* * *
Finding a reluctant Kenna proves to be easier said than done. If she’s home, she’s not answering. I check her art studio out back, but she isn’t there either. I check her parent’s house, Dean and Sutton’s place, and The Pub (not that I really expected her to be there.) Once I’ve exhausted every spot I can think of, I end up driving around town, aimlessly searching for her. I even call up Tango but Dominick said she hasn’t been back since last night.
By ten o’clock, I call off the search and run home to put on my costume for the party, praying I’ll be able to find Kenna there. She hasn’t missed a single Wychwood Ball since she turned 21 and I can only hope she’s not ending her streak because of me.
I park my truck in a municipal lot downtown and walk down toward The Wychwood House. A thick layer of fog has settled over the town, swirling around the ornate Jack ‘o Lantern arches in an eerie display. The carved faces glow orange, leering down at me as if they know all my secrets.
Purple lights emerge out of the mist as I get closer to the museum. They seem to drip from the trees like the limbs are oozing. Tarnished lanterns line the walkway up to the front porch, thick candles flickering behind aged glass. Sutton and Dean are standing at the top of the stairs, the front doors of the mansion thrown open wide behind them. She’s in a high-necked old-fashioned gown. Dean, who has an arm wrapped around her waist, is wearing a three-piece suit, aged to match her dress. Both of them have vampire fangs, dark circles under their eyes, and fake blood spattered over their costumes and faces.
“Very nice,” I say, lifting my mask.
Dean gives me a wide grin before turning an adoring look at Sutton. “All her, man.”
Sutton gives me an elaborate curtsy. “Thank you. High praise indeed, Wolf Man. The paws are a nice touch.” I peer down at my gloves, padded and hairy, with long black claws.
Sutton nudges Dean discreetly, and a second later he clears his throat. “I’m uh—I’m sorry about your face.”
“Sorry about your hand.” I chuckle. “But I don’t blame you. I would have hit me too.”
“We’re good?” Dean gives me an apologetic smile and holds out his left fist.
I bump it and nod. “Yeah, we’re all good, man.” I let out a relieved breath and lower my voice. “Is she here?”
Sutton arches an eyebrow at me. And I don’t blame her. After that display at the festival, I’m sure half the town is talking. “Are you going to make a scene?”
I shake my head and hold up two fingers in a salute. “Best behavior, I promise.”
Sutton rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t promise that until you’ve seen her costume…” Dean groans, but she elbows him in the ribs and he shuts up. “Last I saw Kenna, she was in the parlor.”
“Thanks.” I pull my mask back down and give Sutton’s elbow a squeeze as I head inside. I don’t know what she said to Dean, but I’m grateful he’s coming around. It really is more than I could have hoped for. I pass through the front hall, eyes sweeping the sea of faces as I try to locate Kenna.
Black silk swags over the walls of the halls and parlor. Floating candelabras, each unique and flickering with electric taper candles, provide the only light inside. Cocktail tables line the walls, covered in black lace over something gold and shimmery. Hundreds of white pumpkins in every shape and size and are arranged in elaborate displays and stacked into centerpieces.
It’s staggering. I’ve always known Kenna was talented, but I can’t believe she pulled this out in just a couple of weeks. I’ve never seen anything like it.
The room is packed with costumed guests. Some huddle in packs, talking animatedly with cocktails in hand. Others dance in pairs, fog swirling around their feet. I move through the crowd, but can’t find Kenna. I move from room to room, desperation climbing with each failure. Circling back to the front hall, I finally spot Kenna. She’s wearing a long black dress and ducks under the velvet rope meant to block off the upstairs rooms.
I weave past party goers as quickly as I can, but Kenna is out of sight by the time I reach the hall. Yanking my mask off so I can see better, I crouch under the rope and run up the wide, curved staircase, taking two steps at a time. I hit the landing just in time to glimpse her at the far end of the hallway, floating like an apparition. I rip the wolf-man gloves off of my hands, dropping them as I jog after her. Carefully, I open the door she passed through and breathe a sigh of relief.
Kenna stands on the balcony that overlooks the conservatory. I can see her hands gripping the metal railing, knuckles white as she takes deep, controlled breaths.
“Kenna.” My voice is rough as she turns her head, peering at me over her shoulder. She’s wearing fluffy black cat ears and has delicate whiskers painted on her cheeks.
“What happened to your face?” she retorts, eyes as hard as her voice.
I rub the bruise. “Oh, I earned this.”
Kenna frowns, turning to face me, and reaches up, taking off the cat ears. “Here. You’ve always had a thing for kittens, right?” Her voice is tight; anger and sadness thinly veiled as she holds the ears out to me. I don’t take them. I can’t move, can’t think, can’t take my eyes off of her. The black dress, so conservative in the back, cuts in a deep ‘V’ in the front, exposing her navel. A mirrored slit cuts up the skirt, exposing long stretches of gorgeous leg.
Spidery lace edges the neckline and the whole bodice is held together with black straps that make me think of bondage. One joins the two sides together, just under her breasts. A vertical strap runs from the waist of the dress to a collar around her throat. The dress is something else, but on Kenna, it’s a work of art.
She makes a growling sound in the back of her throat and tosses the ears at me. I catch them and step closer, but she scrubs at the whiskers on her cheeks with the back of her hand and skirts around me.
“Kenna—” I say again, but she ignores me, stomping down the narrow spiral staircase that leads to the ground floor of the conservatory. I follow her down, winding through the tropical plants and dark furniture, thankful the place is deserted. We can’t make a scene if no one is here to witness it. She heads for the door leading outside, but I beat her there and place a heavy palm on it before she can open it.
“Just talk to me, Kenna.”
She wheels around, eyes flashing like an angry tiger as I cage her in with my arms.