Hi guys! Thank you all SO MUCH for the amazing feedback! I have been so touched and honored J I actually have some exciting news: my good friend is actually holding a contest related to this fanfiction on Tumblr! So if you have one and want to enter (it's got some KILLER prizes!) go check it out on her page, thyfatalrequiem
Anyway, without further ado! Chapter 11! Please don't forget to comment! You guys seriously make my day 3
Xoxo,
Mimi
Chapter 11
"I think you need more cover up."
"You think? I think I blended it well."
Wendy stood in front of her mirror, self consciously readjusting the pale violet scarf around her neck. She sighed heavily, her hands falling heavily to her sides as she turned to look at Kenny. He sat on the sink, texting away with an uncharacteristically sour look on his face.
"No one texting back?" she volunteered as she pulled off the warm wrap and tossed it onto the counter.
"On the contrary" he didn't look up, his fingers moving like lightning across his tiny screen. "I think it's safe to say everyone we've ever interacted with will be there tonight. And they're all under the impression its BYOB."
"I already told you I'm gonna buy a keg." She gave him a sideways look.
"Because that's going to be enough." Kenny scoffed, finally putting down his phone.
He lifted his hand to gesture at her, looking annoyed.
"But for real; your neck looks like the trial makeup dummy for Freddy Krueger. Seriously, what the hell are you going to tell people?"
"Since when do you care what people think?" Wendy opened up the small jar of concealer and began to dab at her marks.
Damien had done quite a number on her. After soaking in the searing hot water of her nightly shower, Wendy came to find it had only deepened the color of her burns. Kenny had been shocked to see the state of her skin upon his return to her apartment, but had surprisingly kept the sarcastic comments to himself.
Until now, obviously. The charming amount of shock he'd been in had worn off.
"This isn't just a party tonight, Wendy." Kenny said as his phone buzzed again. "We are investigating; we have a job to do. And it's gonna be hard to convince those guys we're serious about helping them when you're covered in…in…Satan's hickeys!"
Wendy blinked, exasperated.
"….Craig said he isn't coming, didn't he?"
Kenny's face fell and then he crossed his arms across his chest.
"I don't see why that matters." He grumbled, turning his head to the side. "He hasn't even answered me. I haven't seen him in person since the night he slept over. What kind of shit is that?"
"Haven't you done that to, like, a hundred girls?" Wendy asked him with an eyebrow raised.
Kenny cast her a dark look from underneath his blonde bed head. The two had slept in until almost three o clock and now, two hours later, there they were looking disheveled and disheartened.
"He's an asshole." Wendy said softly, feeling bad about her own sarcasm. "There's going to be like, a hundred people there. You have plenty of innocent flesh to prowl on. That's something to look forward to."
"I guess." He swung his leg back and forth, trying his best to look nonchalant.
In his white wife beater and gray sweatpants, wearing his pout, Wendy couldn't help but think how young he looked. She nudged him with her elbow a little.
"Wanna get reeeeally drunk tonight?"
He nodded stiffly.
"Can we get good vodka? Like…grey goose or ciroc or hennessy?"
"Hennessy isn't vodka, Kenny."
"You get what I mean." He huffed. "I'm sad and need classy booze. And….you're the devil's mistress. You need to do something to redeem yourself."
"Cut it out with that." She told him sourly. "I did something one time…."
"I don't want to talk about your sexcapades anymore." Kenny said in a sing song way, hoping down off the counter and shrugging his shoulders. "We need to refocus on my sadness and on this party."
"Weren't you just saying that this is going to be a mission? Should we really keep focusing on the party component?"
"Damn it Wendy. Haven't we known each other long enough that you can see through my charade?" he rolled his eyes as he grabbed his overnight bag from off the bathroom floor. "I have at least three hours of prep work to do before I'm ready for this party. So if you don't mind…..unless that's what you've been hanging around in here for."
He winked at her as Wendy hopped off onto her feet. She simply waved her hand around behind her, motioning him to shut up before she exited the room and shut the door behind her. Once in her cold, silent bedroom, she sighed quietly. Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked over to the closet with no particular interest. She stared into the cotton denim abyss, not sure what she was looking for. Certainly, the right outfit would jump out at her, wouldn't it? On a night such as this, with so much at stake, she needed to look like the suave, supernatural investigator she was.
She caught a peripheral glance at herself in the small desk mirror, her bright marks glaringly obvious. She ran her fingernails over her raw, tender flesh. A few of the marks had even blistered up slightly in painful, raised bumps. The heat on some of the patches of her skin would itch beneath her clothing in the worst way. She rubbed at the marks, afraid to use her fingernails and bask in their sharp, brittle pain once more. She walked to her small dresser, pulling out her thick cover up stick. She knew she could cover them, but she was going to have to layer it. She chuckled a little. She hadn't had a hickey since high school.
Not that one could or should compare small scorch marks to hickeys.
She took on the tedious task, moving with small, gentle strokes over her exposed flesh. In her tiny mirror, she watched as her skin began to blend together until soon, not a single blemish was in sight. She sighed a little, leaning back with an unnerving dissatisfaction settling in her bones. She kind of liked her marks; it was a nice reminder she was still capable of feeling such…what was the word? She wanted to use something poetic like wanting or desire, when really it was simple, unjustifiable lust. The horniest of carnal desires personified in the raised agony on her skin. The marks were her very own scarlet letter; she wore her sin for the first time for the world to see.
What a stirring mix of self loathing and adrenaline she felt. It pulsed through her and she breathed out loudly just to drain herself of a bit of it.
Again, Wendy ventured to the closet to mosey through her options. She pushed through the different options, pushing her way through a curtain of purple, black, and yellow. She discovered she owned a lot of things in the same color spectrum; had she always leaned towards fall colors so heavily? If so, where the hell did her fascination with canary yellow come from? Again, Wendy's head was full of questions and not a damn answer in sight.
Eventually, after rummaging, she found the spoils of her plunder. She decided on dark cranberry leggings with a V-necked black top. She chose a pair of plain (but attractive) strapped black sandals to go along with it. She laid it out on the bed, assessing the wrinkle situation. But they seemed perfect.
Just the way she liked it.
Silently, she slipped out of her push sweatpants and purple tank top. She shimmied into her only thong; it was a lacy black number that left not a single panty line. She chose her matching padded pushup and then pulled on her party outfit. Her curves were hugged dangerously by the tight material, making her assets pop in a way they didn't normally. She crouched in the tiny mirror to see how she looked and frowned; it was damn near impossible to paint the proper picture.
Damn, did her cleavage look good though.
She cupped her breasts in her hands, wishing for a moment they were as big as the bra made them seem. Now all she needed was makeup and she'd be set. She applied her eyeliner and eye shadow respectively, all while listening to her shower run in the background. She would hear Kenny yammering on every so often, probably sticking his head out of the shower to talk on the phone in intervals. Kenny was a mill of social activity; planning events such as this was like breathing for him. She had barely even spread the word herself; Kenny was just that good. Finally, as she finished up, her bathroom door opened.
A puff of steam escaped as Kenny appeared. He wore dark blue jeans and a button down white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbow to reveal his bare forearms. Wendy stood to greet him, opening her arms to show him her outfit with a smile.
"Well?" she sought his approval.
"I'm loving the top; good job on the makeup." He shook out some more water from his hair with his right hand. "But….it's a house party. And those leggings are awful cozy."
"Cozy?"
"They say…" he tapped his chin in thought. "….they say "I'm spending the night at my boyfriend's and we're going to watch Netflix and cuddle."
"What's wrong with that?"
"I swear." He rolled his eyes, going back into her closet. "You have a great body, dofus. It wouldn't kill you to show it off every now and then. Besides, it's a house party. What better time, am I right?"
He pulled out a pair of her older dark wash jeans. She squinted at them, unfamiliar with the shredded tears in the kneecap.
"I don't think those are mine." She said, taking them into her hands as Kenny shoved them towards her.
"Bebe gave them to you a hundred years ago. I watched you shove them into the back last time you rearranged your stuff." He nodded at her. "Try them on. I think they'll look great."
"You can't remember dates and facts, but you can remember where I stashed Bebe's slutty hand-me-downs." She grumbled, walking off towards the bathroom.
She struggled to get them on. The jeans were tight and the material was stiff. She finally pulled them up over her hips, buttoning them. The jeans settled on her hips, resting just below her belly button. She pulled uncomfortably at her blouse to lower it, but her mid drift was still showing.
"I don't know, Ken." She opened the door to show him, frowning.
"Smoking hot; it's perfect." He waved his hands around, dispelling any room for argument. "I won't hear another word about it. Don't be so shy. You look great…really."
"Thanks." She said, half heartedly.
"And besides" he put his arm around her tiny shoulders. "if we're really undercover, we don't this vessel of unholy power to pick up on that, am I right? You're in your party girl disguise; no one will be the wiser."
"Well, considering no one even knows we're up to something…."
"That we know of." He poked her in the dead center of her nose. "Better safe than sorry, am I right? Besides, Bebe will have a total heart attack when you see her. That's always fun, right?"
"Right." She couldn't help but laugh. Kenny laughed with her, but she noticed something off about him.
It was subtle, something probably no one else would have picked up on. Wendy couldn't even quite place her finger on it, but her gut just knew. She frowned, looking up at him.
"You alright?" she asked him, seriously. "You don't seem yourself."
"I'm fine." His face softened. "I promise."
