There it was—the whisperer. My heart caught in my throat, but I kept dancing.
The lively, fun atmosphere thickened into something dark and sinister as the vile presence moved along the ceiling like an oil slick. Needles of dread stabbed at my gut. After all this time whisperers still gave me the creeps. The spirit surveyed the crowd, scowling at the smiling partygoers and lashing out with biting whispers. Dancers became agitated with one another. Drinks spilled, voices rose, and shoving began.
I stepped down from the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. The demon changed its direction to follow. I pretended not to notice people trying to stop me and talk to me as I moved through the crowd.
Within seconds the dark whisperer loomed over me and said, “Daughter of Belial, this party is too tame.”
I gritted my teeth and fought back a visible shiver as its voice oozed into my brain like slime. I wanted it out of my head.
“Yeah, I know.” I sent my telepathic response to the spirit. “But that’s about to change.”
I received a warm reception in the kitchen. Raised glasses and shouts of my name.
My peers had forgiven me of past awkward offenses and laid the old me to rest. They’d embraced the party girl when she came to life unnaturally six months ago, like a bloom forced open in winter.
“What’s up, y’all?” I plastered on my most playful smile.
One week after the summit demon whisperers began to stalk me. For six months. Every. Day. Until a week ago. I thought maybe it was over. Maybe I’d proven myself and they’d leave me alone. Wrong.
I’d shocked my own self with my sudden and fierce will to live. My eyes had been opened that night in New York City. I was meant to live and fulfill a purpose. They’d taken so much from me already—my former dreams and aspirations. I refused to hand over my life after all I’d been through, so I came out fighting, despite my sensitive, angelic side.
Ravenous for life, I’d searched for trouble with a sort of desperation. If there was a party, I was there. I drank sometimes—but mostly just pretended—I dressed to the trends, got three piercings in one ear and two in the other, plus a belly ring, and let the übercool stylist do whatever she wanted to my hair as long as it stayed blond. Very blond. Because blondes had more fun, right? I appeared to be having a blast.
Funny thing, appearances.
“Will you make us some dirty kisses?” one girl called out.
I smiled.
I’d made up a shot at a party and named it the dirty kiss. It’d become my signature drink, requiring the drinker to lick chocolate syrup from the bottom of a shot glass.
I gave a disappointed tsk with a smack of my lips. “I don’t have the stuff tonight. But I’ll make you something good, don’t worry.”
They cheered, and I was ashamed by the thrill I got from their attention. I turned toward the fridge, stomach churning. I’d gotten good at putting on a show under the stress of a demon’s eyes. Right now, I knew it was slithering above the people behind me. The sooner I could get rid of it, the better.
And I was in luck. At the bottom of the fridge were two trays of Jell-O shots.
“Well, hello there,” I said, pulling them out. I had no idea where the party host was or if the trays were being saved for something in particular, but none of that mattered. I held up the blue beauties and said, “Jell-O shots, anyone?”
They all hollered with excitement like I was their hero.
Egged on by the demon’s dark whispers, all sense of decision making among the partiers became suddenly muddled. Designated drivers reached for shots. Curfews were forgotten. Hands felt for bodies that weren’t theirs to touch. It hurt to keep a smile on my face as I watched the spirit work.
The demon’s gurgling cackle rang in my ears for only me to hear. The party had begun.
I woke with thumping behind my eyes and a dry mouth. I reached for the half-full water bottle by my bed and was chugging the contents when the events of last night floated to the surface of my sluggish memory.
A beer bong. A drunken kiss in the bathroom between me and some random guy. People getting sick in the bushes outside. Arguments with people who’d been drinking and wanted to drive anyway. A guy from school, Matt, wrestling his keys from me and stumbling to his car with his girlfriend, Ashley.
I bolted upright in bed and clutched my mouth to keep from spewing the water.
Oh, no. Matt drove. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.