“Elaine!”

  The bathroom door is locked. I bang on it and rattle the doorknob. She isn’t answering, and with every moment that passes, my panic intensifies.

  “Elaine! Are you okay?”

  Nothing. The door is made of cheap particleboard, and I know it won’t take much to get through it. I curl my hand into a fist, punch a hole into the door and unlock the knob from the outside.

  I open the bathroom door and find Elaine naked, sprawled halfway on the floor and half-draped over the tub. The shower rod came down with her when she fell, the curtain bunched beneath her, collecting water from the showerhead. Elaine was always pale, but in her sickly, wet state, she looks almost gray. Like a fish plucked from some deep, cold lake. She moans as I turn off the water, wrap her in a towel, and help her up.

  “What happened?” she asks. Even though I can tell she tried to wash her body and hair, the scent of decay still hangs heavy on her skin, thick and greasy like an oil slick.

  “You fell,” I say. “You need to get back in bed.”

  “I feel like I’ve been run over,” Elaine says. “Is this how it felt when you were sick?”

  Guilt stabs me in the chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

  “I need to call into work,” she says, her voice raspy. I gag at the foul odor coming from her mouth. “I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

  “I’ll get your phone.”

  I help Elaine into her bed, alarmed at how rapidly she’s deteriorating. Her hair seems thinner and flat, and her arms feel devoid of any muscle tone, soft and flabby beneath my grip. And then, there’s the tell-tale smell. The aroma of decay is so offensive that I can barely stand to breathe. Did I look and smell this bad before my rejuvenation process? A quick evaluation shows that Elaine still has all of her fingernails, ears, and toes for now. I know if I don’t do something soon, she’ll start to fall apart just like I did, one digit at a time. I pull her phone off the charger to see a half dozen missed calls from her girlfriend.

  “Leticia has been trying to call you,” I say. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Elaine coughs. “I know she’s going to want to come over and take care of me. I don’t want her to get sick either.”

  “Yeah, maybe tell her to stay away.” I wince.

  Leticia won’t stay away. She’ll come over to take care of Elaine, and this thing will spread from her to Leticia and then to who knows who else. I’m literally a walking plague, and anyone I know and love isn’t safe. I have to end this.

  “I’m going to go out in a little while. Do you need anything before I go?”

  Elaine shakes her head. “No. I just want to sleep.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “I’ll check on you before I leave.”

  I close Elaine’s bedroom door and head to the bathroom to tidy up. The shower curtain is still askew, so I fix it back to the wall and wipe the water from the floor, then head to the kitchen to find something to eat. There isn’t much left after my last gorge. My feet don’t touch the floor as I consume an entire bag of carrots and three of Elaine’s yogurts in front of the open fridge. I make a mental note to replace her yogurt, aching for more protein, more fat, more sugar. I’m still hungry, but there’s nothing left to eat in the fridge, and besides, it’s getting late.

  Wear something nice.

  My toes drag along the tile floor as I float to my closet. I don’t even have to think about it now, floating is as second nature to me as breathing. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy living in this new, enhanced body where nothing hurts and everything is going my way. I could be successful again at my art. I would never have money problems, never have to entertain a man again if I didn’t want to. Any success I have from here on out would be tainted, though, if it comes at the expense of another. I can live with achy knees and a negative bank account, but I can’t live with guilt.

  My closet is bursting with expensive cocktail dresses, and I wonder why the hell I ever thought they would transform me into someone I never really wanted to be. I tried so hard to reinvent myself as a sexy vixen after Leo left, but my new persona never felt genuine. Underneath the wig and the makeup and the fake nails, I was still me.

  I reach for a red spaghetti strap gown I stole from Saks and slip it over my head. Like so many other items in my closet, this one still had the tags attached. The gluttony of stolen, hoarded items on my racks and in my drawers makes me sick. When I get back to normal—if I get back to normal—I’m going to give it all away. I’ll donate my fanciest dresses to a prom dress drive and stick the rest in the donation bins at the hospice thrift store. My wardrobe and accessories used to mean something to me; symbols of a lifestyle I thought I wanted to lead. Now I can hardly stand to look at any of it.

