Chapter Two
Deacon leaned against the door, letting his breath go in a long and heavy sigh that did nothing to queel the hot, putrid anger turned to nausea in his gut. His very bones felt like they were vibrating with rage, his heart pumping the bitter emotion through every sinew and muscle until he thought he might burst from keeping it all held in. And hidden beneath it all, stalking the shadows of his psyche, squeezing through the folds of his intestines, was a fear so profound, so deeply rooted, that he had no name for it. It evoked images of death lurking around every corner, a grisly and silent specter that struck without warning or reason, disturbing the natural order of the world he lived in. It hunted vampires for sport, humans for pleasure, leaving a trail of broken corpses in its passage. There was no place in all of Creation safe from it, no comfort or peace to be found once it had cast its eye upon the world and found it displeasing to its sight.
He took in another breath, lifting quaking hands to pull off his jacket. The blood flowing through his veins, the Argent linage more ancient than the Hemophage himself, had trembled in the presence of that creature. Will alone had kept him from losing it altogether, his instinct to protect his territory crumbling against the invisible force that she had projected just by standing there. How he had managed to recover, to get them all into the car and home without losing his bladder, or his mind, was beyond him. The Thralls, bless their simple spirits, were ready with the blood when Deacon walked through the door, his friends barely able to stand upright. He let them receive the Thrall's attentions first. That was what the leader did, after all, ensure his men were tended to before he saw to his own needs. It had been the first real act of leadership he had done all day, and knowing how close to danger he had guided the others into left him feeling empty inside.
The jacket tumbled to the gray carpet with a hiss of material and clink of metal as the zipper tab smacked the track on settling. He let it lay where it fell, the thought of picking it up and walking it the two steps to the hook on the wall too tiring a consideration. Weakness, fatigue, the unfathomably deep ache that spread out from his groin and turned to liquid fire in his abdomen, all were symptoms of a dangerous build up of Venom in his system. He should have recognized the signs earlier; should have left the school and had it taken care of or at least used the breaks between classes to take care of it himself. It was all that damn Incubus' fault! If Lane had just reigned in his powers, Deacon would not have lost his cool; would have kept a clear head and heeded his Father's instructions to stear clear of him. But the guy's influence touched every corner of the school, his scent mixing with the air and changing the scent of every human in the building. They all smelled like Thralls now, and it was a miracle that no one was attacked.
He shuffled on heavy feet to the bed, each step dragging like there was lead in his shoes. The instant his legs came into contact with the side of the mattress, he fell face forward onto the comforter and managed to tap into some hidden reservoir of strength to pull the rest of his body onto it, to correct his position so that his head rested on a pillow. There were reasons the race of Incubi did not mingle with vampires; why when one sensed the other nearby, both headed in oposite directions. The consequences of bringing the two together were devestating. Painful for vampires, dangerous for humans, the species had been a menace to both civilizations for as long as history extended. There were chaos wrapped up in whatever form they chose and really, it was anyone's guess as to how they had managed to survive at all, living without any sort of order or organization.
Thousands of years of history, and they were still shrouded in mystery. Humans had delighted in exploring the vampire legacy; wrote books, made movies, retold myths and legends, fascinated by the race that had once ruled over them all. But they had no such interest in Incubi, and that was telling, to Deacon anyway. A vampire could be depicted as a monster, a lover, a sparkling fantasy from a virgin's dark passions. Explanation for the existence ranged from sexually transmitted diseases, blood born pathogens, misunderstands of decay and even extraterrestrial origins. Humans loved vampires, but they feared and trembled at the thought of Incubi. Demons, they called them. Given what Deacon saw and experienced today, he could understand why, even as his rational mind knew better.
Searing, white hot pain caught him in its grip, rippling through his torso, climbing through nerve tunnels to explode bright and blinding behind his eyes. It took the wind out of him, the episode over almost as soon as it had begun and leaving him a curled ball of sweat drenched teenager on the bed. His senses burst open, unable to block out the minutia and the mundane, overloading his awareness and filling it with a rediculous level of detail: the number of threads woven into the pillow case's fabric that had to be counted by touch alone; the distand and dull sound of the others digesting their offering of blood; the soft scent of the Thralls carried in on the air ducts. He was hovering near the edge of insanity and knowing that, he panicked.
A filiment of thought connected him to his Thrall, had linked them together since the day Deacon turned fifteen and claimed him. Existing in the mack of his mind, never rising to a level of conscious awareness, in his hyper agitated state, it bloomed into something almost tangible. He reached out to it as a drowning man grasping onto a floating plank in a tepest tossed sea and yanked on it with all of his might. He heard the Thrall yelp in the parlor, dropping a gallong jug onto the floor and run up the stairs to burst into the room without concern for rules or protocol. He launched himself at the bed, heaving Deacon onto his back and then pressing the side of his tender neck to Deacon's mouth.
It wasn't the throbbing vein beating the Thrall's pulse against his lips, or the intoxicating scent drenching the air around them that lifted Deacon free of the Venom induced madness storm clutching his mind. Instead, it was the way the Thrall laid atop him, his warm naked flesh hidden beneath too many layers of clothing and calling out to be touched that, in the end, saved Deacon from himself.
He swung his arms up and around the Thrall, held him locked against his form. The pain vanished, evaporating from his blood and bones and muscles, replaced by an arousal echoing in the Thrall's groin, their members stretching out under cotton and denim in tandum, each teasing the other to grow and harden, rub and harden, flex and harden.
Deacon opened his eyes, kissed the youth's neck and then relaxed his grip. The Thrall let out a grunt, bent his legs at the knee to straddle Deacon's hips, the cleft of his ass sliding with an exquisite and remarkable precision over the vampire's manhood.
