"It's not a waste. It's fun."
"So fun you decided to come here instead?"
Abby didn't have a good response to that one. She averted her gaze. Poor Nate.
"You made the right decision," Sindy said. "Come on." She grabbed Abby's hand and dragged her into the house.
Abby thought she might scream. She felt certain that the inside of Coffin Manor would be overrun by scaly Crows just waiting for nubile flesh to devour. With their wormlike heads and slick arms, they had the look of something you might find hiding beneath a rock. They weren't nocturnal, but it was so dark in here... Surely they would be bolder in the strange half-light of the party than they were in the daylight at school or downtown.
Sindy pulled Abby through the front hall and up a twin staircase to the second floor. They went past rooms full of strangers and school acquaintances, and then into a vaulted room that was being used as a dance floor. A DJ at the far end of the room had set up a mix table surrounded by massive stacks of speakers. Abby wondered if Bryce knew the DJ or if he'd hired him. Maybe both.
"This is the ballroom," Sindy said with an amazement usually reserved for religious relics.
Abby had seen ballrooms before. Harwich Hall had one of its own. Right now, every important woman in town was there drinking expensive champagne and talking about whatever it was adults discussed at parties. Bryce's ballroom, however, dwarfed the one in Abby's house. The windows in the back were at least two stories tall. "Look!" Sindy said, dragging her over to them. There were doors at the bottom of each one that led out onto a balcony. From there, you could see the edge of the stables, a half-finished fountain, most of a swimming pool, and the rolling hills and meadows beyond the estate. The view, the throbbing music, and the confusing lights all made Abby feel even more uneasy.
She kept looking for Crows. Instead, she saw regular teenagers. They clustered at the edge of the ballroom in quiet twos and threes, holding their drinks. Bryce was in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by several girls, looking like some kind of fairytale prince. His hair was impossibly black and the color of his eyes seemed to change in time with the flickering lights.
Abby wanted to break away from Sindy, but she reluctantly followed her friend into a neighboring room. On a normal day, it might have been a sitting room, someplace for people to rest during a night of dancing. Tonight, it had been co-opted for less refined purposes. There was a table at the center of the room covered in bottles of liquor, empties, and open liters of soda that were slowly going flat. There were bottle caps scattered everywhere around the table. The floor was sticky. People had abandoned half-empty drinks next to stacks of clean, red plastic cups. Abby couldn't imagine throwing a party like this in her own house. Her family didn't even buy disposable cups; she'd have to serve people using the good porcelain. Constance would probably have a heart attack.
Sindy let go of her and wobbled over to the drinks. She stared at the table and muttered, "Where did you go..." A moment later, she found Sprite, vodka, and grenadine, and mixed up a pair of syrupy drinks. She took a swig of one and handed the other to Abby.
Unbidden, Abby thought, The baby.
"Let's not do this again," Abby said, acutely aware of the other people in the room. The music was loud, but their conversation could and would be heard.
"Come on! It's just you and me. Don't make me drink alone. Besides, this'll help you finally make your move."
"Make my move?" Abby hissed.
"On Bryce!" Sindy tried a stage whisper. It was possible she thought she was being quiet. Abby expected the music to cut out right then just so the entire house would hear.
"Sindy!"
"What?" Sindy asked. She threw her arms out, still holding both drinks. They sloshed a little. "That's what you're gonna do, right? Wait." She blinked. "What are you gonna do? Because I don't know if you know that I know this. But you, do not, have any moves. Like any." She thrust one of the cups at Abby again. "Drink."
Abby felt like her head was about to overheat. In her black makeup and her black dress, she probably looked like a tomato someone stuffed in a dress sock. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she turned and fled, going from room to room until she found one no one was in.
She finally stopped in a room whose purpose was not immediately apparent. Big houses always had rooms with no obvious purpose, but this room seemed to go out of its way to be obscure. There were shelves, but they were entirely empty. The floor had a single rug, off-center, and only one chair, which was nowhere near the rug. The curtains were drawn. Abby opened them and found they looked out at a strange statue of a thoughtful-looking man. It looked like a cross between a memorial and an idol.
