Chapter 1

Orange and Vodka

If she could get that far. Lorona swallowed her bravado and felt sick. She was beginning to lament her last-minute costume choice. The reading glasses and business skirt were convenient, since she used both regularly at the bookstore, but a warmer, more insulated version of a psychologist might have been wise.

As if bringing up a sore subject was going to diminish the agony. Lorona decided the costume had a high chance of working against the goals Yuki had written for the party. Yuki had verbally rehearsed them with Lorona on the car ride over:

Lorona stared at the moon above the Seattle skyline, and felt small and powerless. As she and Yuki climbed the house steps, Yuki noticed Lorona's distress and tried to give her a pep talk. “Okay. Whatever you do, don't enter the costume contest. It's run by people who were theater majors in college. Enough said.” They maneuvered toward the snack-filled kitchen as Yuki added, “You're just not ready for that, babe.”

Lorona wasn't sure if Yuki was being insulting or protective. She was probably just obliviously happy, which was her default mode.

Yuki bobbed ahead of Lorona in her green tights and sweater. A dramatic silk rose that was glued to a red beret swayed on her head. Then, as if suddenly swallowed by a hole in the ground, Yuki disappeared into the crowd and Lorona was alone.

She spun for a moment, searching in vain for a familiar face to save her from drowning, then gritted her teeth and headed for the candy corn. If she was too nervous to start a conversation with strangers, at least she knew how to eat junk food. The kitchen windows vibrated with music as if a nearby explosion was jarring the house foundation every few seconds.

She passed Harry Potter and Marilyn Monroe in the midst of an earnest conversation about the upcoming elections. A woman wearing a flesh-colored suit and a huge stuffed python was dancing the Macarena to her own imagined beat.

Lorona felt as if she were shriveling under the bright costumes and loud noises. If she could find someone who took an interest in her, she knew she'd warm up. She could even be witty if she was talking to someone lively. She didn't have a track record of making the first move. The real definition for her condition was painfully-shy-unless-heartily-encouraged. Lorona licked a few kernels of candy corn straight out of her palm.

“What's your costume, a geek?” a male voice behind her asked.

Lorona turned to face a slender man in his mid-twenties with pale curly hair, blue hell-if-I-care eyes, and a huge set of white wings. He was staring at her hair.

“I'm a psychologist,” she corrected.

“I'm not doing anything after this if—”

“That's okay, Michelle. You go have fun tonight.” Kestrin brushed her off as fast as he could. The way her eyes lingered on the back of his head made it feel like his scalp was coming off in burning patches. Michelle came from the camp of ‘I can't get over it,’ and though he felt a little sorry for her, it was mostly annoying.

She left and Kestrin was checking himself for hairless spots when Ben paused beside him. Kestrin threw a quick hug around his shoulders. “Hey, Mr. Host. Nice party.” He raised his cup to toast him.

Ben spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Kest, there's a friend of mine here, who's looking for a good time.” Ben gestured with his chin around the corner where a girl in a pink T-shirt and a cat headband stood chatting with a cluster of partiers using exaggerated body language. She knew she was being observed.

Kestrin took a deep swig of his drink and shook his head. “Not interested.”

“Not in your league?”

“Not in my galaxy.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Kestrin sidled into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It had been a long day at work and a customer had spilled scalding tortilla soup into her own lap. Brandon had begged Kestrin to go out and make it all right, because when Kestrin entered the scene, women watched, listened, and sometimes forgot how to speak. Although Kestrin liked the idea of making peace and helping to cool down tempers, when his body was the living, breathing peace treaty, he felt somehow subhuman. Still, he'd promised that the restaurant would pay for her skirt's dry cleaning, complimented her on how well her earrings matched her eyes, and left the woman laughing and smiling so widely she'd completely forgotten her accident.

“This isn't in my job description,” Kestrin had growled to Brandon as he reentered the kitchen, ignoring the trailing eyes of the patron admiring his bare arms in his sweaty cut off t-shirt.

“Why do you think you got this job, dude?” Brandon rolled his eyes as he assembled forks, spoons, and knives inside of napkins.

“My uncle recommended me.”

“Nope. Our female manager said ‘hell yes’ after the interview and then she remembered she was doing your uncle a favor.” Brandon laughed. “Stop whining and go get drunk tonight.”

Kestrin planned to do just this. There was nothing like a visitation from a recurring dream to piss him off and nothing more nauseating than the face of girls who wanted to be with him because they'd heard about him, not because they knew him. Getting drunk was an excellent plan—at least he would forget he was nauseated. The only thing worse than a subhuman day at work and a party where fewer and fewer people personally knew him each year was being alone that same night, and Kestrin wasn't going to let himself strike out.