As Thralls went, Jerimiah was a fine specimen. Coffee colored skin that was smooth and creamy to the touch, and deep brown eyes that were forever filled with adoration for Deacon, any vampire would be proud to own him. He gave Deacon an uneasy smile, guiding the vampire's hands to his hips and holding them there against the elastic waistband of his sweat pants. The scent of his exercise regimen was a sharp, pungeant undercurrent to the sudden release of pheremones he had produced for Deacon's benefit, and as they faded away, his sweaty odor rose to the surface. Had the day gone differently, they would already be in the shower together.
"Deacon?" a concerned voice pierced the silence.
He turned his attention from his Thrall to the speaker, his two companions looking around him as he stood framed in the doorway. A streak of crimson hung at the corner of his lips, glistening and slowly moving toward his chin. They had all, Deacon saw, removed their jackets and tee shirts to avoid staining them with blood; a wise precaution given the dribbles of scarlet on their bare chests.
"I'm okay, Ron," he replied, gesturing with a nod of his head for them to enter.
Technically, they were servants of the Argent House, but Deacon prefered to think of thim as his foster brothers and, in many ways, that's what they were. All three of them were orphaned as children, picked up from the streets of surrounding cities. Ron had been the first, turned on Deacon's first changing day. Mike and Eric followed, both turned together that year's second changing day. They were as good of friends and companions as any Thrall, and they rounded out the Eagle Lake branch of the Argent family nicely.
Eric, who had been the most affected of them all by the confrontation looked in good spirits, though Deacon detected a tremor in his hands. Slipping his fingers from Jerimiah's grasp, he motioned Eric toward his bedside and when the youth kneeled, wrapped him up in a one armed hug. It was what he should have done in the first place. These boys, these creations, were all his, and he had very nearly come to failing them. Eric laid his head against Deacon's chest, smiling and giving a soft, satisfied sigh.
It had been a mistake to attack the Incubus like that. He knew that now. But he wanted Lane Hunt gone. If he couldn't control his abilities, he didn't deserve to be among society. Open confrontation wasn't going to work though, so they would have to go about getting him out more subtly, and that started with figuring out why he was in Eagle Lake in the first place. Deacon's Father would know. After all, he was the one who let Lane into the town in the first place. Once they knew his reasons, if indeed he had any, then they could act.
Away from the incubus' influence, with a Thrall on his lap And a vampire companion resting a cheek above his heart, the swirling confusion that had plagued all day, a static just hovering in the background but continuing to change frequencies so that it couldn't be ignored, faded away. The resulting clairty let him see what he and his brothers had missed from the very beginning, what he should have seen and known given the nature of Lane's heritage.
Of all the students in the school, out of all the citizens of the twon, the incubus had narrowed his predatory gaze onto Trey Parker, the principal's son. A bolt of electrical excitement lit a fire in his belly at this realization. It very nearly brought laughter to his lips.
Though he tried to hide himself in the background, Trey had to be the most prominent figure in the entire school, and not just by virtue of being the school administrator's offspring. He was a walking paradox, at once shy and naive while also being sociable and cosmopolitan. A few years back, he had been involed with a boy whose family promptly moved out of town and across the country when the two of them were caught making out under the old sycamore tree in the middle of town. Deacon had even sconsidered adding him to the Argent household once they both had graduated, especially after readong some of his fiction online. Trey had used apsuedonym, but had forgotten to mask his email address when he posted it to the archive. Given the nature of his stories, he would make an excellent Thrall if guided properly.
He might not be able to entrhall all of the residents of the town, but until he figured out what Lane was after, Deacon could certainly deny him a toy or two. He grinned, lifting his gaze to Jeremiah, letting his imagination run wild for a moment as he envisioned the two of them at his feet: dark and light, there was a certain satisfaction to the image, a wholeness of vision that stoked the ever burning fire in his loins.
"Ron," Deacon said, "see what you can find out about the incubus from my Father, and Mike, look into what's happening with Trey Parker. See if he's single, what he likes to do in his free time, who his friends are. And you go finish your blood," he added to Eric, giving the youth's ass a playful swat.
One by one, the three of them moved to obey Deacon's instructions. Ron pulled the car keys from Deacon's jacket and then hung it up on the hook by the door; to complete his mission, he would need to drive to the salt box building that served as both the sherrif's office for the town and its jail. Mike and Eric, meanwhile, wandered back toward the parlor, Mike's hand filling with his mobile phone, his thumbs a blur on the miniature keyboard as he typed out text messages to the better connected gossips. As the last to leave, Eric closed the door behind him.
Alone with his Thrall, Deacon weaved his fingers with Jeremiah's, pulled him closer to receive an affectionate kiss. He tasted cinnamon and sugar on the youth's lips, claimed another kiss for the sweetness of it. "Can the others do without you for a while?" he asked, rubbing noses with him.
"Yes, Master," Jeremiah whispered. "Shall I call them for you?"
It was one of Jeremiah's more notable personality traits, his willingness to share Deacon's affections with the other Thralls. They were all addicted to the Argent venom, but while his Father had no problem letting Deacon use the female Thralls he kept on hand, only Jeremiah had bonded with him in that intimate, spiritual way that made him Deacon's prime. His suggestion was as also a subtle hint reminding Deacon that he was not in the day's rotation yet; that one of the girls was expecting her dose of venom.
He shook his head in reply. Deacon wanted more than a fuck at that moment; needed the sort of attention only his bonded servant could give him. Whichever one of the girls it was, she would get what she needed in due course, either later that evening under Deacon's care, or when his Father got home.
They rolled together onto their sides, Jeremia's back to the wall. He hooked his thumbs into his pangs and wiggled free of them, his shirt following shortly thereafter. "I am honored to be taken by you, my Master," he murmured.
Deacon frowned, his brow furrowing. "Since when did I ever take you, Jeremiah? You've always given yourself to me willingly."