"Abby?" Sindy asked, her voice echoing off the walls. Her footfalls were irregular. "Abby, there you are. What's wrong?"
Abby turned. "What's wrong? You just shouted to an entire party that not only do I like Bryce, but that I also have no moves!"
"No, I didn't. I was keeping my voice down."
"Well, I'll have you know I've got moves, Sindy."
"Of course you do, sweetie. I'm sure they're really amazing." Sindy's words were barely slurred. Abby wasn't sure how drunk her friend was and how much she was playing it up.
"You could try harder to patronize me and be at least a little sorry."
Sindy grinned. "Oh, who cares? Liking Bryce makes you, what, like every other girl?" She paused and held up a single finger and then pointed at herself while winking at Abby. "Minus one."
Abby couldn't help but smile a little. "Still, though."
"The only people hanging out in that room are the ones who can't stand to be more than ten feet away from alcohol. There's no way they're going to remember anything."
Abby sighed. "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right! And besides, who cares if people know that Bryce's girlfriend likes him. Girlfriends are supposed to like their boyfriends!"
"Girlfriend?"
"Yeah!" Sindy lurched forward. Abby watched her walk, growing convinced that the wobbling had more to do with her precarious shoes than it did alcohol. Sindy's wedges were a bit too advanced for her, it seemed. She felt secretly pleased that her friend wasn't completely grown up yet. She was also glad she'd stuck with her modest heels.
Sindy reached Abby and moved in close. Her breath came in candy-scented waves as she said, "You're gonna go over there. He's gonna ask you to dance. Ooh! Maybe you can ask him to dance."
"Sindy, I can't. He thinks I have sex."
"He doesn't care about that. If that's all he wanted, he could take his pick of girls."
"It looked like he already did."
"Nah. It's been like that since you know... forever. But he doesn't pay any attention to any of them for more than a couple minutes at a time. He just keeps looking at the door. It's like he's waiting for someone to show up."
"I don't know."
"I know you don't know. Which is why you need a sip of this," Sindy said. She held out the cup. Abby's stomach turned.
"No. No, I can't."
"It tastes just like candy."
"Yeah, I know. I can smell it from here."
Sindy sniffed hers. "You know, it smells like cherry Skittles." She held it back out.
"Come on, Sindy."
"You come on. Trust me. I won't let you get drunk. I want you to unclench that legendary Thorndike sphincter for like, ten minutes! You deserve to have fun and be happy. So, a little of this and all those worries are going to fall away and you're going to realize that the only thing stopping you is you."
It actually sounded pretty good. But after what she said at the carnival, and in the car with Bryce... And there was the baby to think about... And... She shook her head. "No."
Sindy didn't pay attention. "This is barely a drink. It's mostly a Shirley Temple. Like we used to get at the Hat and Musket," she said. It was the one restaurant in town which catered to children that Constance Thorndike would be seen in.
Abby reached fo
r the cup, and then drew her hand back. "No, I can't."
"Abs, what is it? The carnival?"
"Yeah," Abby said, but there wasn't much conviction behind it.
Sindy watched her. "What else is... You're worried about something else."
"No, I'm not."
"Don't lie to me. You totally are."
Abby could see the wheels in Sindy's head turning. She had to cut her off, now.
"I'm watching my-"
The wheels clicked into place. "You're pregnant," Sindy said. Her eyes widened with realization.
"Sindy..." Abby began.
"You're actually pregnant?" Sindy practically shouted. "Are you freaking kidding me?"
"No," Abby said, watching her feet.
"Oh my god. You lied to me. Right to my face."
"I couldn't face it. I mean... This is a nightmare, Sindy. You can't tell anyone, okay?"
"Who else did you tell?"
A wave of nausea and anxiety crashed over Abby. This was going to get bad very quickly. "Why does that matter?"
