Frankie put her arm on Billy’s shoulder and squeezed her appreciation. Who knew he was so muscular? She was really starting to adore this guy. Her parents were supposed to think of ways to save her. It was their job, not Billy’s. And yet he kept doing it again and again.
“I could probably whip up a Frankie face in about two hours. I still have the mold,” Viktor said.
“Ew, creepy!” Frankie shuddered.
“And you can borrow my bad-hair-day wig,” Viveka offered.
“Am I that easy to replace?” Frankie asked, slightly offended.
“Not even close.” Viktor walked around to the other side of the table and hugged his daughter. He smelled like coffee and relief. “That’s why we’re going to do this.”
“So, it’s okay?” Billy asked.
“As long as you keep us informed every step of the way,” Viktor relented. “If you’re going to ‘fight,’ you need to think things through and be patient because, I have to warn you, it’s going to be a very long and exhausting battle.”
“Voltage!” Frankie said, pulling them all in for a hug. “I won’t let you down this time. I promise.” Suddenly, she broke away and hurried toward the window.
“Where are you going?” her father asked.
“To get my phone. I have to text Melody and tell her the plan. She needs to take FrankiBilly to Bekka and—”
“Where did you get a phone?” Viveka asked.
Frankie stopped and turned to the sheet burrito with a megawatt smile. “It just appeared out of thin air.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, her parents smiled back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FRENEMY TERRITORY
Lying on the sandy island in her bedroom—one knee up, one arm dangling loosely over the Nile’s gentle current—Cleo was enjoying a near-perfect Sunday. Warmed by the rays of the sun and fanned by the lazy sway of bulrushes, she let out a long sigh. Aside from the occasional splaying of her hand to let the cool red river ease through her fingers, it was the most she had moved in hours.
Everyone in the palace was napping off the headache caused by Deuce’s stoning. But Cleo couldn’t seem to banish hers. The cause? Having a normie at last night’s RAD meeting. Especially a highly attractive one who had made out with Deuce and was besties with Bekka—the girl who just so happened to be the initiator of the current monster hunt. A monster hunt that had filled her community with fear, slapped a curfew on her date night, and moved her over-protective dad to cut cell communications to and from the palace.
Seriously, had Melodork put some kind of normie spell on everyone? She clearly had a mysterious hold on Jackson and Frankie. How else could she have gotten into the RADs’ well-preserved and heavily guarded circle? Cleo intended to find out… later. Right now she had bigger falafel to fry.
Peeling back the side of her bronze triangle bikini top, she checked her tan line. The two shades of brown—dark and darker— told her she was ready. After days of melatonin-sucking rain, her exotic skin had reclaimed its preferred tone—latte, light on the milk. It was time. She had to model Aunt Nefertiti’s jewelry collection for her friends within the hour. Any later and her color would start to fade.
After a speedy but thorough application of amber body oil, Cleo slipped on a sand-colored tube dress, stepped into strappy leather platforms, and rolled Hissette up her arm. Careful not to clomp too loudly, she sprinted on tiptoe through the palace and hurried out into the sun-filled afternoon.
Striding down the block with her iPhone lifted to the gods, Cleo summoned the return of her service bars. When she was halfway down the street, near Jackson’s white cottage, a symphony of bwoops alerted her that she was back in the game. She had seven text messages.
Thank Geb!
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 9:03 AM
DEUCE: DID UR DAD LOOSEN UP YET? HOW’S HIS HEAD?
