Page 39 of Stars and Scars

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think at this point.”

I sigh and shake my head.

“I don’t see anybody with a laptop or other hacking gear, either. Not that they’d be doing it out in the open, but…with this crowd, who knows?”

“I think we might have a problem figuring out who hacked our feed. Look.”

I follow her pointing, lacquered red nail to a ten foot wide chalkboard. In addition to some intricate chalk medium art, some of it pornographic, there’s the stem and arches Wi-Fi symbol and the wordfreebird69next to it.

“He broadcasts his wifi password to every person who walks in the door.”

There is a touch of annoyance in my tone. I shouldn’t have expected it to be easy. Nothing ever is.

Except for one thing. Being around Charlotte might be the easiest thing I’ve ever done…and also the hardest. I’m supposed to be guarding her, not lusting after her. Yes, she’s gorgeous, and has a core of solid steel beneath all the soft curves, but that doesn’t mean she’s right for me.

And how can I possibly be right for her? I’ve been places and done things. I tried to keep innocents from getting hurt along the way. I largely succeeded.

Until my sister.

“What’s wrong?”

Charlotte’s voice snaps me out of the dark spiral before I get too far down.

“Nothing. Let’s look for Wyatt.”

We roam around the party for a bit longer. The Villa looked huge from the outside. It’s somehow even bigger once you’re inside of it. There must be close to five hundred people here, more than some of the giant dance clubs in LA can hold.

I’m starting to think we’ll never find Wyatt. We pass through a propped open door and find ourselves in a hallway slightly more quiet than the rest of the house. Only a few guests deign to hang out in the hall. We walk down its length, passing a row of floor-length, arched windows that display the sea on one side and the bedlam of Wyatt’s party on the other.

The hall turns abruptly right near the manor’s northern end. We turn the corner and find ourselves in a grand game room, dominated by no less than a dozen full sized billiards tables.

Charlotte gets on her tiptoes and leans her softness against me. Sweat breaks out on my brow as her soft breath tickles my ear with a whisper.

“The man in the red jacket is Wyatt.”

My gaze seeks him out. Wyatt stands about six and a half feet tall, rail-thin, with a puff of unruly white hair crowning his head. His jacket looks like something Hugh Hefner would have worn in the 70s, and clashes completely with the blue jeans and retro T-shirt covering the rest of his body.

His glazed-over eyes seem unfocused even as he talks to one of his guests. Wyatt leans on his pool cue, bending the tapered end into a slight curve.

“Well, let’s go say hello.”

We approach Wyatt. I keep watch on the partygoers, to see if anyone pays too much attention to us. That might be a sign that some of these drunken revelers aren’t so inebriated, and possibly belong to the cult.

Yet, no one seems to bat an eye as we stride right up to the man himself. He turns toward us, blinking rapidly.

“Hello there,” he says, his eyes running up and down Charlotte’s form. He’s certainly into girls, something I wouldn't have expected by his exaggerated and somewhat exuberant mannerisms. “Are you enjoying the party, my dear?”

His voice wavers, and he can barely hold himself upright.

“Oh, it’s just the best! There are so many fabulous people here.”

His smile widens, and he gestures with his drink, sloshing some onto his shirt.

“I try to find the most interesting people. If they happen to be famous, great, but there are so many people here that aren’t famous, yet are still interesting. You feel me? When you can find a harmonic convergence with another individual, does it matter if they sleep on silk sheets or a bus stop floor?”

Charlotte smiles prettily, but I can see it in her eyes that she’s utterly confused. I kind of am, too. Obviously, Wyatt isn’t all there.

Unless, of course, it’s all an act…

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