“The only problem is you’re about five inches taller than me.” She taps her finger against her chin as she evaluates the selection of clothes hanging up. “But I guess we’ll just have to make something work.”
I take a seat on the bed. “Do you come here a lot? You must if you have your own room.”
She pulls out a pink T-shirt and tosses it on the bed. “Yeah, this house actually used to belong to Laylen’s parents and we used to come up here to take a break from everything.” She throws a glittery scarf onto the bed. “Things change, though.” She sighs, staring down at a pair of jeans in her hands. “We haven’t been up here in a really long time.”
She starts delving through the clothes again. Shirts, jeans, skirts, and dresses begin to form a pile on the bed beside me. The room smells fruity and it matches the frilly theme of the bed. There are photos all over the walls, so I get up and amble around to look at them. I find photos fascinating because they capture a moment of emotion, whether it’s fake or real.
Some of the photos are of Laylen and Aislin and there are others just of Laylen. There’s one taped to the dresser mirror of Laylen standing out in the desert with his arm wrapped around Aislin. Alex is next to Laylen and there is an attractive blonde girl cuddled up against him. They’re smiling. Happy. It makes my heart hurt. Have I ever been happy? I search through my limited memories and come up hollow.
“That was taken a couple of years ago,” Aislin remarks as she wiggles a hanger out of the sleeves of a sweater.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I think I was about eighteen.” She balls up a shirt and tosses it back into the armoire. “So, like, five years ago.”
I do the math. “That would make you…”
“Twenty-three.” She interrupts as she chucks a skirt onto the bed. “And Alex is twenty-four.”
“No wonder he seems to hate school,” I note. “He’s old.”
Aislin laughs as she hooks the hanger back on the bar. “He’s not that old, Gemma. Only a few years older than you.”
I pick up a handmade ceramic heart that’s on the dresser and turn it over in my hand. Her room is so different from mine, decorated and full of items associated with memories. “How about Laylen? How old is he?”
“Well, he would’ve been twenty-five, but after he got… um…” She trails off as tears pool in her eyes. She’s hurting thinking about the past, something I understand. It’s right then that I realize Aislin isn’t a bad person. She’s nice and has a lot of emotion in her, just like me. “But, yeah, he’s stuck at twenty-two now.” She dabs the tears away with her fingertips, chucks a white lacy shirt onto the bed, then comes over and stares down at the pile of clothes with her hands on her hips. “Now, see if any of these will fit those long legs of yours.”
***
Nothing fits. All the pants are too short and all the shirts are baggy in the chest area. I flop back on the bed, wearing a pink shirt that shows off my stomach and jeans that barely reach the lower region of my ankles. “I think I might have to just wear my clothes.” I drape my arm over my head.
She picks up my shirt that has blood on it and discards it in a hamper in the corner. “No way. You did hear Alex when he said vampires could be there. He wasn’t kidding and they’re not like Laylen. They’ll bite you.”
There’s that word again. Bite. “Okay, then what do you suggest?” I peek out from underneath my arm. “Because I look ridiculous.”
She glances around her room and when her eyes land on a trunk at the foot of the bed, her face lights up and she claps her hands. “Oh my God. I have the perfect outfit.” She kneels down in front of it, flips the latches, and raises the lid. “I have no idea why I didn’t think of this before.” She sticks her head in and begins digging around. I sit up as she shuts the lid. She springs to her toes and extends her arm in my direction. “Here you go. One outfit that will fit not only those long limbs of yours, but it’ll also help you blend in.”
I take the piece of fabric from her hand and hold it up in front of me. It’s a strapless, black leather dress with a lace-up section on the back. “Where did you get this?”
She twists her golden brown hair up as she makes her way over to the porcelain vanity. “I had a friend who wore it for Halloween one year and she left it here.”
I run my fingernail down the red ribbon on the back and twist it around my finger. “It’s a Halloween costume? For what? A slut?”
Aislin opens a drawer and takes out a compact and a makeup brush. “She was supposed to be a sexy witch, but she did end up looking more like a slut.”
I unravel my finger from the ribbon. “And now you want me to wear it?”
She clicks open the compact. “Trust me; you’ll be thanking me when we get to Vegas. It’ll help you blend in.” She begins powdering her nose.