The Thrall smiled. He was playing with Deacon, trying to take his mind off of other concerns, and it earned him a deep, hungry kiss.
* * *
The phone in Misha's pocket buzzed, alerting her to another text message. She had been fielding them for the better part of an hour, all last minute requests to attend the surprise party, all from people she never thought to invite. While it was true that Trey rarely hung out with anyone but her outside of school, he had more friends, or at least acquaintances, than he realized. She had grown accusomed to his self-deprecation, but it never ceased to break her heart when she heard him putting himself down. It was almost as though they were talking about two different people. When Misha saw her friend, she saw someone who was kind, interesting, and bashful, but in a cute way. Trey, however, when he looked in the mirror, saw another being entirely, someone that was boring, unattractive, and not at all worthy of notice.
"I don't understand why I have to change just to go bowling," Trey said from the other side of the bathroom door.
She rolled her eyes, pulling out the phone and sending out the reply that gave the time and the address to the recipient. If Trey didn't hurry, they were going to be late. "Because," she called back to him, returning the phone to her pocket, "it's your birthday, and everyone should be extra cute on their birthday, even if they're just going bowling."
Her voice echoed down the hall and off of the living room walls of the empty house. After cake and icecream, Trey's parents had left under the pretense of needing to get to the shop for inventory. In reality, they were already at Misha's home, helping with the last minute decorations and organizational items that needed doing before they arrived. The whole set up had been a collaboration between Misha, Aunt Cara, and Trey's parents.
Inside the bathroom, something clattered to the floor, was quickly followed by her friend mumbling a swear word that managed to cut through the white noise of the bathroom's fan.
"What's wrong?" she asked, kicking off of the wall and leaning into Trey's room for want of something to do. Discarded clothes lay scattered about the floor, wrinkled and lifeless with limbs hanging in every direction. The double sized bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets, one pillow lying lengthwise for night time cuddling while the other sat where it should against the simple wooden headboard. Crumpled pieces of paper filled the wire basket beside his desk, his school bag left on the swiveling chair in front of it. It was one of those quirks about Trey that she appreciated the most: in every other area of his life, he was fastideous and organized bordering on the level of obsessive compulsion. Yet here, in his bedroom, the most intimate part of his world, he was just as messy as the next guy.
"Nothing," Trey replied with a light groan, "I just knocked over my toothbrush. You know, maybe this isn't such a good idea. I suck at bowling."
"You rock at bowling!" she countered, whipping around to address the bathroom door directly. "But that's not even the point. You need to get out and have a little fun. Plus," she added, lifting her lips into a grin, "you already invited the new kid to come along with us. You don't want to be a bad host, do you?"
She could almost hear him blush in the silence that greeted her. She might bot be Sherlock Holmes, but anyone with half a working brain and one good eye could see the sparks that sizzled in the air between Trey and Lane when she had interrupted them. In fact, she was quite certain that if she had just been a few seconds later in arriving at the locker, she would have found the two of them locked at the lips. If their roles had been reversed, she definitiely would have jumped the guy's bones!
It wasn't just his looks, either, though they helped. In the one day that Lane Hunt had been at Eagle Lake High, he had proven himself to be somewhat of an altruistic rock star according to the reports she had received from the student news agency that was the school's gossip mill. He had helped Samantha Timmons with her math work, gotten the Special Ed kids to get off of the bench in Physical Education and play along with the rest of the class, saved Raju Badal from having to explain Diwali to a group of idiots, and even managed to break through Dr. Parker's icy exterior to bring a laugh out of him. And then there was the favor he had agreed to do for her, for which she could not thank him enough. He was, hands down, the most interesting thing to happen to the school since the Great Vomiting Incident two years prior.
She leaned sideways against Trey's door frame, listening to the sounds of preparations coming from the other side of the door. He might have the jitters about meeting up with Lane, but knowing her friend as well as she did, he was looking forward to seeing him again. That he had agreed to hit the shower and change into something that was not the standard teen uniform of jeans and a tee shirt instead of flat out denying the suggestion altogether and leading the way to the car, was proof enough of his interest. He had a soft spot for the new guy. Or, more accurately, a hard spot since he was, in fact, a boy.
It was an interesting idea, the thought of her best friend hooking up with another man. Not because it was another man; she had known about Trey's sexual orientation the instant she caught him paying more attention to Brad Pitt than Angelina Jolie at the movies when they were younger. Rather, it was interesting because Trey had never had a relationship before. It was long overdue in her opinion; a scandal of epic proportions as the lives of high schoolers went, that he had remained uncoupled for so long. And no matter what anyone said to the contrary, she knew there had to be at least a few options running around town to catch Trey's attention; the statistics in this were in her favor.
Trey Parker and Lane Hunt, the principal's son and the new guy: power couple of Eagle Lake High. She recalled the image of them together at the locker, Trey's position submissive but willing with his back to the wall, Lane leaning into him and on the verge of stealing a kiss. Even she found it an arousing sight. They fit together like butter spreading out on warm toast, or rose oile mixing with ambergris. Watching them from the bonds of romance would be a spectacular sight, history in the making, and with only one flaw: Trey's shyness.
She waved that unhappy thought away. Trey might be shy, but he had her to help him out with that. That's what friends were for and, dammit, she was going to make sure the two of them gotether, if not for Trey's benefit, then for her own peace of mind. Brandon Meyer had finally, finally, asked her out. She would have her long dreamed of double date with her best friend even if she had to it by the nostrils!
In the bathroom, the sounds shifted: the water, a constant flow that was easy to forget had been running, ceased. She heard Trey move, his footsteps heavier than usual in his casual dress shoes. Material hissed against material, and he gave a soft, rumbling sigh, clearing his throat as he reached for the door knob. It tingkled at his touch, then turned, and the door opened.
