SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror

  Tate faced me, echoing the invitation while Sam stood behind him, making begging gestures.

  “Sure, of course, we’d love it,” I replied. “Is there a theme?”

  “Nah,” Tate said. “Come as your wildest fantasy, darkest fear, or yourself, in a costume. No rules, no expectations. Just be there before midnight.”

  “Will you turn back into pumpkins when the clock strikes twelve?” I asked, only slightly kidding.

  Andrew stared at me with a serious expression. “Yes.” He held his face still for a moment before his rare smile lit up his eyes and he laughed.

  I couldn’t help but return his grin. “Okay. We’ll be there.”

  “Great,” Tate and Andrew said at the same time.

  As soon as the door clicked closed behind them, Sam did a little jig. “Holy whoopie pies! We’re going to the best Halloween party ever, and got a personal invitation from Tate!”

  She grabbed my hands and jumped on my bed. I joined her and we squealed.

  After a few minutes of bouncing, we collapsed into a heap on top of my comforter. Our chests heaving and out of breath, we giggled and kicked our legs.

  “Do I want to know about the peppercorns?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You weren’t doing magic, were you?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  “Because casting spells on Mabon is powerful stuff. I wouldn’t want you to get it wrong and end up summoning a legion of toads.”

  I gulped. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible. Like us going to Tate Winthrop’s party!” She fluttered her feet in the air a few times to emphasize her excitement. ““We have to find you a costume tomorrow!”

  “What the hell am I going to wear to this party?”

  “You need something sexy to wear.”

  “Sexy? Really?”

  “I know, we’ll make an exception, but something with a lot of leg.”

  “Spider?”

  “Not legs, just your two. And nothing creepy. Although, Andrew does seem the type to like the dark side. Sexy zombie?”

  I laughed. “Sexy zombie nurse? Do animals become zombies? I could be a sexy zombie black cat.” I had to stop because I was laughing at my own joke. “Or bunny. A dead bunny, but sexy.”

  “All right, all right. Nothing too sexy or dead. We’ll think of something perfect.”

  Six

  Beginning the next week, Andrew always sat next to me in seminar. His arm would brush mine when he took notes while I pretended to focus on whatever Dr. Philips said about the three-name author of the week. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, or Louisa May Alcott… why did so many nineteenth century authors have three names?

  “Want to grab a coffee?” Andrew asked as we walked out of the Alcott class. With his hands in his pockets, he seemed unsure of himself, unlike the typical, cool, aloof Andrew.

  “I’m supposed to meet Sam,” I said, regretting rejecting him immediately. Wasn’t this what I wished for the other night?

  “Oh.” He frowned.

  “You could join us,” I offered.

  Please let him join us. Andrew wanted to have coffee. With me. I could ditch Sam and explain later. Why hadn’t I thought before I opened my mouth? She’d understand. She would totally do the same and without a second thought if Tate asked her out.

  Not that Andrew was asking me out. This wasn’t a date. It was coffee. I wanted to go and was willing to ditch my best friend. I closed my eyes and wished for her to understand before pulling out my phone to text her. However, my screen showed a new text alert from Sam.

  *Got a costume idea. Heading into Boston. Sorry to bail on coffee. Catch you later. :)*

  “Or not,” I said.

  Andrew stopped walking and frowned, waiting for me to finish.

  “No, not no. She just canceled.” I grinned, waving my phone in front of me.

  His lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “Well, in that case, shall we?” He gestured toward the edge of campus.

  “No campus cafe?”

  With a shake of his head, he met my eyes. “I know someplace better.”

  He led me through the wrought iron gates and past the ivy-covered stone walls, marking the edge of our little campus. After a few twists and turns through streets decorated for Halloween, we stood in front of a tiny house covered in black painted clapboards, diamond patterned panes of glass crisscrossing its small windows. I’d never seen it before. Even with the few stalks of dried corn and stack of white pumpkins made the place appear anything but festive. It looked a little creepy and probably a lot haunted.