He moved away from her, grabbing his flimsy wallet from off the counter. "Let's grab some grub, hit the liquor store, and get the party machine up and running!"
Kenny was a firm believer in a hearty meal before and after a drinking binge. So naturally, Wendy found herself to be an onlooker during his gorge fest at Outback. She picked over her food mindlessly, wishing she'd ordered the coconut shrimp over the grilled chicken. However, she did sneak quite a bit of the blooming onion when Kenny was entranced by his steak.
After the slobbering steak slaughter, they drove their full bellies over to the little plaza on the very corner of South Park. So close to the turnpike, as a matter of fact, you could hear the car whizzing by and the shouts of those grateful to get the hell out of dodge.
"What should we get?" Kenny stood, stroking his chin repeatedly as he looked at the long shelf of booze.
They had made their way into South Park liquors, a tiny corner store with affordable booze for all ages.
No really, all ages. Wendy saw high schoolers from Red's photography class in there all the time. They'd make awkward eye contact with her, shove their hard lemonade into their bags, and scuttle out before the pervy store owner could hit on them again.
Wendy would love to boycott the place and place an anonymous call to the cops about him, but it was the only decent liquor store in miles so she chose her battles wisely.
"I was thinking at least two bottles so we can share. Don't forget, I'm getting a keg too."
"I already told you that isn't going to be enough." He said, looking up and down the aisle. "We should make jungle juice."
"And how much will that cost?"
"I'm gonna split it with you."
"With what money, Kenny?"
"My none of your damn business money." He told her tartly, stroking his chin again.
Wendy slapped at his hand, annoyed.
"What the hell do you keep doing that for?" she quipped.
Kenny looked at her with bug eyes.
"You haven't NOTICED?" he sounded exasperated.
"Noticed what?"
"Look closer." He commanded, thrusting his chin in her direction.
Wendy flinched as he came rushing into her personal space, even backing her head up a little as his head came dangerously close to hers. She was about to tell him to fuck off, when she finally saw what he was trying to show her.
"Oh shit." She said with a quiet giggle. "You grew your facial hair out!"
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE." He wailed, alarming a teenage pair mumbling suspiciously by the Smirnoff.
"It's hard to tell." She said hesitantly, studying his grain colored stubble. "It's very….light."
"I have a goatee!" he gasped, tugging at the short hairs. "There's…there's a mustache coming in, Wendy! You're blind." He threw his hands up in the air, almost knocking a bottle of Patron onto the ground. "You're blinder than that Anne Frank chick."
"Anne Frank wasn't blind, Kenny."
"Yes she was."
"Are you thinking of Helen Keller?"
"I came here to shop, not learn history." He snarled. "Now you're really buying me something expensive."
Wendy laughed loudly, trying to stifle her laughter with her hand but failing miserably. The two awkward teenagers hurried off, casting worried looks over their shoulders. Kenny nodded at them solemnly.
"Sup ladies?" he called after them. One made a face, scowling slightly. "That's alright honey. You're a little young for me." And then he turned the corner, calling after them loudly. "Call me in three months when you turn eighteen!"
The man behind the register gave him a blank stare as the two girls abandoned their illegal endeavors and rushed out of the store.
"Snobs." He snorted under his breath before rejoining Wendy, his hands jammed down deep into his pockets.
"Ignore them; they probably don't even have their driver's licenses yet." Wendy comforted him, taking the bottle of patron off the shelf. "What do you say? Should we treat ourselves?"
Kenny's mood immediately switched, becoming his bright and charming self once more.
"I thought you'd never offer." He cooed happily. "You can pick the second bottle. And none of that cheap, shitty girl booze. If I so much as see you with the Pinnacle, I'll never forgive you."
Wendy shook her head, glancing up and down the aisles. She mulled over her options, finally picking up a handle of fireball. Kenny whistled.
"Fireball. Well firefly, isn't that appropriate?" he nudged her a little as they made their way to the counter.
"Shut up." She said half heartedly.
She looked down at the amber fluid sloshing back and forth in the bottle. She stared into the face of the little red devil, leering gleefully up at her with his devious eyes. She frowned, looking away from it. She could have sworn her burns begin to tingle underneath her blouse. She wiggled, a bit uncomfortable, as she placed the bottles on the counter.
"We'll be splitting it in half." She told the cashier as she began to fish around in her purse for her wallet and ID. She knew he wasn't going to ask but she wasn't going to give him a chance to continue to break the law.
Kenny, who already had his ID ready, volunteered it as he spoke.
"Don't we need to get the keg too?"
"Oh yeah." She finally found her things and handed over her ID to the tattooed man. "I also need a keg of miller light please."
The man read the ID and paused, looking back at her.
"You're Wendy? Gregory's friend?" he asked in his slow, stiff voice.
Kenny and Wendy exchanged looks.
"Yeah." She started slowly.
"Who's asking?" Kenny asked, defensively.
"He called ahead and said to put whatever you want on his tab." He handed her back her ID. "Your tab has been taken care of."
"You serious?" Kenny shouted, causing Wendy to jump a little. "Shit, gimme a sec. I forgot about seven bottles back over…."
Wendy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt before he could hurry up.
"I'm so sorry." She began gently. "I can't accept that. I appreciate it but…"
"He said you'd say that." He said gruffly, giving her a toothless grin. "I'm not supposed to let you leave with ANY alcohol if that's the case."
"Now that is quite the offer." Kenny wiggled away from her grip, walking backwards towards the tequila aisle. "Now…hang on…I forgot my….my….free alcohol."
He nearly knocked over the display for Jameson as he fled. Wendy sighed heavily, turning back towards the shop keep.
"I…guess I don't have a choice, do I?"
He shrugged and then leaned across the counter towards her.
"I bet a pretty thing like you has all the choices in the world." He said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.
"Good grief." She put her face in her hands, smothering herself in her faint gardenia perfume.
Kenny remerged with two bottles of rum under his arms.
"I grabbed the priciest stuff I could." He told her breathlessly, placing both large bottles on the counter. "Add this to the tab."
"So where're you guys going that yer takin' all this alcohol?" he asked, ringing things up slowly.
His eyes never seemed to leave the pocket of Wendy's exposed cleavage; she felt naked in the wake of his gaze. She opened her mouth to tell him a lie; perhaps a bachelorette party or maybe even a private, lesbian birthday party. Yeah. Maybe if he thought…
"Big house party tonight." Kenny said excitedly. "We're inviting everybody. You should…"
Wendy reached for Kenny's arm under the counter, digging her nails into his skin.
"Thank you so much!" she spoke in a loud, bright voice. She scooped up all the bags into her arms, barely feeling the weight of it. "We'll pull around back to get the keg. Have a good night!"
She bustled out the front door, almost plowing over the group of young men coming inside.
"Slow down, crazy lady!" Kenny hurried after. He slowed when he fell into pace with her. "What's the matter with you?"
"Don't invite some pervert to our party!" she said, throwing her car down open. "He'll…..no Kenny! No!"
"Wendy." He laughed, sliding smoothly into her front seat. "We don't know who the vessel is. It could be this guy for all we know; he is around our age."
Wendy placed her forehead against her steering wheel.
"He transferred here after freshman year, remember?" she managed with a small laugh. "There's literally no way, NO WAY, it could be him. He would have had to be living here the whole time."
"Oh."
She began to drive away, chuckling lightly under her breath as she pulled around back behind the shady shopping center. She heard a faint jingling and turned her head towards the tinkling sound. Kenny was sitting in her passenger seat, pulling mini bottles from his bulging pockets.
"We had a tab!" she said with a groan of exasperation.
He looked up with a little side smile.
"I couldn't help myself." He said, gleefully. "I got you a little hynotiq."
She looked down at the small, baby blue bottle he cradled in his calloused palm and she couldn't even be mad. She sighed, giving him a tiny smile.
"Thanks Kenny."
The rest of the trip to the store was quick. They loaded the keg into her backseat and off they went.
Wendy had never been more relieved to pull up to Damien's spooky house. The lights were on (for a change) and gate to the driveway was wide open. Wendy exited her vehicle, having pulled up far in the driveway, and whistled brightly. There were some small lights lining the walkway all the way to the front door. In the dwindling twilight, Wendy could see someone had mowed the lawn and trimmed away the dead parts of the hedges. It was the best she'd ever seen the massive house.
"Some work, eh?" she asked her slightly buzzed companion.
Kenny popped up out of the passenger's seat, leaning on the top of the door. He sucked down another small bottle of kinky liquor before giving a passive shrug of his shoulders.
"Eh." He shrugged. "It's ok. I've seen better; I've seen worse. Definitely an improvement though."
"I'll say." She grabbed up the bottles, looking at the massive, gray keg in the backseat. "I'll bet you anything Gregory had something to do with it." She pointed to her backseat as Kenny walked around to stand beside her. "You guys need to come back for that, ok?"
"What? You can't heave it over your shoulder and take it yourself, superwoman?" He joked, taking the bags from her slender arms.
"Because I was so much help getting it in the car earlier." She told him with a laugh, pulling her dark gray sweater around her body.
"More help than I was." He said under his breath, smiling coyly.
This was true. Kenny had said he was going to "direct" the Wendy and the liquor store clerk as they struggled to get it into her tiny Corolla. This had turned out to be more of Kenny leaning on the car and texting, randomly muttering words of encouragement while the other two wiggled and squirmed under the weight of the massive, beer filled barrel.