"Don't play with me right now, Abby. First you lie, then you beg me to keep your damn secret. You tell me who else knows."
Abby was defeated. Her voice was barely above a whisper; she could hardly see Sindy through the hair covering her face. "Nate."
"Of course you did," Sindy spat. That felt familiar; they'd had this fight before. Sindy had always considered Abby her best friend, but the feeling wasn't mutual. Nate was Abby's best friend. The conversation didn't go where Abby expected it to, though. "You trusted him with that, but I'll bet you didn't tell him you were going to Bryce's party tonight, did you?"
Abby shrugged.
"Right. Is there anyone you aren't lying to? Or are we just the super-lucky ones?"
Before Abby could think of anything to say, Sindy stormed out of the room. Abby collapsed into the chair, wondering what she was going to do. At least Sindy had taken both cups with her.
22
Harwich Hall
Nate's bike had a basket bolted behind the seat. It was a stainless steel cage about the size of two shoeboxes stacked on top of one another, and he had installed it himself. Most baskets were intended for the handlebars, but Nate would never let such prime real-estate go to waste.
The handlebars belonged to Abby and always would.
People had made fun of the basket on more than one occasion. "If you know a better way to transport things on a bike, I'd like to hear it," he'd say to whoever was stupid enough to poke fun at him, if he bothered to say anything at all. Usually he could solve those problems without words.
Right now, the basket was full of the Fluffernutters and a thermos of hot tea. Nate rode toward the north side of town, where all the big houses were, the ones with names. In his neighborhood-a little borough that had been optimistically named Maple Park-nearly every house had been decorated for Halloween. There were haunted houses, slaughterhouses, charnel houses, and everything in between. The streets teemed with children dressed as monsters and superheroes and at least one literary character.
He left the narrow sidewalks to the kids. It was better to ride on the pavement, anyway; the roots of the trees planted all along the roads had broken and splintered most of sidewalks, like whales caught surfacing in a concrete ocean. He pedaled along, the light pinned to the front of his handlebars wobbling and weaving.
The crowds petered out when he hit the center of town. Every business had put out its Halloween decorations. It looked like a pumpkin patch had sprouted in every window, and witches and goblins were the night watchmen. By the edge of Main, going toward the winding roads that snaked into the north side heights, the streets were entirely deserted. Nate was not a superstitious person, but the sudden absence of people was spooky.
As he passed by Arkham Academy, he threw a jaunty wave at the school. He had big plans for his future, and he was looking forward to achieving all of them. It gave him no end of joy to imagine college admissions counselors lining up to beg him to attend their schools-and they would. He was going to make sure of that. The first step was to ace all of his courses.
Harwich Hall came into view as Nate crested the hill. A few cars were parked by the side of the road. All of them were expensive; all of them were in excellent shape. He pulled to a stop by the side gate, got off his bike, and took the parcels from the basket. The gate was open. The roundabout driveway was full of cars, parked end-to-end with bare inches between them.
Abby's home hosted an annual party for all the blue-blood, blue-hairs, as his mom called them. It was against the rules for anyone who wasn't a member of the Daughters of Arkham to even be present. He felt odd approaching the house, though he done it hundreds, even thousands, of times before as a guest and an employee.
Golden light spilled through the curtains. The front door was closed. Nate had not expected thumping music or drunken fighting, but it was very quiet. They probably had a string quartet inside, or they were standing around laughing through clenched teeth and eating some strange rich-person food he'd never tasted.
Nate intended to knock, but as soon as he set foot on the stone porch, his heart withered and his intentions just flitted away from him. As sure as if someone had physically grabbed his right hand, there was no way he could knock on that door.