A redhead wearing glasses and the expression of a lost lamb caught his eye. He watched her turn away from the crowd and lap candy corn out of her palm as if she didn't have fingers. Interest piqued, he approached. Kestrin didn't remember seeing her before.

“I'm Cupid, but I forgot my bow,” he said, after she told him she was a psychologist. It was a lie he'd fabricated on the spot, but ‘Cupid’ sounded better than ‘Angel’ and, for some reason that he didn't yet understand, the redhead felt like someone he wanted to impress. Her blank stare meant she didn't know who he was, which was refreshing. Reputations had a habit of meddling with introductions, even if they were convenient at times. With her, he'd have a clean slate.

She has the hair. He'd just dreamed that the girl would have copper hair and now here was a redheaded apparition. Was it fate?

He watched her chew her lip. Her hair was twisted away from her face so tight it seemed to pull her eyebrows up. Her large eyes and long neck made him think of an intelligent swan. Her eyes combed the crowd for someone. Taking her body into account, slender but full in the curves, this someone was likely a boyfriend. Kestrin wasn't leaving before he knew.

A voice in his head whispered, It could be her, while another voice that sounded a lot like his mother's whispered, Just have fun and get your head out of the clouds. He pressed the talisman necklace underneath his shirt. It was a shield of destiny, a Celtic good luck symbol made of silver strands that knotted as a design on a circular plate. Its chain hung permanently on his neck. It was his one and only gift from his father, delivered on his eighteenth birthday from the college in Wales where his father had moved to teach a few years after Kestrin was born.

Kestrin asked the redhead, “Have you been to one of Ben's parties before?”

She hadn't.

“They'll pick the costume queen. It gets pretty crazy, because the dare—”

His last few words were swallowed by new song roaring from the dance room beside them. She flinched, ducked, and moved her hands to her ears as if she expected the windows to shatter.

“Want to dance?” he asked.

She nodded like a child being forced to do something she resented.

He laughed and pulled her into the gyrating mass of people. The rugs had all been rolled back and the ancient crystal chandelier was strewn with silver and black ribbons that drifted in air currents stirred by the pulsating crowd below.

The crowd tugged her away from him almost instantly and Kestrin experienced a panic that surprised him. He'd brought this innocent girl with glasses into a drunken, rowdy crowd and already he'd lost track of her. His mind insisted that she really was an apparition, transferred from his dreams to the waking world, and Kestrin was about to go get himself another drink when the crowd disgorged her and she slammed into his chest with unshakable proof of her existence.

A handful of white feathers from his wings flew into the air as a pleasant zap radiated from his chest to his neck, shoulders, and fingers. A girl in a happy relationship with her boyfriend didn't have electricity like that in her blood.

She was trying to shout something over the music. He bent down to hear.

“I need air!”

Kestrin jerked his head toward the stairs. “They've got roof access. It's a great view.”

She peered into the crowd again; then she shrugged. “Show me the stars.”

She'd almost smiled at him.

He took her hand and led her up the staircase. The electricity from her touch crackled almost audibly. When they reached the roof, he said, “There's a leak in the heating ventilation over here. If you stand on it, you'll save your toes from frostbite.”

She moved to the warmer patch, relaxing visibly as she felt the steam. She stared at the glowing city skyline. It glittered a few miles south and the lake smeared the neon signs of shops and restaurants across its surface. Everything harsh, loud, or bright had been softened by the dark stillness.

She looked less frightened here on the quiet, starlit roof. Kestrin found himself wondering if she saw the eye-lines that meant he'd been wrestling with his dreams again, or if she was inwardly flinching at the burn scar on his chin.

The moon inched across the sky to get a better vantage for spying on them. It seemed to say, Stop worrying about what she thinks and who she might be. You barely know her, but you should change that. He'd always felt that the moon pushed him into romantic situations, like a meddling female relative. He didn't usually mind the influence, and tonight he welcomed the added confidence that it lent him.

Kestrin was moving toward the place where he'd hid his box when the redhead started tracing a constellation with her finger. He paused and drew closer to her. “Which one are you looking for?”

“Pegasus,” she hesitated. “There!” Her hand brushed his chin as she pointed.

She drew back as if she'd just touched an electric plug, blushed, and turned away. Her teeth chattered rapidly. “I'm sorry, I just realized I might freeze to death up here with you, and I don't even know your name.”