Together, Wendy and Kenny made their way up to the front door and entered into the warm front room. The usually drafty house was bright and welcoming, in its own, eerie way. Damien's dark, looming furniture and accents still remained, but had been dusted and polished to seem like new.
"Hello?" Wendy called, walking around towards the living room.
To her surprise, tables had been set up. Food had been laid out in rows of delicious splendor and a DJ booth had been set up in the corner. The shaggy haired man looked up at them from his equipment and smiled a greeting.
"I feel like we're in the wrong place." Kenny told Wendy quietly. "I don't think Damien is the type to lay out….the hell is this…" he picked up a hors d'oeuvre and examined it with squinted eyes. "….brie? Brie and…honey comb? Oh yeah, Wendy we're in the wrong place. We hang with a bagel bite and potato chip crowd. This would make their brains erupt."
"Shut up." She shook her head, walking past him towards the kitchen. "C'mon."
She led him towards the back of the house. Wendy had never explored this part of it before, but instinct led her towards the warmest room in the home. Her nostril twitched, picking up on the faintest aroma of sandalwood as she rounded the corner. Christophe and Damien were seated at the rickety table in the center of it, both looking up when the pair entered.
"Iz about time you got 'ere." Christophe quipped. "I was starting to think you chickened out."
"Of a party?" Kenny laughed richly, placing the bottles down on the spotless counters and peeling away their bags. "As if. Love what you've done with the place, Damien."
"You can thank moneybags." He said under his breath. He looked mildly annoyed as he lifted his eyes, speaking towards Wendy now. "There was a cleaning crew and someone here to cook at ten AM this morning. My house has been full of people all day."
"You were forced to interact with people!" Wendy said with a little gasp. "What a horrible day!"
He scowled at her, his top lip twitching slightly. He was wearing his usual ensemble of black on black. His black button down and fitted black jeans were nothing out of the ordinary for him; his silver pendant that hung low around his neck was the only pop of color on him. Christophe, on the other hand, wore a dark green button down which had been left over to reveal his white undershirt. Wendy spotted his silver dog tags hovering slightly over his heart. She would have liked to have read them, but decided to refrain. The Frenchman played with his half empty box of cigarettes, frowning.
"I don't know we you're complaining." He told Damien, scratching at his own, scruffy face. "Theese house was a pig sty before Gregory got 'ees hands on 'eet."
"Maybe I liked it that way." He replied sourly.
Kenny tapped Christophe on the shoulder, causing the man to turn and look at him sharply.
"Come help me get the keg out of the car." He tilted his head towards the front door.
"You got anozer keg?" Christophe rose to his heavy boots and gave Wendy a sideways smile. "You Americans really like your beer, no?"
"I thought there was only gonna be one!" she tried to explain as the two boys left the room and Gregory entered.
"One keg?" He laughed in his rich accent. "Why that wouldn't be enough!"
She heard Kenny shout an "I told you!" from down the hall and she sighed.
"You sent a cleaning crew?" she asked him with an eyebrow raised.
"And lawn men." Damien added, getting to his feet as well. "And a cook. And some DJ."
"The house needs to be presentable." He said plainly, as if he were surprised at the other's lack of enthusiasm. "Don't worry. I'll be sending them back tomorrow to clean up whatever damage is caused."
"Our "guests" had better hope the damage is minimal." Damien growled, looming over the other two like an ominous shadow. "My furniture is irreplaceable and I'd hate to have to kill any of our suspects."
"I would have never pegged you for a sentimental guy, Damien." Wendy laughed, stripping off her jacket and hanging it on the hooks by the backdoor. "By the way, Gregory, thanks so much for covering the tab at the liquor store. It was completely unnecessary…"
"On the contrary" he told her with his most charming smile. "It was a necessity. Why would I force you and Kenneth to spend your hard earned money when I have more than enough to go around? I wouldn't hear of it!"
"It was very sweet of you." She smiled a little.
Sometimes, she really wanted to like Gregory. Sometimes, those sweet butterflies would return to the pit of her stomach and dance around excitedly when he and said such kind, thoughtful things. But then, like a cloud of noxious poison, the memory of what he'd done returned and killed her butterflies in one swoop.
"I need to make sure the music is all set up." He rolled up the sleeves of his dark red button down. He paused in the doorway before he hurried out. "You look lovely, by the way."
Wendy had forgotten about her outfit and felt a small rise of color fill her cheeks. She was suddenly aware that she and Damien were alone in the room together. Her spine stiffened and she hurried to the opposite counter, bustling to make herself a drink. As she poured some tequila into her plastic cup, she felt his warm fingers grave the side of her neck.
"Hell of a cover up you've got there." He said quietly. "For a moment, I was disappointed with myself. But I should have more faith in my handy work."
"Your "handy work" had me sitting in front of a mirror for the better part of an hour." She told him without looking up.
She had yet to explore her feelings about Damien; she had yet to really dwell on the occurrences that took place the night before. She wasn't sure what had driven her to such reckless behavior, but a small voice in the back of her mind was trying to beckon her back. She rolled her lips together as she assembled her margarita; Damien's warmth never went absent from her presence. His fingers seems to know where every mark was hiding, tracing them delicately with his large hands. Her heart rate quickened as she tried to distract herself with mixing her cocktail.
"Did any of them blister?" he asked in a hushed voice. "You know what I mean, right? When you get that horrible, painful little blister on top of a fresh, throbbing wound? It's the absolute worse."
"You a stickler for pain or something?" she turned to face him, surprised just how close the rest of his body was. He pressed the front of his body against her, the weight of his body aligning with hers.
"I could ask you the same thing, princess." He looked down at her, examining her body in a curt, abrupt fashion. "I see you left your royal attire at home, though. I like the peasant look on you."
Wendy gave him a sarcastic smile.
"I aim to please." She said, wiggling away from him and making her way to the door.
Damien caught her arm, pulling her back forcibly towards him. The heat in his hands made her own flesh ache. It was as if every wound he'd inspired had opened their puckered, raw lips and begged for his attention.
"Tell me how much you liked it." He cooed at her. "Last night. Tell me how much you liked it."
"And who says I did?" she asked as polite as ever. She even gave him a sweet little smile, just to get under his skin. "I'm very good at lying, you know."
"Most women are." Damien said quietly, a slight edge to his voice. "You can "say" you didn't like it all you want….but your body told me a different story."
Before she could fire her rebuttal, Kenny and Christophe reappeared with the keg in tow. Wendy turned her attention to them.
"Do you need any help?" she asked brightly, hoping her cheeks weren't still flushed.
"Eh." Christophe shrugged his shoulders as the two adjusted it in the corner of the room. "Eet isn't as hard as McCormick's huffing and puffing suggests."
Kenny frowned at him.
"Fuck off, Frenchy."
"Thanks for bringing it in." Wendy said brightly, trying to dispel the negativity that was filling up the room.
"Hey guys!"
From the entrance of the room, Bebe came bustling in. Her bright red romper hugged her shapely thighs and hips as her ample chest jiggled out the very tow. Red was in tow, as per usual. She wore a long sleeve grey and red sweater over her well worn jeans. She smiled at Wendy, giving her a little wink. The girls had also brought along Nicole, Patty, Clyde, Heidi, and Sally. All of them, dressed to the nines, had bottles and beer in their arms.
"You're…..unusually early." Wendy said, genuinely surprised.
Bebe was known to show up for a party just in time to help it gather a second wind. But there she was, dressed and ready to party at a decent hour.
"I know!" she squealed, giving Wendy a bone crushing hug. "Red's been trying to get me out of the house earlier and earlier."
"It's so rude to show up after midnight." Red mumbled at her blonde best friend who just waved her off.
"It's my signature." She urged. "See how surprised they are to see me?"
"You're keeping them on their toes." Clyde came and put his arm around Bebe's small waist. Wendy supposed this meant that their on-again off-again affair was back on for the moment. "Thanks for inviting us; we're stoked for the party."
"And you did a great job with the theming!" Heidi gushed. "I just wish I'd known it was a spooky theme; I could have worn my Halloween costume!"
"It…isn't spooky themed." Wendy laughed, unsure.
"Then why is it in the creepy old house?" Nicole asked, arching one of her well drawn on eyebrows.
"…it's my house." Damien spoke up from his spot in the corner, causing everyone to jump a little in alarm.
"Oh." Nicole's brown eyes bugged from her head a little. "I….I didn't know you lived…"
"Well now you do." He said plainly.
Wendy rolled her eyes. Nice to see he was going to continue to be his usually charming self this evening.
"'Eet is a simple mistake to make." Christophe took a step forward, flashing his gritty grin. "But….do not worry. No spooky ghosts here."
Clyde laughed, extending his large hand in the Frenchman's direction.
"I'm Clyde." Not to Wendy's surprise, Clyde's radiant personality came shining through. He was polite and hospitable to all he met; it would explain his success in bar tending. "You are?"
"That's Christophe!" Bebe squealed, clutching her matching red purse in her well manicured fingers. "Wendy's new boyfriend!"
"Boyfriend?" Both Kenny and Damien echoed the words as they exchanged glances.
"Wee." Christophe smoothly put his arm around Wendy's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Very new boyfriend; I jus' met her lovely friends over here. Bonjour Bebe; Bonjour Red."
Wendy saw a slight pinkness in Bebe's cheeks at the sound of her name in his suave accent. Clyde crossed his arms, smiling smugly.
