Magda stuffed her hands into the pockets of her peacoat, hunching her shoulders against the chill air. The city smelled like rain and wet leaves, and the grey, post-dusk gloom of the late autumn sky threatened further precipitation soon.
Magda ducked her head as a gust of wind blew strands of her midnight black hair from her ponytail. A shiver rippled through her slender body as the cold tried to work its way through the heavy fabric of the peacoat. Brown leaves swirled on the sidewalk, and a raven perched on a telephone line squawked as she walked by below.
These days, it seemed like Magda was cold more often than not. It was as if a chill had seeped into her very bones.
It doesn't help that I'm basically wearing dental floss under this thing
, she griped. Aside from her coat and high, black boots, Magda's outfit largely consisted of hoop-shaped earrings and a set of lingerie that left so little to the imagination she wasn't sure what the point of it was.
"You look perfect," Brock had said earlier in the dingy apartment he shared with Christine. Magda had spun to display the lacy, insubstantial outfit, looking critically at herself in the mirror. She didn't have much on top in the way of tits, but she had to admit the panties showed off the firm peach of her ass pretty well.
"I look like a total slut," she said. Brock just nodded his head.
"Exactly," he confirmed. "You'll fit right in." He must've seen the hesitation in her eyes, for he took a step forward, a desperate look in his puppy-dog eyes. "It's all for Christine, remember?"
Oh don't worry, I remember.
Magda could already hear the sounds of the party underway as she walked up the flagstone path that cut through the garden, heading towards the ornate front door of Hawthorne House.
It was still relatively early; the sun had only just slid below the New Haven skyline, but the bassy throb of music already emanated from the ivy-covered brick edifice of the house. The noise was somewhat at odds with the staid, stately appearance of the mansion, not to mention the well-heeled atmosphere of the neighborhood at large.
Magda shook her head as she ascended the marble steps of the portico. She wondered how the prim New Haven luminaries who'd founded Hawthorne House would have felt about a bunch of college kids drinking cheap vodka out of red plastic cups and trying to fuck each other among the sumptuous rooms of the mansion.
Red Bull is probably a real bitch to get out of the upholstery, she thought as she rapped the ornate, snake-shaped knocker against the white-painted door. So is cum.
The boy who answered her knock was young, perhaps in his sophomore year. He was dressed up in a black cape and ruffled shirt, and a set of fake plastic fangs slurred his speech. Magda resisted the urge to roll her eyes when she saw the outfit. It was clear the kid was going for recognizability, not realism.
He was already a little glassy-eyed, and the expected red cup he held smelled strongly of orange juice and alcohol. Poor sucker. Door duty was a shit job, and the neophyte members of the Skull and Bones saddled with it probably took whatever solace they could get.
"Damn girl," he said, giving Magda a once-over. "What are you supposed to be?"
She gave him a sweet smile and batted her mascara-thickened lashes at him. "Tonight," she said, "I'm part of the help."
Even in his state of increasing inebriation, the code words from the ad had the intended effect on the boy. His eyes widened, as did his fake-fanged grin.
"Yeah?" he said. "Right on, right on. Just follow me, I'll take you to Spencer."
The boy stepped aside to let her in, and as Magda entered the house she felt the kid's eyes linger on her. She could guess what he was thinking.
What kind of a girl would sign up for a job like this? Likely followed by, And if she's willing to work a shift at Hawthorne House's All Hallows Eve party, what else might she do for a bit of cash?
Once inside, the music grew loud and raucous, the party clearly in full swing. The boy led Magda through room after room, each filled with students in various states of inebriation and undress. She saw Yalies dressed in a wide variety of costumes; slutty cats, slutty angels, and a few plain old sluts thrown in to mix it up.
They drank, danced, and necked with wild abandon. She knew that Yale wasn't a cheap place to go to school, and Magda wondered what the starched-collar parents of these college kids would say if they could see their children, red-faced and shouting over a beer pong table or calling for another round of jello shots.
As she followed her guide through the house, Magda was once again struck by a strange feeling of dissonance. Hawthorne House was nice, maybe one of the nicest places Magda had even been in, aside from that summer she worked as a maid at the Continental downtown. She watched two kids making out on a loveseat carved from what looked like mahogany, the wood shaped into intricate flowers and climbing vines. The contrast seemed almost profane.
"Spencer!" her guide shouted across a crowded hallway. "Hey, Spencer! The girl who answered the ad is here!"
