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They met Crow on Thursday evening in a 7-Eleven parking lot between Ascension and Benson’s, just off Route 23. Both girls told their parents they were going to the USM library to study for chem and then do research for their independent projects. In reality, the chem test had been that afternoon, and Em was pretty sure she’d bombed it. As for her research paper, well . . . this was research. It was research about the only thing that mattered anymore.
In the parking lot Em could feel Crow’s eyes on her. She felt as if he was absorbing her all at once, taking in everything about her: the skintight black jeans, her hair (she’d straightened it, and it reached to the bottom of her rib cage), and her heeled boots, which made her even taller than she already was. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t whistle, didn’t raise his eyebrows. Nothing. There was no indication that they’d kissed, that he’d talked about not wanting to her, or that she’d run off into the rainy night afterward. He did, however, give Drea—who had forgone her typical safety-pinned layers in favor of a red miniskirt, patterned black tights, and a leather jacket—a long, low whistle.
“Shit, Feiffer, weren’t you saving that outfit for prom?” Crow asked with a smirk. “I thought you were going to wear it just for me. . . .”
“Very funny, Crow,” she shot back. “Are dropouts allowed at prom?”
“Probably just as waiters,” he said, flicking the hair out of his eyes. With a flourish, he produced the fake IDs. “Here are your cards of false identification.”
They paid, and as Em handed over her cash, Crow’s fingers brushed her wrist. The goose bumps returned, but she ignored them. She resolutely refused to make eye contact with Crow. It was better to pretend that nothing had happened.
“We’ve gotta go, Drea,” she said, as if they were thinking of hanging around in the 7-Eleven parking lot instead.
“She’s a real taskmaster,” Crow told Drea, cocking his thumb in Em’s direction. “I’d watch out for her if I were you.” Then, with a grin, he hopped back into his truck. “Seriously, though, ladies. I don’t believe for a second that you’re going to a concert in Portland. Whatever you’re doing, be careful. I don’t want liability, as the ID provider and all. . . .”
“How do you put up with him?” Em muttered as she got back into Drea’s dad’s car, which they had borrowed for the night.
“Sometimes I wonder how he puts up with us,” Drea mused.
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She’d been overheating for weeks, but as they pulled into the Benson’s parking lot, Em felt freezing cold. Her nerves made her teeth chatter; her bones felt like they were going to quiver right out of her skin.
“You good?” Drea shot her a look of concern.
“I’m good,” Em said, nodding emphatically. “I’m good. Let’s go.” They walked around the building on the gravel lot, small rocks crunching beneath their feet.
Just as Chase had described in his notebook, there was a Dumpster flush against the wall back behind of the bar.
“This it, you think?” Drea asked.
“It has to be,” Em responded. “Let’s move it.”
“Sure, let’s move it,” Drea said dryly. “Good thing I had gym today. I’m all warmed up.” At the last second Drea pulled Em back. “Where’s your snake pin?” she demanded. “You aren’t wearing it.” She had hers on, pinned just above her right boob.
“It’s in my bag,” Em lied. “Now come on.”
They heaved and pushed against the metal container, and it glided aside as though it was on casters. Beyond it was a glowing door. Instantly it flew open; a burly bouncer stood framed in the doorway. Em wanted to back away from him. His eyes . . . There was something wrong with his eyes.
Then she realized: His pupils weren’t black. They were red. Her whole body was shaking now.
The bouncer seemed almost to have been expecting them. He gave them both a once-over and didn’t even ask for ID; instead, he waved them in toward a set of red-carpeted stairs. The space was so dimly lit that was impossible to tell what was at the bottom. Em could hear a faint rhythmic thumping. Drea did not let go of Em’s hand as they started descending. Em looked at their linked hands gratefully. It appeared that unshakable Drea was scared too.
Just as the narrow stairwell began to widen—Em couldn’t help but think of a mouth, stretching apart to swallow them whole—a prickling heat wafted over them. Em sensed fire, a tingling feeling of flames licking at her body. It was much like the sensation she’d felt in the old house in the woods. . . .
But this time it made her feel strangely alive, and alert. She was sure that the Furies were here.