"Wendy! Way to keep a secret; you better take good care of her buddy." He said with a laugh, pulling Bebe a little closer to him.
"So….you AREN'T dating Gregory then?" Nicole asked, smiling a little.
Wendy would have loved to have told her she wasn't dating Gregory because she'd only used him for hot, sweaty sex, but she couldn't bring herself to sputter the lie out. So instead she laughed lightly.
"Nope."
She watched Nicole smile and give Patty a snarky look, as if to say "I told you so." Wendy chomped down on her bottom lip to keep herself from howling in annoyance.
"Ladies." Kenny came forward, a plastic cup in hand. He opened his arms to them, smiling coolly. "We have all night to talk about whose dating who, but this alcohol isn't going to drink itself. Who wants a famous McCormick cocktail?"
"You mean a roofie colada?" Damien said under his breath.
Kenny flicked him off as the girls all rushed over to him, asking about a thousand questions about what he could or could not make for them to drink. Christophe and Clyde began to engage in a conversation about occupations (apparently, Christophe was telling everyone he was some sort of mechanic. She could see it pretty well and it definitely went over better than saying a demon hunter.) Wendy could feel Damien's hot glare on the back of her neck and she turned, trying to give him a small smile. The scowl on his face was ferocious and he seemed annoyed. She frowned back.
Maybe she had, for a millisecond, felt bad about forgetting to tell the boys about her and Christophe's charade. In all honesty, it had slipped her mind completely. It hadn't occurred to her until her French friend put his arm around her that she may need to still pretend while her friends were around. But the look Damien was giving her, as if she'd failed to mention the most crucial detail of the whole evening. She shook her head, in no humor for his games, and slipped from underneath her "boyfriend's" arm and made her way out into the rest of the house.
To her surprise, guests were already trickling in. Kevin, the only Asian kid in all of South Park, was chatting up Tammy over by some of the food. She quickly spotted Fillmore, who was far too young to be there, chatting up a bored looking Dougie in the corner. Bill Allen and Fosse McDonald were also there, staring at Tammy's round ass and snickering quietly back and forth between each other. Wendy crossed her arms, honestly impressed. Kenny hadn't been kidding when he said he'd invite EVERYONE.
The door in front of her swung open, letting in a chilling gust of wind. Wendy wince, recoiling slightly as a figure came to block to breeze. She looked up and smiled, excited to see Token, carrying a bottle of red wine under his coated arm. He saw her and his warm smile melted all over his handsome face.
"Hey sweet." He said in his deep, smooth voice.
"Hey hun!" Enthusiastically, she gave her ex-boyfriend a tight hug.
Token was a good man. He was smart, came from a wealthy home, and had a kind heart. Token was studying law, but still found time around his frantic studies to do volunteer firefighting. His arms, the color of dark chocolate, were large and muscular. She remembered very vividly how firm every inch of his form was. Token ate healthy and took care excellent care of himself; his body made that very obvious.
"Cold out there, huh?" he laughed, putting the bottle on the side table.
"Yeah. And drafty in here." Wendy looked up to the higher levels above them, still shivering. It was like the cold wind was trapped in the massive front room, still swirling around over their heads.
"I'll say."
From behind him, the rest of his party began to trickle in. Tweak was the next to enter, his olive colored shirt misbuttoned terribly. He looked at Wendy through his manically spiked hair and his left eye twitched slightly.
"H-Hey Wendy!" he managed in his unusually loud voice. "I br-brought some espresso vodka."
"Aw thanks Tweak." She said, reminding herself to keep her voice level. It was easy to start shouting when talking with Tweak. "How have you been? I can't even remember the last time I saw you!"
"I-I-I've been busy with the store." He stammered with a laugh. "Lots of customers, lots of orders….lots of pressure!"
She saw his eyes bulge a little and Token laid a large hand on his shoulder.
"Remember what we talked about in the car." He reminded his high strung friend in a soft voice. "No thinking about any of that tonight. Tonight is for fun, remember?"
Tweak nodded briskly; Wendy noticed the faint shadows under his huge blue eyes. His father had passed away while they were in high school, leaving the responsibility to run the coffee shop on him and his mother. Tweak was a master coffee bean blender though; his drinks were the best she'd ever had. He had the Midas touch when it came to brewing and seeping breakfast beverages.
While the two boys were talking, Wendy spotted the next member of their little group. Her eyes widened a little and she felt a small drop in the pit of her stomach. It was Craig, dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and raggedy jeans. He still had a cigarette between his dry lips, not bothering to put it out as he came inside. But it wasn't his presence that had startled Wendy so much. She'd had a feeling he'd come to the party and surprise Kenny. But she wasn't entirely right.
Annie Faulk, perhaps one of Wendy's least favorite people was hanging off of Craig's arm. Her bright red lipstick looked smeared and her hair was wild and frizzed. She looked Wendy up and down from behind her cheap sunglasses and snuggled closer to Craig's partially exposed tattoo.
Wendy had never been able to move on from Annie and her spoiled whore play set back when they were kids. She remembered very vividly being made fun of mercilessly by the others because of that little slut. She paused for a moment, realizing that she no recollection of how that little venture ended. How was that whole thing resolved? She could have sworn Mr. Garrison's boyfriend, Mr. Slave had been involved. But….she wrinkled up her nose. Nope. She had nothing. But that really wasn't anything new lately.
"You alright, Wen?" Token asked, touching her forearm and helping her to return to reality.
"Fine." She assured him, shaking her head. "Kenny didn't mention you were coming, Craig. He said you never responded to his text."
"Never saw it." He said in his dull, monotone way. "Where's the beer?"
"Kitchen." She managed in a hot quip.
She moved to the side to let them pass, watching a new influx of guests enter. She felt a bit lost in the sea of faces, finishing the margarita in a sudden, harsh gulp. The tart fluid burned her lips and she frowned a little. She was immediately glad she no longer had any liquid in her cup because about three seconds after that, someone slammed head onto her. She almost dropped the plastic solo cup in alarm and stumbled slightly, but never fell.
"Oh damn Wendy, I'm sorry!"
Wendy looked up and heaved a loud sigh.
"Damnit Ike! What're you doing here?" she crossed her arms and her younger friend.
Ike was adorable, to say the least. His black hair was straight and short, accenting his sharp features. He was tall, towering over Wendy effortlessly, and he was slender by nature. He was smart too; Ike was in all advanced classes and breezed through his assignments like he was playing online games instead of homework. He put his finger to his lips to hush her.
"You're harshing my mellow!" he told her with a laugh and then he pouted. "Come on Wendy, please let me stay. I need a night off; besides, I brought drinks."
He held up a large handle of fireball and wiggled his eyebrows.
"I'll give you some." He bribed, giggling the bottle back and forth in her line of vision.
"I bought some already, thank you." She said tartly.
Ike frowned, his eyes getting big in a pleading look.
"Come on Wendy, please? This girl is gonna be here tonight and she's super into me. I haven't gotten laid in like, two weeks man. Help me out."
"Stop. STOP." She held her hands up to stop him, laughing in spite of herself. "I…didn't need to know that, Ike."
"It's crucial to the story!" he insisted. "You needed to understand my urgency and…"
"Calm down, smarty pants." She shook her head, putting her hand to her forehead. "Damn, weren't you like….five years old a few days ago?"
"I grew up pretty quick." He stuck his tongue out teasingly.
She sighed heavily, giving him a dark look. She caved, thrusting out her cup and handed it to him.
"If your mother finds out…"she threatened darkly.
"…I never saw you." He swore, pouring her a generous amount of the cinnamon whiskey. "I hitched a ride here with Kyle and it was all his fault."
"Good boy." She jerked her head towards the living room. "No scat before we're seen together."
"You're a peach, Wendy." He kissed her cheek before hurrying off.
"Wait! Ike!" she suddenly shouted after him. He stopped in his tracks, volunteering all his attention. "Are Kyle and the group coming?"
"As far as I know." He confirmed but then he picked up on her reasoning for questions. "If he brings ass hat, I'll make sure he doesn't bother you."
Perhaps the only person who hated Stan more than Wendy was Ike. He would scowl and murmur at the mention of the boy; not that Wendy could blame him.
But that was another story entirely.
"Thank you." She mouthed to him before he went back to his business.
"How goes the hunt?" Gregory was suddenly at her side, talking quietly into her ear.
"Fine, I guess. No red flags just yet." She shrugged her shoulders. "Everybody seems pretty normal to me."
"With Damien here, the essence's energy might start to spike." He said quietly back to her. She was surprised she could hear him so easily even in the noisy room. "It's what I'm hoping on. Christophe and I have readers set up upstairs that we'll track through the night."
"Can it pin point any one person specifically? She asked hopefully.
"Unfortunately not." He shook his head, no. "But it can tell us when the energy was highest. And that's a start."
"It's a start." She echoed and then her eyes went wide. "Shit! I need to get to Kenny before Craig does."
She needed to warn her friend of the impending shit storm. Gregory tilted his head, confused, but she had already run off. But to no surprise of her own, she was too late. When she arrived in the dimly lit kitchen, Craig and his gang were already gathered around the keg. Kenny was chatting with Lola pleasantly , standing with his back to the other man. She came over, putting a gentle hand on his arm.
"Oh hey Wendy!" he said with a boyish grin. "Lola and I just did a jello shot; here! Take one!"
He thrust a small Dixie cup with gelatinous neon blue goo inside. She took it quickly, letting the sticky sweetness roll over her tongue. She swallowed hard and then cast her eyes over towards Craig.