“The people of this town call me Zorro. I have no other name to the commoners.”

She wasn't sure what to think of his attempt at humor.

Kestrin found the box under the tarp right where he had left it. Ben, king of party hosts, had consented to let Kestrin keep it here for his own purposes. Inside were a few bottles of cheap merlot, a pair of wine glasses, a quilt, a sweatshirt, and the miscellaneous smaller supplies that made romance more convenient. Kestrin pulled out the sweatshirt, made it look like it had been discarded on the roof, and smoothed it across her shoulders. “Want to try dancing again?”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes dark in thought, then she took off her glasses and clipped them to her shirt. She obviously didn't need them to see. Without the lenses, her eyes were startlingly bright green, framed with thick lashes. He placed his hand on her waist. The electricity in her blood buzzed as she placed her other hand on his shoulder. He spun her in a slow circle and almost gouged her eye with the tip of a wing.

She laughed, breaking into a full smile. Kestrin felt the rooftop float beneath them in weightless bliss, like a magic carpet rising for liftoff. The next moment the roof hatch clattered open and their dance ended.

A pretty Asian girl in a gigantic red flower hat appeared. He knew her. Yuki leveled a cold look at him and then addressed the psychologist with a territorial but friendly, “Found you!”

“Oh hi, Yuki.” Lorona's body tensed as she lifted her hand to wave.

“Hello, Kestrin.” Yuki greeted him in monotone.

Lorona stepped back. So this was Kestrin Feather, the one with an appetite for variety and no interest in commitment. She'd heard about him, mostly from Yuki, who had alternated between praise for his charisma and tragic tales of broken-hearted girls who Yuki knew personally. Lorona gulped and whatever nothingness she'd swallowed managed to get stuck halfway down.

Yuki tried to plant herself between them, but Lorona stepped forward, not yet ready for Yuki to make the decision for her. “You're Kestrin Feather?”

He frowned, apparently noticing that his name meant something. “Yeah, and you're…Lorona? I don't meet many people with weird names like mine.”

Lorona reached out to shake his hand.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said. He didn't let go. “Where did you get your name?”

Their time together was ending and Lorona realized with a rush of heat to her face that she didn't want it to. She grabbed clumsily for words. “My mother loved Mexican folktales and La Llorona is the star of a ghost story. She respelled it to help with pronunciation.”

Yuki cleared her throat as if she were sharpening a blade on it.

“Nice,” Kestrin breathed. A ghost story name seemed to impress him.

Yuki grabbed her arm. “Come with me.”

Lorona followed her out of the moonlight and into the brightly lit noise, fighting the desire to pull herself free. These feelings made absolutely no sense; the desire to stay with Kestrin was idiotic, especially now that she knew who he was. A new part of herself stirred. It had done this once before, during a TV show about second chances that never came again. Now it lifted its head and asked, What would love with Kestrin Feather be like? Will you get a second chance to know?

Lorona shivered. She looked over her shoulder and Kestrin's eyes locked with hers. He smiled and turned his face to the moon, like he was having a conversation with it.

Yuki announced she had to pee, told Lorona to stay put, and darted for an open bathroom. A guy wearing the sequined pants of a rock star and sporting a two-tone afro wedged his foot in the door before Yuki could shut it. He spoke to her in a low voice and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Lorona. Chills rippled down Lorona's spine as Yuki shook her head, ‘No.’ The rock star shrugged, waited for Yuki to shut the door, and then made a beeline for her.

“Hello, pretty thing. My name's Enrique.” He kissed Lorona on the cheek.

She blinked, stunned, but didn't drop her eyes.

Enrique kept on talking. “Your friend doesn't seem to think that you can win our costume pageant. I'd asked if you—”

Lorona flushed. “She didn't think I had a chance?”

Enrique batted his eyes. “All I'm saying is the entry sheet is right here and I promise to look the other way if you put your name down. I'll even help with your costume, if you want.”

Lorona looked at the closed bathroom door, then at the open hatch to the roof. Tonight was a milestone. She still didn't feel brave, but she'd already gained enough courage to rise above the timidity she'd felt ever since her mother had left, and that was a fifteen-year-old injury. Better stay on the roll while I've got it.

She grabbed the pen and muttered, “You said improvise and loosen up, Yuki.” She wrote down her name. “Here I go, so help me.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for!”

Enrique swept a massive coffee table clear of cups, plates, and candy wrappers. A few of the cups were still full and someone ran for a towel. Enrique leapt atop and waved his hands until the music faded. Someone started stomping till the room thundered.

