Page 41 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

To her credit, she grimaces. “Sorry. Not enough filters. But I’m not wrong for asking the questions.”

No. She’s not wrong. And the truth is that I don’t know. Which is another reason I’m going to Whitehall despite the anonymous warning to stay away. Not to mention Chase’s very stern warning of the same.

“Good,” she says when I tell her so. “I mean, considering Chase is being all weird about you going, I’m a little freaked out. Gotta be honest. But at the same time, it’s a freaking Whitehall party, and that’s a big deal. I spent most of the day planning our attack for tonight, and I’d hate to see all my hard work go to waste. Our attack being our wardrobes, that is.”

I laugh as she stands, then holds out her hand for me. I take it, and we walk along, our hands linked as she rattles on about tonight. “But are you sure?” she asks. “I mean, it’s one thing to get an invite. It’s another to go despite warnings from your uncle and the guy who stalks you in your dreams.”

“I’m sure,” I say firmly. “I want the answers. Besides,” I add shooting her a grin, “you’ve made me curious about the party itself. I mean, why would a hyped up frat party be a place for me to find answers? Is it something about Whitehall itself? Or is it just that someone has info for me, and they figured a legendary party was the place to share?”

“No clue,” Tia says. “Guess we’ll find out. And, yeah, I know that maybe we’re stupid to go at all—but I’m really glad we are. We hang with the cool kids, and we search for answers. We’ll be like Nancy Drew.”

“More like Scooby-Doo,” I say. “Isn’t there always spooky stuff in those mysteries?”

She hip-butts me. “Good point.”

I can’t help smiling. Tia’s enthusiasm might be misplaced and manic, but it’s also infectious.

“About our outfits,” she begins, and I’m grateful for the change to a more mundane subject than, oh, whoever is trying to kill me. “You need something with an I’m approachable but also slightly mysterious vibe.”

“I think Prada has that as prêt-à-porter.”

“Ha, ha,” she says. “But it happens to be my specialty.” She pulls out her phone, continuing to walk as she scrolls through photos. “I was thinking something like this for you. See? You’ve got the jeans, and if it fits, you can borrow my burgundy shirt. It would show off your tits in a totally non-slutty way.”

“I don’t get to be slutty?”

She tilts her head, peering at me over her sunglasses. “This is a mission. You can be slutty when the party is only a party.”

“Fair enough,” I say, glad she can’t tell the way my stomach is twisting. I want to go—I want answers—but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, even if only to myself, that I’m both nervous and more than a little freaked out.

Backbone, Lyte. There’s a Hunter in your dreams, and you’ve got a target on your ass. So grab your answers while you can because tomorrow may be too late.

That’s one hell of a depressing pep talk, but hopefully, what I learn tonight will make it all worthwhile.

“—my boots?”

“What?”

She cocks her head. “Mind wandering?”

“Well, duh.”

She laughs. “That’s fair. I asked if you had your own, or if you need to borrow my ankle boots.”

“I’d have to cut off my toes to wear your shoes. But I’ve got some.”

I’d said it as a joke, but now I’m stuck with a mental image of bloody feet. It feels like a bad omen.

“What?” Tia says, shooting me a sideways look.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I just…” I trail off with a shrug.

“No.” She actually waggles a finger at me. “Stop second-guessing yourself. This is your chance to get answers.”

“Do you really think I’ll get some answers tonight? Or are you just dying to hit a Whitehall party?”