"You uh….you ok?" she asked, attempting to be vague for the sake of company.
"Peachy." He grinned, flashing every one of his pearly whites.
"Have you said hi to Craig?" she asked in a tense voice, hoping he'd pick up what she was putting down.
Kenny could be incredibly thick when he wanted to be, especially when he'd been drinking. He laughed richly.
"Why would I talk to that asshole?" he asked with a roll of his eyes. "There's much better company over here anyway."
Wendy picked up on his vibes immediately and nodded. She smiled at Lola, who was doing a poor job at being sneaky about adjusting her breasts, and wandered off. But not before snagging up her handle of fireball. She was sure she and Kenny would talk about this later…or maybe they won't. Maybe it was better if this wasn't discussed. She made sure to cast Craig a dirty look, but was promptly ignored. She allowed herself to drift into the main sitting area. The area was packed now with people; dozens of sweaty bodies all pressed up against one another. The roar of the crowd was blended with thumping DJ remixes and the joyous shouting of drinking game shenanigans. She settled into a corner of the wall, drinking down her hot cinnamon mixture. She spotted some mixers on a nearby table and made the mental note to dilute her next cup with some apple juice or coke.
She spotted Cartman shoving his mass through the sea of people. Girls were shoved aside ruthlessly; one almost went head first into the fireplace.
"No one told me there'd be fucking food!" Cartman exclaimed excitedly.
It was amazing how his voice carried in the noise. He grabbed up a paper plate and waved it around in the air to get her attention.
"Wendy!" he shouted, his voice slightly slurred. "Wendy! TESTABURGERRR."
She sighed heavily, peeling herself away from her spot and making her way over towards his ruckus.
"Yes, Cartman?" she gave him a half smile as he began to pile dips and finger foods onto his plate.
"You really outdid yourself." He told her as he helped himself to a generous handful of cheesy poofs. "I mean, you know I don't like to compliment people but…this is pretty fucking great. I mean, you should go into business or something."
"Thanks Cartman." She was genuinely touched by the boy's rare, kind words. It struck her very abruptly, like a thunderbolt ripping apart her insides, that she had been warned to note any unusual behavior. And Cartman smiling like a fool and being sweet was definitely something to make note of.
He bustled by her, grabbing up the last of the chicken wings as one of the waiters Gregory had hired came over to refill it.
"And it's unlimited?" he yelled with glee. "Fucking pinch me!"
She rolled her lips together, taking another small sip before slowly inching away from hurricane Cartman. She made a mental note to remind the others of this later on; she wondered if she was over reacting, but she had been asked to look for abnormalities and that certainly was one. As she started to walk away, she could see Kyle and company coming to join Cartman.
And by company, she meant Stan.
Kyle approached her rapidly the moment he noticed her. With his back to his ex-best friend, she could see apologies written all over his youthful face.
"Wendy!" he scooped her up for a brief hug. "Great party!"
"Thank Kenny and Gregory; they're responsible for it." She managed a laugh as Stan walked up sheepishly.
He had a plastic cup in his hands, much to her dismay. She didn't bother giving Kyle a look of shame over it though. She knew full well there was no stopping Stan when he wanted to drink. It was like putting a fence over some railroad tracks and hoping that did the job. All that resulted in was a bunch of splinters and a mess.
Yep, that about summed it up. Stan's drinking left nothing but a mess of splinters from those who stood in his way.
"We aren't going to stay long." Kyle explain while Stan consumed his beverage in a few heavy gulps. "Stan and I have this wrestling thing recording at my house and we want to be awake enough to watch it."
"It's on live." Stan said, unsure of how to fill the air he occupied. "It cost us seventy five dollars just to record it."
"Must be a big deal." Wendy nodded along.
"Very." He assured her. "You look nice."
"Thank you, Stan." She said as civil as possible.
"Hey did you see Token?" Kyle suddenly changed the subject. "He was shot gunning some beers with Tweak. It was pretty great."
"Classy." Stan said in a slightly condescending way. "I'm going to grab a refill."
"I'll come with you." Kyle nodded. "We'll see you around, Wendy."
She just laughed and nodded. She could only hope their paths wouldn't cross again by the end of the night. She watched them slither their way through the mob and she turned her head a few times, trying to get a good look at all the faces. Jimmy and Timmy had arrived it seemed. Jimmy was a successful journalist major now whose career at the improv was highly successful. He'd undergone enough therapy in their early years that he could drive and take care of himself with no problem. He still stammered from time to time and still needed to use the crutches, but all in all, he was doing alright. Timmy was still chair bound, unfortunately. But he was top of his class at the local college. He was studying neuroscience and was incredibly brilliant from what she'd heard. There was rarely a month that went by where we wasn't mentioned for some kind of accolade in the paper. His limited speech had brought him to learn sign language, something Wendy had dabbled in because of the boy. She smiled at the thought of them being there. It distracted her just long enough to forget about ass hat.
She gave the room another quick once over, frowning slightly. No sign of Damien though. Where could he have gotten off to? Then again, he had an affinity for hiding in the shadows and only being seen when he so desired. She shivered a little, swearing for a second he was watching her from somewhere. This was certainly her least favorite of his demonic parlor tricks.
After snagging herself a small plate of finger foods, Wendy retreated back to her corner. However, just short of arriving, she stopped dead. It had become occupied in her absence.
The goth kids (yes, they were still goth) had commandeered her spot. Michael, standing tall and leering in the back, leaned heavily on his cane and watched the crowd, bored. He was dressed in skinny black jeans, a high collar white button down with a black suit jacket over the top. He was also dressed in the classiest way, like he was always ready for a wedding or, perhaps more his speed, a funeral. Pete stood beside him, sipping his vodka cranberry with the enthusiasm as one receiving a rectal exam. His black hair still had the bright red splotch, to which he'd color coordinated his facial jewelry to match. He mindlessly flicked his red tongue ring against the rim of his glass, drumming it rhythmically along with the thumping bass around them. Firkle had pulled up a fold up chair and sat backwards in it. He donned the heavy black eye liner and eye shadow, giving him a strange bandit appearance. His hair, dyed jet black, was plastered against his forehead in a mixture of sweat and expensive product. He chewed at his black fingernails, playing with a small switchblade in his left. Finally, there stood Henrietta. She was still on the chubbier side, but her proportions made up for it. She had a huge chest that was spilling out over the top of a red and black velvet corset. She wore a layered black lace skirt that cut off at the knee, under which she sported spider pattern fishnets and heavy boots. Her hands, wrapped in a delicate film of lacy glove, held a long clove that she puffed between her inky black lips. Wendy was about to turn away, knowing asking for her spot back would be a losing battle, when she heard Michael call out to her.
"Testaburger." He rolled her name off his lips like a spell, smooth and effortless. She turned her head to look back at them. "C'mere for a second."
She approached them slowly, feeling silly for feeling a sudden hesitance. They weren't different from anybody else; she knew Michael was a dedicated medical student and Pete had a girlfriend he was close to getting engaged to. They were normal, just like her.
She felt the weight of her lighter in her pocket and looked slowly to each of their four faces.
Yep, just as normal as she was.
"Hi guys! Having fun?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat as she took another long draw of her drink.
"Fun is relative." Firkle murmured, drinking out of something wrapped in a brown paper bag.
"I see. Well…I hope you're having a relative time, then."
"This party has a great vibe." Michael leaned in, pressing all his weight on the cane head. "Beneath this whole Kesha party bullshit vibe, it's got this real ethereal feel to it. We really appreciate it. I didn't think someone like you could pull it off."
"Oh." Her eyes widened a little, surprised at how astute they were. She wondered how deep they looked into this "vibe." "Thanks. Yeah….I thought the house was a nice touch. It kinda gives a…."
"I think it's more than the house." Henrietta cut her off, speaking through a cloud of aromatic smoke. "There's something here. It's dark and devious and…." She ran a thick pink tongue over dark lips. "…fucking delicious."
She handed her cigarette to Pete, who immediately took a drag, and snapped out chubby hands and grab Wendy's. She jumped, alarmed.
"What are you doing?" she asked, resisting the urge to yank away from her.
Henrietta heaved a loud sigh, like she didn't understand why Wendy seemed shocked.
"Shut up; I'm giving you a palm reading in exchange for the party. Shit." She rolled her eyes and squeezed Wendy's tender palms.
The tips of her long, sharpened nails dug into her flesh, making her wince. She ran the point down her natural ridges, "hm"-ing as she did so.
"You have some romance coming your way." She said in an emotionless voice. "I see that you're going to have to make a big choice in the near future; good luck with that. I also see…." She squinted her eyes, frowning for a second. "…I don't think the lighting in here is very good."
"What's it say?" Pete asked, looking interested. "You're usually spot on."
"I see danger. I see a life altering event headed right for you. I see…something dark. Something really wicked descending upon us like a plague. It's gonna get ugly, like, for real."
She let go of Wendy who snapped her arm back to her side as quick as she could. Henrietta's eyes were like two saucers, wide and…scared? There was an emotion in there that Wendt had never seen in the face of the usually callous goth. Emotion looked good on her.
"Woah." Michael whispered.
"I say kill yourself now and avoid the trouble." Firkle said with a troubling smirk.
She looked down at him and snapped.
"Aren't you a little fucking young to be here?" she snarled.
"I've never heard you curse before." Michael said, impressed. "You can stay for a bit and hang out if you want."
