“Whatcha doin’ back there, Joshua?” I teased.

“Trying to figure out how to tell you I am sorry for leaving you alone,” he said, smiling back at me sheepishly. “Really.”

My grin lifted higher as I sidled up beside him. “Don’t be. It gave me a chance to check you out from behind.”

Joshua’s eyes widened, and then he laughed. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“Not tonight,” I said, slipping my arm through his. I ran my eyes down his outfit: black pants and shoes; a white dress shirt, its sleeves rolled to his elbows underneath a winter coat. It was the closest thing Joshua had brought to a costume, and it managed to make him look more photo-shoot than costume-party ready.

Not that I was complaining.

I released a small sigh—half contented, half wistful. “You look great, Joshua.”

He chuckled low as we began to stroll forward together, obviously not in a hurry to catch up with the rest of the group. He pulled me closer to him; and, for the briefest second, I felt the brush of his coat’s wool against the crook of my arm.

From the corner of his eye, Joshua gave me a lingering appraisal. “You always look great, Amelia.”

I shook my head. “I always look the same, Joshua.”

“Yeah—great.”

“Huh,” I grunted. “Sure.”

I absently ran my free hand across the top of my skirt and then pulled my fingers through the thick waves of my hair. This time it was Joshua who noticed me fidget.

“Stop second guessing yourself,” he said gently. “You look beautiful. Perfect.”

Perfect.

The same description Alex used. But when Joshua said it, I didn’t feel as though I was being scrutinized. Instead, I felt an undeniable warmth spreading out from my core and up to my face. Once it got there, I couldn’t stop it from bursting forth into an enormous smile.

All of a sudden that impulse returned. The one that made me want to tell him about everything: Eli’s warnings, the bizarre dream of my father, my plan to disappear.

Mostly, I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted to say it out loud, at least once.

I had just opened my mouth, preparing to let fly my deepest secrets, when Annabel’s voice stopped me.

“We’re here,” she called back to us.

My mouth snapped shut, and I felt the strangest rush of longing and relief.

I had no time to deal with either since the group had slowed enough for Joshua and me to finally catch up. All together, we rounded a corner, and suddenly a loud clamor assaulted us. The noise was so great, I don’t know how I hadn’t previously noticed the wild tumult of shouting and laughter and pulsing bass.

In front of us, spilling patrons and music into the side alley, was the club. I could hardly see the entrance through the thick mass of people pressing to get inside. On the second and third stories, iron balconies looked ready to collapse under the weight of too many bodies and too many strands of red Christmas lights.

Everyone was in costume, as Hayley had promised. I caught glimpses of pitchforks and black capes and elaborately gory makeup. Many of the partygoers also wore identical masks: skeletal faces, sparkling red under a thick coat of glitter.

While Joshua and I stared up at the spectacle, a group of girls pushed past us, all dressed in gauzy sheeting and slathered with white face paint. Ghosts, apparently.

Watching them, Drew leaned around Hayley and yelled over the noise: “Hey, Amelia—do those girls have it about right?”

“Oh, yes,” I drawled. “When we die, we all get white sheets. Standard issue.”

Our group laughed loudly in approval—particularly Alex, who I’d swear gave me a quick wink. When he turned away, I swept my eyes over the people I’d just met. Drew, Hayley, and Annabel had all dressed in refreshingly unspooky costumes: as a giant chicken, an angel, and a ninja, respectively. Alex, however, stood out most from the crowd in that he didn’t stand out. Aside from a pair of gloves and an overcoat, he hadn’t changed for the party. He still looked every bit the young politician.

Maybe that is his costume, I thought.

“Let’s go,” Annabel commanded us. “Before the wannabe ghosties take our private room.”

Everyone turned in unison to follow her toward the club. Although we moved along with them through the crowded alley, Joshua pulled me back slightly and leaned close to my ear. He spoke in a normal tone; but with all the noise, his voice sounded like a whisper.

“What do you think about all this?”

“It’s definitely … festive.”

“Not exactly Bing Crosby and hot cocoa, is it? Do you just want to go back to the house?”

Looking up at the masked figures writhing all over the club, I grimaced. Then I shook my head and reminded myself to stay positive. To enjoy tonight.

“Nope,” I said, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward. “I want to dance.”

I didn’t wait to hear his response, nor did I look back for his reaction. Instead, I focused on Hayley’s broad white wings bobbing their way through the crowd in front of me. Soon we made it past the sea of bodies and up a few steps to the front door.

Where most entrances in the Quarter had solid wooden doors, a pair of black iron gates guarded this building. Next to them, a hugely muscled man stood with his arms folded across the chest of his tight T-shirt. He looked like a living gargoyle, all scowl and stone. I half expected him to breathe fire when we approached. But to my surprise, Annabel leaped over the final step, used his shoulders to hoist herself up, and gave him an enormous kiss on the cheek.

“Annie,” he cried over raucous sounds coming out of the gates. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Finals,” she shouted. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, babe.” With a brawny arm, he pushed open one of the gates. “Claudette said you’d be here tonight—your room should be ready by now.”

Annabel gave his forearm a pat of thanks and made a motion with her head that meant we should go inside. The others followed her; but Joshua and I lingered in the doorway, which was too jam-packed with bodies to permit much of a view into the club.

“Are you sure you’re sure?” he said, trying to talk over the drumbeat of a new song.

I simply nodded, tightened my grip on his hand until the fire ignited between our palms, and then crossed the threshold.

The club was so dark inside, we could hardly see the path forward. High above, I could just make out a chandelier entwined with Day of the Dead masks and shimmering tinsel. Someone had replaced the chandelier’s normal bulbs with red ones. Aside from the little pools of flickering light from the candelabra on the walls, everything glowed bloodred: the mirror behind the bar; the gigantic Christmas tree decorated with plastic skeletons; even the dancers themselves.

Annabel turned a red-hued face to us and mouthed something. Joshua held one hand to his ear, showing her that we couldn’t hear ourselves, much less her. So she extended an arm, pointing to the spiral staircase at the back of the room.

We continued to shove our way through the dancers who clogged the path to the stairs. I didn’t even try to avoid touching people, so every now and then, I felt a dull press in the numbness where someone came too close to me. Judging by Joshua’s pained expression, he could actually feel every misplaced elbow and knee.

As we struggled and shoved, I stared at the rest of club’s decorations. Underneath its veneer of eerie Christmas paraphernalia, the place actually looked quite chic. It had a sort of old-world elegance to it, with damask paper and velvet booths running along its walls. The chandelier, the candelabra, the gilded mirrors—creepy in the dark, but I bet they looked lavish in the daylight.

And although the dancers wore nightmarish outfits, I could tell through their glittering skeleton masks and makeup that these people weren’t actual ghoul-seekers. Most looked just as chic as their surroundings, probably part of New Orleans’s young, painfully attractive set.