Gilt Hollow

by Lorie Langdon

  “Stop messing!” Lisa smacked Willow’s hand away from her elaborate updo of braids and curls. “You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”

  A woman with an enormous blue wig drifted behind them, and they both spun and shouted, “Effie!”

  The woman turned her chalk-white face to them and lifted a gloved hand. “You look fabulous, darlings.”

  Willow and Lisa exchanged grins and followed the techno-beat of a Sam Smith-Disclosure remix into the packed ballroom glittered with candlelight and cobwebs. A life-sized mausoleum housed the DJ booth, where Jeff White, dressed as a zombified member of the Grateful Dead, mixed songs like a master. Colorful costumed couples mingled and danced across the floor, making it hard to know where to look first.

  “Okay, maybe this is cool,” Lisa admitted.

  A hand touched Willow’s shoulder, and she turned to find Brayden wearing a long black robe with his red hair combed over his forehead, a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck, and wand in his hand. “Oh my gosh, Ron! It’s perfect!” She’d always thought Brayden looked like a Weasley.

  He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Brayden hadn’t taken their breakup well. She’d stuck to the truth and explained that since Ashton had returned, she’d felt conflicted. But she hadn’t talked to Brayden since Ashton told everyone he was leaving town. “Sure.”

  She turned to Lisa and found her heading off to dance with an alien who had fingers for teeth. With a shrug, Willow turned to Brayden and let him lead her to a corner by a black cauldron spilling mist onto the floor. Nearby, a green-faced witch ladled out cups of the bubbling brew.

  “Willow, I tried to call you all day.”

  “I know. I wasn’t answering.”

  Brayden ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick out on one side.

  “Stop.” Willow reached up and smoothed down his bangs. “You’re ruining the Ron effect.”

  A corner of his mouth curled. “Thanks. You look awesome, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced down at the sparkling layers of her skirt. She actually felt pretty.

  “I’m glad you didn’t come with him.”

  Willow didn’t have to ask who he was talking about.

  “Not that I’m jealous or anything, but now that he’s leaving … I still kinda hoped we could—”

  “I’m not ready, Brayden. I’m sorry.” Willow glanced over her shoulder, hoping to find Lisa and lose herself in the frenetic mass of dancers.

  “You’re one of the smartest people I know,” he said. “Have you ever thought that Ashton might be guilty? Even once?”

  Willow clenched her teeth.

  “No, really.” He stepped closer. “Think about it. Everything that’s happened since he returned … How do you know he didn’t orchestrate it all? And then took advantage of your belief in him? Every bit of evidence I’ve seen points directly back to Ashton. Including the video we watched with our own eyes.”

  Willow shot Brayden a withering look. “I was with Ashton when Penelope was stabbed, remember?”

  “But for how long? They don’t know exactly when it happened. Could Ashton have attacked her before he came to find you?”

  His brown eyes searched hers, and the blood seemed to drain from Willow’s chest. Thinking back, Willow had no solid proof that Ashton hadn’t destroyed Colin’s jersey or trashed Isaiah’s locker or even robbed the record store. Only his word. He’d never been around when she’d received the threatening SnapMail messages. What if they were his way of warning her to stay out of it? What if he’d just wrecked his bike and no one ran him off the road?

  A girl dressed as a ratty doll with long red hair and demented eyes smashed into Brayden’s arm. “Dance with me, Ron!”

  “Hold on, Yo.” Brayden steadied the drunken girl. “Willow, just promise me you’ll consider it.”

  Willow nodded as Yolanda tugged Brayden out onto the floor. When she and Brayden finally broke eye contact, Willow began to drift around the edge of the room in a daze. Was it possible her feelings for Ashton had clouded her judgment? Did she have any proof that one word Ashton had said to her was true? She believed he didn’t push Daniel on purpose, but what if Penelope had learned about his other crimes and he’d tried to silence her? The insane rage on his face as he’d punched Colin had terrified her; it was as if he’d turned into a different person. Could he be leaving to escape before he was caught?