"I…need another drink. Excuse me." She drained her cup and rushed off, feeling the eye lined stares at her back.
She unsteadily poured herself another drink, forgetting all about her plan for a chaser. She drained the cup one more time, wincing, and then poured another. Her thoughts were starting to become a little fuzzy, a familiar warmth spreading through her limbs. She looked up at the face of the huge grandfather clock. How was time moving by so quickly? It felt like the party had just started. She felt a small surge of anxiety as she seated herself on the bottom step of the stairwell. She took out her lighter, flicking it open and shut. Perhaps the alcohol had given her the courage to not care who stumbled upon her here, in this private moment. Maybe a little piece of her wanted to be discovered, to be confronted. She often wondered what would have happened if Kenny had never discovered her that day in high school.
She probably would have scorched from the inside out by now. Not that Kenny needed to know that. His ego couldn't handle it.
"Heya Wendy!"
Butters appeared at her left hand side. He smiled brightly, his blue eyes shining enthusiastically.
"Hi Butters." Wendy tucked the small lighter into the palm of her hand. Its hot metal shell felt good against her cool skin. "When did you get here?"
"Only about an hour ago." He frowned. "I…I tried to find you in the other room, but there was so many people! I saw Stan….you ok?"
She laughed a little, tucking some hair behind her ear.
"I figured he'd come but…it is what it is, right?"
"I'll say." Butters patted her on the shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about it, Wendy. It's his loss."
"Thanks Butters." She smiled a little. "Can I get you a drink or something?"
"Nah, that's ok." He laughed a little. "I brought myself some of those Smirnoff beers that taste like apples; I'm a happy camper. Say Wendy? Where'd you get that fancy lighter?"
"Oh this?" She opened her hand a little, pressing her lips hard together. She was grateful the name side was face down. "I found it."
"I thought for a minute you smoked." He said, absently. "I….I know you don't but gee, something about seeing you with the lighter like that just seemed right. Isn't that weird?"
"Yeah."
"I'm actually glad I ran into ya." He said with a smile. "I've really missed you around Mephesto's. You're coming back this week, right?"
"Of course." She kindly reached out, giving his knee a friendly pat. "I wouldn't abandon you there all by yourself."
Butters smiled as if she'd just told him he'd won the lottery.
"So…." He started, his small voice dwindling in volume. "…I was kinda….kinda hoping to talk to ya about something. I ….I was wondering if maybe…if maybe…"
Unsure of what to say next, she took another drink. It was all she seemed to know how to do at the moment. She just smiled, absently, and sipped the acidic whiskey. Butters moved around the railing to sit beside her. There was a long draw of awkward silence between them and Wendy felt the horrible need to fill in the empty air with…something. ANYTHING. The needless silence was like needles digging into her skin. The warmth in her lighter was fleeting, leaving it stone cold in her hands. It left her feeling drained and listless.
"'Ello beautiful." Christophe's head and arms appeared over the railing from behind them.
The faint warmth of beer and tobacco clung to his breath like a little cloud. He winked at her, wrinkling his mouth into a whimsical smile.
"Hello!" Butters said enthusiastically to him. "I'm Butters Scotch; who're you?"
"Ah Butters." Christophe laughed and extended his hand downward for a shake. "I 'ave 'eard about you. You are ze one who takes care of ze old man, yes? I am Christophe, Wendy's lover."
Butters frowned slightly, confused and, judging by the pink in his cheeks, embarrassed. Wendy stammered, shaking her head.
"Boyfriend." She clarified while Christophe laughed. "I'm sorry Butters, he's a little drunk. I hope he didn't offend you."
"Of course not!" Butters managed his meek little smile that made him look boyish and sweet. "I just didn't know you were spoken for. He's a lucky fella'!"
"It's recent." The falsified lovebirds said in unison.
"Oh….well congratulations!" he smiled kindly. "How'd you guys meet?"
"I saved her from a dog attack." Christophe chuckled. "Not zat our Wendy 'ees a damsel in distress, but I like to show off when I can."
"She's a strong lady that's for sure!" Butters agreed with a few deep nods of the head. "Very strong…and smart….and pretty. But you know all that already!"
The conversation and its mounting awkwardness was suddenly split by a loud clatter off to the side. Wendy lifted her head, taking a moment to linger in the fun, bubbly feeling the alcohol had bestowed on her.
She should have known she recognized the sort of trouble brewing. She heard a few people gasping and fussing, she could hear the shuffle of feet and the reorganization of space. There was a clatter of something falling and breaking and the low, angry grumble of cursing. Every nerve in her body knew, like a familiar song on the radio, what was going to happen next. She held her breath, not even meaning to do so. Her heartbeat quickened, her palms became moist with sweat.
Stan came bumbling around the corner with Kyle on his tail. He walked into the archway, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"I didn't mean to break anything." He slurred at Kyle, who was ashen cheeked and mortified. "It was an accident."
"I know, Stan. Let's get back to my house, ok? I'll even stop and get you taco bell on the way." Kyle spoke in the low, tempered way one does when addressing someone very drunk.
"Bye fellers!" Butters called after them. "Nice to see ya, Stan!"
Wendy could have killed him right there. She could have reached out her bony hands and strangled Butters around the neck until his face turned every shade of purple in the spectrum. She wanted to melt down into the cracks in the floorboard and sink into the basement where this moment couldn't find her. But she didn't. She remained a full, solid Wendy in her stiff, unmoving spot. She felt Stan's swimming eyes seek her out. He pointed an unsteady finger at her and bellowed in his rough voice.
"Well would you look who decided to show up." He laughed. "About damn time! I…have been looking for you all night."
"Stan, let's go." Kyle urged, trying to take his arm but Stan shoved him away.
Stan was strong. Years of weight training and long nights of football had made his body firm. Even now, at the skinniest she'd ever seen him, he was still a powerhouse of untapped physical potential. Stan was a storm bundled up in a package of flesh and bone. A tornado confined only by the limitations of his body.
"You think…you think you can just have a party and not invite me? When you saw me the other day? That's rude, Wendy." He laughed a little, wiping some of the spit collecting on his lips away with the back of his hand. "You're fucking rude. Kenny had to invite us, Wendy. KENNY. I haven't seen Kenny in….in like…years."
"I think you need to leave, Stan." She said in a pleasant, simple way. She even managed to smile at him. "I heard Kyle say he wanted to head out; you should probably go with him."
"Or what?" he growled, taking an uneven step towards her.
In the foreground, Wendy could hear some of the party noise dying. She prayed it was just the changing of a song and not everyone listening to this disaster unfold.
"Or you'll get mad at me? What'll you do? Make a pie chart of how I'm being a douche and beat me with it?" he snorted loudly. "I…do not have TIME….for your bitchy, passive aggressive, valedictorian way of solving things. You and me….we're gonna talk this out like we should have done a long time ago."
"We have talked Stan. Many times. I have nothing more to say to you." There was something growing inside of her. It was a steady, pulsating feeling that trickled like water to every corner of her form. It was cold, like ice, and steadily grew stronger and stronger with every passing second.
Wendy was afraid. Fear formed inside her, clustering and balling up like twine. It had been so long since she felt this kind of fear. She had sworn she never would again but here she was, staring down the drunken Marsh.
It was high school all over again. Only this time, she seemed to have acquired a guard dog.
To be exact, Wendy imagined a French speaking, cigarette smoking, foul mouthed German Shepherd.
"'Ze lady says she is uninterested." Christophe drained his beer and approached Stan confidently. "I 'sink 'eet is time you take your leave."
"Whose this fuckwad?" Stan slurred, looking back at Kyle as if he had the answers. "Pepe la Pew over here telling me what to do."
"That's Wendy's boyfriend!" Butters told him in a chipper quip.
Wendy put her face in her hands, sighing in between the cracks. She would have punched the boy in the face if he hadn't seemed so genuinely befuddled by what he had done wrong.
"Boyfriend?" Stan's eyebrows rose. Again, Kyle tried to step forward to stop him, but this time he shoved him. The ginger fell to the ground hard, landing square on his ass. "You sleeping with my girl, man?"
"Sleeping with her? Oh no." Christophe laughed but Wendy worried. He had a funny little edge to his voice that hinted something very bad was going to happen. "But I am fucking her. Nightly. Usually for a few hours. This is different from sleeping….no?"
Stan's whole face turned the color of a beet and, by instinct, Wendy was on her feet. The bottle of fireball and cup were long since forgotten about. In a flash, she was between them. She and Stan stood closer to one another in this moment than they had in years. She could smell the sweat on him; the familiar stink of his cologne blended with Jack Daniels and vomit. It made her stomach turn. She looked down briefly at Kyle, whose green eyes were large with apologies. She knew he'd never intended for this. More likely than not, he'd probably not wanted to bring Stan here at all. But Marsh had a funny way of always getting what he wanted. She made eye contact with him, her face completely placid. For a brief second, she felt like a mediator at one of those stand offs. She smiled graciously and spoke in her kindest voice.
