Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (53)
“What is it?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.
“Y-you don’t have an aura.”
I cleared my throat, the cinnamon lingering on my tongue. “Is that bad?”
I had so many questions, but then the quiet witch interjected. “We are not alone here. I think someone else has laid claim to you for this night.”
Confusion furrowed my brow until I noted everyone in the circle looking over my shoulder. Air lodged itself in my throat as something beat heavily in my chest. When I turned, a white face and black painted eyes stared back at me. The skeleton masked man leaned casually against an adjacent tree. He was cleaning his nails with a knife in between intense glances at me. A knife. Lovely.
“He’s following me,” I whispered breathless. “Maybe I should stay here?” Though I couldn’t deny the cocktail of relief and excitement that washed over me knowing he’d found me. He was here.
The witch next to me giggled, meeting my eyes and taking my hand in hers. Recognition flashed through me. Yesenia? I couldn’t be totally sure, and I wouldn’t say her name and out her even if I were certain. I thought I noticed the glitter from the smoky eye I’d done for her earlier. Why was it so difficult to decipher just about anything at Hallows Fest? It was like moving under water or being on heavy narcotics.
“I promise you’re safe with Ghost, clever Fox.” She grinned and flipped my hand over, trailing a gentle finger down the center. Her smile faltered as she studied my clammy palm. Her gaze shot to mine and then immediately to the skeleton, or Ghost, as I guessed he was called here. No words were spoken, yet it seemed as if something were said between the two of them. The atmosphere of the circle grew quiet, eerie. She looked to the older witch who simply stared at me. Okay, this is getting a little weird. I gently tugged my hand away. “Your palm, it’s . . . ,” she trailed off, as if losing her breath, before sitting down on a log.
“Are you okay?” I asked with concern.
The older witch answered, “She will be fine. Run along, Fox.”
Too many feathered masks peered at me, seemingly knowing something I didn’t. I nodded and took a step back, tenderly setting my mug on a patch of brown grass next to a lantern. “Thank you for the drink. I’ll find you guys again another night.”
No one spoke a word as I turned to walk away, but I could feel their stares boring into my back. What just happened? But the sight before me was as unnerving as the one I was leaving. The tree was empty.
The skeleton man was gone.
Like a ghost.
After meandering around pockets of partygoers and accepting a meat kabob from a tent of people dressed as werewolves, a whistle pricked my ear. I ignored it, thinking it wasn’t my business, but when I heard it again, I turned to find a rough-looking man with an eye patch staring me down. He held a finger to his lips and waved for me to follow. After shooting a glance over each shoulder, looking for what, I wasn’t sure, I inched forward to follow him. I’d already met so many people, and they’d all been friendly, so I had no reason not to trust this stranger. What a strange feeling to be surrounded by folks cloaked as monsters and feel safer than I did on normal, day to day, human life. If only I could pitch a tent in October and live in this month forever.
My curiosity was piqued at realizing I hadn’t seen anyone dressed like him before, and I worked to piece together his costume in my mind as I followed him through a curve in the woods, away from the bustle of the crowd. The man walked with a wobble, and it wasn’t until we arrived at our destination that it clicked for me who they were.
A group of men and women and folks sat around a fire near a sprawling pond, or maybe it was a lake; it was too dark to tell. I didn’t know there was a lake in Ash Grove. Various jewels of emerald and rubies glinted from their knuckles and necks as dangly gold earrings jingled from their lobes. Another rugged, bearded man with beads and flowers weaved through his long beard strummed a guitar, and when I stepped closer, I noticed the parrot perched atop his shoulder. “Pirates?” I asked as the man with the wooden peg-leg motioned toward the fire. He didn’t speak, just smiled broadly and nodded. “Sit? Are you sure?” I asked.
“Get over here, new girl, let us have a look at you,” the bearded man demanded, his voice thick with mischief. “This is the newcomer that this godforsaken town is abuzz about, eh?”
“Hi, I’m Blythe,” I replied weakly, meeting the gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes, well, some patched, so maybe that was an uneven number in reality. “I was led here by . . . ,” I trailed off, looking for the man who brought me.
The bearded man spoke up gruffly. “That would be Scully. He had his tongue cut out by a rival ship. The bastards.” The others around the fire grumbled and grunted curses. “We showed ‘em what happens when they mess with The Pirates of Ashes, though, didn’t we?”
“Here, here!” someone yelled as flasks and goblets clanked.
Scully took his seat next to me and nudged a glass under my nose. “Oh, for me?”
He nodded enthusiastically, his one, unpatched eye twinkling amidst his fuzzy white hair and short beard. I gave the amber liquid a sniff. Whatever it was, it smelled like gasoline. “To hell with it, sure,” I replied, bringing the drink to my lips. Knocking my head back, I chugged the alcohol in six big gulps. When I finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and noticed the quiet that befell me. The circle had gone silent, all watching me. “What,” I whispered to Scully. “Did I do something wrong?”