Page 7 of Make Her Scream

I let down my long, pale-blonde hair and shake it out. Combined with my mismatched eyes and pale skin, the result is almost ethereal, like I’m supposed to be a part of the haunted funhouse.

I turn at an angle to check the back. “I mean, it would be easy to run in…”

Vani’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Run? And why are you planning to run?”

A flash of my men, bare-chested, wearing their masks as they chase me. The exhilaration and anticipation and endorphins. Heavy breathing and crashing footsteps. The slam of bodies together and us wrestling to the ground…

I tear my thoughts away, worried they’ll show too clearly on my face.

From Vani’s expression, they already have.

I clear my throat. “It’s… err… exercise.”

“I bet it gets the heart pumping, that’s for sure. Now,” she assesses my currently bare feet. “What shoes are you going to wear?”

“Flats,” I insist. “Definitely flats.”

She winks at me. “Sure, ’cause it’s not like you’d want to trip. Or would you?”

“Vani, stop!”

But I slip my feet into a pair of flat pumps and then assess my outfit again. The guys are going to die when they see me.

Vani beckons me over to sit beside her and brandishes mascara and lip products. “Makeup time.”

I tend not to wear much, but I appreciate that with my pale coloring, a little definitely helps. My men are happy with me barefaced and wearing sweatpants, or preferably, nothing at all, but it’s Halloween, and I’d like to look as though I’ve made an effort.

Being a good girl, I sit patiently, offering my face to Vani as she dabs me with this and that and the other.

“There,” she says eventually. “You were gorgeous before, but you’re a knockout now.”

I take a mirror from her and check. She’s right. The mascara has made my eyes pop, and the lip and cheek stain have brought my features to life.

“It’s smudge-proof,” Vani says about the lip stain, “so you can kiss, and do other things that normally smudge a girl’s lipstick, as much as you want.”

There used to be a time when wearing makeup or even admiring myself in the mirror was completely banned. Vanity was seen as a sin, and I’d had it drummed into me throughout the entirety of my former years. Even after I’d escaped the cult, I’d still been haunted by the Prophet’s voice, telling me what a terrible person I was for any kind of vanity or lust. I’d believed it might drive me mad, and the Prophet would be the end of me, but my men saved me from that.

Now I’m free.

3

ROMAN

It’s the night before Halloween, and I can sense the spirits shifting, preparing themselves for what has always been an ancient pagan festival where the gap between our world and the spirit world is blurred.

Ophelia thinks we’re not making the effort to get ready, but while she’s been readying herself with Vani, we’ve been to the barber for a hot shave and a trim, making sure we look and smell the best we can for her.

We’re all looking forward to tonight as much as she is. Perhaps more. It’s been too long since we chased our girl.

We arrive home to our water tower on the grounds of Verona Falls University to feminine voices drifting down from upstairs. Vani must still be here, so Ophelia isn’t quite ready for us yet. That’s okay. There’s one more thing we need to prepare before we leave for the funfair.

Malachi and Cain both follow me into the altar room. The altar itself isn’t like one you’d find in a church but is a repurposed railway sleeper. On top are framed photographs of our ancestors. Around the photos are black candles, wax running in rivulets down the sides.

I’ve toned things down with the magic and rituals now Ophelia is in our lives, even though we’ve rid her of her terror of the Prophet, but I’ll never give up on it completely. Believing in the gods—old and new—is just a part of who I am. But I’m not here to meditate on them today.

I’m here for something else.

I go to where our masks are hung on the wall. Malachi’s is completely white and smooth, with only eye holes cut out. Cain’s is a black hood, with a piece that covers his face so only his eyes are visible. And mine is a skeletal mask, the white bones catching in the candlelight.