Lucy stared at him.
“I …,” David said, but he was afraid of what he might say. Somehow, simply being near Lucy had conjured up feelings he didn’t know he had. Since he’d found out that Lucy was pregnant, and that Will was the father, David had been trying to convince himself, more than ever, that Lucy didn’t mean anything to him. He was failing.
“What?” she asked. “What were you going to say?”
There couldn’t have been a worse time to complicate things with his emotions. Lucy’d had a miscarriage. Will still didn’t know. And David didn’t know what Will and Lucy had together. Maybe theirs was the truest love of all. He’d already intercepted Lucy once and stolen her from Will. Was he really about to do that to his own brother? Again? Why save Will’s life only to crush his spirit afterward?
“David, talk to me.”
David looked away, to the third-floor elevator doors. They’d have to get the doors open somehow and climb down the shaft, but it was the safest way to circumvent the mob that was looking for them.
“If Will’s in the elevator,” David said, “we’ll head straight to the quad, and be out of here before you—”
The school’s PA system crackled to life. It was a sound that he had come to hate. It made him tense up like he’d seen cop lights in his rearview. He looked up at the cracked speaker by the ceiling, and heard his ex-girlfriend. Anger coursed through him at the sound of her lilting voice. His mind flashed to the memory of her crouching over him, chopping her hand down, and plunging her dagger into his eye.
“The greatest event in school history starts in an hour,” Hilary’s amplified voice said. “I wanted to let all my guests know that there’s been an addendum to the dress code. Gas masks are now permitted. I already know one boy who’ll be wearing one. An old friend of mine named Will. I hear his brother is here too, and I’m saving a spot on my dance card for him.”
David’s breath rocketed in his ears. He looked at Lucy.
“Daaaaaaaaavid …,” Hilary called. Her voice was breathy like she was drunk-dialing. “I miiiiiiiiiiiss you. Do you miss me? Do you remember when I held you after you found out your mom died? Remember how good it felt to be in my arms? Don’t you want that again? Don’t you want to be my king? Or would you rather see what your brother looks like without a gas mask?”
A chill rolled down his spine.
Hilary cleared her throat. “Sorry, that just slipped out. Anyway, what do you say, baby?” Her voice was innocent and girly. “Will you go to prom with me?”
Hilary giggled and the speaker went dead. David leaned against the elevator doors. His brain felt dim. His body was exhausted and starved for food.
“You can’t trust her. You know this is a trap,” Lucy said.
He took a deep breath and blew it out slow.
“I’m going.”
“David, you can’t. She’ll kill you.”
“She has Will.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“Actually, I already asked someone.”
She swatted him in the arm, with a half-cocked smile. “Shut up.”
“Okay, you can go with me.”
“But we can’t walk right in.”
“No,” David said. “We’re gonna need some help getting in there.”
“From who?”
“Let’s hope I still have some friends in this place.”
22
LUCY FELT BAD FOR LEONARD. AS HE LED them through the auditorium, up onto the stage, into the wings, and to the dressing rooms, he never looked at David once. Leonard held one guilty hand over his swirled green sherbet hair. As Lucy remembered it, Leonard had been the first to bail on the Loners for another gang. When David was dead, that had seemed like a smart move. Now it apparently filled him with shame.
Leonard knocked on a door marked with a golden star.
“Come in,” a voice said from the other side.
Leonard turned the handle and pushed the door open.
“Thanks, Leonard,” David said, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Leonard whimpered as if he’d been scalded and ran away.
David stepped into the dressing room. A long counter, with chairs tucked underneath, ran the length of one wall. It was swallowed up into a labyrinth of rolling racks, overstuffed with hanging costumes. Running above the counter was a row of individual mirrors, each framed by dead, gray bulbs. Each, but one.
Blazing lightbulbs outlined the square, central mirror where Zachary sat with his back to them, lit up like an explosion. He wore a suit jacket and pants that had been painted blaze orange and had orange feathers spraying out from the shoulders. The jacket didn’t have a tail. It had a train like a bridal gown, covered in feathers transitioning from orange to red. He leaned toward the mirror with his eyes wide, putting the finishing touches on his makeup. Lucy watched his reflection as he stretched his face to apply his eyeliner.
“Back from the dead. Hell of a way to make an entrance. I always said you had a flair for the dramatic, didn’t I, Davey?”
“It was all for your benefit.”
Lucy’s opinion of Zachary hadn’t changed. She didn’t like him and she definitely didn’t trust him. It went all the way back to when he’d held a knife to David’s throat and had tried to trade him to Sam. Somehow, David had forgotten about that. Or he’d forgiven it. Lucy wasn’t good that way.
“If you’re back in here,” Zachary said, still focused on his own face, “it must be shit outside.”
“You’re not so far off,” David said.
Zachary gave a little, self-satisfied grunt.
“Zachary, I need your help.”
Zachary glanced through the mirror at them for the first time and sighed. He put down his eye pencil and began to powder a puff. “It’s been a long day, David,” he said, then raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, it’s been a long couple of years.”
“Tell me about it,” David said.
Zachary scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you know. You’re only a legend because you burned bright and fast and disappeared. Try staying on top of a gang for as long as I have. I make it look so good that nobody even notices. That’s what takes real talent.”
Zachary patted down his face with the puff, sending little poofs of powder into the air like smoke signals.