  I’ve never felt physically better or more powerful, and I’ve never looked better either. But what good is wealth and influence and success if I can’t ever hug my own mother, or kiss someone I love without worrying about accidentally snatching their soul? Going to the party is the only way for me to get answers and end this…whatever this is. George. Leo. Elaine. No one I care about is safe around me, and the longer I live in this enhanced version of myself, the harder it will be to let it go.

  Lydia’s party is sure to be full of soul-snatching hags, and I don’t know what to expect from them. Hanging out with them is not my idea of a good time, but I have to go and pull on a fake smile anyway. Tonight I’m going to make things right. I’m going to search Lydia’s condo and get my photo and my life back. But first, that bitch is gonna pay.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The ninth floor of Bay Vista is bustling when I arrive later that night. A beautiful man in an expensive-looking tuxedo guards the front door like a sentinel, stony-faced and built like a brick wall. His skin and hair are flawless, but there’s no light behind his eyes; a mannequin bouncer for ghouls. Classical music and the murmuring of gossip and exchanges of information spill into the hallway. He takes my coat and offers to take my bag, but I decline.

  “Lydia insists,” he says, reaching for my bag.

  “Hey, hands off!” I swat at his giant mitts. “Why can’t I hold on to my bag?”

  “No personal items allowed.”

  “Oh.” I frown as another guest pushes past me. This is going to complicate things if I need to sneak out of the party undetected. While he isn’t looking, I slip my phone into the top of my strapless bra. I could live without my coat and purse, but my phone is a life preserver I can’t be without. When I have his attention again, I hand him my purse and coat and watch as he secures them in an entryway closet next to all of the other guests’ personal items. It’s too late to turn back now.

  I take a deep breath and head into the viper pit.

  Lydia’s home is dark, as always, but warmly lit thanks to dozens and dozens of candles. I can’t help but wonder if she lit them all herself or had her tuxedoed Igor man servant do it for her. Every surface is aglow, casting flickering incandescent light upon the faces of her guests. Women stand around chatting or lounging on the couch with plates and cups, laughing, talking, drinking, eating. Everyone is gorgeous, flawless, and impeccably dressed in deep colors and rich, textured fabrics. My slinky red dress seems out of place in contrast, a bright spot in a sea of shadows.

  Another expressionless, beautiful man in a suit walks by with a tray laden with champagne coupes. He extends the tray toward me, and I take a glass filled with bubbly pink liquid, but do not drink. After my ill-fated brush with margaritas, I know for certain that I don’t have a taste for alcohol, and besides, I don’t want to trust eating or drinking anything Lydia offers anymore.

  A flash of white catches my eye in the distance, and I’m overcome with the feeling of being watched. I recognize Pixie Cut from across the room, and she waves to me, her expression lit up. She links arms with an insanely gorgeous woman who could be Salma Hayek’s sister, and the duo makes a beeline for me. I take a deep breath, smile, smile, smile, and get ready to act.

  “You made it!” Pixie Cut gushes and leans in. She pecks me on both cheeks, European style. “Mariel, this is the one we’ve been telling you about.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Mariel extends a hand and offers a limp greeting, then gives Pixie Cut a side eye. “Grey is always enthusiastic when we have a new addition.”

  “Is that what I am?” I giggle, putting on my best coquette. “Is this some kind of club?”

  “More like a lifestyle. It isn’t for everyone, babe, but you’ll get used to it.” Grey nods. “You know, Lydia never told us your name.”

  “Brittany,” I say, shifting into sugar baby mode. Pretend to be someone else. Mask your disgust. Make them happy. “I don’t know what to think about all this, actually. I feel great, but I don’t know how it all works.”

  “It’s a lot of work, but look at what you can have.” Grey waves her arms around. “You know this isn’t even Lydia’s only penthouse condo. She’s got luxury homes all over the world.”

  Mariel elbows her. “Seriously? You don’t need to advertise that.”

