The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black: Book Two) (10 page)

“Were you really right here?” Sergio said.

Nicky thought about it for a moment.

“No, I guess I wasn’t,” she said. The dream shifted. She was further back now, looking on from a distance.

“You haven’t forgotten what happened here,” Sergio said. “In the end, we never really forget anything.”

Nicky ignored him. He was a creation of her mind, some emotion from the dance working its way into her dream. He wasn’t important.

What was important was this place. The sculpture, her reflection, the feeling she had….

Her mother.

She turned back to the glass. Her mother was gone. Nicky had gotten distracted and her mother had left.

“No, come back,” she said. “Please...”

She turned to Sergio for help but he too was gone. Everyone was gone and she stood alone between the sculpture and the pane of glass. Just little Nicky Allen, standing…where? Where was this place?

With a burst so loud it made her scream, the glass shattered and her mom came charging out. Her hands were reaching forward, her eyes were fury and rage, and her mouth was wide open, showing an array of yellow teeth eager to bite into Nicky’s flesh.

Her mom was sick. She remembered now. Her mom was very sick and they had to stay away from her.

But it was too late. In the dream’s final scene, her mom descended upon her and bit into her neck, spilling sickness into Nicky’s blood.

Chapter 9

For the second morning in a row, Art woke up in a state of total confusion. He’d been lost in a terrible nightmare for so long that a part of him believed he was destined never to wake up again, and when he found himself in a space that looked familiar he didn’t believe it was real.

This looks like my bedroom, but that’s just the trick, isn’t it? The nightmare takes you from place to place and every time you think you’re done with it, but then it begins again.

In Art’s nightmare, a monster with a dragon’s body and a moose’s head (the smiling moose from the foyer to be precise) was chasing him all over the world. The chase started in his house, continued down the street, through downtown DC, and now apparently back into his house again. It was a nightmare that went on and on and on. In the dream, he couldn’t stop running or else the moose-dragon would eat him, but he was so tired he could barely take another step. It was a wildly vivid dream, in which his exhaustion felt so real it was accompanied by sweating, heavy breathing, and a racing heart. When he woke up a part of him was certain the moose was going to come crashing through the wall and begin the chase anew.

He sat up in bed for nearly a minute before he understood that the moose was gone, that he was done dreaming and had entered reality. But what a strange reality it was. There were three empty wine bottles on the nightstand next to him, and a half-empty bottle of his father’s happy pills.

What happened last night?

His phone buzzed. He picked it up and answered, “Hello, this is Art.”

“Good morning Master Tremblay. I’m sorry to call so early, but I felt it my duty to ensure you were awake in time for school.”

It was Etson. Why was he calling on the phone?

“Yes, Etson. I’m awake. Where are you?”

“The staff has all remained in our quarters per your instructions. You asked us not to return to the house until we received word from you.”

 
Not to return to the house?

“But…who’s going to cook my breakfast?” Art said.

“If it is your wish, I would be glad to come back to the home and get a breakfast started for you right away. Shall I prepare an omelet for you, like last night?”

“I had an omelet last night?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Why wasn’t he remembering any of this?

“Okay, yeah…good. Come back now. And hurry up with breakfast. I’m gonna be late for school.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Art took a shower and got dressed, his body feeling sluggish but not particularly hung over. By the time he got downstairs, Etson and the rest of the staff were back in the house, and breakfast was ready. Etson served the omelet with a hot cup of coffee and a little white pill.

“What’s this?” Art said.

“Forgive me Sir. I thought you might like to have another of these this morning, as you did yesterday.”

Art looked at the pill with suspicion.

“I can take it away, Sir,” Etson said.

Art put his hand over the pill as Etson reached for it.

“How many of these did I have yesterday?” Art asked.

“Just one….that I know of.”

Art’s mind was in motion now, seeking out connections that it couldn’t seem to find. He had no memory of having one pill, much less half a bottle of them as the evidence on his nightstand suggested. He had no memory of emptying the two bottles of wine he found next to those pills either.

“When did I ask you to leave the house?”

“Why, that was when you were with the young lady, Master Tremblay. You wished for some privacy, yes?”

“The young lady?”

“Yes, Sir. I believe her name is Nicky Bloom.”

Art said nothing more as he ate his omelet. Etson didn’t need to know how completely baffled Art was at the moment. The memories would come back to him, whatever they were. Apparently he’d gotten so wasted last night that he’d wiped out any recollection, but something would come back eventually. His mind was in a fog this morning, that’s all. He was still recovering from that horrible nightmare about the moose.

After breakfast he went back to his room to take another look at the evidence. He smelled the wine bottles, looked at the labels. Oddly enough, he felt no revulsion when he got close to the wine, as was typically the case when he woke up after a night of partying. He looked at the pills. Straight from his father’s stash. How many did he take, or better, did he and Nicky take? Not so many that his father would notice, he hoped.

Art put the cap on the medicine bottle and took it to the cabinet in his father’s bathroom. He had known about his father’s stash of drugs for years, but had never dared get into it. The fact that he had done so last night, that Etson knew about it, that Nicky had been with him…

He went back to his bedroom and pulled last night’s clothes from the hamper. He put the shirt to his face and took a deep whiff. Sweet and sensual—somebody’s perfume was on this shirt and just a single whiff made him woozy with desire. It was like his body remembered this smell even if his mind didn’t. This smell got him going, it broke through the haze hanging over him and made him want to wake up and get busy.