Misha's breath caught at the vision that appeared in the door way, backlit by the soft glow of the bathroom's lighting, his figure framed by the doorway before him, and given depth by the steamy shower behind him. A light mist of his new cologne had been applied to his bare, freshly showered skin, a dream of perfection wrapping all within its compass with a warm and fragrant embrace. He had donned a flowing silk-blend button down of rich, earthy brown, the top button left undone and, whether by design or by accident, it showed off the groove of his throat and give a tantilizing hint of his collar bone. The shirt made his vibrant blue eyes come to life, popping out to capture the attention of everyone around him, even without the delicate application of dark eyeliner he had applied as a subtle draw to the azure orbs. His dark hair, still moist for the shower, had been styled within an inch of its life, held in place by a mixture of styling puddy, mousse and hairspray. His pants were dark blue, tight where they were supposed to be, lifting and presenting his basket and hugging the curvy bubble of his rear. A simple black leather belt with off-gold buckle and black shoes completed the ensemble.
"Holy..." Misha praised, unable to complete the sentence as her heart gave an appreciative thump behind her breast, her jaw going slack and her gaze fixed on the stranger wearing her friend's skin.
Trey's face turned three different shades of red and he dipped his chin toward his chest, shoulders cinching up to the sides of his neck. He tucked his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting to a spot on the floor just past his right shoe. "Is... is it okay? Should I change? I'll change." He advanced a step toward his room.
She shook herself from her awe, lifting her hands to stop him from moving past her. "Don't you dare," she replied, her voice filled with a deep warning. "You look hot," she added, punctuating each word, lips lifting to a full smile.
Not just hot, she admitted to herself. Delicious. Fuckable. The transition from the boy she had sent into the bathroom to change and the young man that emerged was like a Disney princess fairy tale. She cast her thoughts to the clothes that he usually wore and decided that they all needed to be burned in a great big bonfire in celebration of his newfound Cinderella transformation. And it was time to get him to the ball before he chickened out and turned into a pumpkin.
She lifted her purse onto her shoulder, fishing for the car keys within. "Let's go," she said, pointing him away from the bedroom and giving him a little push. "We have to hurry. We still need to stop by my house to get my bowling ball."
He tripped forward, unable to completely find his stride as she pressed him from behind. "Why can't you just use one of the balls when we get there?" he asked over his shoulder.
"That's like asking someone why they can't just borrow another person's underwear," she quipped in reply. Really, she didn't have a bowling ball of her own and part of her wondered why she had even said that. Trey should have known it was a lie, too. Fortunately, he was still too twisted up about the praise she had just given him to notice.
He opened the front door, turning the bottom lock, and they left the house. The earth conscious part of Misha's brain berated her for letting them leave without turning off the lights, but she wasn't kidding about their need to hurry. They had less than ten minutes to get from Trey's house to hers and it would take some creative driving to make it there in time.
"It's kind of cold," Trey said, stepping up to the passenger door and trying the handle. "Maybe I should go grab a sweater."
Misha pressed the unlock button on her key fob. The car chirped in reply, the lights flashing twice against the white panneling of the garage. "No time," she answered. "Besides, its not like we're going to be outside for very long. Get in." No more delays, no more letting him try to squirm his way out of it. She was in it for the duration now, the fire of excitement bubbling in her stomach. This was going to be a night to remember!
The car dinged at her as she turned the key in the ignition, reminding her to put her seatbelt on. She ignored it, bringing the vehicle to life and then reaching over her shoulder to guide the strap across her chest and lap. The stereo blasted out a tricksy club beat in prelude to the music that would be playing later that evening. In Eagle Lake, there were two things her Aunt Cara were known for. The first, her line of hand blended body care products, which were sold in specialty shops in the surrounding cities, and in her own storefront in the middle of town. The second, and the one that Misha most appreciated her for that night, was her party planning. Everyone in town came to her for engagements celebrations, weddings, birthdays, graduations and promotions. The income she made from the event preparations more than made up for the occasional hit she took from trying out new products in her line. Give her a theme, and she would bring it to life.
Flipping the gear into reverse, Misha backed the car out of the Parkers' driveway, flipping her headlights on to illuminate the road ahead of her. Night had fallen while she had waited for Trey to finish up his ablutions but the moon had yet to rise, gracing the deep black, star strewn sky with its waning crescent. A chill breeze blew a few autumnal colored leaves infront of her headlights, orange red and gold captured for a brief moment under their blue-white glare. Halloween was in the air, fun displays that were more comedic than frightening dotting the lawns of the houses they passed by. A few of them were even lit up by candles, grotesque faces smiling and sneering out at them as they passed.
Trey remained silent, locked away in a world inside his head that he never fully shared with Misha. When she looked over to check on him, however, she found him smiling though he did occasionally chew at the knuckle of his thumb out of nerves. He even gave his head a few nods, following along with the beat, loosening up a little. It was a good thing too; too much tension was bad for the skin, she knew, and she needed him to be relaxed enough to accept the full joy of being surprised when they entered the house.
When they were five minutes away, the really sneaky part of the plan came to fruition. She had worked out a code to alert her Aunt, and everyone gathered at the house, to let them know they were close. Lifting her hand from the steering wheel, she gave his knee a squeeze. "Do me a favor," she said. "Send Aunt Cara a text to unlock the door for us. That way, we can be in and out quickly."
Trey shifted in the passenger seat, lengthening his body to extract his cell phone from his front right pocket. He sent the text and returned the phone to his pocket, his keys jingling as they brushed against the mobile. He looked to her then, sucking at his bottom lip as though trying to keep back what he wanted to say.
"Out with it," she said, catching sight of him and the expression.