  “Is that you, Willow?”

  She turned to find Pastor Justin hanging out by the hors d’oeuvre table, wearing his usual costume of a floor-length brown robe and the heavy cross necklace of a monk. “Hi, Pastor.”

  “Can I offer a severed finger or gelatinous eyeball, perhaps?” He gestured toward the table of spooky treats.

  “No, thanks.”

  Pastor Justin looked past her. “Is Dee here?”

  “Nope, Mom’s busy with last-minute preparations for our after-party. You should stop by.”

  “Of course.” He grinned, and her suspicion that he had feelings for her mother solidified. But her mind churned with too many questions to analyze how she felt about her mom’s dating life. She picked up a cake pop decorated like a miniature candied apple and twirled it in her fingers. “Pastor, do you think it’s possible to be completely wrong about someone? To believe with all your heart that they’re one way, only to find out you were wrong all along?” She felt stupid asking such a vague question, but she was desperate for guidance—for some idea how to deal with the doubts Brayden had planted in her mind.

  The pastor seemed to consider for a moment. “Some people call it intuition, but I know that the Spirit of God lives within all believers. If you look for wisdom, you’ll know the answer. Even if it isn’t what you expect.”

  It was exactly the kind of mystical advice she’d anticipated from him, but for some reason it helped. “Thanks.” She gave him a genuine smile before continuing on her way. An ’80s punk song blared from a nearby speaker, the base pounding in her chest. She needed a minute alone to think.

  Tossing the cake pop into a wastebasket, she headed across the enormous room to a set of french doors, but before she could walk outside, a clown snagged her arm. “Let’s dance!” She didn’t recognize the fake high-pitched voice, but she let the clown lead her into the mass of dancers just as a slow song began. Willow faced her partner and swallowed a gasp at the hollowed out eyes and enormous mouth full of jagged teeth. Multitoned hair stuck out of a bald cap at crazy angles, topped by a miniature hat. The clown tugged her close, and she felt a strong, muscled body beneath his colorful jumpsuit.

  Willow pushed against his chest. “You’re crushing my wings.”

  His hold only tightened, and as he leaned in, the scents of grease paint and Axe body spray made her want to gag. “You’ve been a naughty little fairy, haven’t you?”

  Willow arched back and stared into the cold blue eyes of Colin Martin.

  Anger buzzed across her skin. She’d had enough bullying to last a lifetime. Gripping Colin’s arms, she rose on her toes and hissed, “Let me go or I’ll kick your balloons so hard you’ll talk like Bozo for the rest of your life.”

  Colin reared his head back and laughed hysterically. Several faces turned at his display, but between the masks and makeup, Willow didn’t recognize a single one of them. Colin twirled her in a circle and toward the doors leading out to the garden. Willow dug her heels in. No way was she letting him take her away from the party.

  He bent down and whispered, “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to be alone with me. Isn’t that why you were hiding in my room?”

  A prickle crawled up Willow’s spine. His mom must have told him. Colin released her just inside the doors and tipped her chin up so she was forced to look at his hideous face. “Bring me my key or I’ll crush more than your wings.”

  He danced off into the crowd, and Willow stumbled out onto the veranda. After making sure she was alone, she leaned
against the stone railing and opened the small glitter-covered purse hanging on a string across her chest. Tucked inside, next to her lipstick and phone, sat Colin’s key. She didn’t know why she’d taken the stupid thing in the first place, but fear of someone finding it had prompted her to carry it everywhere she went.

  Worried Colin might see her, she snapped the bag shut. But that didn’t stop the questions rattling through her brain. Why did Colin want it so desperately? What secrets did the ancient key unlock? Maybe she’d missed something vital hidden inside the box in his room. But did it really matter? Ashton had given up, so why shouldn’t she?

  Willow turned to lean on the banister. Flickering lanterns hung from the trees, illuminating disembodied ball gowns made of chicken wire that appeared to float across the lawn amid crooked tombstones. Laughter echoed up to her, and she saw a girl dart across the path, chased by a boy dressed as a werewolf.