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 9:37 AM
CLAWDEEN: DID U GET HOME OKAY? ME & BROS MADE IT JUST BEFORE DAD WOKE UP TO PROWL. PHEW. SO MUCH TO DISCUSS. MELODORK, FRANKIE’S SURRENDER, HISSETTE ALMOST EATING RATS. LMAO! WANNA HANG? SOMEWHERE SHADY. I NEED A WAX. BTW DIDN’T GET UR TEXT LAST NIGHT UNTIL LATER. WHAT’S WITH THE JEWELS? SHOW ME. OH, AND LOVE THE SIGN-OFF. #######
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 10:11 AM
LALA: JUST SAW UR TEXT FROM LAST NIGHT. DYING TO SEE THE GOODS. WHAT R U DOING NOW? UNCLE VLAD SAID I LOOK PALE. BEGGING ME TO EAT STEAK. SAID THE V IN VAMPIRE DOESN’T STAND FOR VEGETABLES, THEN CRACKED UP AT HIS OWN DUMB JOKE. GOING TO HEALTH IS WEALTH 4 IRON SUPPLEMENTS. WANNA COME? ALSO MUST DISCUSS LAST NIGHT. FRANKIE IS GOING TO CONFESS. SHOCKING (PUN INTENDED). :::::::::::::::::
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 10:16 AM
BLUE: GOT SPRUNG COMING HOME LAST NIGHT BY UNCLE. THOUGHT I WAS UP TO SOMETHING SHONKY WHEN HE SAW MY BED WAS EMPTY. HE WAS SPEWIN MAD TILL I SAID I WAS OUTSIDE IN THE RAIN, SOAKING MY SCALES. TOLD HIM I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT A CURFEW MEANT. THAT IT MUST BE AN AMERICAN TERM. HE ATE IT LIKE A WOMBAT AT A SALAD BAR. WHAT’S UP FOR TODAY? THINK FRANKIE IS GONNA GO THROUGH WITH THE CONFESSION? I RECKON SHE MIGHT PULL A YEWEY AND CHICKEN OUT. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOUR SPARKLERS. THEY SOUND RIPPER. @@@@@@@@@
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 11:20 AM
LALA: BACK FROM HIW. WISH U CAME. THEY WERE GIVING OUT FREE SAMPLES OF QUINOA ICE CREAM. YUM. HEADING TO FRANKIE’S TO HEAR THE NEWS. SEE U THERE? ::::::::::::
Frankie’s?
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 11:22 AM
BLUE: GOING TO MEET THE MOB AT FRANKIE’S. U COMING? @@@@@@@
Frankie’s??
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 11:23 AM
CLAWDEEN: WHERE U AT, KITTY CAT? SEE U AT FRANKIE’S? WE’RE IN THE BACK. ########
FRANKIE’S?
Cleo had no idea what they were talking about. Double no idea how they knew something before she did. And triple no idea why Frankie hadn’t included her. But each knock of her wooden heels against the deserted sidewalk of Radcliffe Way was bringing her closer to the answers.
With a toss of her black hair and a roll of her glistening shoulders, Cleo marched across the cul-de-sac and rounded the side of the L-shaped fortress with mustered confidence. A tangle of electrical wires formed a barrier between the outside world and the dense rectangle of tall hedges inside. Creeping along the grassy perimeter, she listened for whispering voices, but the crashing sound of water drowned out everything else. Now what?
Another text bwooped at just the right time.
TO: Cleo
sept 27, 12:43 PM
CLAWDEEN: CRAWL UNDER THE WIRES AND THROUGH THE BUSHY THINGS. NOT AS THICK AS THEY LOOK. ########
Cleo did what she was told and emerged on a pristine flagstone path. The cascading sound grew louder as she followed the walkway through the leafy maze.
“Holy mother of Isis,” she mumbled when she reached the end.
A wide horseshoe-shaped waterfall gushed over a fifteen-foot cliff and crashed violently into a pool of froth and bubbles. One dip in that skin-ripping cauldron and Cleo would emerge pure bone.
Still, Blue lay above the falls, scaly legs outstretched on one of the flat rocks, splashing happily in the rainbow-spotted mist while the other girls lay on their bellies on the manicured lawn to the right of the pool. Each one had a yellow towel. Each one rested her chin in her hands. Each one was smiling contentedly. They could have been posing for a painting titled Still Life of Moving On Without You.
“What’s up?” Cleo asked with fake easygoingness. At least she was tanned. That always gave her confidence a boost.
Clawdeen sat up. “Just talking about my Sweet Sixteen party. Invites are going out on Monday.”
“I know,” Cleo said. “I helped you address the envelopes, remember?”
“Isn’t this place cool?” Lala asked with hurried nervousness. “It’s a backup electricity generator. There are turbines behind the rocks. The Steins use it so they don’t attract attention with high electri
city bills. Come sit.” She patted the grass and fang-smiled freely. “It’s also the perfect place to gossip, because no one can hear anything,” she added, wrapping her ever-cold body in a towel.
Cleo remained standing.
