Page 65 of Snake

Silas

Cinderhart went overboard with their Feast of Ashes decorations. Again. I huff out a morbid breath as I watch the Bentleys and Aston Martins and the Rolls Royces pulling into the town hall’s parking lot ahead of us. We’re in an unofficial convoy, ten cars strong, all waiting to find a spot to park. Valets are out in full force, their black-and-silver uniforms neatly pressed, but the men inside already looking harassed and tired.

Soon, people will be parking in the municipal offices two blocks down and walking down the road in their thousand-dollar tuxes and red-soled high-heeled shoes. The smell of coal smoke taints the air with its smell, but the organizers made sure that there was no actual smoke clogging up the air when their first guests arrived. All that’s left are the glowing coals arranged just so in burners along the path leading up to the town hall building.

Anyone over the age of twelve can attend the Feast of Ashes dance. They stopped allowing younger kids to come because of all the burn wounds. It doesn’t matter what you tell a six-year-old, if they see a piece of pie—glowing or not—they want to pick it up and eat it.

It’s such a ridiculous tradition...but the smell of coal and the murmur of excited voices and hooting cars and faint music in the distance set off massive amounts of nostalgic bullshit in me.

I guess everyone wants to believe in magic. Even hardened cynics like me. And if there’s one thing you can say about this time of the year in Cinderhart...is that it’s magical as fuck.

Nim practically has her face plastered to the window of Knox’s X7. Mason keeps letting out these soft rumbles, a dopey smile on his face. And Knox...well, Knox looks the same as always. Perhaps even a little more severe than usual.

It’s probably the sound of his sister’s non-stop chatter.

“Enough!” Knox barks from the driver’s seat.

My eyes fly to the rearview mirror just in time to catch Mariella and Cecilia’s mouths snapping closed in unison, their mascaraed eyes widening in shock.

Knox clears his throat. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “No one gives a shit about what Alexa’s going to wear tonight, Piper already dumped Austin so stop whining about her giving him another chance, and for fuck’s sake, Sissa, would you stop trying to spit in Mariella’s hair when she’s not looking?”

Mariella’s gasp is scandalized. Cecilia’s eyes go so round, they look about to fall out. And Nim laughs.

She fucking laughs.

Despite the shit we just laid on her, despite fucking everything.

I think that’s what I’ll always remember about her. That bright, surprised laugh of hers. What does it say that a girl who’s gone through what she has can still find a tiny slice of delight in this miserable world?

I force myself not to look at her—not even in her general fucking direction—because after what she did, she’s dead to me.

We’re all silent until Knox has parked the car. There’s a moment’s hesitation after everyone’s piled out, and then Knox grabs his sisters’ arms, looping Cecelia’s through mine and Mariella’s through Mason’s. Then he takes Nim’s arm and starts for the town hall.

We pass the sisters braziers on the way. Most of the effigies inside are still recognizable, even caked in ash. A roast chicken, a pie, fruit. We’re fashionably late, but our usual place—one of only four balconies overlooking the dance floor— was reserved for us. It has its own sitting area and dedicated waiter who’s currently staring at my twelve-year-old date as if he’s wondering whether he should alert the authorities.

“She’s his sister,” I say, cocking my chin toward Knox.

The waiter nods, but he doesn’t seem less concerned than before. We hand off our drinks order and the man goes to fetch it.

Knox’s sisters immediately go to the balcony, leaning over it and whispering to each other behind cupped hands as they survey the dance floor below. The party’s already in high gear—ball gowns flaring as the couples swing their way through a fast-paced tango. The music should stop soon. That’s when the older guests go home and leave the town hall to be overrun by the twenty-year-olds.

The Pellegrino monsters glance back toward Mason and me with hungry eyes.

Christ.

Mariellaturns around and holds out her hand to Mason. “Since it looks like you’re never going to do it, I guess we’ll have to ask you to dance,” she says in her snootiest voice.

Mason turns to argue with Knox, but all it takes is a raised eyebrow before Mason snatches up Mariella’s hand and starts leading her away. He pauses beside Nim, giving her a leering once-over before saying, “You’re next.”

Behind me, Cecelia clears her throat. I glance at her and shake my head, but when I see Nim looking at me, eyebrows raised, my gaze flashes up to the ceiling. I mutter out a silent oath, take Celia’s hand, and follow Mason and Mariella downstairs to the dance floor.

Nim’s got a lot of nerve. The fuck does she care if I dance with Cecelia or not? Or is this just so she can get some alone time with Knox? I glare up at our balcony, but it’s too shadowy up there to make out anything.

I sweep Celia to the side and then tug her back, clasping my hand firmly on her lower back. She squeaks in surprise, and then stares up at me with big, affectionate eyes.

God. I keep forgetting she has a crush on me. Fuck knows why. If she’s seen me five times, it’s a lot.

When our eyes meet, her face goes crimson. She hurriedly looks away, her feet moving awkwardly under her as we dance.

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