He gave a sigh, repositioning himself on the passenger seat to face her, and lowered the music volume to a dull, thumping thrum in the background. "Do you..." he flushed once more, but pressed on after catching a quick breath. "Do you think he's interested in me? I mean... you know... like that?"
"Lane? Are you kidding? He looked like he was ready to gobble you up whole at school. Yeah, I think he's interested," she replied. "Are you interested in him?"
He shrugged, a playing- it- cool act that didn't fool Misha for one instant. "I guess," he answered. "He is cute. But, I don't really know anything about him."
Misha chuckled. "Work with the cute first, get to know him later. Get to know him tonight. You know," she added, "Brandon Meyer asked me out today. Maybe we could do a double date this weekend."
She glanced over at him to gague his response. His smile faltered as he thought about it, and then lifted into a full and brilliant grin that warmed the cockles of the heart and would have made even the staunchest virgin question if they should remain so for any longer.
"That would be kind of cool," he said. "But what if... what if he... I mean, what if I ask him out and he says no?"
As far as Misha was concerned, that was not going to happen. She patted his knee, gave him an encouraging smile. "Just don't think about it. I know people, Trey. And Lane Hunt is definitely into you." She stopped the car outside of her home, switching off the ignition. "Just let yourself have fun tonight. If we don't have boyfriends by tomorrow morning, I'd be surprised."
He gave an enthusiastic nod, the idea of having a boyfriend swimming in the depths of his vibrant blue eyes. She released the latch for her seatbelt, casting a quick glance to the house beyond Trey's window. It looked like it would on any other night, the living room lights shining through the curtains, nothing at all suspicious. Except for the cars lining the street.
"One of your neighbors having a party?" Trey asked, seeing them as well.
"Probably," she answered quickly, hand working open the driver's door. A crisp breeze blew in when she had opened it, swirled around her once she had stepped out. "Come on," she added, bending forward and leaning into the car. "This will just take a minute."
He followed along behind her as they mounted the front steps, and how she managed to contain her excitement, let alone keep her hands from shaking as he took the door knob into her grasp, was a wonder.
"Surprise!" a room full of people shouted in unison. Trey stopped, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as they took in the sight. Misha turned at his side, giving him a kiss on the cheek and adding, "Happy birthday!"
* * *
The shouting, the applause, the laughter; Trey did his best to bear it without running from Misha's house, screaming at the top of his lungs. He even managed to pull a mostly genuine smile onto his face and let out an appreciative laugh. He did it because Misha was his best friend, and the level of work dedicated to this party, her ability to orchestrate it without giving herself away, deserved his accolades. She had succeeded in catching him by surprise, of that there could be no doubt.
The music started, low at first, vibrating a chell and violin duet out of sync with the youthful faces gathered into a crush of bodies in the front room, screatching out a sinister tune. Then, the lights went out, silence filling the space and in the darkness, Misha's hand folded into his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
A light above the stairs that landed between the kitchen and the front room flipped on, drawing everyone's attention. Cell phone cameras were pointed in that direction, and Misha dropped his hand to pull her mobile out. Behind him, the door opened and then closed, a brief nip of cold air that was at once swallowed up again by a warm body scooting in. A chest pressed against his back, soft lips brushing along the shell of his ear.
"Happy birthday," Lane whispered, hot breath sinking into Trey's skin and melting the rigid column of his spine. In the dark, with everyone's focus elsewhere, he allowed himself to lean back like a character in one of his stories would have done, and was treated to a pair of strong arms circling his middle, holding him in place. It was terribly forward of the young man, of them both in fact, and it brought a naughty grin to Trey's face that could not be smoothed out even with multiple attempts.
A foot appeared on the stairs, and then another, then legs, a torso, and finally, his father came into full view. Trey chuckled at the sight of him, in full suit and tie, though his jacket hung off one arm and his shirt was untucked on one side. The man pointed to Misha, the dark make-up under his eyes contrasting the pale powder applied to his face, giving him a sunken, hollow look. "You there! You know the rules. No cell-phones!"
The crowd laughed, following his image projected onto the screens of their individual mobiles, recording the event for posterity. Misha looked around her screen. "Stick it, Dr. Parker!" she called back, earning her an even louder laugh and a quick round of applause.
His Father's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, his mouth pulling into a dramatic, bafoonish frown. He swpet his gaze among the gathering, faltered for just an instant when it landed on Trey and Lane. Trey thought he saw the man's eyes twinkle, did see his father's lips force back a smile, quivering at the edges. He pointed to someone else. "You, pull up your pants. Detention!" He gave his tie a straigtening that made its position even more unflattering. "Detention! Detention!" he added, pointing to all of them at once. "All of you! Detention! This isn't a madhouse!"
Two beefy seniors from the football team dressed in matching white hospital uniforms appeared from the kitchen, taking him by the arms, and Misha's Aunt Cara came down the stairs, a long laboratory coat flowing behind her. "Now, now, Dr. Parker," she said. "It's time to go back to your room and take your medicine. You know you're not the principal here." She looked to the two youths at his side. "The Electro- shock room," she added in lower tones that carried none-the-less.
The crowd erupted, laughing and clapping as the high school principal was mostly-dragged away, shouting "Not a madhouse!" over and over again.
Rows of black lights switched on, illuminating streaked handprints all over the walls. A strobe flashed in time to a thunder sound effect, and Misha giggled. Above the door that led to the kitchen, a sign in digital letters read Eagle Lake Insane Assylum. Trey chuckled, turning to his friend.
"Nice party theme," he murmured to her.
"It gets better," she replied, switching off the cell phone and returning it to her purse.
Cara heaved a dramatic sigh, shaking her head and turning to address the gathering. "Maps are in the kitchen... excuse me, the lab," she said, gesturing to the room behind her. "Have fun, and if you see Trey Parker, be sure to thank him for being born so close to Halloween."
