“They’re in L.A? It’s Halloween. What’re they doing up there?” Chelsea paid the barista for her double chai espresso and shuffled next to Daisy in the cramped coffee shop. “I figured we’d all be doin’ something together tonight.”
“It’s their anniversary,” Daisy explained, frowning along with Chelsea. “Aiden took him to Bar Sinister.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. Her mouth, painted glittery black, formed an “O” shape. “The fetish bar?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Charm School. I love that place.” Daisy took in the dark-plum blush dusted over Chelsea’s cheekbones. “I think tonight’s sort of important to them, so.”
“Shannon mentioned the anniversary thing, but not the gothic devil club thing,” Chelsea said, waving her hand dismissively with a roll of her eyes. “Their loss then.” She flashed a toothy smile. Fake purple spray streaked her hair, and a witch’s hat was perched on the back of her head.
“Not a devil club,” Daisy mumbled through a smile.
“Whatever.” Chelsea batted her lashes. Playfulness looked good on her. “Are we goin’ to that monster movie marathon at the theater?”
“It’s an option,” Daisy cooed. She shifted, buttoning the middle of her black jacket. Usually Daisy constructed a terrifying costume and topped it off with wounds made of liquid latex and a pair of yellow contacts, but this year she hadn’t had the time. Instead, she wore torn jeans with a black corseted top. Delicate fangs were clipped to her eyeteeth, which her tongue couldn’t seem to stop playing with. “There’s a party at The Saloon, The Whitehouse, Rooftop, Montage, the list goes on.”
“This is my first time spendin’ Halloween in Laguna,” Chelsea said. Excitement bubbled and popped around her. “I’d like to go to the movie thing, I…” She grinned bashfully. “… have a fascination with old monster movies.”
“You do?” Daisy wasn’t good at hiding her disbelief, but she smiled through it.
“Yes, it’s interesting to me. The 1931 Frankenstein is everyone’s favorite, but I think the ’35 Bride of Frankenstein was better, and my secret favorite is probably Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman. That one came out in…” She looked at the ceiling, lips moving as she counted year after year. “’45, no, ’43, it was 1943, and it’s quite spectacular. I know they probably won’t be playin’ it, but, we’ll still get Dracula and… do you think Interview with a Vampire is considered old now? I saw it on the list and it didn’t quite fit to me. Daisy, are you listening?”
Daisy realized her mouth was open and clamped it shut. “All that time you spent making fun of me and Aiden, and you’re actually a secret gothic movie buff? Really?”
“Well, don’t tell everybody, but yes.”
“I’m gonna tell everyone I know, every single person. That’s how I’ll introduce you now. Hello, yes, this is my Rose Road, secret horror movie fanatic, Chelsea Cavanaugh.”
“Oh, don’t make fun,” Chelsea hissed. She took a sip of her coffee; the bridge of her nose lit up pink. “I was never allowed to be excited about that kinda stuff. My parents made sure I stayed busy enough not to give it the time of day, and then I got into college, started watching old films on my laptop when I had spare time, and…” She shook her head, suddenly uncomfortable. “… I like it, all right.”
“All right,” Daisy said softly. Something warm filled her stomach: excitement or joy or wonder. “Let’s start at the movies and if we get bored we’ll find a bar, sound good?”
Chelsea played with the tips of her hair. She huffed, looking more and more displaced the longer she stewed in the aftermath of sharing her hidden hobby. “We don’t have to do the movie thing just because—”
“I like old monster movies,” Daisy assured. She grinned, and the tips of her fake fangs pushed into her bottom lip. “I always have. Let’s go; it’ll be fun. We’ll get popcorn…” She looped her arm through Chelsea’s, but Chelsea decided to interlink their fingers instead. “… and one of those slushies that’ll turn our tongues blue.”
People bounced from bar to bar, club to resort-lounge. Daisy walked close to Chelsea, glancing every so often at a passerby. Superheroes swept around them on the sidewalk and zombies cracked jokes outside The Whitehouse. Late-night bonfires glowed on crashing waves and sent smoke into the air along the beach.
