Page 58 of The Spider & the Storm

But we were both quick to learn that Luke’s promises—no matter who he swore to—were meant to be broken.

Because two weeks later, he got into a fight at Tony’s Bar.

It was with Ritchie. They were both drunk, and although Ritchie later decided not to press charges after Luke broke his nose—again—my brother had still spent an entire night in a cell.

And I wished I could say it was the only time he’d been arrested, but Luke was the liar in the family. Not me.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MASSACHUSETTS, PRESENT DAY

It wasn’t quite Halloween yet, but in Salem, that didn’t matter. The streets were packed with decorations and costumed amblers. Tourists and spooks, the real and the posers.

It was easy to tell the difference. The genuinely dark souls carried their shadows with comfort, whereas the posers pranced around in an awkward, giddy display, like they were getting away with something naughty when they’d probably never done anything truly naughty in their lives.

I kept my head down as I weaved my way through the crowded sidewalk toward the house of Blake Carson, the tattoo artist I’d gone to years ago and owner of Salem Skin. Even the side streets in the residential parts of the city were packed with people, and the way my skin prickled with nerves to be around such a large mob was nearly enough to make me slink back into the shadows and disappear.

God, I wanted to. But there was that silly fact that I’d been invited to this party—me!I waswanted. And I had told myself that I wasn't allowed to back down from it, no matter how badly I swore I didn’t want to be there, sharing the same oxygen as all the people I didn't know. Shit, even now, standing outside and struggling to control the panic racing through my bones, every ounce of my body told me to turn around and run back to my cottage, where it was safe and secluded.

But a much smaller piece of me, so much tinier than my monumental panic, yelled through the static of anxious thoughts and told me to just step inside the house. Just one foot. Hell, onetoewould suffice, the very tip of my boot. Just to say I had done it.

All because nobody in the entire world had ever invitedmeto a stupid party.

I took a deep, shaky breath and pulled the black hooded mask from my jacket pocket with trembling hands. The invitation had strictly stated that it was to be a costume party, so I tugged the hood—imprinted with a skull—over my head, ensured that my ponytailed hair was tucked underneath and hidden by the collar of my jacket.

Then, I headed up the cobblestone walkway to the open door, where I entered Blake's house, officially attending a party by myself for the first time in all my thirty-eight years on this earth.

If you could only see me now. I sent the thought off to Luke and smirked sadly behind my mask, not at all surprised to feel the familiar tug of emotion against my heart and lungs. I was quick to recover, clearing my throat and feeling the rush of embarrassment scorch my cheeks, until I realized nobody here could see me.

None of these people crowding this living room had any idea whatsoever who I was, and with that epiphany came an unusual surge of confidence.

I could be anyone.

I could be anything.

Anonymous.

My head was held higher now as I moved through the crowd of people, all in costume. All unknown to me. Just as I felt I could be anyone, so were they, and none of them mattered.

Blake Carson showed up in the doorway of what seemed to be the dining room, wearing a leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and black jeans. He didn't appear to be in costume, and I thought that was peculiar when the invitation to his own damn party had made it a requirement.

“Hey, man,” he said by way of greeting, extending a hand to me. “Thanks for coming.”

Taking his hand in mine felt like the most daring thing I'd ever done. Forming a smile I knew he couldn't see felt reckless. We shook, and he smiled, and that was when I took note of his elongated canines.

“Nice costume,” I complimented without hesitation. No stutter. No fear.

Maybe I should wear a mask more often.

“Don't encourage him,” a blonde woman—dressed as Dorothy fromThe Wizard of Oz—said as she hurried past with a plate of food in hand. “He wears the same thing every single year.”

I watched briefly as she brought the plate to the couch, where she handed it to a man who looked nearly identical to Blake—the only difference being that Blake sported a beard and a longer, more polished hairdo. This other man was clean-shaven with short, mussed-up hair, and he was dressed as Captain America. There was chocolate smudged on one of his cheeks and an innocence in his eyes, one I hadn’t seen in my own reflection since childhood.

“That’s my brother, Jake,” Blake said, and I turned back to him to see he’d followed my gaze.

“Twins?” I asked, surprised by my own bravery in prying, continuing a conversation with a person I hardly knew.

Blake nodded curtly. “Yeah. Anyway, food’s in the kitchen; booze is in the fridge and the cooler by the back door. Make yourself at home.”

---