The lights went out and, in the instant of darkness that followed, Lane laid his cheek on Trey's shoulder, giving the side of his neck a goosebump inducing nuzzle. "Come find me," he whispered, his arms slipping from Trey's middle.
A fog machine hissed and, when the low, black lights were switched back on, a layer of mist covered their feet. Misha's aunt had vanished, Lane was nowhere to be seen, and the party began in earnest, the music a combined club-style set mixing the themes from familiar horror movies.
Brandon Meyer, in full and bloody costume, approached with a scroll in his hand. He held it out to Misha with a grin. "Think you could stop by and visit a crazy guy tonight?"
"Count on it," she replied, taking the rolled leaf of paper and leaning toward the young man, stealing a quick peck from him.
Beneath the white foundation covering his face, Brandon blushed. He turned to Trey. "Happy birthday, dude," he said and then ran into the crowd, giving a frightening snarl to one of the girls he passed. She jumped and screamed. The party goers broke up into smaller clumps, drifting toward the kitchen. Misha linked arms with him and gave him a tug to follow a small group of what looked to be Freshmen.
"You have no idea how much of a life saver Lane is," Misha said. "I asked around and no one in school has a motorcycle. When he agreed to play the part for the party... well, lets just say that, if I find him, I might just kiss him!"
Me too, Trey thought. "How did you pull this all off?" he asked aloud. Ahead of them, the line that had formed moved slowly in its progress. From the sound of the voice speaking above the murmur of the crowd that came from out of view, around where the back door to the kitchen was located, he gathered they were being broken up into individual parties.
Misha shrugged. "Magic," she said. "Your Dad helped with the cast and Aunt Cara took care of the rest. I just invited people to come. Word got around I guess," she said, giving a nod to their peers. "Maybe we should keep it open until Halloween; charge admission."
They crossed the threshold between the living room and the landing. A red velvet rope crossed the top of the stairs along with a sign that politely requested people keep out. He could understand why; both Misha's room and her Aunt Cara's room were up there. But without a basement, the only place left for the party to move to was out of doors. He swallowed hard at that realization.
Misha's aunt owned the tract of woods behind the house and the homes of their neighbors. As children, she and Trey would play in that forested, wild area, frequently scaring themselves as they lost their way. In the dark, at night, it was even creepier. Her aunt even thought so, making her fragrances and lotions in a garage sized shed close to the house and keeping the back gate double locked whenever she was out there past sunset working.
Rounding the corner, Trey picked up a scroll identical to the one that Misha had and unrolled it. His suspicions were confirmed. At the top of the map was a brief story about an Insane Assylum and the woods behind it, where the patients enjoyed playing tricks and frightening visitors, sometimes even stealing them away to join their hellish existence in the mental institute. Beneath it, crudely drawn in what looked like crayon, was a map. It gave no real preview of what laid ahead, only pointing out a few landmarks in the event someone got lost, a few places where food and drinks could be had, and a meandering trail that would take hours to fully explore as it split off into different directions.
He lifted his eyes from the map to the woman at the door segregating the groups into smaller numbers, or combining them into larger ones. He did a double take. "Mom?"
She had dressed in a straight jacket with the arms unbound for the occasion, her hair a tangled rats nest floating on her head. She waved at him, smiling. "Hi!"
He and Misha stepped out of line to stand beside her. The party, he saw, had grown, and now included adults and middle schoolers, many of whom had no idea who Trey even was. Misha had been right about word getting around, and her idea to start charging admission would have been a sound business decision. It was starting to look like the whole town had found out about the event.
"Mom, you look... awesome," he said, glancing up and down at her costume.
She flaped one arm around him, pulling him in for a hug. "Thanks sweety," she said, squeezing his shoulders and then nodded to two kitchen chairs nearby. "Cara, your Aunt left a jacket for you and one of the boys in the woods left one for you too, Trey."
They turned in unison in the direction indicated. Misha reached out for the jackets hanging on the back of the chairs, handing Trey the one that didn't belong to her. It was a well worn and cozy leather jacket, the kind that was perfect for wearing while riding motorcycles. Trey shrugged into it, pulling it around his shoulders and holding it there like a hug. Misha gave him a knowing grin, an eyebrow quirking.
His mother held her arm across the door, stopping a group of youths from following their companions outside. "Everyone have cell phones?" she asked in an unmistakably Momish tone. "Good. Add this number to your contacts..." she gave his father's mobile phone number. "If you get lost, call that number. Dr. Parker, or another adult, will come find you. Pay attention to the map, and you should be fine. Or don't," she added, dropping her voice to a ghoulish, overly-dramatized timbre. "We could always use new patients!" She lifted her arm with a maniacal laugh and the group rushed through the door.
It was cheesy, and it was perfect, bringing a real smile to Trey's face. He gave his Mother another squeeze. Going through a creepy forest would not have been his first choice for a party, especially a surprise party held in his honor, but at that moment, it felt right.
"Call us to let us know if you'll be out all night," his Mother said as they passed by her, their own little group of two the smallest yet she would allow.
"Okay," Trey said, waving at her over his shoulder. They passed through the mud room and onto the deck. "Will I be out all night?" he asked Misha, using the stair rail to steady his step
His friend gave him the kind of grin that promised he wouldn't even be thinking about home that night. "That's up to you," she replied. "But just in case, the spare room is made up for you. And whoever else you invite..." she added with a naughty giggle, her voice trailing off suggestively.
Blue solar charged lights on stakes marked out the edge of the pathway that started on the other side of the back gate, set into the ground at even intervals but casting off so little light that they were useless for anything but points of reference. The wind blew the scent of wood smoke, comfing from the forest, the fire that produced it too deep in the wilds to be seen. A group ahead of them, invisible within the dark and already beyond the first bend in the path screamed, and then laughed. Once more, Trey was struck by the monumental undertaking that organizing all of this had been, and he draped his arm across Misha's shoulder, yanking her toward him for a hug.
