Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(100)

“That’s okay. I wanted an excuse to carry you.” He promptly picked me up, cradling me in his arms as he walked to the girls’ dorm.

I couldn’t help but smile when we went inside. The sights—the smells—everything brought memories rushing back. Kids were clustered around different TVs, either watching movies or playing video games. They paused when we came in. Each of them stood, put their hands over their hearts, and bowed to me.

I put my hand over my heart, too, tilted my head down, and in a voice thick with emotion said, “May you blessed be.”

“Blessed be, High Priestess,” they echoed.

Stark took my hand and led me upstairs, directly to a door on the second floor painted a familiar, pretty, light purple. He knocked twice.

Stevie Rae opened the door. She was in her flannel cowboy pj’s that had lassos and horses all over them. A giggle escaped from somewhere within me.

“I can’t believe you still have those.”

“Are you kiddin’, Z? These pj’s are total classics. I’d as soon throw them away as my Roper jeans.”

“Don’t we all wish?” Aphrodite quipped from somewhere behind her.

Stevie Rae stepped to the side and I realized that not only was our old dorm room decorated almost exactly as it had been when Stevie Rae and I were fledglings together, but my friends and Grandma Redbird were all in their pj’s and all crowded on the twin beds and the floor. Nala was curled up, donut style, on the end of my bed, staring with slitted green eyes at Maleficent who was grooming herself on Stevie Rae’s bed. The opening frame of Finding Nemo was already on the screen, and my friends were passing around popcorn and more of Grandma’s endless lavender chocolate chip cookies. The little sink had been filled with ice and lots of brown pop.

“Surprise!” they yelled.

I burst into blubbering tears.

“Ah, Z, don’t. You’ll make us all start again.” Stevie Rae put her arm around me and steered me into the room. “Come open your present. It’ll make you feel better, promise.”

“Present?” I sniffled.

“Yes, and we promise it’s not Christmas themed,” Erik said. He and Shaunee were sharing a beanbag chair. He sent me a wink and I remembered the snowman necklace he’d given me last year and my tears started to dry.

Aphrodite and Darius scooted over to make room for me on the end of what used to be my very tiny-looking twin bed and Stark handed me a box wrapped in silver foil tied with a gold bow.

It was a very little box.

I shook it. “Is this from you?” I asked Stark.

“It’s from all of us,” he said as my friends nodded like bobblehead dolls.

“We all went in on it, Z,” Stevie Rae said, plopping down behind me on the bed so she could peer over my shoulder. “Hurry and open it. We’ve been keeping it secret for ages.”

“Okay, here goes.” I tore off the wrapping paper and made a small, happy sound as I saw the Moody’s Fine Jewelry sticker, which seemed a little creepily déjà vu-ish after Erik’s comment. I readied myself to pretend to gush over whatever was inside, and opened the little velvet box.

My mouth flopped open—unattractively, I’m sure—as the gaslights in the room caught the diamonds and made them sparkle with white fire. The pendant was platinum, shaped in a perfect crescent moon made of diamonds.

I gaped at my friends, who were all grinning at me.

“Look at the back!” Stevie Rae said.

I turned it over to see an engraving on the back:

Happy 18th B-day, Z

We ? you!

“We had it made special for you,” Stevie Rae said.

“It’s why you only got one thing, because it was fucking expensive,” Aphrodite said. She was holding a full glass of champagne and leaning against Darius. Except for her unusual Mark, she looked 100 percent like herself again.

“Do you like it?” Stark asked.

I had to clear my throat and swallow several times before I could answer him. “No. I love it! It’s the most beautiful, most perfect birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”

“Yea!” Everyone cheered and then they were all crowding me while Stark fastened my incredible, fabulous, beautiful necklace—as we oohed and ahhed about it.

In the middle of that, Aphrodite’s ringtone blared Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.”

She frowned at the phone, handed her glass of champagne to Darius, and then answered it.

“Yes, this is Aphrodite LaFont.” She paused, listening, and I watched her face drain of color. “How did it happen?” She paused again. “I see. No. That’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Thank you for letting me know.” She tapped the end button and dropped her phone back into her designer bag. While her hand was in her bag, I watched her search around, and then she brought up a familiar medicine bottle filled to the brim with Xanax. She held out her hand for her glass of champagne, which Darius returned to her after a hesitation and a resigned sigh.

Then Aphrodite did the last thing I expected her to do. She walked over to our sink and poured out her glass of champagne over the ice. She turned and opened the door that led to our modest bathroom. I craned my head around with everyone else as we all watched her open her bottle of Xanax and pour it down the toilet, saying, “I am not her. I will never be her. I let that go.” She flushed the toilet, tossed the empty pill bottle in the trash can, and then came back to her seat.