“Only good things. Peri thinks very highly of you and trust me, that is a great compliment.” He crinkled his face into a smile, the moon casting an almost ethereal glow on his exposed teeth.

Odilie took a long sip of her champagne, finishing it in a great gulp, suppressing a burp.

“I can refill that for you,” Tom said, edging closer. He was so near her now that she could smell his cologne, subtle and musky. She remembered Peri saying she had gotten it custom-made for him from some boutique-scent brand. “I was getting bored over there. I wanted to go for a walk. Saw a pretty lady tiptoe her way out here and decided to follow.” He took the champagne flute from her, his hand gently brushing hers as he hoisted the glass.

He plucked something from the ground, a Mokara orchid blossom, from one of those mystical plants that seemed to grow all over the property. “Don’t tell,” he whispered, placing it behind Odilie’s ear, its petals tickling her temple. “They’ll kill me if they knew I pulled it up.” His hand, it stayed there behind Odilie’s ear, his fingers on her tragus. And it was like the world was ringing.

“Tom, you need to come back. They’re about to bring out the cake for you.” Peri’s voice shattering the silence, the whimsical grunts of the ponies, the moment between the two of them like a flower disintegrating in Odilie’s belly. “Oh good, you two met.” She grabbed Tom’s arm, gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Wait, this is your birthday party?” Odilie asked, shifting her shoes to her other hand, her fingers touching the flower self-consciously.

“Guilty as charged,” Tom answered, snaking his arm around Peri. “And I guess I need to get back there before they realize I’m missing.” The couple began walking toward the house, Odilie following a step behind them.

And then Peri’s hand slithered out, grabbed hold of Odilie’s and now it was the three of them, bound together, reentering the world, the light, humanity.

Peri’s nails left a streak on Odilie’s arm, red like a sunburn.

18

VERA

Present day

The collages. Focus on the collages.

That’s been my manic mantra the past few days since I saw the photo, snatched it without thinking, almost forgetting to put everything back in the drawer how I’d found it.

It’s now in Quinn’s room. I’d shoved it over to him the second I got back to Brooklyn, knocking on his door at 5:00 a.m. when the limo had finally dropped me off. I’d been silent during the car ride back with Page and Jackson, the picture stuffed into my handbag, a noxious bomb ready to burst.

Quinn had come out of his room bleary-eyed, glasses askew. Had studied the image with an investigative eye, poker-faced even in the presence of such gruesome imagery.