"Thank you," he said to her as they entered the woods. "This is an awesome birthday party."
A few fet in, she stopped to crouch among a thicket of bushes, pulling out two bottles glinting amber in the twilight. "Try not to drink it too fast," she said, handing him one of the beverages. "It'll be a while before we get to the rest."
They clinked the bottoms of the glass bottles together, took a deep swig and swallowed. Strong tasting beer washed over Trey's tongue and down his gullet, landing in his stomach as a warm bundle of liquid joy. This was turning out to be the best birthday party on record!
Several jump scares, curves in the path, and a close call with one of the adults that monitored the woods for lost children later, Misha took them off of the main path and down a narrow side trail hinted at on the map. She produced two more bottles, which they downed quickly to start on the two others she had placed with them. By Trey's reckoning, that was a full six-pack that they had shared thus far.
"Loosens up the vocal chords for some good screams," his friend explained. "The side paths are where the really scary things are."
With a nod that made his brain feel lopsided, he took her shoulder beneath his hand and let her lead the way, trusting in her sense of direction. Leaving the beer in predetermined locations along the route they were to travel was both a risky idea and a good one. Maybe, if they had thought of it when they were younger, the wooded area wouldn't feel so damn creepy now.
A twig snapped nearby. They both turned in the direction of the sound. Moving wraithlike in the shadows, a silohuete crossed Trey's field of vision. He tossed back a deep swallow, reducing the liquid from the bottle neck. If he was going to be startled, and the hairs lifting on the back of his neck told him that such an event was inevitable, he didn't want to be sloshing beer all over the place.
When the path branched, they took the left fork. It bended sharply, looping back, and the veered to the right a little further on, and they found themselves in a horrific scene lit by dim red lamps attached to the trees. A metal institutional bed with fake blood splattered across ripped sheets and torn pillows lay in the center of the space. A burned doll, with one eye missing, stared lifeleslly at them as they approached. At that moment, Trey wouldn't have been surprised if the thing started talking to them, its head spinning, with flames coming out of the empty eyesocket.
Misha stopped so quickly that Trey bumped into her. He reached out, catching her before she fell. "How did we get here?" she asked, turning on the spot and looking from side to side.
The bottom fell out of Trey's stomach. "You mean we're lost?"
Her hand fluttered against his arm, a touch meant to reassure bud did just the opposite. "No," she sanswered, "I know where we are. I just don't know how we got here. This," she gestured toward the scene, "wasn't supposed to show up until the end."
He opened his mouth to speak and, in the instant the words touched his tongue, they were beset upon by two growling youths, one of whom snatched Misha up from behind into his arms and spun her around. Trey shouted. Misha laughed. And then the pieces fell together.
In the gloom and, in his inebriated haze, he had missed both the edge of falsity in Misha's voice and the familiar shape of Brandon whisking her off of her feet. Clutching his chest, he kicked dirt and debris at the couple, not so much mad at them as he was mad that they had gotten him.
"Thanks Lukka," Brandon said to his cohort, rocking left and right with Misha in his embrace.
"No problem," the youth answered, smiling to Trey and punching him the arm with a "Happy birthday," before melting into the shadows.
The blow didn't hurt, but Trey still rubbed at the spot anyway. "Thanks," he replied, tracking Lukka's progress back down the path. Misha, he decided, was going to get an earful for that trick, and Brandon too. He turned, ready to lay down the law, but kept his mouth shut at the sight greeting him.
Misha had turned in the youth's arms, her face tilting to the side to receive Brandon's lips against her own. One of the man's hands reached up, cupping her cheek as though she were the most delicate treasure in the world. There were no tongues, at least as far as Trey could hear and see, but the kiss was perfect without them: deep and unobtrusive, romantic and at such a high level of spiritual oneness that Trey's soul ached with the honor of bearing witness to it.
Seeing them joined like that, his mind jumped out of time and into the future, playing out a wedding scenario that put Misha in a long, flowing, pearl gown walking down the aisle to Brandon, who stood smiling before the altar. Trey looked away, turning from the vision and the two of them as they were now, tapping his fingers on the bottle to keep himself occupied lest he ruin the moment.
Presently, they separated, delivering long looks into one another's eyes that spoke of lust and of burgeoning love. "You're staying for the after party, right?" Misha asked and then swivelled. "Oh, Trey! Shit! I ruined the surprise."
He let out a laugh, lifting his hand to brush the comment away. "I've had plenty of surprises tonight," he replied, and then looked to Brandon. "I'd really appreciate it if you came," he said to the youth. He said it for Misha; his way of letting her know that he was okay with her and Brandon hooking up. It was, in a way, his blessing.
Brandon smiled back at him, nodding. He claimed Misha's lips for one more kiss and then sent them on their way.
* * *
The end of the attraction built to celebrate Trey's birthday came into sight at the termination of the path, a triplicity of metal drums burning in a clearing and surrounded by long longs split into halves as low to the ground benches. It had not taken as long as Trey thought it would, even with he and Misha exploring every nook and back path of the dramatized woods. He had yet to see Lane drifting among the other actors, and it was starting to worry him, leaving him wondering if the young man that had fallen from his dreams had decided to go back into them without so much as a farewll. The meandering path had taken them back toward Misha's home, the fack fence appearing between heavy brush and dense shrubbery, thick trees and dark sheets strung up between them. Had they taken a right at the gate instead of a left, they would have wandered into the campsite at the end in a few yards of of steps; sparing them a great deal of walking while also denying them all of the fun they'd had.