“Hey, look,” Chelsea stopped abruptly and pointed at the ice cream shop across from Laguna Beach Canvas & Sculpt. Jack-o’-lanterns with glowing, wicked faces grinned at them from the windowsills. People in costumes lined up at the door. The dessert stand was open all night, serving gummy-worm sundaes and eyeball ice cream cones. “We’ll come back after the movies, yeah?”
The warmth that had filled Daisy’s stomach spread into her legs, her kneecaps, and elbows. She smiled, trying to sift through crackling thoughts. I haven’t had butterflies in a long time, she thought, realizing that the feeling was a familiar one, an age-old one, a true one.
“Yes, of course,” Daisy said.
The crossing sign prompted them to keep going. Daisy huddled close to Chelsea as two people in werewolf suits stalked by. When they passed the diner, she pointed at the booth where she and Aiden used to sit with their friends in high school, and spun in a circle when Chelsea prompted her to do so in front of a man playing guitar on a street bench. She smiled and laughed and felt more like herself than she had in days, in weeks, in years.
Before they walked into the movie theater, Daisy pulled on Chelsea’s hand.
“What is it?” A patient smile sat quirked on Chelsea’s mouth, which was painted black and glittering like a galaxy.
Daisy stood on the tips of her boots and kissed Chelsea.
“What’s that for?” Chelsea mumbled and pressed her lips against Daisy’s again, being careful to avoid messing up their makeup.
“I’m just happy,” Daisy said, “that’s all.”
A gang of skeletons brushed past them into the theater.
Chelsea’s lips curved into a smile. Her thumbs traced Daisy’s cheekbones and down her jaw until her hands rested on either side of her neck. “Me too.”
They sat in the back of the theater and watched two movies. Chelsea tried to keep her rambling at bay, but ultimately lost the battle, and ended up tucking her mouth against Daisy’s ear to whisper this or that about the movies: who did the makeup, how the fake blood was created, where they were filmed. Daisy listened, nodding along and munching on popcorn.
After the screen darkened at the end of the second movie, Chelsea stood up and reached for Daisy’s hand. “C’mon, it’s time for ice cream.”
“Yeah, if I don’t move around I might fall asleep,” Daisy said, offering a weak smile.
They walked into chilly midnight air. Frost clung to car windshields and glass windows. A storm danced on the horizon: black clouds obstructed by strikes of lightening and beachside fog. Chelsea watched the whirl of rain and wind. It looked closer than it was, hovering far out on the top of the ocean in front of Catalina Island. She wondered if it would make its way toward shore, if in minutes or days it would cover them in rich, dark clouds and heavy, quarter-sized raindrops.
“You coming?” Daisy waited at the crosswalk. She had her arms wrapped tight around herself and her long black coat was buttoned up to her chin.
Chelsea decided that she liked these storms better than the ones back in Georgia. These were violent from afar, distant and surreal, a painting stretched wide along the black water. Chelsea decided that this was home.
It seemed as if history had its eyes on them, as if the storm raging far out on the open sea had tipped the world on its side. Here, it said, look at these two.
Chelsea looked at Daisy.
Here, the storm whispered, something as violent and turbulent and terrifying as what you’ve left behind. It’s yours for the taking. Here it is, made for you to love.
Daisy Yuen was every storm she�
��d danced in. She was every late-night prayer said through clenched teeth, every dared, miniscule rebellion, every yes ma’am slathered in sarcasm, every practiced smile broken, and every rule bent.
Fate had looked at Chelsea Cavanaugh and said, ah, yes, that one needs this one.
Fate had been right.
“Do you know Halloween is supposedly the devil’s holiday? That this is the only night when the living and the dead can coexist?” Chelsea asked.
Daisy nodded. “Perfect night for a séance,” she cooed, “or ice cream.”