"Stanley." She hadn't used his full name in so long that it sounded like a foreign jumble on her lips. "Please go home. You aren't thinking straight. We can talk about this tomorrow, ok? I promise. Now I need you to move away -"
He cut her off. With the full force of his strength, he threw Wendy aside. She seemed to fly, coming right off of her feet. It was as if gravity had temporally fled and she hung, suspended, in time and space. All at once, she was flung forward. Wendy zipped through the air like a rag doll, landing hard into one of the wooden tables. She landed on her shoulder, pulling the table down with her to the floor. The few things on top of it landed on her, but she barely felt that. The pain in her arm was horrible. Her head throbbed and she could hear the real ruckus around her starting. Her head, still spinning from fireball and the landing, seemed to distort all the sounds she was filtering in. She heard Butters call her name from his post on the stairs, but she didn't stir. Instead she forced herself to sit up, listening to gentle cling of falling glass. All around her were crystal shards. There must have been a mirror on the table, she gathered calmly, studying her scratching up arms. A few pieces of the glass stuck out of her palms and down by her elbows. She winced, watching a warm trickle of her own blood seep from her forearm down to her elbow and drip off, like small, liquid rubies. Fragmented shards of her reflection stared back at her, revealing her wide eyed look and disheveled appearance.
Suddenly, her heart began to hammer in her chest. That sick, hot feeling began to creep up inside of her like before. She felt her face grow numb and the room began to spin. Something like lava seemed to rush all throughout her in a painful surge and she inhaled sharply. The heat was suddenly so intense she couldn't stand it; she feared her eyeballs may boil and run right out of her skull. She watched the scuffle before her in slow motion; she watched Christophe shove Stan hard in the chest and shout something at him in French. She saw the mad dog look in Stan's eyes, that blind rage he'd sometimes get on the field. She watched him lower his head, like a bull taking to a red cape, about to charge. When, in a flash, Ike was beside him. Where had he even come from? The mild mannered boy of barely eighteen reared back his balled up fist and knocked Stan in the dead center of his face. Wendy's hand found her mouth in shock as the drunk boy stumbled, dazed, and then fell over onto the floor. It was a complete K.O. Stan was out cold and down for the count. Upon seeing the menace temporarily disabled, the hot feeling retreated. Wendy breathed in loudly, almost shouting in pain at the gush of cold air in her heated lungs. She was shaking violently, unsure of how to make herself stop. A few people, not all, had come from the main party to see what was going on. Gregory was among them, looking alarmed.
"What happened here?" she heard him ask.
"Stay still; you're bleeding." Christophe was at her side, holding her arms gently. "Do you know 'eef Damien has a first aid kit?"
"Token." She managed to tell him. "Get Token. He's…uh…he's trained in this kind of thing."
She was still so disoriented that she could barely formulate coherent sentences. She heard him shout to Butters to go find the boy. Time began to speed up again as sound and common sense began to rush back to her.
"She looks feverish." Gregory was crouching beside her, concerned. His cold hand pressed up against her forehead.
"She took a nasty fall." Christophe responded. "Hit her head, I'm sure."
"Is she gonna be ok?" Ike was standing there now as well. He made sheepish eye contact with her. "I'm so sorry, Wendy. I…don't know what got into me. I saw him throw you and I…"
"Thank you." She said with a little smile. "It was out of character, but very sweet Ike. Make sure you and your brother get home ok, alright?"
Ike nodded at her and disappeared to go talk to Kyle. Gregory chuckled lightly.
"You'd make a brilliant politician, Wendy." He assured her as she spotted Token coming over his shoulder.
Like everyone else, he pressed the two boys for what had transpired, but she found herself with little desire to tune in. She turned her head upward, surprised to see Damien standing at the very top of the landing. He looked troubled, maybe even angry, but she knew it wasn't aimed at her. She shrugged at him, as if to say "some people" and then smiled. She was equally surprised to see he returned the gesture.
Token began to ask her questions to check and see if she had any head injuries. Once she assured him of her name, birthday, and the current president, he seemed more inclined to let her skip out on a trip to the ER. He wrapped her up pretty quick, pulling out the glass shards and cleaning her wounds before she even had time to yelp in pain. She wasn't even sure where the supplies had come from, but suddenly she was bandaged up like they were preparing her for Egyptian burial.
Butters brought her another drink in the meantime, apologizing profusely.
"I'm real sorry, Wendy." He said, his pale face a hot shade of red. "Me….me and my big dumb mouth! I shoulda just kept it shut but my mom always said to be polite, you know? I shouldna never said bye to those fellas."
Wendy opened her mouth to assure him it was fine, but Nicole who'd been standing nearby beat her to it.
"Damn right, fucktard." She snapped at him. "You let a perfectly good party get ruined. I've always known you were retarded or something."
"Nicole! Wendy snapped. "Don't be so mean! Butters didn't do anything."
"Whatever." She put on her coat in a huff. "I have to go anyway; Bebe and Clyde dipped to fuck at her house so I'm walking home. I'll see you at work."
She left the house, slamming the door behind her. Butters got to his feet too, looking crestfallen.
"I…I'm gonna go."
"Butters, please. Really, it's not…"
"I know. But….I'm still gonna head home. Feel better Wendy. I'll call ya tomorrow to check in on ya."
Wendy opened her mouth to try and sway him to stay, but he exited into the cold night before she could. She sighed heavily as Christophe came to join her.
"This night was a total dud." She mumbled, watching as people began to trickle out of the house.
"Not entirely." Christophe shrugged. "Damien has been upstairs all night, monitoring everything. He said he focuses better in ze silence; I bet he'll have some interesting things for us tomorrow, no?"
"I guess so." She shrugged. "I thought you couldn't sense the essence if it's in a human body."
"He can't." Christophe explained. "But he can feel ze changes of energy. He says it's very…generalized. But he can record what he feels and zen we can compare to what ze recorders pickup. Make sure we are getting ze most accurate information."
"Good idea." She nodded quietly, her head still throbbing. "…thanks for saying that to Stan."
"I thought you would be angry with me." He chuckled, lighting up a cigarette.
"I thought it was hilarious."
Christophe gave her a small smile and then handed her the smoldering tobacco. It was as if he knew only to offer it when he knew no one was looking. She took a quick but luxurious drag before handing it back. Gray, wispy smoke escaped her nostril like a small dragon and she felt its seductive magic trickle through her veins.
"At least this explains where Damien has been all night. I was starting to think he'd ditched his own party." She said as the ashy taste dissipated in her mouth.
Speaking of not knowing where people were all night, as if by magic Kenny suddenly appeared. His hair was disheveled and his clothes rumpled. Lola hung off his arm and they were sharing a laugh about something.
"Where have you been?" Wendy asked him, sounding angrier than she intended.
He glanced over at her with drunken eyes, clearly about to say something sarcastic, but stopping when she saw her bandaged arms.
"I was….with Lola outside." He stepped forward. "What the fuck happened?"
"He happened." Ike said from behind them.
Cartman and Kyle had just managed to swing Stan over either shoulder to take him back out to their car. His head hung like a rag toy, bobbing back and forth like he was on a string. He lifted it slightly, barely conscious. He looked at Kenny and managed a smile.
"Ken!" he said with inebriated happiness. "I miss you, man. How many times have you died now?"
Wendy lifted an eyebrow, confused. Lola, who was completely wasted, began to laugh hysterically.
"What a nut job!" she squealed in peels of girlish laughter.
Wendy could have sworn Kenny's cheeks were suddenly flushed of color. He stammered, confused, but Cartman spoke for him.
"The guy's a raging alcoholic, in case you haven't noticed. It's not an omen or anything, McCormick. Relax."
"No, no remember guys?" Stan began to laugh hysterically. It was a horrible noise, one that made Wendy want to turn and wretch up all the alcohol she'd consumed. "Don't you remember? Like the time he was a zombie? Or! Or when…remember…toolbox and the coon?"
"Yeah, sure buddy, zombies and raccoons." Cartman said with mock sympathy. "Jew, let's roll out. Taco Bell closes in an hour and this is a night only nachos can cure."
"Feel better, Wendy." Kyle said quietly to her, giving her hand a little squeeze. "Call if you need anything, ok?"
She nodded, giving him her softest smile to let him know she didn't blame him. If she blamed other people for Stan's misgivings, she'd have no friends left to call her own. The boys trooped out with him into the night, along with another small trickle of drunken kids from town. Christophe moved up the stairs with Gregory, insisting they would be right back. But Wendy knew what they were running off to check on. She turned her head, spying Kenny pulling on his orange parka.
"Where're you going?" she asked, surprised at how her own speech was starting to slur.
"Guess." He winked at her. She noticed Lola had walked off, probably to get her purse or something. "I've got a bed to stay in tonight; I'll be back in the morning to compare notes and what not."
"Notes on the inside of local slut's mouths?" she asked, half teasingly and half bitter.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked with a small frown. "Are you judging me?"
It was now apparent Kenny was more drunk than she'd given him credit for. His posture was slouched and he swayed slightly in his spot.
"A little bit." She crossed her arms, standing up slowly. The room was a bit off kilter, but she wasn't sure whether or not to accredit this to the fall or the whiskey. "I mean, you might as well have broken up with Craig about four hours ago. And you're already going home with somebody? That's pretty trashy."
"At least the people I take to bed are human." He told her darkly, his eyes narrowing.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You and the son of Satan up there." He was suddenly aggressive, walking towards her in an intimating stance. "It's like you've lost your fucking mind. You stitch up for pussy for years and what? Some supernatural FREAK comes along and you just stretch those legs wide open don't you?"
