CHAPTER 7

/AMANDA/

"Have you ever really listened to the lyrics of the 'Monster Mash?'" I ask Tina as she holds the chair I'm standing on. "I mean, really listened?"

I reach up and pin a smiling paper pumpkin on the corner of the wall, neatly pressing the thumbtack into the aging wallpaper. I'm helping Tina decorate the club for the Halloween party tonight, so long as we don't damage anything in the process. I'm staying clear of the wood walls—Eric's eagle eyesight would pick up on the slightest scratch—and though the wallpaper is dated, I know it's the original version from the 1930s when the club, Dark Eyes, was nicknamed "The Russian Embassy." There would be hell to pay if I marked it in any way. Eric can be extremely particular.

"They did the mash, the monster mash?" Tina offers as I carefully pin the next part of the pumpkin garland. "It was a graveyard smash?"

I put in one more pin and gesture for her to get out of the way as I step down. I look at her and smile, pushing my hair off my face. "Yeah. But like, the whole song is about another song. Isn't that fucked up? We never actually hear the 'Monster Mash,' we just hear about it."

Tina's hazel eyes stare at me blankly for a minute. Even with an open stare, her look holds me in my place, making me momentarily dumbfounded, as if I've forgotten my name. She has that effect on you (as does everyone else in this house, sans my mother), and for good reason.

"You're right," she says slowly, and I can't tell if she's humoring me or not. "We have no idea what the actual 'Monster Mash' sounds like. Might be a rockin' bop. Might be some bass-heavy trap beats."

I snort and drag the chair over to the other side of the door to the cigar lounge, where I'm hanging the rest of the pumpkins. "Pretty sure trap music wasn't around in the fifties."

"But if you haven't heard the song, then you don't know," she points out, her eyes sparkling, and their magnetism makes me feel slightly out of breath. Once again, I can't tell if it's because she's just naturally super pretty, or because she has supernatural help. It's October 31st, and while I've known Tina since April of this year, I never actually knew her as her purely human (and normal) self. Something tells me she's always had this effect on people, though.

"Need some help?"

Luke's deep and distinctively craggy voice rings out across the club just as I'm climbing up on the chair again. I nearly fall off, my knees feeling weak, betraying me. I make a quick attempt to steady myself as gracefully as possible.

"Easy there, Amanda," Tina chides me under her breath, her voice layered with all this meaning that I don't want to delve into.

I turn—carefully—and watch as Luke steps into Dark Eyes.