“One time I used one of those talking boards at a party. Shannon was there, but I don’t know if he remembers. I asked it—I said, ‘Whoever’s listenin’, can you tell me if the love of my life is in this room?’ And it went to no.” Chelsea paused, watching Daisy as she straightened her back and shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “I asked another question, I said ‘Spirit, will I ever love myself again?’ And it said yes. My last question was, ‘When will I love myself?’ And it spelled out, someone will make you see it. I’ve thought about it every Halloween since then. I didn’t understand until I met you.”
“What do you understand now that you know me?”
“I don’t have to be what everyone expects me to be. I can be this,” she picked up the fabric of her long, velvet dress—the color of blood and desire, a dress she only wore when she knew no one would see her. “Just this, and I’m still worthy of it.”
“Worthy of what?”
“Love,” Chelsea said. She hadn’t said outside of her own head in a long time the confession that haunted her, that she could not possibly be worthy of a love like this. She had been ready for her Clock to time out, ready to fall in love the way she fell into everything else—purposefully. But this, Daisy, them, her, was an accident, a surprise, and Chelsea hadn’t been ready for it. Maybe tonight was the night to recognize everything she hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m worthy of love and everything that comes with it.”
“Even me?” Daisy teased. Her full lips curved and split, showing the tips of her clip-on fangs.
“I don’t know about that yet,” Chelsea purred. She said it playfully, but her insides twisted. She didn’t know if she was worthy of Daisy, so radical and incredible. “But maybe.”
“Maybe,” Daisy repeated, the word ghosting under her breath. She held out her hand. “C’mon, I want a hot fudge sundae.”
“Yeah, that graveyard one with the cookie crumbles and worms looked good.” Chelsea took Daisy’s hand as they walked down Main, past the diner and the gallery, where Chelsea glanced through tinted windows, catching sight of canvases large and small. “You could do that,” she said softly, gesturing with their joined hands at Laguna Beach Canvas & Sculpt. “You could be in a gallery if you wanted.”
Daisy eyed Chelsea carefully from under her lashes. She arched a brow and snorted. “Think it’d be good enough for Aiden to try and steal?”
She bumped her shoulder against Daisy’s. “I’m not kidding; you could sell your artwork in a place like that. You could paint and, hell, speaking of that boy, Aiden could get his photography on the walls too. You both are more than capable.”
“Maybe someday,” Daisy said.
They walked into the ice cream parlor where the staff, dressed as pirates, greeted them merrily.
“You don’t have to wait for someday, you know,” Chelsea mumbled.
Daisy sighed through her nose, a typical Daisy reaction to a conversation she no longer wanted to have.
“How about this,” Daisy said, scanning the tags of each and every ice cream flavor, “you tell your parents about your obsession with monster movies, and I’ll tell my parents I want to pursue freelance artwork outside of my established career.”
Chelsea narrowed her eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” Daisy said. She pointed at the dark green ice cream and nodded. “You want the really chocolatey one, right? Triple cocoa?”
“Yes, please.” Chelsea wrapped her arm around Daisy’s waist.
After that, they didn’t talk about artwork or someday. They sat on the chilly beach together, eating ice cream topped with hot fudge, placing hands on thighs and shoulders, lips on necks and jaws. The darkness swallowed them whole, like everyone who walked hand-in-hand or darted out of the way of crashing waves and into each other’s arms.
Chelsea’s back rested against the base of a palm tree, and Daisy’s legs slid snugly around her hips. The angles of Daisy’s face, the cliff of her cheekbone, slope of her nose, bow of her top lip, looked sharper in the darkness. Chelsea ran her index finger along every place she looked, thinking of Ouija boards and black magic, otherworldly women, and spirits who told the truth on the first cold night in autumn.
“I am undone by you,” Chelsea whispered; the statement sneaked out without her permission.
Daisy leaned her cheek into Chelsea’s palm. Her hands glided across Chelsea’s collarbones and brushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders.
The world forgot to turn.
Chelsea forgot to breathe.
The spirit board was right. She should’ve said it, but she didn’t. Everything paused for Daisy’s inhale and Chelsea’s exhale, for Daisy’s teeth in Chelsea’s bottom lip and her heart beat rivaling the sound of roaring waves and distant thunder.