  “Here?” My voice squeaked.

  “Sure. They make the best hot chocolate.” He opened the little door and ducked inside.

  The door was that small.

  I followed him into the dark space, bells chiming as the door closed behind me.

  What’s with all of the bells in this town?

  “People think they ward off bad spirits and bring good energy to the home or business,” Andrew answered.

  “I asked that out loud?” My cheeks heated.

  “Andrew!” A round woman with a frizzy halo of gray hair greeted him with a smile followed by an enveloping hug.

  After extracting himself from her voluptuous curves, he introduced us. “Martha, this is my friend, Madison.”

  Grinning at him, she extended her hand. “Nice to meet a friend of Andrew’s. Finally.”

  I swore his cheeks pinked, but it was too dark to see clearly with the only light coming from the small windows and table lamps with black shades. My eyes slowly adjusted and I could see the walls were actually bookcases lined only with books with dark covers. In the nearest corner there was a barista working an espresso machine. Even the cups were black.

  I worried if I dropped something or broke a cup, it would never be found again. “What is this place?”

  He pressed his hand against my shoulder to steer me toward a table. “It’s had a lot of names over the years, but everyone calls it the Black Book, though I’m not sure why.”

  I laughed as we sat down. “Because it’s completely black outside and in?”

  His eyebrows did that furrowing thing where they disappeared into the frames of his glasses. “Huh, I’d never thought of that being the reason. I always figured it was because it was the perfect location for a secret rendezvous.”

  Was that what this was? It was dark enough in here to have sex and no one would know.

  We were interrupted by the return of Martha bearing two steaming cups and a plate of brownies. At least they looked like brownies. It was hard to differentiate them from the black plate.

  “Death by chocolate. Andrew’s favorite,” she announced, squeezing his shoulder.

  After she walked away, I said, “She seems fond of you.”

  “I’ve known her my entire life. She and my mother are friends.”

  “Does your mom still live here?”

  “She does.”

  I was prying—I could tell by the tightness in his shoulders—but I couldn’t stop myself. He was talking and I wanted to keep him speaking.

  “Why don’t you live at home?”

  He laughed, but he didn’t smile. “What twenty-one year old wants to live at home with his mother?”

  I giggled. “Right. That would be weird.”

  “The dorm is probably worse. Freshman are unbelievable.”

  “I remember being an idiot first year.”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but the kneeing incident in the lounge with Hamilton is pretty legendary in Residence Life.”

  “Nooo.” I tried to hide underneath the table and realized I wasn’t bendy, so I made myself invisible by covering my eyes with my hands.

  He chuckled, and I peeked at him from between my fingers.

  “Please say you are teasing.” He didn’t answer, but his eyes danced with amusement. “Does everyone know?”

  “I??
?m sure some of the freshman don’t, but you’re a legend. Own it.”

  “This explains my lack of a love life. I’m the girl who knees boys in the balls. No wonder no one has asked me out in ages. I’m cursed.” I gave up the fight and laid my head on the table where I was eye level with the brownies. “At least I can die from chocolate instead of humiliation. Nice knowing you.” I broke off a big bite of brownie and ate it without lifting my head.

  Andrew still hadn’t said anything.

  I wondered how much chocolate I’d have to consume to actually die.

  He tilted his neck to the side to study me. After a few beats, he said, “You’re not cursed.”

  I felt a familiar tingle from his gaze. “I wish I could believe you, but I’m beginning to think someone put a hex on me.” I sighed.

  He laughed again. “Really?”

  “It’s worse than you know.”

  “I’d be able to tell, trust me. No hex, no curse.” His hand brushed my arm, sending a shiver over my skin, raising my hair into goose bumps. It was the exact opposite of unpleasant.

  “Sam thinks I’m a witch,” I blurted out.

  He choked on his hot chocolate.

