Page 144 of Let Us Prey

She giggles and shakes her head, the floppy ears making her even cuter, and I have to squeeze the squishy cat in my pocket until it practically pops. “No, I didn’t.”

Frowning, I watch her spin, and I’ll be damned if her fluffy cottontail isn’t poking out the back of her black lace sundress as if they made it for it. My eyes travel up her body until they reach the choker she’s wearing; the stone embedded in the locket looks a little familiar…

Motherfucker.

“That dirty rat. He gave you a piece of that damned talisman!”

Her fingers make a zipping motion over her lips, but I can see the smug look in her eyes. I know that’s how Renard keeps his clothes from shredding, but he’s purposely withheld the magic from me because he knows how much it annoys me. I’m going to make him pay for this betrayal, but for now, I have to get through this sensory overload.

The line moves and we chat as we wait, playing a surface-level version of two truths to pass the time. When we finally get to the stage, the partially shifted bunny bounces up to the human in the lumpy-looking rabbit suit. It’s incredibly surreal to see these people queuing to take pictures with a giant fake animal. They’d lose their minds if they realized an actual shifter who turns into the same animal was in their midst.

Humans are the least aware species on the planet—it’s an indisputable fact.

“Come on, you stuffy librarian! Get in the picture with me!”

Drat.

I trudge over to awkwardly stand near the weird rabbit man. Dolly rolls her eyes and leans over the costumed idiot to grab my shirt. Stumbling forward, I lean down and only glimpse her wicked grin before she’s kissing me. I can vaguely hear the whirr of a lens clicking in the background, but my full and undivided attention is on the silky feel of her plush lips pressed against mine.

And that is how Aubrey ended up buying an overpriced picture of a bunny snacklet kissing a surprised dragon in front of a sweaty human in a fur suit.

Masquerade

Delores

“Ugh, take it from the top!”Rufus puts his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Full tech rehearsals for the talent show have become our daily nightmare. The inability of the various arts disciplines to work as a team makes for constant friction, and Rufus’ patience—thin as it is—is ready to snap. I don’t blame him—unlike our number, the other acts from the dance and music departments are all solo performances, so every pred is the star in their own head. There are a few tolerable small preds, but most of our tantrums have come from a single source.

The Heathers.

My ex-besties have thrown together a Pred-mart version of the Cell Block Tango from Chicago. It's easily the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and I’d say that even if they weren’t my nemeses. They’re trussed up in LaPerla rather than lingerie designed to work on stage. When they’re miked and moving, it’s a shitshow of nip slips and plumber’s cracks. Add to that their complete lack of rhythm, choreography resembling a bad strip tease, and singing so off-key it physically hurts, and you have a hotfucking mess.

I can’t decide if this is all on purpose to ruin our show or if they’re just this ignorant, but it’s making Rufus lose the plot.

“Dollypop, can you please talk to that brainless twit in lighting about her timing? If they disrobe on stage, I’ll fail this project and it’s a huge chunk of my grade. I know the shifters in the audience won’t give a fuck about nudity, but not being able to control my cast will be a black mark on my resume, no matter what.”

I take pity on my friend, rising to walk back to the light board to talk to the owl running the spots and cans. She’s a nervous little thing, and Rufus has been taking out his frustration with the Heathers on her all afternoon. Her wide eyes settle on me through thick-framed glasses, and I give her an encouraging smile.

“Does this...” I gesture at the blinking lights, switches, and buttons. “... have programming? Like, can you cover our butts by putting something together that you could activate with a push of a button if they screw up and pop a seam? If so, that would help everyone relax a little, I think.”

Specifically, a high-strung honey badger on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The tech girl nods quickly, a grateful expression on her face. “Yes, yes! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I can set it to quickly activate and hide… inappropriate stage attire.”

I suppose that’s one way to put it. Full frontal nudity is another.

“Good. Please set it up, and also work with the sound guy to automate music to play when it cuts their mics. I appreciate it, truly. My friend isn’t a bad guy—he’s so stressed about his final grade that he’s about to pull his hair out.” She gives me a nod and a half smile, and I walk back to the row where my two friends are whispering.

When I join them, Cori throws an arm over my shoulders. “Dolly, it would probably be easier at this point just to kill the Heathers. Ru-Ru knows people who could do it.”

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “When they were trying to kill me, we ignored them, but when they butcher Kander & Ebb, it’s time for them to die, huh?”

Rufus harrumphs as he looks at his set list, making scribbled notes in the margins about the various performers. The notes are hard to read and I get the impression that’s probably for the best; they may not be kind. It’s obvious the other performers didn’t spend the past six weeks rehearsing for this show, and to say they are rough would downplay the situation. Cori’s exam was based on the costumes for our group, so she’s not as worried as he is.

“Excuse me… is anyone paying attention? My lighting is wrong again,” Gold whines as she stomps over to the proscenium.

I arch a brow as I look at her, unwilling to even dignify her antics with a response. Gold and the other Heathers’ mindless minions scared me when I first arrived because I was alone and had no support. Now that I have Rufus, Cori, and my guys, I can see how pathetic their games are. Their own followers would leave them in a second if they found a better meal ticket, and the power they believe they wield is far less than they assume.

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