  “This place is nice and all,” I say. “I don’t necessarily need all of this, though.”

  “It isn’t about need,” Mariel says. “It’s about want.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, I don’t know that I really want it then either?”

  “So what’s the deal then?” Grey’s eyes narrow. “You’ve seen what the rejuvenation process will do. There’s no plastic surgeon or nutritionist in the world who can give you these results.”

  “I guess I just feel bad about what happened,” I say. “I didn’t mean to hurt my da—George.”

  “You know, I accidentally melted my first husband,” Mariel says, rolling her eyes. “I told him I didn’t want to go down on him, but he didn’t listen. It was his own fucking fault.”

  I gag a little, then laugh. “Sounds like maybe he deserved it.”

  “They all do.” Mariel takes a sip of her champagne.

  “I don’t know if that’s true,” I say. “How do I keep from hurting people? Like, the people I care about?”

  “It’s tricky, but you’ll learn in time,” Grey says. “Until my poor mama died, I wore a face mask around her and wore gloves. Ugh, it was a pain in the butt. You learn to figure it out.”

  The classical music goes silent, and the metallic TWONG of a singing bowl fills the air. The guests cease chattering and turn in unison toward the hypnotic sound. A figure dressed in a sheer black veil and lace mourning gown travels down the hall with another small veiled figure at her side. As they step into the dim light, I can see that the veiled figure is Lydia, and the smaller figure at her side is a child, a girl who couldn’t be more than ten.

  “Hello, sisters!” Lydia says. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. I know many of you have traveled from afar to be here.”

  “Hail! Hail!” The women say in unison, raising their champagne coupes.

  “Tonight we welcome our newest member in our yearly exchange of souls,” Lydia says. “This exchange binds us all and makes us stronger. United. When we share our life energy as a collective, none of us shall ever starve.”

  I turn to Grey and whisper. “Who’s the little girl?”

  “Her daughter, shh!” Grey waves me off.

  Lydia and the little girl raise their veils. Even in the low light, I can tell that Lydia’s energy is drained. Her eyes are sunken, and her skin looks sallow, just like the first night we met. The little girl standing next to her is a carbon copy of her mother, though devoid of the bright eyes and full cheeks a girl her age should have.

  “Tonight we witness the dawn of a new era of transformation,” Lydia continues, wrapping her arm around the little girl. “It’s been a long road, but finally, my daughter will truly be one of us.”

  “Hail! Hail!”

  “The exchange of energy will also seal our newest member as a devotee, as one of us,” Lydia raises a champagne coupe in my direction. “You’ll have our love and sisterhood and protection for as long as the energy flows.”

  “Hail. Hail! Let the energy flow!”

  My shoulders jump every time her guests repeat the enthusiastic chant. The atmosphere thins, and my ears ring. All of my internal warning systems are flashing on high alert. Suddenly, the pieces fall into place, and I realize what I’ve walked into. This isn’t a party. It’s a witchy sorority hazing.

  “Sisters, you may begin the exchange however you wish,” Lydia says. “Hail! Hail!”

  “Hail! Hail!”

  I turn to Grey to ask what Lydia means, but she’s already busy swapping spit with Mariel. I blink and glance around the room, frozen as I witness a buffet of hedonistic acts playing out before my eyes. The woman in the turban from the other day has opened up a vein in her wrist and is feeding droplets of blood to a pale, slim woman with jet black hair and Bettie Page bangs. Two other women take sips of champagne, clink their glasses, and then exchange cups. All around the room, women are making out, sharing drinks, licking bloody wrists, chewing on hair. There’s even a couple propped up on the kitchen island with their skirts hiked over their hips, enthusiastically swapping bodily fluids.

  Mariel pulls away from Grey and turns to me. She takes my hand, smiling. “You’re turn, love. Pick your pleasure.”

  “Oh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Um, no thanks. I think I’m going to sit this one out.”

  “But you have to.” Grey plucks a white blonde hair from the top of her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do any of the sex stuff. Hair is easy for beginners.”