  “I know, right? Something about family ancestors and matrilineal genes or something. I think she’s confusing magic and Judaism.” I lifted my head off the table and sipped my drink, which tasted exactly like melted chocolate.

  “That explains the smudging last weekend.”

  “Sam is into Wicca this year.”

  “And you? Do you believe in magic?”

  “Not really.” I met his beautiful brown eyes, which reminded me of warm melted chocolate. There was a chocolate I’d like to die by. Death by Andrew. A familiar feeling fluttered low in my belly and I crossed my legs. It had been ages since anything fluttered.

  “Just curses and hexes, but not the good stuff?” he asked, playing with his cup, suddenly interested in studying the grain of the wood on the table.

  “Being able to hex someone sounds pretty good to me.” I remembered wishing Hamilton would fall and my delight when he did. “Or do you mean magical potions and flying brooms? Do you believe?”

  He shrugged. “Growing up in Salem, you begin to believe in all sorts of things, both light and darkness.”

  Sarah and Sam’s words about Mabon echoed in my head … the balance between light and dark. Hexes and love spells.

  “I think Philips’ class is getting to me,” I said. “Everything so far this semester has turned into the same conversation.”

  “Then let’s talk about something else. You know more about me than I do about you. Tell me something I don’t know.” He smiled, and when he leaned back into the shadows, the low table light emphasized his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

  “I’m an English major, but you probably already guessed as much since we have class together. Minor in business.”

  “Business, eh?”

  “Not a lot of jobs out there for English majors. It was my father’s idea.”

  “Smart man.”

  “And your major?”

  “Bio-chemistry.”

  He looked like a chemistry major. All glasses and smarts.

  “How does an upper level English class fit into that?”

  “I like to read.” He gave me a small smile. “I know, it’s weird.”

  I matched his expression. “I like boys who read.”

  His smile faltered and was quickly replaced by a grin. “Good to know.”

  We chatted about classes, majors, and life in the dorms as the dim light from the windows grew darker. Andrew wasn’t as weird as I’d imagined—more serious than weird. Kind of an old soul. And cute. Very cute. Even in a dark bookstore café.

  Okay, that place was a little weird.

  Andrew walked me back to my dorm, saying he was meeting up with Tate. When he paused before the wide steps to the entrance, I ended up standing two steps above him, making us about the same height. I could see the layers of brown in his eyes and a slim line of silver near his pupil. He had a fine layer of dark stubble along his pale jaw, which only accentuated the deep red of his lips. Women would kill for his lip color.

  “Hey.” He grabbed my hand.

  I looked down to where his fingers touched mine, then back up at his face.

  My breath stalled at the look in his eyes; it was lust, pure and new.

  “I had fun this afternoon.” His eyes flicked down to my lips.

  “Me too.” I leaned slightly forward and inhaled, waiting.

  This was one of those moments before a kiss. The air between us crackled and our bodies drew together like magnets. Allowing my eyes to drift closed, I slowly exhaled and waited.

  His fingers flexed against mine for a second before he let go, but I didn’t feel him step away.

  I slowly blinked open my eyes to meet his.

  He had an eyelash on his cheek. I reached up to touch it, transferring it to my finger. “Make a wish,” I whispered, holding out the tip of my finger for him to see it.

  “You keep it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His eyes settled back on my lips. When he shook his head, his hair flopped over his eyes. “No.”

  I frowned and blew on the lash, but didn’t make a wish. Time paused as I waited for him to do something. I expected him to walk away. I hoped he didn’t. After a moment of quiet with only the sound breeze rustling the dying leaves, I turned to step away. However, he lifted his hand to my cheek to stop me.

  “Madison …” he whispered, inching closer to my lips. His eyes remained locked with mine until they began to blur. Once again, I closed my eyes. This time I felt his breath brush lightly across my lips. It was a split second that felt like infinity before his mouth made contact with mine.