Halloween was the night when ghosts could whisper and be heard.
You are in deep, Chelsea Cavanaugh. She opened her mouth, but the words lodged themselves at the bottom of her throat.
Daisy put her mouth against Chelsea’s ear. “You’re ridiculous.”
No, I am completely, undeniably in love with you.
25
Shannon felt the weight of Aiden’s body pressed against him as his alarm went off on the nightstand. His eyes cracked open. He took a deep breath and closed them again, urging his muscles to relax, his mind to stop racing. Aiden swatted the nightstand until he found the offending phone and tossed it on Shannon’s side of the bed.
“Make it stop,” he mumbled, cheek settled against Shannon’s shoulder. “Or I’ll break it.”
“I have to get up,” Shannon rasped. He flinched when the phone lit up and silenced its annoying song. “We’re doing a raid today on that lead I told you about. I can’t be late.”
“Call in sick.” Aiden threw his thigh over Shannon’s waist and refused to move.
“You know I can’t.”
“I know you won’t,” Aiden corrected. His toes curled against Shannon’s knee, his lashes peeled apart, his breath was steady against Shannon’s throat. “I’ll make coffee,” he said. Sleep fell away from them like rain from a roof.
“Make coffee after you take a shower with me.” Shannon walked his fingers along the tattoo that curved over Aiden’s ribcage.
“I thought you couldn’t be late, Detective,” Aiden lifted a brow and smirked. His honey colored eyes were softened by the early morning. The streetlamps were still on outside; their light fought the sunrise as Laguna Beach woke to another crisp autumn day.
Shannon pushed Aiden onto his back, earning muffled laughter and a pleased hum. “I can be a little late.”
After a too-long shower, Aiden leaned against the back of the couch, and Shannon felt his gaze leaving watermarks all over him as he dressed for work.
“Text me when you’re done with this raid or whatever,” Aiden said, hesitation making itself known in the tremble he tried to hide.
Shannon glanced up while he was adjusting his belt. “I will; I always do.”
Worry looked strange on Aiden. It was interchangeable with impatience or arrogance or anger, but Shannon knew Aiden well enough to tell the difference. This morning Aiden held his mug against his mouth with both hands. His expression hovered between curious and withdrawn, his eyebrows slouched close together, and a soft smile curled the sides of his lips.
Aid
en didn’t say be careful, but he kissed Shannon a little longer, a little harder, and, when Shannon looked over his shoulder, Aiden watched him go. His smile was hidden behind the near-empty coffee cup.
Daisy sat with Javi at a café patio on the far side of Irvine Spectrum. She gathered soup into her spoon and let it dribble back into the bowl.
“What’s on your mind?” Javi pushed a plate of samosas toward her.
She grabbed one and dipped it in her soup. “I don’t know, I’m just thinking. My girlfriend thinks I should give my original pieces some attention, and I want to, but…”
“But?” Javi licked his fingertips. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to get sucked in,” she confessed. “It wouldn’t be hard juggling personal art and this.” She gestured at the badge around her neck. “I love my job; I love art; I love her, but I don’t know how to do it all without losing myself.”
Javi stayed quiet, waiting for the silence to rewind every word Daisy had said until she found the three words that didn’t fit. Or that did, more so than the others.
“I could do it in my spare time, right? On small canvases?” Daisy asked.
Javi nodded. “Mmhm, you sure could.”
Daisy pulled out her phone and texted the only person she trusted more than herself.
Daisy Yuen 11/2 12:01 p.m.
I LOVE HER WHAT DO I DO
Aiden Maar 11/2 12:03 p.m.
hahahahahahahahaha
Daisy Yuen 11/2 12:04 p.m.
Fuck you asshole what do I do? It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast HELP ME
Aiden Maar 11/2 12:06 p.m.
dont ask me. i was all sorts of fucked up on shannon at month 4. Im no help
Daisy Yuen 11/2 12:06 p.m.
I think I’ve known for a while but I don’t know. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW AIDEN.
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