I glance down at the leather dress in my hand. “This will help me blend in?”
She nods. “You’ll see when we get there. In Vegas, anything and everything exists. Walk around looking normal and you’re the one that stands out.”
I get to my feet and head for the door, grabbing my boots on the way out. “Where’s the bathroom?”
She turns in the chair and points to the right. “Third door to your right.” I start to leave and she calls out, “Oh yeah, and Gemma, wear your hair down. You have such pretty hair.”
Sighing, I leave her to primp and go into the bathroom, fully aware that I’m going to look ridiculous. I might not know much about myself, but I know enough to comprehend that a tight, leather dress isn’t going to look good on me do to my lack of curves.
I carefully slip out of the shirt and jeans and then step into the dress. I shimmy it over my h*ps and then have to take off my bra because the dress is made to go all-la-natural. I lace up the back the best that I can, but it’s loose. Then, I slip on my boots before yanking the elastic out of my hair and letting it fall down to my shoulders. I’m not used to wearing such a limited amount of clothing; I feel na**d and ridiculous.
I splash some cold water on my face in a pathetic attempt to bring myself out of this dream because vampires, witches and secret groups who save the world aren’t supposed to exist.
But after I pat my face dry and open my eyes, the same navy blue walls of Laylen’s bathroom still surround me. I glance into the mirror hanging above the sink and sigh at the sight of my freakish violet eyes that collide against the glass; like my hair does with my pasty complexion. Add the gothic dress, as well as the boots, and I look like a character straight out of the Addam’s Family.
There’s a knock on the door. “Gemma, are you ready to go?” Aislin asks.
I blink one last time at my reflection, then turn away from it, throw open the door and step out. Alex and Laylen are with Aislin, standing next to a table decorated with a vase of wilting flowers. Aislin has changed into a simple grey dress with matching flats and her hair is pinned up. Laylen has the same outfit on; black jeans, a black tee and black boots; it’s a hell of a lot of black. Alex has changed into dark jeans, a long-sleeved, fitted, black shirt and there are leather bands on his wrists.
I give an animated swing of my arm. “All right, throw in a hand that walks around and a creepy Victorian house, and I’m good to go.”
All three of them look at me at the same time and then they go quiet as they stare at me.
Great, I look sillier than I originally thought. “It’s a joke. About the Addam’s Family,” I say, tugging at the hem of the dress. “I should change, right?”
Smiling, Aislin shakes her head, while Laylen coughs into his hand. “No, you look great.” She walks up to me as she digs through her purse. “You just need this.” She draws her hand from her purse and moves a black pencil toward my face. I wince as she traces a line around each eye and then steps back, putting the lid back on the eyeliner.
“She kind of looks like one,” she says with a tilt of her head as she studies me. “You know that?”
Alex steps up beside her with his eyes fixed on me. There’s a raw animalistic look in them that makes the blood rush to my cheeks. “She does, which is good. Maybe they’ll leave her alone.”
I rearrange the top of my dress higher because it’s slipping down. “Look like what?”
“A Black Angel.” Aislin tosses the eyeliner back in her purse and zips it up. “They’re really pretty, but really dangerous.”
“Is that like a Fallen Angel?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” she says. “They’re hypnotic and powerful. They have this way about them that draws people to them and if you get too close to one, they can possess your mind.”
I gape at her. “Possess your mind and make you do what?”
Alex steps forward. “Whatever they want, which is why we have to be careful and stay away from them.”
“Are there a lot where we’re going?”
Alex wavers. “It all depends on the Wicca store. If there’s black magic there, then yes, a Black Angel might be there or maybe even something worse. And it’s good you’re dressed up like that.” His eyes scroll up my body. “Maybe everyone will try not to get too close to you. And we can keep your identity hidden.”
“From the Death Walkers?” I ask. “Or from Demetrius?”
“From everyone.” He moves nearer and blows out a breath. “No one can know who you are, Gemma. If the wrong person finds out who you are—what you are—then word will get back to Demetrius. Or they might try to use the power for themselves.” He pauses. “You’re very valuable.”
Valuable to whom? I let out an uneasy breath and tug at the top of my dress again, wondering what I’m getting into. “I can’t get the ribbon to fasten very tightly. I’m worried it’s going to fall down.”