  I pressed against him. My lips, my chest, my hips were magnets seeking connection. I gasped at the sensation of his hand wrapping around my neck, tilting my head back. He accepted it as invitation, exploring, claiming my mouth with his tongue. My own hands gripped his shoulders before winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. It was soft, so soft. I wanted to bury my nose in it.

  All too soon he paused and then broke off the kiss, letting his hand drop away from my skin.

  I stood for a moment with my eyes closed and my lips parted, waiting for him to kiss me again. The cool air breached the warmth between our bodies, forcing me to open my eyes and accept the kiss was over.

  He slowly came into focus. My lips were swollen and my brain fuzzy from the kiss. He looked torn between joy and uncertainty; both emotions flickered across his face.

  “I, um …” he paused, “I’ll see you in class.” He turned and swiftly walked away from me.

  I guess he wasn’t visiting Tate after all.

  I knew one thing for certain: the love spell seemed to be working.

  Andrew had totally kissed me. With tongue.

  Seven

  I stared at my yellow and black reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.

  “This? Why?” I plucked at the black tutu barely covering my ass. “Sexy bee? Sexy insect?” I shrieked. “If I was going as a sexy insect, shouldn’t it be a praying mantis?”

  Sam glared at me. “No, they eat their males after sex. Not the message you want to be sending tonight.” She snort-laughed. “Bee sending,” she repeated.

  “Help. I can’t be a bee. The puns will kill me.”

  “Hold on, I’m not finished with the costume.” She placed a headband with a tiny, black witch’s hat on my head.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I am! I look ridiculous.” Neon-colored diamond-patterned tights, the aforementioned microscopic tutu, and a yellow and black striped top. “Don’t forget these.” I turned to show her my wings.

  “You’re bee-witched!” She clapped her hands together. “Get it? It’s brilliant.”

  “If you do say so yourself.” I fought a smile. “Fine. It’s cleve
r.”

  “Andrew’s going to love it!”

  “Does he have a bee fetish I’m not aware of? A passion for all things honey?” I tried to tug my nonexistent skirt lower only to have my hands swatted away.

  “Not that I know of, but you look super hot. He won’t be able to resist.”

  The last part was true. The love spell had clearly worked. Our chocolate date and the kiss proved it. He’d sat next to me in class again. We’d exchanged numbers, and texted a bunch of times.

  Which was all great, but it wasn’t.

  Did he really like me, or was it the spell?

  There was only one way to find out. I picked up the heart charm and tied it around my neck.

  “Red doesn’t really go with the bee thing, Maddy.” Sam wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to wear it tonight?”

  “Listen, I’m letting you dress me up as a bee, I mean a bee-witch. Let me wear the necklace. Please?”

  “If you insist.” She adjusted her corset and top hat. “Do you think Tate will like this?”

  “I have no idea, but he’s a guy, with eyes, so I think he’ll love it.”

  Sam was dressed as some sort of time-traveling, Steampunk, corset wearing hottie. She looked like a badass milkmaid.

  I looked like a bee. Wearing a hat. At least my legs looked great.

  ***

  Jack-o’-lanterns and luminaries lined the long driveway to the enormous stone mansion the Winthrops called a summerhouse. It was a far cry from the two-bedroom place my grandparents had on the Cape. Eerie white forms hung in the trees and swayed in the breeze. Shadowy figures spilled out of the house onto the lawn and driveway. It was impossible to identify anyone given the non-existent light, fake smoke, and costumes. A pair of sexy black cats dashed past us, squealing and holding their tails. Sam’s gaze met mine, and even in the dark I could see her roll hers.

  “Where do you think Tate and Andrew are?” I asked as we approached the stone staircase leading up to the front door. “We’ll never find them.”

  “We just got here, don’t lose faith yet.” She took my hand and led me inside, where the crowd filled the dark, paneled grand foyer and music pulsed from multiple speakers. “Let’s find the bar,” she shouted.