Dark Star by Bethany Frenette Page B

idea, especially since most of the other girls were dressed in sleek outfits with cat-ear or devilhorn headbands.
    “What’s next?” Gideon asked after we made it to the refreshments table. The watery punch and bowls of chips set out for partygoers hardly seemed worth what we’d paid to get in, but since it had been my idea to attend, I wasn’t going to complain.
    “We wander,” I suggested. I turned, searching the crowd. For what, I wasn’t certain—something out of place, a particular shift of light, some hint I would recognize. The lights were low, everything shaded. I recognized a few faces, but no one I’d spoken to before.
    Gideon and I wove through the throng until we found a free table on the second floor, tucked in a corner where a boy dressed as a vampire was doing some serious sucking on a bunny girl’s neck. We didn’t have much of a view of the dance floor, so I let my mind drift, listening to the sounds that flowed around me. The air was warm, thick, and beneath the music I heard glasses clinking on tables, footsteps and the rustle of cloth, voices, whispers, someone’s happy laughter floating up from below.
    I considered trying to find the man from the alley. He’d worn a Drought and Deluge shirt, so I figured he must be an employee, but I hadn’t seen him when we entered the club. He’d been rather unsettling, and the thought of encountering him again made me nervous, but if he hadn’t hurt Tink, maybe he’d been telling the truth; maybe he had been there to help. Either way, he must know something. It was possible I could get a sense from him—provided he was present at the club.
    Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on him. I hadn’t seen him clearly, so I concentrated on what I’d felt: the shiver in his voice, that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. In the back of my mind, some nagging voice whispered that perhaps I shouldn’t try to speak with him, or find him, or read him, that perhaps he was dangerous, but I dismissed it. I wouldn’t confront him alone, and if he meant me harm, I’d be able to sense it.
    Except, as it turned out, I couldn’t sense anything. No images or impressions, no fleeting emotion, no hint of Knowing. If the man were there, he wasn’t close enough for me to get anything from him. So much for that idea.
    Beside me, Gideon let out a long sigh and said, “Well. This is exciting.”
    Distracted from my musings, I opened my eyes and turned toward him. From the look on his face, I knew he was about to remind me we could be back at his house, which might not be the most fashionable scene in the Twin Cities, but at least had chairs that didn’t stick to the floor.
    I decided to strike first. “You’d really rather be at home, watching your grandma scare trick-or-treaters?” That was another Belmonte tradition. It wasn’t Halloween until some poor kid ran screaming into the street. I loved Granny Belmonte, but she didn’t need a costume to look undead.
    Not to mention, I knew how those parties went. Last year, his mother had actually made us bob for apples.
    Gideon gave me a grumpy look and crossed his arms.
    “You have to admit your family is weird,” I said.
    “Pot. Kettle.”
    “Say what you will, but I guarantee you my mother has never bobbed for apples.” I glanced away. An awkward combination of spooky music and some dance remix played overhead. The heat made me a little light-headed. I wished again I’d thought of a more practical costume.
    Then a thought struck me. What was it Tink had said?
    She’d gone into the alley because she needed air.
    “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said, leaving Gideon at the table and heading for the stairs. I had a sense of—something. A certain pull. I trailed my hand down the railing. I pictured Tink, the swirl of her dress, her footsteps fading, the way her hair caught the light. In my mind, I followed her path: the dance floor, where suddenly everything was too bright and confined, the overbearing