Movement in the darkness in an alcove to their left drew Trey's attention. With his senses finely honed by a night already spent being jumped out at, he spun in the direction of the alcove, ready to face one final thrill and wishing he had another beer in his hand to enjoy it even more.
An engine roared, a strobe light tied to the sound flashing once, giving them a glimpse of the scene. A motorcycle stood under what appeared to be its own authority. Another growl and flash, and a lone figure appeared at the bike's side, one hand on the gas. Sinister music blared from hidden speakers, and the light went into overdrive, capturing frames in brief bursts as the figure strutted from the alcome, pointing one menacing finger at Trey. He took an involuntary step back, reaching out to pull Misha along with him and grabbing air. Heart thumping in his chest, he caught sight of his friend approaching the edge of the path alone, waving in greeting to the people gathered around the fires.
The figure grabbed him by the front of his borrowed jacket, spinning him toward the alcove and off of the path, the man's eyes blazing green with each captured instant of illumination. Misha had said Lane was the only one she could find with a motorcycle, though at the time Trey had no clue why that had mattered. He breathed a sigh of relief, letting himself be manhandled deeper into the flashing darkness, each moment of light giving greater depth to the scene.
Lane's motorcycle helmet lay on the bike's seat, the youth himself dressed in a slashed white tee shirt and ripped, dirty jeans. Someone had done an excellent job with his makeup, making him look horribly injuried with bruised eyes and one long, crimson gash above his brow. His lips were painted pale blue, his face pale and lifeless looking. The final spin ended at the last strobe, and he pulled Trey against his hard, toned body, fitting his lips ontop of Trey's mouth with unerring accuracy.
The lightheadedness he could blame on the alcohol buzz, but the way he melted into the youth, fingers grasping at the back of Lane's tee shirt and his knees threatening to give out, that was all the kiss. And what a kiss it was too! Trey might be inexperienced in some things, but kissing he knew, and this was the kind of kiss that entire myths could be written about. He closed his eyes, all of his attention focusing on the point of contact between their bodies, the bubble of air they shared between them that filled with the scent of beer, of Trey's cologne, of Lane's scent that managed to be just as sexy as the man was himself. He tasted minty mouthwash, would have let his lips open to accept Lane's tongue had it been offered. His tongue, however, was not offered, and the kiss ended much too soon for Trey's tastes with the youth before him lifting his face away and then taking a step back, Lane's breath coming out in a soft, excited sigh.
"I've been waiting to do that all night!" Lane announced, his fist curling around the front of the jacket he had let Trey borrow, giving him a playful shake. "What took you so long?"
Trey's eyes adjusted to the renewed darkness, and as he lifted his hands to Lane's wrists, pulling them closer together to close off the body heat that was escaping from the front of the jacket, he saw the man was smiling. "Sorry," he chuckled, "we got a little side-tracked."
Lane's eye brow quirked up in an expression full of curiosity and promise. "Side-tracked, huh?" he murmured, tugging Trey against him once more. "I think that's worth a few more kisses, don't you? Payment for making me wait so long for you."
The flirtation in the man's voice rung like a bell inside Trey's mind. He wanted to say something in reply that would be equally flirtatious, equally sexy, but couldn't come up with anything. He damned his lack of social skills at that moment, even as they had served him from a great deal of pain and awkwardness in the past. He didn't want to be shy or bashful right then! He wanted to be cool, confident, powerful. All he could do was nod.
It was then that the import of what Lane had said struck him in full. All night, the young man had been waiting for him; had been waiting for the kiss he had just claimed from him. The realization brought a hot flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol swimming through his system, and he reached out to Lane for support, his arms wrapping up and around the youth's neck. The part of him that wondered why Lane had been waiting, why Lane had chosen him among all of the other students who were, in Trey's opinion, much sexier and definitely more experienced, was silenced with a single, unspoken thought. The reasons didn't matter. Lane had chosen him, and he wasn't going to let that happy event get lost in the mire of his self doubt.
The sound of girls approaching the scene, interrupting the option of another, deeper kiss, drew them apart. Lane grinned, nodding toward a darker patch just behind the motorcycle. His legs brushed against what felt like the discarded remains of a rear passenger car seat, and Trey sat upon it. The engine growled at his command, the light flashing once more when the girls were within view. They stopped, turning toward the alcove.
Lane stradled his motorcycle, sent them a frightening glare. One of the girls swore and as the music blared, he charged them with the motorcycle, popping onto his back wheel inches from their backs as they tucked tail and ran screaming toward the firelight.
The youth chuckled, joining Trey in the darkness, snuggling up alongside him and draping an arm around his shoulders. "You wanna keep me company for a while?" he asked, "I think they're one of the last groups."
Trey laid his head on the man's shoulder. Wild horses couldn't keep him away. "Sure." He stuck around through several more passing groups, the last being a pair of couples that screamed wildly and in unison when Lane performed his act, running to the end of the line with those gathered around the fires laughing at their exit. The announcement that the pair of couples had in fact been the last group came through a text message sent to Lane's cell phone.
Rather than flopping down beside Trey on the discarded car furniture, he sat astride his motorcycle and turned around on the seat, patting the raised spot behind him.
Trey rose, chewed at the inside of his bottom lip for a moment, considering the offer. "I've never been on a motorcycle before," he admitted.
"It's the easiest thing in the world," Lane replied, scooting forward and allowing Trey to swing a leg over. "I'll do the driving, and you just give me a hug."
It was actually a little more complicated than that, but once he got his feet off of the ground and figured out where to put them, it got easier. He wrapped his arms around the youth's middle, laying his cheek between Lane's shoulder blades. The machine growled, the engine vibrating beneath him and sending a sensation that wasn't quite a tickle up through his groin. It was a brief ride to get from the alcove to the clearing, but by the end of it, Trey had learned that he liked being on a motorcycle, and he loved being the passenger.
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