Page 10 of Darkest Kiss

"Okay. I'm going to call 911," I tell the girl. Letting her hand go is the most eerie thing. It drops, but she still doesn't move. Just keeps staring at me like I'm the only thing she can watch.

Weird. I reach in my pocket to grab my cell phone, but find only my wallet and my keys. Damn. I turn and look back at the store.

In my hurry to leave, I left my phone in the store. I do some quick math. I'll have to leave the girls here to retrieve it.

But I can be in and out in less than a minute. I feel bad leaving them in this state. Because both of them are similarly incapacitated, it seems like it's drugs, maybe? But girl code means you don't leave a fellow girl like this.

But what else can I do?

As I'm trying to game it out, a sound comes from inside the house. I spring backward, clutching my chest. A clean-cut college guy steps out onto the porch, narrowing his eyes.

"Get away from them," he growls.

I raise my hands, taking a step back. "Are they... your friends? Something is wrong with them."

He spits onto the porch floor. "I said scram."

And I get it. If I were anyone else, I'd look at me—five feet even and wearing a baggy beige dress—and I would naturally take control. I'm timid, keep my voice down, never make a fuss.

And this guy thinks I'm going to rain on his parade. You know what? He's right.

I keep backing away. "I didn't see anything. I'm going to go."

"Mhm." He walks over to the girls, smacking one in the face as if to wake her up. He never takes his eyes off me, though.

Yeah, I'm so calling the cops on this dude.

I get far enough away to turn and run back around the building, my heart pounding. Yanking my keys from my pocket, I realize that I'm trembling violently when I can't even get the key in the lock on the first try.

Willing myself to pick up the pace, I get in, glancing cautiously up at the stairs. I try to tread as quietly as possible as I move to the cash register. My phone is behind the little desk, still plugged in. I bend down and start dialing 911 as I head back to the front.

That's when two heavy sets of footsteps thunder down the steps. There is only time to duck behind a row of books before the door bursts open and quickly slams again.

"We can talk down here. Shop's closed," Uncle Marc says. I detect a slight tremor in his voice, but I can't see who he's talking to.

It doesn't matter, because as soon as a voice answers, "You sure?" I break into a cold sweat. The voice belongs to Andreas Vitelli.

"Yeah, yeah. Noemi’s the only one on staff and I sent her home early."

"I hear you want to talk about the girls," Andreas says.

"Yeah. Yeah. The girls." My uncle hesitates. I glance down at the phone in my hand, then shove it in my pocket. "More specifically whatever you're giving them that's turning them into... like, dolls? They're awake and shit, but they can't move or talk. It's freaking people out."

Oh. Oh no. Those dead-eyed girls on the porch? Sounds like whatever drug my uncle is talking about.

Andreas growls. "People? Or just you?"

There's a beat before my uncle answers. "Girls, young girls, are turning up in the hospitals and in the morgues on the regular. My colleagues on the council are beside themselves."

"And?" He sounds bored.

I poke my head around the corner so I can see better. Marc paces. "So, if this is you guys, your drugs, I can't... If my name is somehow associated with this drug⁠—"

"We call it Gloss," Andreas says, laughing. "It's good shit as long as you don't dose a girl with too much."

"So it is your shit." Marc seems, for once, at a loss for words. It takes him half a minute before he’s talking again. "If it gets around that I have anything to do with this, I'm through. Not only will my mayoral plans vanish, but there's a high likelihood that I'll end up in jail, Andreas."

The older man lights up a cigar, letting my uncle choke on the silence. Finally, he tosses a match to the floor and says, "You called a meeting with me just to tell me this shit?"