Just as the moon has brought me to you
So shall the moon bring you to The Ball
All Hallows Eve
The Witching Hour
2
Twenty-four hours.
My heart races as I pull on my clothes and start sprinting toward home.
Twenty-four hours until I go to a ball. Somewhere. Somehow. And hopefully with a very special someone.
If this had happened a year ago, I would have thought it a practical joke. But I’ve seen too much weird since then to not believe shit like this can definitely be real.
My heart is banking on it being real. That this ball will grant my wish even for a night.
About two minutes into my run, I realize it’s dark and I’m slow as shit on land. I pull out my phone and call for an Uber. It takes over fifteen minutes for the car to come because Rowley, MA has just a shade more than zero Uber drivers. Sometimes I wonder why I ever bother, but I’m just happy not to be running through the woods.
A beat-down Jetta pulls up, and I slide in the back and confirm my address. Then I immediately stick earbuds in my ears to make it clear I’m not interested in talking.
The driver keeps glancing back at me, looking for an opening. His pheromones are lighting up like Christmas lights, but I close my eyes and ignore him as I fantasize about what this ball might be like.
Of course, it’s a real Hail Mary to expect that the second ticket is meant for Leo. It’s a little absurd how much I need for this to be true despite not having any real reason to believe such a thing.
When the car stops in front of my house, I hastily thank the driver and then slam the door with too much gusto.
Once inside, I pull out the magical tickets again and study them, front and back, trying to draw out any hidden secrets they might have that would give me more information. None are forthcoming. I have two tickets for a ball either thrown by or for monsters, and neither ticket says for Leo Ransom, the ghost.
That doesn’t stop me from hoping.
I’m scared to let them out of my sight, but I know I have to get some rest. I tuck them under my pillow and have the worst night’s sleep ever, tossing and turning as I try to settle myself. Every time I’m about to drift off, I imagine Leo is with me and then bolt awake, devastated all over again that he feels so distant.
Come morning, I try to bludgeon my sadness to death with a shopping spree. I max out two credit cards to buy the perfect dress and some outrageously cute shoes for the evening.
I wish I could be doing this with Bernie because shopping with a bestie is always preferred. At the same time, she’s been pushing me to move on, and I’m doing the opposite of that. She’s got my best interests at heart, but I can’t afford any negativity right now. I might regret it later, but I’m taking every chance on this dream coming true.
I spend the rest of the afternoon getting my hair, makeup, and nails done and getting all my body hair waxed and trimmed. If my dreams do come true tonight, you’d better believe shit is going to be tight.
When there’s nothing left on my body to improve, I spend a couple of hours handing candy out to trick or treaters before finally donning my gorgeous red dress and stepping outside to greet the moon.
I stand alone in my backyard, dressed to the nines for a ball I know absolutely nothing about. I clutch my pendant with one hand and my tickets with the other and do my best not to fidget as I wait for midnight.
“Please come to life, please come to life, please come to life,” I whisper over and over to the pendant until my throat is dry.
It should only be about ten minutes of waiting after the longest twenty-four hours ever, but it feels like a damn fortnight as the seconds spread themselves thin, pulling all the life out of me in their slowness. My eyes are glued to the time on my phone, willing the Earth to speed up its rotation.
When the digital clock finally flips from 11:59 to midnight, I look up at the moon. There’s a moment of stillness, of nothing, just me outside on an ordinary night, and it nearly makes me collapse. Then, just like last night when my tickets arrived, the moon glows too bright to look at. I avert my gaze to keep from going blind, tucking my face into my arm. When I finally open my eyes and look up, I’m no longer in Rowley, in my ill-kempt backyard with the weeds and dead grass.
Now I’m standing at the edge of a winding dock cloaked in a thick, rolling fog that makes it super hard to see. I turn around, but behind me is nothing but mist. Spires that rise up to my sides make it clear that forward is the only option, so I take tentative steps, my stiletto heels clicking against the wood in a strangely muted way, like the fog is stealing the sound.
With tickets in hand and my heart racing, I follow the gentle slope of the dock, inching my way forward until I spot a bright red door in the distance.
“Leo?” I call his name as I approach, ditching any pretense of patience. I know I should wait to see where I am and what kind of magic has brought me here, but I’m consumed with one thought. Leo. And yet, I still only feel an echo of his presence, like a memory that’s losing color.
That’s not enough to throw this stubborn bitch off her game, so I strut closer to the doors, ready to find my love on the other side.
When I’m a few feet away, the doors swing open abruptly. The movement surprises me, and I nearly drop my tickets. Panicked, I clutch them more tightly, bending the parchment within my terrified grip.
My eyes widen as two identical gargoyles with leathery, black wings swoop down to block me from walking through the door.
You’d think after all I’ve seen–fae, vampires, werewolves, dragons, unicorns, and witches–gargoyles would be no biggie. You’d be wrong. Turns out gargoyles give me the heebie-jeebies.
As I watch, hoping they’ll fly away, they transform from beasts to men. Twins, in fact. Two beautiful Black men with dreadlocks, goatees, and eyes the color of pitch. They both wear cherry-red jackets, though one is velvet and the other is embossed to look like reptile skin.
“Ticket, please,” the one with longer dreads and the velvet jacket says. He’s got a New York accent, which surprises the shit out of me.
“Um, yes, of course.” I hand him both tickets.
The two study them with identical raised eyebrows.
“Looks like someone is bringing an invisible guest this evening, Lex,” the guy who took my ticket says.
“Indeed, Bronx,” his brother says. “I wonder what The Proprietor has up her sleeve tonight.”
“It will be an evening to remember, that much is sure,” Bronx says, pulling his gaze from the tickets to me. “First time at The Ball?”
I nod, my throat too dry to speak.
“Cat got your tongue?” Lex asks with a teasing smile.
I clear my voice. “No, sorry, just... nervous.”
“No worries,” Bronx says. “The Proprietor’s magic protects all guests. No one will kill you while you’re here.”
“Well, shit, I wasn’t nervous about being murdered. Thanks for putting that on my radar,” I say, my attitude coming back in full force.
They both laugh and step aside, gesturing me through the door. “You’ll fit right in.”
As soon as I pass the threshold, the door slams shut behind me, plunging me into darkness. My stomach turns on itself like I’m riding the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival, and then I blink, and I’m standing outside a glass door.