It made him want Nicky Bloom.

He drove to school, still without any recollection of the night before, but now convinced the memories would come to him eventually, and when they did, they would be amazing. He floored it down Gadsen Avenue, going sixty miles an hour and running a red light. He had to see Nicky. He had to find out what she knew. He had to be with her, see if being in her presence would shake loose some recollection. It was maddening to him that she was at his house last night and the two of them apparently had one hell of a time but not a second of it was stored in his brain. Of all the memories to lose—why couldn’t he forget about that blasted moose nightmare instead?

He drove to the senior parking lot on the north end of the Thorndike campus and pulled into his spot. Like all student parking at Thorndike, the senior lot was fully covered, with a steel canopy stretching the length of the lot to protect the expensive automobiles from sun, rain, hail, and pesky birds. Unlike any other lot on campus, the senior lot was assigned parking. Seniors only, everyone with their own numbered space, the best spaces belonging to those students who were willing to pay the most for them. It was a place that had a rich tradition of loitering teens. Having waited patiently for their turn to be top dogs on campus, it was the birthright of the seniors to arrive at the lot twenty minutes before school began so they could lean on the hoods of their cars and hang out. On this morning, as Art crawled out of his Audi A4 and meandered to the back bumper, he thought about the many presidents, senators, dignitaries, and immortals who had spent their mornings shooting the breeze here. He wondered if some day people would hang out in the senior lot and think about him.

Across the campus, the bell tower rang once, signaling that class would begin in seven minutes. As it was ringing, Nicky pulled into the lot, driving a shiny red roadster that was unlike any car Art had ever seen. Compact and curvy, the car had a distinctly European flair to it and was not at all of this era. Art sensed the entire lot turning to look at her—the buzz of conversations all around growing quiet as Nicky drove up to her spot and got out of the car. He rushed to meet her, hoping he could be first, maybe even open her door to let her out.

Annika stepped in his way, pushing him wide of his mark.

“Excuse me,” Art said, trying to step around Annika.

“Oh hey there Sweetie!” Annika said, a big smile across her face. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Art was still trying to push past her before he fully registered the words she was saying. It wasn’t until Annika grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from Nicky that she really had his attention.

“Hold on there Cowboy,” Annika said. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Ummmm….yeah, you want to talk to me? I just wanted to talk to--”

“I know, Baby. Everyone wants to talk to Nicky this morning. Don’t you fret it. There’s plenty of that girl to go around. But what I want to talk about can’t wait.”

“Oh. Okay. What is it?”

“I wanna have lunch with you today.”

Art was watching Nicky step out of the car. She was wearing an exceptionally short plaid skirt that teased his eyes with its ebbs and flows as she stood up. Her legs looked so smooth, so strong. Had she really been at his house last night? How could he have forgotten something like that?

“Hello, Art? Anybody there?”

Art turned to Annika, who still had a giant smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Art muttered.

Annika rolled her eyes. “You know, when a pretty girl asks you on a date, the least you could do is look at her face.”

“What? A date?”

“Yes, you’re having lunch with me today. We’ll meet at your car right after fourth period. Don’t be late. You’re taking me to Budokan.”

“I am?”

Annika put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, you are. We need to talk about some things. Do you like Japanese food?”

Did he like Japanese food?
What was happening here? Art turned to see Nicky stepping away from the lot and onto the north lawn. She was headed to class, surrounded by a crew of admirers, with Mattie on one side, Jenny on the other, and Vince Weir trailing behind.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Annika said.

“Huh? I mean…yes, I’ve been to Budokan before. I like it.”

“Great. Then I’ll meet you back here after fourth. Have a great day, Love.”

Annika waved goodbye and floated out of the lot, leaving Art completely befuddled. On any other day, a surprise lunch invite from Annika would be beyond welcome—she’d even called it a date, hadn’t she? But on this day…

As he watched Annika race to catch up to Nicky and their crew, he imagined himself doing the same thing. But he couldn’t talk to Nicky in front of all those people. What was he even going to say?
Did you come to my house last night and the two of us got crazy on wine and prescription pain pills from my father’s stash? Do you remember any of that happening?
 
I don’t remember it at all, but my butler says you were there.

It was all so odd. If any of that were the case, wouldn’t Nicky have wanted to speak with Art too? Wouldn’t she have at least tried to find him, maybe tried to arrange a private moment with him?

How had she even gotten home? Art was in such a stupor this morning that he hadn’t asked Etson that basic question. Apparently, Nicky had been in the house with him last night, but this morning she was gone. If they both got wasted, she wouldn’t have made it home unless someone took her, but Etson and the rest of the staff were all in their quarters.

The second bell rang. Now there were three minutes before class began. Shaking his head at how confusing the world had become, Art left the senior lot and headed across the lawn to go to school.

Chapter 10

The lockers at Thorndike were like miniature wardrobes, each made of stained mahogany, each large enough to house three wide shelves. It was traditional at Thorndike for seniors to carve their initials or some other tag inside their lockers. While not officially condoned, this locker tagging was a tradition dating back many decades at Thorndike and was acceptable to the administration because so many of these students could expect to lead noteworthy lives. It wasn’t unusual to open a locker and find it tagged by students who had gone on to become titans of business, powerful politicians, or even immortals.