Page 43 of Virgin Sacrifice

Aaron (party): Oh shit, poor Autumn!

Aaron (party): Is she OK? Should I com over?

Aaron (party): Do you nedb anything?

I sighed.

We had seen Aaron earlier that day for breakfast, and he had been almost as excited as Autumn to get out and blow off some steam. Even if he wasn’t my favorite person, there was no need to ruin his Halloween as well. I really didn’t mind keeping an eye on Autumn, and it wasn’t as though I wasn’t already planning to stay in.

Me: Slow down there, cowboy! We have everything under control here.

Me: Autumn is sick but resting. I will stay with her. You go out and have fun.

I could see the three dots indicating that Aaron was typing out his response, probably to argue with me, so I countered before he could.

Me: Please, I mean it.

Me: She needs one of us to have fun stories to tell about tonight.

I looked over to Autumn to ask if she wanted to put a scary movie on in the background or just sleep, but she was already snoring quietly. My phone chimed.

Aaron (party): R u sure?

Me: 100% she is already asleep. I am just going to watch a movie.

Aaron (party): Okay, LMK if u changce ur mind

I put down my phone, not interested in chatting further. From his texts, it looked like he had started pregaming early.

With Autumn settled and Aaron dealt with, it was time to figure out my own plans for the evening.

If I was going to camp out in Autumn’s room to keep an eye on her, I needed some supplies, including my laptop, comfier clothes, and some pillows and blankets to sleep on. I should also probably order some dinner at some point.

If I did that, I would have to go downstairs to meet the delivery guy, and I would need to be able to get back into Autumn’s after.

I scanned the space and quickly located her key card on her desk, pocketing it as I made a mental list of things to grab from my room.

I stepped out of the room only to nearly fall back in when I walked into someone standing directly outside.

“Happy Halloween, puppy,” purred Nixon.

Chapter twenty

Luz

“What do you want? I’m busy.” I pushed past him to get to my door.

Nixon wore head-to-toe black, including a thin cashmere turtleneck that more than hinted at the delicious muscles that lay below, fitted black slacks, and patent leather derby boots. His golden locks were mussed and mostly covered by the cheap plastic skeleton mask that was pushed up off his face.

When he didn’t respond, I sighed with irritation and went to let myself into my room.

Most days I had enough sense to at least pretend to play the deferential ingenue around Nixon, who was more reactionary than his brother. Tonight though, something told me I was in for a long one, and I had already spent the better part of the evening surrounded by vomit. My patience was worn thin.

I swiped my key card to open the door, the familiar clank of the lock unlatching music to my ears, only to be stopped in my tracks.

“Now, now, pet, what have I told you about playing nice?” Nixon’s breath was hot against the back of my neck, as he reached around me to grasp the hand that was about to open the door. I closed my eyes and straightened my spine, refusing to let him see the shiver I was fighting off.

“My friend is sick,” I said, still facing my door, “I’m just grabbing some things from my room so that I can head back and take care of her.”

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