Enrique boomed, “An impartial male and female cast of judges has deliberated over the course of this evening. From a sparkling eyelash to a teensy too much belly pudge, we've been looking closely. The scandalous prize, drawn at random, will go to our lady of the night who was not drawn at random.”

Behind Kestrin, a door opened with a bone-jarring bang that heralded the most beautiful woman Kestrin had ever seen.

Enrique cooed. “The queen announces herself.”

The glasses had vanished completely. Her hair was unleashed, fluffed, and teased into a flaming waterfall. A forest green, fur-edged robe draped luxuriantly over a black silk dress. She balanced in a pair of tall heels that made her legs look long and smooth. She was like a movie star about to walk the red carpet, unafraid to flaunt it. The shyness he'd seen before was now suppressed. She was trying to prove something.

Someone helped her, Kestrin decided. He couldn't imagine it was Yuki. Yuki would have known about the dare. It was someone else, someone who thought that embarrassing her would be fun.

Lorona climbed onto the table with Enrique. She stood with her ankles kissing, clearly self-conscious of her short dress.

“Miss Goddess.” Enrique gave a low whistle. “Let me have a better look at you.” He made a circle in the air with his finger. Lorona turned, trying to balance in her heels. The ribbon-festooned chandelier vibrated as the room howled.

Kestrin shifted his weight from foot to foot. Something wasn't right about this. Either she didn't know about the dare or he had completely underestimated her.

“We are now taking written submissions for tonight's deed!” Enrique swung a plastic Roman soldier helmet over his head. A dawn of horrified realization spread across Lorona's face as Enrique informed her that the crowd would write dares of their own diabolical devices for her to perform. Laughter grew in roaring waves as the audience relished her surprise and then devoured her discomfort.

Kestrin ground his teeth. They dressed her up to earn the prize and now they're going to publicly humiliate her. A wash of pity rose in him. She still didn't know what she was doing.

“Be nice!” Yuki was pleading as the crowd grabbed pencils and scraps of paper.

Kestrin elbowed his way to the front before he knew what he was doing. He scribbled four words on a paper scrap and signed his name. He caught Enrique's eye and the emcee knelt so they could speak privately.

Enrique chortled, “She let me doll her up and when they saw her, the judges knew she was the one. She has ‘gullible’ written across her forehead. Can you believe our luck? She really didn't know what was coming.” He grinned maniacally.

“You're a cruel bastard.”

Enrique bowed. “What can I do for you, lover boy?”

“What'll it take for you to use this one?” Kestrin slapped his piece of paper against Enrique's chest. The mass of fake gold chains jangled.

Enrique read it, his eyes incredulous. “You know this is lame, right? This isn't what they want to see.”

“You can say whatever you want about me to make it juicier. Remember, you owe me, after last week.”

Enrique frowned. “Damn… I'll do it. But if they crucify me...”

“Let the blood be on my hands.”

“It's my blood, dude. I don't care whose hands get wet if I'm the one who's dead. Get out of here.”

As Kestrin stepped back, Lorona made eye contact with him. She'd seen him talking to Enrique.

Enrique fluttered around the table in an elaborate show of “drawing” the dare as Lorona held her hands behind her back like a felon about to be hanged. “The winning submission this year is a challenge from the ladies' man himself: Kestrin Feather!” Enrique's voice boomed over the sound system.

Lorona looked straight at Kestrin. The crowd fell silent.

Enrique chortled, “When it comes to this man, if you're beautiful and willing, and he's in the mood, he's equally willing to give you a shot. But, like the king of the Arabian Nights, he will be done with you by morning. The rumors of beheadings, like the ones in the story, have yet to be confirmed.”

Kestrin imagined himself swinging on a rope over the heads of the crowd, snatching Lorona, and disappearing through the front windows in a plume of shattered glass. He shook his head. Where are these thoughts coming from?

Enrique continued. “Mr. Feather has decreed: Make her kiss me.”

The crowd booed. Lorona fired a poisonous dart with her eyes.

Doesn't she understand what I've stopped them from doing? Doesn't she know how bad it could have been? But she hadn't seen the infamous dares. She didn't know the profane appetites that surfaced at these parties. She knew nothing of Kestrin's motives, only his reputation. The last thought felt like a cold bucket of water on his face.