  Loneliness smacked into Willow like a wall of water, drenching her from head to toe in an icy chill. She’d believed herself invisible for years, but somehow this was worse. Knowing what it felt like to have Ashton back—how his presence jolted her into vibrant life—only to have that ripped away. It was as if all the color had been leached out of the world.

  She wasn’t sure about everything Pastor Justin had said, but when she felt confused, talking to her dad always seemed to help. She gazed up into the clear night sky sprinkled with stars. Dad, could I really have been so wrong about Ashton? Usually she could imagine her dad’s voice in her head and exactly what he would say, but this time he was silent.

  Awareness hummed along her shoulders, and she glanced to her right. Her heart skipped several beats. At the other end of the veranda, a figure dressed in head to toe black lounged against the railing, watching her.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Eight

  Willow studied the figure at the other end of the veranda, from his dark pants tucked into knee-high boots, to his billowing black shirt, to the silken mask that covered half his face and tied at the back of his head. His features were concealed, but Willow knew the line of his jaw, the tilt of his head. And yet she hesitated.

  Was Ashton the villain everyone believed him to be or the boy she’d fallen in love with? She took a step forward, her breath misting the air, as images layered one over the other in her mind: Ashton climbing the house to save her brother, his sweet voice as he talked her down from her panic attack, his unguarded plea for forgiveness after his accident, and finally, his tortured gaze as he told her what had happened that day at the falls. Warmth flooded her soul, and before she knew it, she was halfway across the balcony.

  Impatient as always, Ashton straightened and closed the distance between them in three strides. As he neared, Willow saw the sword swinging at his hip and her earlier chill melted into delicious tingles. The summer she’d turned twelve, they’d watched The Princess Bride so many times they could quote every line. Her eyes moved to his face. Stubble covered his jaw and upper lip, and his dark hair hooked behind both of his ears. The black of the mask contrasted with the blue of his eyes, making them appear to glow. Was he trying to make her swoon?

  He stopped and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a smile hovering around his lips. The costume was perfect—the villain who’s really a hero in disguise. But even better, she knew he’d worn it for her.

  Willow arched a brow. “The Dread Pirate Roberts?”

  “I saw no reason to change my costume just because Princess Buttercup canceled our date.”

  Her chest gave a squeeze. “Touché.”

  Ashton stepped closer and raised a finger to trace the crystals near her temples. “You’re beautiful.” His eyes held hers. “But you always are.”

  “Ash …” Willow’s gaze flickered to his mouth, and she wished, despite everything, that he would kiss her—kiss her until she didn’t care that he was leaving, until she forgot that her heart was breaking. She bit her lip to stop the plea from slipping out. “When are you leaving?”

  “In the morning.”

  “Oh.” She’d known it would be soon but had hoped for a little more time. “Why are you here?”

  He stared at her, and for several long moments he didn’t speak. His jaw hardened and she could tell he was clenching his teeth. A brisk wind tugged at her hair and the tails on Ashton’s mask as the sounds of the party faded away.

  “Willow, you not talking to me the last few days …” His voice broke off as he settled his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing softly against her exposed collarbones. “You’re wrecking me, you know that? I’m trying to do the right thing to keep you safe, but I can’t think about anything but you.”

  Willow shivered hard and focused on his throat, watching the muscles contract as he swallowed.

  “But that’s exactly why I have to go. My judgment is totally clouded and I can’t … I can’t protect you when I don’t even know who to protect you from.”

  “I don’t need your protection,” Willow snapped. But when she raised her eyes, his deep blue gaze seemed to drink her in, and her control shattered, her next words a plea. “Stay. Just tell me you’ll stay.”

  He searched her face and after a long pause, whispered, “I will never make promises to you that I can’t keep.”

  His words gouged at Willow’s heart. How could she have thought for one second that he’d been lying to her? He was hot-tempered and sometimes impulsive, but he was good. So good and honorable that it made her feel like a selfish child. But she couldn’t seem to help herself; she wanted him more than she’d wanted anything her entire life. Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat.