"Fuck you!" Wendy snarled at him, shoving her finger into his face in a threatening point. "Just because I'm selective as to what I stick inside me…"
"Selective?" he laughed mockingly. "You're a fucking prude. I know it, you know it, but ho ho ho. Here comes Damien! King of demons! Prince of hot topic! And you're down for whatever! Wendy, his mouth literally SEARED YOUR SKIN OFF. Isn't that…..isn't that some kind of red flag? Are you that fucking stupid?"
She flinched, moving away from him. His words stung the sides of her face like he'd reached out and struck her himself.
"You're angry about Craig." She told him calmly. "You're angry and you're taking it out on me…"
"Cut it out!" he shouted, balling his hands into fists and shoving them up against his temples. "Quit this psychiatric bullshit! Drop the act, Wendy! For God's sake, I've been with you for this long; it's OK TO GET MAD AT ME." He just shook his head and then reached out, grabbing her by the shoulders. "You aren't perfect. You wanna know what you are, firefly? You're broken. And you're fucked in the head. You're a freak, Wendy. Just like—"
She struck him. She hit him before she even knew what she was doing. Her heart was hammering in her chest and salty tears stung her eyes as their skin made contact. The sound echoed, vibrating off the walls like a painful last word. Kenny didn't flinch; he barely reacted. He turned his head slightly and then looked back at her with his less than sober eyes.
"….me." He let go of her and took a stumbling step away. He laughed a little, rubbing this side of his face where she hit him. "Good shot. I underestimated you."
"Kenny…." She went to apologize but he shook his head.
"Save it." He slurred. "You're a bitch."
Lola came back to the front room, smiling broadly and holding up her car keys.
"Let's roll." She giggled. "Bye Wendy! Great party!"
The pair left without a single word. Wendy stood in the horrible silence, her hands pressed to her mouth as hot tears poured down her face. They dripped, forming on the tip of her chin, and falling to the floor like little crystals. It was so quiet she could have sworn she heard their hushed drumming at her feet. She turned, walking towards the back of the house. She ambled aimlessly, not looking up as she stumbled out the backdoor and into the backyard. A light snow blanketed the ground in a flimsy blanket. It was a pathetic snow fall, but it was still early on in the season.
To her surprise, Craig was there smoking a cigarette. He was on his phone, leaning heavily on a metal trash can and talking to an unknown caller.
"I'm just gonna walk home then." He said in his plain voice. "I don't want to wait another hour for you to finish dropping them off. It's not a big deal; just come over to my place instead of coming back here. 'Kay. See you then."
He hung up, securing the android down deep in his coat pocket. He took another drag and they made awkward eye contact. Wendy sniffled, her face sticky and cold from tears. His lips twitched like a smile and he lifted a hand to flick her off.
That rolling, hot feeling returned with a vengeance. Like molten rage, it rolled up inside her in a repulsive wave and crashed into every vital organ. Her face flushed and she almost collapsed, but instead she approached him. Her vision, which seemed blurred, focused in on his cigarette. She plucked it out of his mouth, smoking it deeply herself.
"What the fuck?" he asked her, annoyed.
That was when Wendy punched him. Not just any punch either. The full force of her body and strength was channeled into her fist. Her knuckles became a weapon of mass destruction. She hit him square in the mouth, feeling the top of his front teeth scrape her skin. She swung her knee up, grabbing his shoulders and smashing him in the gut. He threw up on impact, vomiting bright green and brown bile onto the pure snow. She threw him to the floor and sat on top of him. She screamed in rage, balling up both fists and attacked his face. The hot feeling seemed to channel right into her hands. She was furious, relishing the feel of his skin and bone making impact with her. She drew blood, watching as the small dots slowly started to coat her knuckles. Her numb hands were covered in liquid gloves. It felt good; it felt right. She felt it splatter against her cheeks and chest when she brought her hands up to deliver another blow. She felt powerful. She felt like she could spread her arms and sprout wings like a phoenix. Kenny's voice calling her firefly whispered through her thoughts but another one shooed it away.
A firefly is small and weak. They can be caged by the smallest of children. They're ashamed of the day and can only come out at night.
She wasn't a firefly, not right now. Now she was powerful, vengeful, angry and unstoppable. She was the embodiment of rage itself; her body was a house of rage, made to bring justice on those who'd wronged her.
She was never ceasing, the voice whispered, ever present. Destructive rapture and inextinguishable beauty.
She wasn't a firefly; she was a fireball.
Wendy smiled a little in her rage.
"Piece of shit!" she screamed at him as he watched her with terrified eyes. She felt his hands fumbling to push her off but to no avail. "You're a lousy excuse for a human being! I hate you; I hope he hates you too. You hear me, you pig? I hope you fucking die! I WANT YOU TO FUCKING DIE."
She finally pulled away from him as he opened his mouth to let a pained cry break into the night. His two front teeth were gone; his nose was gushing and both eyes looked swollen. She got off him, bringing her foot down one more time to land in his stomach.
"You're disgusting." She said quietly, studying him with tears in her eyes. "Get the hell out of here." She snarled as he managed to roll onto his stomach and push himself up. He touched his face, still whimpering.
"No one will believe me." He said to himself from between two puffed lips. "That Wendy fucking Testaburger…"
"Exactly." She took another drag of his cigarette.
He pulled himself up, nearly falling over before running off.
"Craig?" she called out, sounding like her fake self for just a moment.
He turned, shivering and baffled. Her eyebrows arched as she crushed his cigarette under her foot.
"Never say my name again."
"You're crazy." He said, his swollen eyes growing as wide as they could. "You're fucking crazy."
And just like that, in a matter of seconds, the ordeal was over. She was left in the painfully silent night. The hot feeling was just now starting to subside. The cold began to sink in to her body, as did the pain in her raw hands. She studied them, mildly horrified. Craig's blood was a dark, velvety shade of crimson. It was beautiful, like liquefied rubies. She studied the ground and the formation of blood splatter at her feet. In the pale snow, it looked like a beautiful portrait. A portrait, she thought numbly, fit for loyalty.
She leaned down, picking up a fresh, unsullied clump and used it to wash it away from her hands. Numbly, she got back to her feet and went inside. She was still crying; her face was getting consistently more wet. She stumbled, fumbling to get up the stairs. She found herself on the second floor, stumbling into the nearest room. She felt warmth draw her in, knowing he was inside. It was like she had radar for him, always knowing exactly how and where to seek him out.
It was Damien's bedroom; she was too drunk and completely exhilarated to even notice any fine details. The furniture and its placement were all trivial details her eyes decided to pass over. She saw him hunched in a drawer, rustling through some papers. It was there he spoke to her without ever even looking up.
"The others are in the study, looking over the findings. I was coming right ba…" he looked up, suddenly shocked. "What happened to you?"
His nostrils twitched; she knew he could smell the blood.
Wendy entered the room, never speaking a word. She did however, reach behind her and bolt the heavy door shut.
A young woman should never have to walk home. Especially in the middle of the night and especially so after a night of drinking. This was a standard Nicole had been raised under and she was incredibly displeased that she was walking by herself right now.
She cursed herself silently, wishing she had just driven her car to the party. She could have easily tipsy driven back over to Red's house afterwards and stayed there instead of driving out all the way to her gated community.
"Stupid Bebe." She grumbled under her breath, pulling out her phone to text.
She had already sent out quite a few of her infamous DTF texts, including a tasteful picture of herself to that Gregory guy. But no responses yet. She scowled darkly, opening her Facebook app. Their loss. And to think, she was willing to put out if it meant getting a ride home and something to eat.
Really, they must have been idiots to pass that up.
There was the faintest rustling behind her and Nicole felt the skin of the back of her neck prickle slightly. She knew better than to think there was somebody following her. Very casually, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, and then laughed out loud when she saw nothing but miles of empty sidewalk. She laughed again, pulling her warm coat around her shapely body. Her milk chocolate skin reflected romantically in the moonlight, giving her a fragile and delicate appearance. She continued her walk, listening to the gentle rustling of the brush beside her.
South Park had far too many woods, she thought angrily, rounding the corner to the last street before Red's house. Even in the cold months like this when the trees were bare, she felt like she lived in the middle of the boonies. She turned her head to the left, stopping for a moment.
Out in the middle of the snow, a figure watched her. He wasn't too far, just far enough that his features were distorted by shadow. The skeletal trees cast bony shadows all around him, like long, brittle fingers seeking to snatch her up. Nicole frowned, shouting out at him.
"Fuck off, creep!" she told her hotly, continuing to walk.
When she noticed he moved along with her, she felt a hot surge of panic.
"Go away!" she shouted. "I don't have any money!"
It was true. She'd left her purse, ID, credit cards and all, tucked into Bebe's trunk before they'd entered Damien's shady house. Nicole heard a laugh; a deep, throaty sound that turned her blood to ice. Without a second thought, she broke into a run, stumbling in her pretty high heels. The wine and vodka in her system made the road curve up and down like a topsy turvy Alice in Wonderland road. She leaned down, hoping to rip the shoes off and run with them in hand, but something caught her first. A sharp blow to the head meant lights out for the pretty young lady. The figure caught her unconscious form before she fainted onto the cold cement. He held her light body close to him, laughing darkly. He was like ice; his body produced no warmth of its own. Nicole noted in her fuzzy brain her capture wore no gloves or jacket. He was exposed to the elements fearlessly. There was something horrific about someone who cared so little about freezing to death.
The moon's milky rays fell upon them, like the spotlight on two, passionate actors. The last thing she saw before she completely passed out was the contorted grin of the boy she thought was Butters.
as their skin made contact. The sound echoed, vibrating off the
