. It was small, so planes just parked where they landed and had staircases wheeled out to them, with only a chain-link fence separating people waiting for someone from the people coming off the plane.

Pulling the welcome sign out of the Town Car, she checked the name on it-CUMEAN-and held it up in the direction of the disembarking passengers. As she waited, she listened to a woman in the gold Lexus SUV four cars behind her talking on her phone, saying, "If she gets off the plane, I'll know. He'd better have his checkbook ready," then tilted her head to focus on the low srloop srloop srloop sound of a snail slithering across the still-warm pavement toward a bunch of ivy.

She still remembered the exact moment she realized that not everyone heard the things she heard, that she wasn't normal. She'd already spent the first half of her seventh-grade year at Saint Bartolomeo School-the part after the screening of the Your Body Is Changing: Womanhood video-puzzled by all the changes they didn't list, like uncontrolled bursts of speed and randomly crushing objects you were just trying to pick up and hitting your head on the ceiling of the gym when you were doing jumping jacks and suddenly being able to see dust particles on people's clothes. But since Sister Anna answered all her questions with "Stop joking, child," Miranda thought they must just be so obvious the movie didn't need to mention them. It was only when she'd tried to earn Johnnie Voight's undying affection by warning him not to cheat off of Cynthia Riley again because, based on the sound of her pencil five seats away, she always got the wrong answers, that Miranda learned just how "differently abled" she was. Instead of falling on his knees and declaring that she was his goddess in a training bra and plaid skirt, Johnnie had called her a freak, then a nosy bitch, and tried to beat her up.

That was how she'd first learned how dangerous powers were, the way they could make you an outcast.

And also that she was stronger than boys her age, and that they didn't think that was cool or even good. And neither did school administrators.

Since then she'd become expert at acting normal, being careful. Had mastered her powers. Or she'd thought she had, until seven months earlier when-

Miranda pushed the memory aside and turned her attention back to the people at the airport. To her job. She watched a little girl with blond ringlets sitting on her dad's shoulders standing next to the path and waving as a woman walked from the plane toward them, now shouting, "Mommy, Mommy, I missed you!"

She watched the happy family hug and felt like someone had socked her in the stomach. One of the advantages of going to boarding school, Miranda thought, was that you didn't get invited over to people's houses, never had to see them acting like normal families, having breakfast together. For some reason, whenever she imagined truly happy families, they were always eating breakfast.

Plus people who had normal families didn't go to Chatsworth Academy, "The Premier Boarding Experience in Southern California." Or, as Miranda liked to think of it, Child Warehouse, the place where parents (or in her case, guardians) stored their children until they needed them for something.

With the possible exception of her roommate, Kenzi.

She and Kenzi Chin had lived together for four years, since their freshman year, longer than Miranda had lived with almost anyone. Kenzi came from a perfect-eat-breakfast-together family, had perfect skin, perfect grades, perfect everything, and Miranda would have been forced to hate her if Kenzi wasn't also so completely loyal and kind. And a tinsy bit insane.

Like earlier that afternoon when Miranda walked into their room and found her standing on her head, wearing only underpants, with her entire body slathered in drying mint-colored mud.

"I am so going to be in therapy for the rest of my life to get this image out of my mind," Miranda told her.

"You're going to need to be in therapy that long anyway to deal with your messed-up family. I'm just giving you some TTD material to talk about." Kenzi knew more about Miranda's family history than anyone else at Chatsworth, almost all of it fabricated. The part about it being messed up, though, was true.

Kenzi also really liked acronyms and invented new ones all the time. As she dropped her bag and collapsed on her bed, Miranda asked, "TTD?"

"Totally Top Drawer." Then Kenzi said, "I can't believe you're not coming to prom. I always pictured us going together."

"I don't think Beth would like that too much. You know, being the third wheel."

Beth was Kenzi's girlfriend. "Don't even talk to me about that creature," she said now, giving a fake shudder. "The Beth and Kenzi Show is officially canceled."

"As of when?"

"What time is it?"

"Three thirty-five."

"Two hours and six minutes ago."

"Oh, so it'll be back on by prom."

"Of course."

Kenzi's ?cancellations? happened about once a week and never lasted more than four hours. She thought the drama of breakups and the thrill of reconciliation kept a relationship fresh. And in some weird way it seemed to work, because she and Beth were the happiest couple Miranda knew. More perfection.

"Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. I think you're making a grave mistake by missing prom."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll never forgive myself."

"I'm serious."

"Why? What's the big deal? It's a big dance with a dorky theme. You know I'm dancelexic and should not be allowed out on a dance floor near other people."

"A Sweet Salute to the Red, White, and Blue isn't dorky, it's patriotic. And you do okay with the Hustle."

"I think Libby Geer would disagree with you. If her mouth weren't still wired shut."

"Whatever, prom isn't just a big dance. It's a rite of passage, a moment when we move from who we were into the vastness of the adults we're going to become, throwing off the weight of our youthful insecurities to-"

" - get drunk and maybe lucky. Depending on your definition of luck."

"You'll be sorry if you don't come. Do you really want to grow up miserable and filled with regret?"

"Yes, please! Besides, I have to work."

"TGI as If. You're hiding behind your job again. You could so get one Saturday off. At least be honest about why you're not going."

Miranda gave Kenzi Innocent Eyes, expression number two from the kissing book. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't look at me like you're My Little Pony. I have four letters for you: W-I�CL-L."

"And I have four letters for you: N-O-P-E. Oh and four more: M-Y-O-"

But Kenzi just went on, ignoring her, something she did professionally. "It's true that Will might need to be vaccinated or screened for diseases after going with Ariel, but I can't believe you're giving up that easily."

Will Javelin filled up about 98 percent of Miranda's dreams. She'd been trying to cut it out since she learned he was going to the prom with Ariel-"I named my new breasts after my family's country houses, does your family have any country houses, Miranda? Oh right, I forgot, you're a foster child"-West, of the West-Sugar-Is-Best! fortune, but it was a challenge. To avoid bad karma Miranda said, "There's nothing wrong with Ariel."

"Yeah, nothing that couldn't be cured with an exorcism." Kenzi came out of her headstand, planting her feet on the floor. She reached for her towel. "At least promise you'll come to the after-party. At Sean's parents' place on the beach? You will, right? We're all going to hang around and watch the sun rise. It will give you a chance to talk to Will outside of school. And when are you going to tell me what happened between you two that other night, anyway? Why are you being so MLAS about it?"

Miranda knew that one. "I'm not being My Lips Are Sealed," she said, picking up a pile of papers on the bookshelf between her and Kenzi's beds and straightening them.

"You're doing that thing again. The thing where you pretend to be Holly Homemaker to avoid having a discussion."

"Maybe." Miranda was looking at the papers now, photocopies of newspaper articles from the past half year. "Purse snatcher caught by mysterious Good Samaritan, found bound to fence with yo-yo," the first and most recent said. Then, from a few months before, "Get a grip: Stickup foiled when robber loses control of gun. Witness says Pez dispenser 'came out of nowhere' to knock weapon from assailant's hand." Finally, from seven months earlier, "Convenience store heist getaway halted by falling lightpost; two arrested." She started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach.

At least it was only three out of, what, a dozen different incidents she told herself. But that didn't really make her feel better. No one was supposed to link...