  “I just don’t think I’m ready,” I say. “I don’t think all of this is for me.”

  “Don’t be ungrateful.” Lydia appears out of nowhere, her black lace skirt rustling as she floats to my side. Her creepy little daughter is at her heels, mirroring her mother’s every action like a trained mime. The girl growls and stares up at me hungrily with big, milky eyes and dry, paper bag skin. I’ve never seen a child look so old.

  “I’m sorry, Lydia. I didn’t know the party would be like this,” I say. “I don’t think that I can join in.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Lydia reaches down and plucks a hair from her daughter's head. “This is a necessary part of our cycle. It cannot be broken. You must join in or be destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” I laugh. “No thanks. I think I’d better go.”

  Strong fingers wrap around my upper arms. Grey and Mariel are on either side of my body, their grip firm as they hold me in place.

  I start to panic. “Hey! Hands off!”

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Grey says. “Lydia’s right, though. It’s for the best.”

  I try to wrench my arms out of their grasp, but they’re stronger than I am. Lydia advances toward me and I kick my feet out from under myself and drop my ass to the floor like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Grey and Mariel struggle to keep hold of me as Lydia extends a single strand of hair from her weird little old lady kid toward my face.

  “No!”

  I bring my knee to my chest and deliver a swift high-heeled kick to Lydia’s solar plexus. My eyes go wide as her face contorts into a gaping, black-eyed scream. My kick sends her sailing backward as though she were light as air, a piñata filled with sawdust and despair.

  Grey and Mariel drop me to attend to their mistress, and I scramble back. Women descend upon me from every angle, hissing and clawing at my back with dagger-like fingernails that rake my exposed flesh. Another woman pulls my hair, the strands popping and tearing away from my scalp, but I keep moving. The guard at the door is nowhere to be found, and I take the opportunity to run. I don’t bother looking for my coat or my purse. I don’t bother taking the elevator.

  Instead, I run straight through a glass window and sail into the cool, dark night.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Flying is really fucking weird. The movies would have you think that it’s easy, that you just spread out your arms and soar like Superman, but it’s not. I didn’t know that I could fly when I launched out of the ninth-floor window of Bay Vista Condominiums. I only hoped maybe I could float down to the ground or something. But it turns out that I can fly, just not very well.

  A chilly breeze kicks off the gulf as I hover above the beach, the sandy shoreline nearly a hundred feet below me. Every time I try to right myself, a gust of wind knocks me for a loop and sends me tumbling through the air. I don’t have a plan, don’t know where I am going; I only know that I need to get away from those hags. I don’t want to take part in their fucked up rituals. I don’t want to support their way of life or be tied to them in any way.

  After a minute, I give up trying to fly and ease down to earth, my bare feet landing in the sand. Somewhere along the way, I had lost my shoes, and without my coat or my purse, I am both freezing and stranded. Thankfully, I’m still in one piece after crashing through a double-paned window, with not a scratch on me. I need to find a way home, but calling a cab is the least of my worries.

  I am being followed.

  “Where you going, baby girl?” Grey cackles, hovering above me. “The party is back there!”

  “Fuck off!” I kick a spray of sugar sand up in the air. A healthy dose hits her between the eyes.

  Grey screeches and claws at her face. “Mariel! Get her!”

  My scalp burns as I’m pulled up and away from the beach by my hair. Mariel cackles, her fetid breath as hot and horrible in my ear as a July breeze kicking off a red tide bay.

  “You think you’re special, don’t you?” Mariel hisses. “You’re just fodder! You’re nothing!”

  “Let me go!” I shout, kicking my feet in the air. “Bitch!”

  “I know your type.” Mariel cackles. “Always think they’re too good to hurt another person. Face it, darling, none of us are innocent. Everyone who has ever breathed a breath of life is here to consume. To kill. To take. You are no saint.”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not like you!”

  I levitate just enough to ease the tension on my scalp and meet Mariel eye to eye. The sneer falls from her lips as I sink my nails into her hand and rip the flesh away.