He had known Constance and Hester Thorndike his entire life, but Abby's grandmother was legitimately frightening. She was a severe woman. To Nate, she had always looked like a Disney villain that had been brought to life. Her wrinkles had transformed her already stern face into a permanent, flawless mask of disdain. Her thin lips and pinched expression seemed entirely incapable of joy. Her eyes, however, had not dimmed in the slightest. If anything, they'd grown more piercing with age. And her hair... Hester dyed her hair a bright red to cover her grey, and there was something off about the hue. It wasn't that perfect, coppery, sunrise-over-the-Atlantic hue that Abby and her mother shared. It was more like blood. If she answered the door, he didn't know what he'd do or say. And if it was Abby's mom...
Well, Constance had always been kind to him. Mostly. When he visited Harwich Hall as Abby's guest, Constance was genuinely nice, even if her brand of 'genuine' always felt a little phony. When he was there as an employee, she was all business. She seemed to have no problem switching between 'hostess' and 'mistress of the house', but Nate knew her, and he trusted her. He was as comfortable around her as he could be. And yet, he couldn't do it.
Why was this so suddenly difficult? It wasn't likely that either Hester or Constance would answer the door. They had a butler for that. Bertram knew him. He'd probably send him right up to Abby's room and it wouldn't disrupt the party in the slightest.
Nate still did not knock.
It wasn't quite fear that stopped him, though the ghoulish atmosphere of Halloween made everything a little eerier. He thought of the party going on inside. Was it that? He'd seen plenty of movies with rich people up to weird things, though they had to be exaggerated. He imagined Constance and Hester in long robes and strange masks, then he laughed a little. No, that wasn't it.
He just couldn't knock. Every time he tried, he felt a fist clenching in his guts, twisting and wringing.
He stepped off the porch and instantly felt better. The nape of his neck was still prickling, and his body was covered by a slick of sweat, but it was not as immediate. He moved around the side of the house. There were rose bushes planted alongside the house. He pruned the bushes himself, so he knew which windows provided any kind of view. As he pushed past the thorns, he noted they were due for another trim pretty soon.
He grabbed the edge of the windowsill and pulled himself up like a cat in order to peer into the room, ready to drop back down if he saw one of the society women looking out the window. He expected that this room, one of the many so-called living rooms in the house, would be full of women in their best gowns, drinking champagne and chatting.
It was empty. He frowned. That didn't seem right at all. He hoisted himself up a littl
e more, as though maybe everyone was short and he just wasn't looking close enough. All the lights were on, but no one was in there.
Nate dropped down into the flowerbed. It was just one room. It didn't necessarily mean anything on its own. It was strange that all the lights were on, though. He looked around once more. There wasn't even any food laid out in there.
He went around the house to the next window. This one looked into the dining room, strictly reserved for guests of certain status. Whenever he'd eaten at Harwich Hall, it had been in Abby's room, on the lawn, or in the kitchen. There would definitely be food in the dining room, probably on little silver trays waiting for people to serve themselves.
Nate pulled himself up to look inside again, just as cautious as the first time.
Empty.
Another fully lit, empty room. He could see into the hall through the open doors across the room. No one passed by. He listened. No voices, no string quartet, no sounds of high-stakes card games, no masked orgies.
Harwich Hall was a big place. They might be somewhere else in the house. Nate continued his trip around, hopping up into windows whenever he could. At each one, he discovered the same thing: absolutely nothing. The lights were on, but the house was as quiet as a mortuary slab. There were too many cars in the driveway and on the street; he should have seen someone. Not necessarily someone important or someone he knew, but there should have been someone, anyone, even just someone wandering the hallways looking for the bathroom. The place was as empty as empty could be.
Nate stared at the house, wondering what to do next. It was possible Abby was home, but it didn't seem like it. Where was she?
Suppressing his dread, he went inside.
23
Eleazar Grant
sindy couldn't believe it. Abby had lied. And sure, Sindy had lied to her, too, on occasion, but never about anything serious and at least she had the decency to feel guilty about it! Usually, she'd talk up her family, trying to make the Endicotts sound as impressive as the Thorndikes. That was never going to happen, but she needed to try to feel equal to her friend. If Abby knew she looked up to her, she would have probably laughed.
Mother of Crows: Daughters of Arkham - Book 2 Page 11