Several pairs of curious eyes turned towards them.
Thanks, fuck-face
, Magda thought sourly. She didn't embarrass easily, and these kids probably had no idea of what the real All Hallows Eve party entailed, but still, she had her fucking dignity.
Well, maybe not a lot of that left,
she admitted to herself.
"I don't think he can hear you," she shouted in the boy's ear, struggling to be heard over the thump and grind of the music. "Maybe we should get a little closer?"
The boy gave her a blank look for a moment, then comprehension dawned in his eyes and he nodded his head. "Oh yeah, that's a good idea!" he agreed.
Magda followed in his wake as he forged ahead down the packed hallway, pushing aside sweating, gyrating bodies.
Christ,
she thought
. Don't you have to be smart to get into Yale?
Although she couldn't see the DJ, the thump of the music sank into Magda's bones. People in the hallway danced and moved to the beat, and for a moment Magda imagined what it might be like to let go and join them.
How different would her life have been had she been born into this world, a member of the privileged class instead of just a townie? She'd had the fantasy before, but now, among those whom she'd envied, the contrast she felt was an even sharper knife.
Would he have chosen me all those nights ago if he thought I'd be missed?
Her melancholy was interrupted by a strange sight. Magda thought she saw a shadow flickering among the youthful, sweat-soaked bodies which danced in the hallway. The darkness pulsed between a girl with a beanie and a boy sipping straight from a Jagermeister bottle. Both of them were oblivious to the tenebrous form, but Magda froze in place, watching.
The shadow flickered in time to the instrumental samples in the track that blared out over the speakers; some kind of classic riff that Magda assumed she might have known if she'd been educated in the same places these people had access to.
What the fuck?
The shadow shivered and shook, reaching out with a darkling limb in Magda's direction. She got the sense that it was trying to stretch across some vast distance to be born into the world of sweating, heaving life. Was it drawn by the harsh music, desperate to hitch a ride along with one of the warm, vital bodies crowded into the passageway of the house?
She recalled something her
abuela
used to say, a technique for warding away the evil eye,
la Mal de Ojo
.
Spit three times and turn your head, to repudiate the dead
.
"Hey!" A voice drew her back to reality. "You alright?"
Magda glanced away from the shadow to look at the boy who led her through the press of bodies, but when she turned her gaze back to the space between the girl with the beanie and the Jaeger enthusiast, the darkness was gone. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.
Focus Magda
, she remonstrated herself. Christine was depending on her, after all, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen some seriously weird shit in the last few years.
"I'm fine. Where's this Spencer guy?"
Spencer turned out to be a good looking senior boy with a shock of golden-blonde hair and a jawline so sharp Magda was pretty sure she could've cut herself on it. He looked like a lacrosse player, the type of guy that wouldn't have given a girl like her a second glance in New Haven High.
Not that he's a townie himself
. The boy named Spencer smelled and dressed like he came from privilege and old money, the kind that started in Europe and only intensified by long years of American investment.
For his Halloween costume, Spencer had chosen to wear a greek-style toga, with a bit of gold leaf painted on each cheek. He looked like some kind of classical statue, all hard planes, and soft, golden curls.
"Yo," the golden boy said as the sophomore in the vampire costume approached with Magda. "Why the fuck aren't you at the door?"
The kid blushed, looking embarrassed. Spencer was holding court in front of a gaggle of similarly good-looking sycophants, and clearly, Magda's guide felt awkward at interrupting them.
It's a pow-wow with the whole fucking lacrosse team
, Magda thought, looking from face to handsome, well-bred face.
"It's her," her guide said by way of explanation, a whining tone entering his voice. "The girl who answered the ad. She said the password and everything."
Spencer rolled his eyes. "Fantastic, the whore is here. Do you want a fucking cookie? Now get back to the door before you miss someone. And drop that drink," he ordered, pointing at the red cup in the young man's hands. "I need you to be coherent. Remember, you will not embarrass the Skull and Bones tonight."
The sophomore blanched and set his cup down on an antique-looking end table. "You got it, Spencer," he stammered, already walking away backward, as if he could blend into the crowd packing the hallway. "You can count on me." With those final words, he turned and almost bolted, presumably scurrying back to his post.
Magda wished him well and hoped he managed to snag another drink. She'd been bullied enough by boys like Spencer to know what that was like.
"So, you're her?"