Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (28)
“In the center is The Brew Pump. My band plays all week at ten. Say you’ll watch me play?”
After picking my jaw up off the ground, I nodded, wide-eyed. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Ezmerelda.” She stepped closer and tugged at my wrists. My pulse quickened and she flicked a quick glance from my chest to my gaze and grinned, the moonlight sparkling on her vampire teeth. She’d perfected her bit as a blood-hungry being. If I didn’t know it was all a performance, I’d have wondered if she’d sensed my heart speed up. Before I knew what was happening, she planted a kiss on my cheek. “Come find me if you want to have some fun, Fox.”
Another twirl and she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me blushing like a fool. Maybe she would be the one to dance with me at some point tonight . . .
From what Ezmerelda said, The Brew Pump sounded like where the bands performed. At least my worry about no one being here was unfounded. There were so many people, all fully in character. It was like stepping into a different world. The tents were draped, and old fabric hung between the trees. Lanterns and torches blazed along the dirt maze of pathways while pumpkins took up the remaining vacant patches of grass. It was a Halloween lover’s dream. My mask and smoky makeup shielding my eyes was a blessing, hiding me from my obvious gawking. Everyone looked so good. The costumes were like something from a movie set. The fur of a wolf man brushed my arm as he stomped past with a grunt. The feel of it was soft and gritty in that way a wild animal feels against the skin. I wondered if it was a real pelt repurposed. A man with crimson eyes exactly like Ezmerelda’s caught my gaze. His white hair shimmered in the torchlight, and he lifted a goblet of dark liquid in cheers when we met looks. I swallowed, and he grinned, taking a step forward. Something in me told me to run. Some sort of second sense, like when you see a bear in the woods. But that was crazy, wasn’t it? He was just a man in stage makeup. And I did want someone to dance with . . . and maybe more . . . tonight. “Beautiful fox, why are you all alone, darling?”
His voice was as smooth as snakeskin and soft as his long white hair looked, though his face was young and strong, with a classic handsome edge. The red of his eyes against the pale was . . . mesmerizing. “I’m new to Hallows,” I replied.
Another smile exposing fangs. They must all shop at the same store. He extended his long arm and gently swirled a lock of my hair around his leather-gloved fingers. The movement froze my breath in my chest and an unwelcomed warmth burned into my shoulders. He didn’t attempt to conceal his long glance down and back up my body. I felt naked and exposed under his heavy stare. “Come have a drink with me and my brothers and sisters—” Suddenly, the vampire swiftly dropped his grasp on my hair. He straightened, looking over my shoulder. “I did not know,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side.
“What?” I glanced behind me, following his gaze. My heart jumped into my chest. Something . . . No, that wasn’t possible. Someone stood a few yards away. Tall, muscular yet lean, he was painted in the blackest paint, wearing a leather jacket and a . . . skull face. His blue eyes shone with a lethal glare within the black around his eyes. My breath caught in my chest, and all of a sudden, I felt I’d be safer with the white vampire than with whoever this was behind me. But the vampire seemed just as alarmed as I was. And judging by the small, lithe steps he was taking backwards, he was unwilling to assist me. Because the skeleton man’s attention was fixed on me. And that seemed to convey something that I didn’t understand because the vampire gave a short bow and stepped back. “Have a nice evening, Fox.” He turned in the same sort of flourish as Ezmerelda had, his dark cape revealing a deep ruby underside as he glided back to his group. I was nervous to turn around, to see whoever this was again . . . but when I did, he was gone.
I felt I could explore for hours, days, maybe even years and never grow tired of what I saw. The smell of clove and earth and sugary rum. The sound of laughter and fires crackling. The feel of soft fabrics and furs brushing past me. Some glanced my way; others didn’t notice me at all. Yellow slitted eyes and crimson glares black as night assessed me as I wove through the pockets of festivalgoers. In the distance, I spied what looked to be an abandoned gas station—the roof of one, at least. Below was old gasoline pumps. Squinting, I made out forms walking across the top of the roof. “Check, check, check,” resounded through booming speakers.
“Hi, Fox!” someone said cheerily from behind a beaked mask. They flapped their long ebony feathers and I grinned. “Hello . . . … Raven?” I smiled at the dark-beaked person. “So, is that the stage?”
“Oh, yes. That’s The Brew Pump. It’s a haunted gas station. We have a few of those in Ash Grove.”
I chuckled. “Is there any place in Ash Grove without a ghost story?”
They cocked their head thoughtfully. “The old lady who’s house I live above, maybe, though her washing machine does start on its own sometimes.”
I laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. “I want to tell you my name and ask for yours, but I know that’s not allowed,” I lamented, gazing at the long beak and intricate feathers. Eyes large and soulful looked back at me.
“Well, I can tell you I’m a he/him or they/them, and I’m called Raven or Crow here. The Murder all go by the same names. I’ll call you Fox if you’d like, but I already know your name.”