  “Please, don’t cry.” Ashton took her hand. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again. We can Skype. You can come visit me in the city.”

  “That’s not the point!” Willow jerked away from him and pivoted to face the lawn. “If you’re willing to leave, then you don’t feel the same way I feel about you.”

  He leaned close, and his next words brushed like a caress against her neck. “How do you feel?”

  Willow didn’t want to bare her soul, but maybe the truth would be the one thing that would change his mind. She turned into him and placed her palms against his chest. “Like I don’t want to spend a day without you. Like together we can accomplish anything.” Her throat tightened, but she pushed on. “Ashton, I’m in love with you. I think I’ve loved you half my life.”

  His chest expanded as he drew a shaky breath, his eyes softening just before he tore his gaze away. Willow searched his profile for some sign that he returned her feelings, but as he exhaled his mouth hardened, and when he looked back at her, his expression closed her out. “I love you too. But it doesn’t change anything. I wish it did.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

  Stunned, Willow stared after him. Ever since the first time they’d kissed, she’d dreamed about Ashton confessing his love to her, but never like that—like it was a burden he had to bear, a mountain he had to climb. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. All the stories her father had read to her when she was a child had ended with the villain’s defeat and true love’s kiss. But they never told what followed the happily ever after. Or what would happen if you fell in love with a pirate and not a prince.

  Willow dabbed under her eyes, purple and silver glitter coming off on her fingers. Clearly this was no fairy tale or her makeup would still look perfect—and the killer would be behind bars. Reining in her tears, she squared her shoulders and reentered the ballroom. A slow, romantic song played, and a disco ball spun overhead, flecks of light blanketing couples glued together at the hip. The sight made Willow want to scream. Maybe she should head home where she could lick her wounds in peace.

  “Is that you, Willow Lamott?”

  Willow looked down to find Mrs. M, wearing her ever-present cowboy boots, but this time with a black witch’s frock and a pointy hat pinned to her gray hair. She patted the empty folding chair beside her. “Come sit with a lonely old woman for a moment.”


  Who could say no to that? Willow sat, and they watched the dancers. Lisa twirled in the arms of Reggie the linebacker, who’d removed his grotesque alien mask. The music transitioned into a slow, creepy tune, but that didn’t seem to put a damper on the making out. An uncomfortable feeling in her hands caused Willow to loosen her grip on the edge of the metal chair.

  Searching for a distraction, she turned to Mrs. M. “So, how have you been?”

  “Right as rain.” Her wrinkled cheeks stretched into a grin. “Every day not in the grave is a good one, I say.” She chuckled and then looked around. “Would you happen to know the time?”

  Willow grabbed her purse to check her phone, but the chain caught on her bodice, and half the contents spilled out before she unhooked the bag from her laces. She tucked her lip gloss back inside as Mrs. M bent down in slow motion and reached for an object on the floor.

  “I’ll get it.” Willow swooped down and picked up the large metal key she’d taken from Colin’s room.

  Faster than Willow thought her capable of moving, Mrs. M snatched it out of Willow’s hand. “Where did you find this?”

  “Well … I … er …” Willow searched for some kind of lie, but so many possibilities entered her mind that she couldn’t settle on one.

  “It looks like part of a gift I brought back from England for Colin and Cory.”

  Willow reached for it, but Mrs. M deftly switched it to her other hand. “Handcrafted boxes with their names engraved on them.”

  Listening now, Willow lowered her hand. “You got a box for both brothers?”

  Mrs. M stared at the key as if it could unlock the past. “Mr. McMenamin and I found the boxes at a quaint little shop in Somerset. They had all shapes and sizes, carved with hundreds of different names. We found Colin’s, but we had to have Cory’s specially made. So there was only one key.” She turned tearful eyes to Willow.

  “I’m sorry about your nephew, ma’am. It was a terrible tragedy. But this is just an old key I found at Keller House.” She took it from Mrs. M’s limp hand. “Tons of antiques in that place.”