Several voices demanded that Enrique draw another dare. The crowd was almost visibly foaming at the mouth. Still standing near her, Kestrin felt Lorona's anger pulsing like a space heater set on high. She clearly thought Kestrin had manipulated the whole thing for himself. Kestrin wanted to explain, but the crowd was yapping like hyenas. He took her hand and pulled her through the crowd toward the stairs where Enrique directed them.

Lorona tried to twist away from him, but the crowd pushed her back. As Kestrin placed his foot on the first step, Yuki dug her nails into his shoulder and pressed her lips close to his ear, her flower hat's petals drooping. “My brother uses nunchucks. I can have him kill you. Do not mess with her.”

Kestrin felt a rivulet of pain course down his calf. Lorona had stabbed him with her stiletto heel. She clearly didn't see herself as being rescued.

It felt good to watch him limp up the stairs. Lorona watched Kestrin pause his ascent, set down his drink, and rub the red line that was rising on his leg.

Everything was rigged. Entering the contest had been stupid, she knew that now.

He caught her eyes and pulled her closer so she could hear him as the crowd shoved them up the stairs. “I wanted to use my reputation to get you off the hook,” he hissed. His drink sloshed in his cup. “And what the hell were you thinking? Didn't you know about the dare? They're wicked!”

“Everything was manipulated,” she shot back. “And you're right there with them. You got Enrique to make me enter and then you got him to choose your dare. Too bad for you I'm not one of the easy ones.”

Kestrin looked like he had more to say, but he only managed, “I was trying to protect you,” before the crowd threatened to push them over. They stumbled to the top landing of the stairs.

“A toast!” Enrique roared from below. “A toast to the queen of the night!”

They stood at a good vantage point for all to see them. A song with a heavy bass beat pulsed through the room. The sea of observers surrounded them with bobbing heads painted in morbid anticipation. Kestrin took Lorona's hand again and her mind flinched.

He's trying to be kind.

There was nothing flirtatious now. He squeezed her shoulders gently between his palms and murmured, “I promise I'll just kiss you and I don't care what they want; it's all on me. I can deal with a few disappointed partiers.”

“A toast!” Enrique shouted again.

Kestrin realized Lorona didn't have a drink, so he took a sip of his, and handed his cup to her. “There's nothing in here. Just orange juice and vodka. Take a drink and then you can just close your eyes and this will be over and we can all go home.”

The moment he said ‘all go home,’ like he'd accepted terms of defeat after a long war, Lorona knew that he was being genuine. She whispered, “I don't know if you've been lying to me all night, but right now you look like you're the one who's scared.”

“Kiss!” the crowd chanted. “Kiss! Kiss!”

Kestrin looked down. “You'd just think I was crazy. Don't worry about me.” He was staring at her hair again and Lorona wondered for a moment if there was something serious and profound that she was missing.

She took a sip. It burned with fire and citrus. “It's bitter and sweet.” She took another swallow and her tongue felt like it was melting.

“You'll get used to it.” He took the cup and placed it on the ground. “Okay, here we go. Close your eyes.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder as the other scooped under her legs so that he held her in his arms. A shoe tumbled down the stairs. She smelled orange and vodka close to her face and then he kissed her. It was brief and soft and powerful and then it was over, faster than she could process. Energy thrilled through every follicle on her skin and its aftershock felt like some wonderful memory that had slipped out of reach as soon as it was born.

Kestrin carried her down the stairs as the crowd shouted and hooted further lewd suggestions. He ran for the front door that Yuki opened for him, cradling Lorona's head like she was a small child. The room swirled into a blur of animated shapes and lights that burrowed into Lorona's mind and then disappeared as the door swung closed behind them. She opened her eyes to see a winged angel sweep her down the porch steps, holding her close against the cold night. When he set her on the front seat of Yuki's car, he had to unfasten her fingers from the base of his wings. On the car ride home, Yuki repeated one thing to herself, “This isn't like him, this isn't like him at all…”

When Lorona crawled out of the car and stood in front of her apartment, she found a small feather stuck to her palm.

I wanted to protect you.

She'd drained an entire carton of orange juice from the fridge before she fell asleep with the feather still pressed between her fingers.

“I've found her,” Kestrin whispered into the phone.

Kahlil's rasping sigh implied Kestrin's news had better be good. “What time is it? And why couldn't this wait till morning?”

Kestrin's words tumbled out. “I just did an internet search for La Llorona—the ghost lady this woman who I just met is named after. It all lines up. White dress and crying and everything. I'm totally sure it's her. I'm going to need your help. Can you trust me on this one?”

“Kest, it's not me you have to worry about. You still need to get her to believe you.”