“What are you doing here?” Frankie pushed herself up to sit. Her white hairstreaks were gone, and her skin was painted normie color again. Suddenly, Cleo felt like the green one.
“Better question.” Cleo twirled Hissette. “What am I not doing here? Why did I have to hear about this little get-together from my friends?”
Clawdeen and Lala exchanged an uncomfortable glance and sat up too. Blue waved innocently from the top of the falls, her blond ponytail wagging happily. It was obvious she couldn’t hear a word they were saying over the sounds of the crashing water.
Frankie smoothed her pale pink dress and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I had some good news about my whole, you know, confession thing, and I wanted to share it.” She shrugged to show it was that simple.
“And… ?” Cleo squinted, the corners of her eyes still deliciously crisp from their morning bake.
“And… and I didn’t think you would be interested.”
“Why not?” Cleo asked with a deepening squint.
“You were so against everything last night that I didn’t think you’d care,” Frankie said, not looking the least bit intimidated.
“Try me,” Cleo hissed, lowering herself to sit on the edge of Clawdeen’s towel.
They told her about the FrankiBilly plan with an annoying amount of excitement. It was clever, and she told them that. But seriously, how long did she have to feign interest before she could tell them about her Teen Vogue shoot? Thirty seconds? Forty-five? Sixty? Anything longer than that and she would jump into the falls and hydroelectrocute herself… assuming such a thing was possible.
“Let’s just hope Melody gets to Bekka before the deadline,” Frankie said, checking the time on her iPhone.
“Melody?” Cleo snapped. “What does she have to do with this?”
“She’s the one who’s taking FrankiBilly to Bekka,” Clawdeen explained. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Yeah,” Cleo lied. “I just don’t understand why everyone trusts her.”
Frankie, Clawdeen, and Lala stared at Cleo blankly. Blue splashed around happily in the distance.
“She’s a normie!” Cleo pleaded with them. “They spread hate and propaganda with their sensationalized horror movies, trendy book series, degrading Halloween costumes, and corny school dance themes like Monster Mash.” Cleo’s eyes began to leak passion she didn’t know she had.
“Melody isn’t like the other normies,” Lala insisted. “She’s trying to help us.”
“Stop being such a sucker, La. They’re all the same. Normies have been exploiting my ancestors for centuries. FedExing our heirlooms to museums so that pretentious art lovers can ooh and aah about the ancient Egyptians and our incredible craftsmanship. Then, on their way out, they buy some King Tut coffee table book at the gift shop and complain that no one pays attention to detail anymore. And it’s total ka. They don’t want incredible craftsmanship. They want Crate and Barrel. Because no matter what normies say in museums, they don’t like different. I mean, hello? Have you watched The Hills boxed set? Frankie, your dad could build you a sister from the scraps their plastic surgeons toss. And guess who grew up in the Hills?”
The girls kept staring.
“Melody! Melody is from the Hills,” Cleo continued, her voice cracking under the weight of her conviction.
“Actually, I’m not sure if Beverly Hills is actually ‘the Hills,’ ” Lala said with the utmost respect. “I think the show is set in the Hollywood Hills. But it’s confusing, I agree.”
Cleo resisted the urge to yank the vamp’s pink-streaked hair until she cried. “Well, wherever she’s from, she turned Jackson against me. Did you hear what he said to me last night? He actually called me the queen of de-Nile. I mean, how unoriginal? Comebacks don’t get more normie than that.”
Frankie’s iPhone bwooped.
The girls leaned closer to the screen, obviously grateful for the distraction.
“Melody and FrankiBilly are pulling up to Bekka’s house now,” Frankie reported.
They squealed with giddy anticipation. Cleo rolled her eyes. They were supposed to be squealing at her Teen Vogue news. Not Melodork’s escapades.
“Good luck,” Frankie said aloud as she typed. “Keep us posted.”
She hit SEND, and the girls squealed again.
Minutes later, the update arrived.
“Bekka is at the hospital visiting Brett,” Frankie read. “Heading there now. Still tons of time to make the deadline. Should be okay. BTW, Billy is awesome.”
“Don’t you think one of us should go down to the hospital?” Cleo suggested. “Just in case she tries to double-cross us?”
