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It’s a wild party—everyone is dressed up, and the party is kickstarted by a big game of boys-versus-girls hide-and-seek in the woods at the edge of campus.
I skip out the game of hide-and-seek. I have no intention of running through the muddy woods in my pristine angel costume, getting chased around by drunk, horny boys.
So I turn up late enough to miss the game and head straight for the bonfire, hoping to have a couple of drinks in the company of my friends and get seen long enough that I can then go back to my room to prepare for the upcoming winter exams.
When I arrive, the firelight illuminates a wild scene.
Everyone is in costumes, each more lavish and elaborate than the last. The hide-and-seek games must have taken on a wild edge because some people are splashed with mud up to the thighs, and others have scratches and stains on their arms and cheeks. Some girls have torn clothing, some boys have bruises. Whatever happened in the woods, it seems like it was far from innocent fun.
I spot Camille and Seraphina, whose glassy eyes tell me they’re already pretty drunk, swaying by the bonfire. Seraphina hands me a bottle of champagne, and when I drink, she tips the bottle, forcing me to keep drinking. I take a couple of extra gulps and then just pretend to drink until she finally lets me stop.
“Who won the game, then?” I ask.
Camille lets out a delighted cackle. “The girls did! Thanks to you!”
I frown. “How? I wasn’t even there.”
Seraphina and Camille look at each other and burst out laughing.
They are like reverse mirror images of each other: Camille with her raven-black curls, Seraphina with her Barbie-blonde tresses. Camille is dressed in a tiny sparkly dress and a satin prom-queen sash, fake blood smeared on her legs and chest, and Seraphina is dressed like a murderous cheerleader, her hair in long pigtails, a knife taped to her thigh.
“Exactly,” Seraphina says, stifling her giggles behind a pompom. “We told the boys you were playing, and since nobody found you, the girls won.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“So what?” Camille sneers. “Trust me, the boys cheated too. We said no phones but I’m pretty sure that sexy creep Luca had some sort of CIA-grade tracker to find us.”
That sounds highly unlikely, but Camille is still almost definitely right about the boys cheating.
Both girls make me swear to never betray the girls’ secret, and then Camille gets pulled away into the woods by a boy, so Seraphina and I dance together by the fireside. It’s a challenge trying to keep Seraphina from falling headfirst into the bonfire; she’s so drunk she can barely keep herself on her feet.
Eventually, she spots Evan Knight, the golden-haired star athlete, standing with some of his friends, and runs off after him, tossing me her bottle of champagne as she goes.
With a sigh of relief, I take the bottle and sit gingerly down on a dry part of a tree leg next to the fire. The bottle is almost empty, so I finish it. There’s a gentle buzz in my head and body, but I’m not even tipsy. I sit, contemplating the pointlessness of being in a dark, soggy wood, dressed like an angel and huddling as close to the fire as I can so I don’t get pneumonia.
When I decide I’ve been at the party long enough to have paid my dues, I abandon my empty bottle in the graveyard of empty bottles near the bonfire and make my way into the trees. I’ve not even made it three steps into the woods when an arm laces around my waist and I’m pulled back against a firm, warm chest.
I let out a cry and whirl around, pushing my captor away. He makes no effort to keep ahold of me, and I take a hasty step back to find myself face to face with Zachary.
I glare at him. “You scared me.”
He shakes his head and raises his palms in a gesture of contrition. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want you to run away.” His eyes rake the length of my body, lingering on the white wings at my back. “Angel,” he adds with a curl of his lips.
“I wasn’t running away,” I say.
“It looked like you were.” He steps closer and tilts his head, fixing me with a thoughtful gaze. “You always run away.”
“No, I don’t. You of all people should know this.”
“I mean from parties.” His eyebrows knit together in a slight glare. “You always run away from parties, angel.”
My eyes have adjusted to the light and I can see him more clearly now. He’s wearing an elaborate costume: black velvet doublet and breeches in the style of the seventeenth century, with an ornate white collar and buttons that gleam faintly as they catch the distant light of the bonfire. His eyes are framed with thick lines of kohl, giving his face a wild edge.
“Who are you dressed as?” I ask lightly, pointing at him.
He raises his right arm, showing me the gleaming hook at the end of it. There’s a slight grin on his face.
“Captain Hook? Thought you weren’t a fan of children’s literature.”