“She’s not going to double-cross us, okay?” Frankie sparked. Clawdeen and Lala lowered their eyes and picked nervously at the yellow threads on their towels.
“Oh, really?” Cleo leaned back on her arms and lifted her face to the sun. “And who’s the queen of denial now?”
CHAPTER NINE
CAN VERSUS MAN
California sunshine had finally found Oregon, and its intoxicating effect was hard to deny. Everything Candace drove past buzzed with life—rain-spotted cars, hand-holding pedestrians, the gauzy silver needles of Douglas firs. Not even Bekka’s latest audio threat could derail Melody’s buoyant mood. She was minutes away from saving Jackson and Frankie. Minutes away from showing Cleo and the other RADs that she could be trusted. Minutes away from taking action. And glorious weather had arrived to celebrate.
Ping!
Another text from Mom. It was the third one in the last hour.
TO: Melody
sept 27, 1:48 PM
MOM: IS BILLY IN HIS COSTUME? DID YOU FIND BEKKA YET?
Jackson’s “full disclosure” policy with his mother had inspired Melody to tell her parents the truth about her role in the local scandal. It took some time to convince them that this whole “monster thingy” wasn’t part of Salem’s economic stimulus efforts but was, in fact, very real. Yet she had no regrets. As always, they told her how much they appreciated her truthfulness, and they vowed to keep her secret as long as she kept them informed. But three updates in an hour were a little excessive. So she simply replied STILL DRIVING and left it at that.
“NUDIs to the rescuuuuue!” Billy bellowed from the open moonroof of the Carvers’ BMW.
A gaggle of mountain bikers turned their helmeted heads toward the forest-green SUV, apparently expecting some full-frontal exposure. Unfortunately for them, all they saw was Candace, dressed in designer camo, cracking up behind the wheel and high-fiving her new invisible best friend. It was the fifth time she had dared Billy to scream something out the window. But they laughed as if it were the first.
A sharp turn onto Oak Street propelled Melody from one side of the backseat to the other. But she wasn’t about to criticize her sister’s driving… or her sense of humor. Candace was the only member of NUDI with a license. And the clock was ticking.
“Hey.” Candace turned to the empty passenger seat and slid her oversize white sunglasses up on top of her blond waves. Her green eyes filled with mischief. “Can I call you InvisiBilly?”
“Why are you looking over there?” Billy called from the third row. “I’m back here.”
“No way!” Candace smacked the empty seat. “You invisible dudes are so fast!”
In the right lane, a guy driving a rusty pickup wiggled his gold-ringed finger and pouted. “Taken,” he mouthed, and then shrugged as if to say it was his loss.
Candace turned away. “Ew, guh-ross!”
“Stop flirting with married farmers,” Billy teased.
“I thought I was talking to you,” she giggled, turning toward the back.
“Hey,” said Billy, quickly returning to the front seat. “I’m over h
ere.”
“I love it!” Candace shouted, blasting her horn.
Melody leaned forward and gripped her sister’s shoulder. “Can!” she exclaimed, no longer concerned about offending her driver. “Stop honking. The hospital is a block away. We’re in a quiet zone!”
“Then why are you screaming?” Candace whispered.
White news trucks—each with a satellite dish on its roof and a network logo on its side—were packed behind police tape like paparazzi banned from the red carpet.
“Are you sure this is the psychiatric ward?” Melody asked, shocked by the onslaught of people rushing toward the entrance. Few looked like concerned relatives. Most looked like reporters.
A computer printout of a hospital map floated above the front seat. “Building E,” Billy confirmed.
“Yeah, E for eensane,” Candace said, cruising up and down the rows of the bustling lot in search of a parking spot. A blond wearing an electric-blue blazer and a matching pencil skirt darted in front of the BMW gripping a microphone to her mouth. A camera-toting man hurried close behind. “I hope she’s running to get her roots done.”
“Are all these people really here because of Brett?” Melody asked.
“Hey, InvisiBilly.” Candace lowered the passenger-side window. “Why don’t you ask that poorly dressed reporter what’s going on.”
“Love to,” he said with an audible grin. “’Scuse me, miss?”
Candace stopped beside her. Melody sank in her seat.
“Can you please tell me what all the excitement is about?” Billy asked.
Lips firmly closed, Candace stared at the woman.
The Ghoul Next Door Page 7
