“Nobody.”

Gwen snorted. “Liar.”

“Total liar,” Blayne laughed.

“Come on, kid. Fess up.”

“Okay. There’s a guy at school.” She shrugged, looking adorably sweet. “He may swing by tonight.”

“You bringing him in?”

“Are you kidding? He’s full-human. My father will have a fit.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Gwen warned her, unable to help herself.

“I’ll work on that.” Kristan pointed at the crowd. “Why are you two standing in line?”

“Because the last time we cut a line, Blayne got stabbed in the arm.”

“I can’t believe you’re still blaming me for that.”

“You shouldn’t have cut the line.”

“Oh, my God. You two are like bickering old women.” Kristan grabbed an arm from each and skated forward, dragging them with her. “They’re with me,” she told security, who immediately let them in.

“Power of the pups,” she explained happily before skating off down another corridor.

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on her tonight, too,” Gwen sighed.

“Why?”

“Look at her in that outfit.” They did.

“Okay. Maybe you have a point.” Then Blayne grinned. “You’re so sweet, though.”

“Huh?”

“Watching out for Kristan.”

“In those shorts?” she murmured, watching some male walk by the entrance they’d just come through, his gaze slowly moving from Kristan and back to Blayne and Gwen before one of the security guards motioned him away. “Someone has to.”

They went down a long hallway dressed up with jack-o’-lanterns, skeletons, and bubbling cauldrons.

When they reached another set of doors, the phrase “Enter at your own risk” was scrawled across it in red paint.

When Gwen grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, one of her favorite sixties songs, “Denise,” was playing. She and Blayne grinned at each other, immediately feeling at home. At least where the music was concerned. Gwen loved anything from the sixties, but for Blayne it was the fifties, although they overlapped eras to keep their friendship intact.

They walked in, and Gwen admired the job the wild dogs had done, going for the high school gym look rather than the standard haunted house. An even nicer touch was all the “bodies” lying around.

“Carrie,” Blayne blurted out.

“Who?”

“Not who, what. This is the prom scene from the movie Carrie. See over there? That’s where one character gets slammed by water from a fire hose. And that’s Carrie getting dumped with blood, and over there is the teacher who was nice to her and got cut in half. Brilliant,” Blayne sighed.

Gwen had to agree. One could get alot of things when they had the money to buy them, but something told Gwen that the Kuznetsov Pack lived for these kinds of details and, rich or poor, they’d always create entertainment at this level. They didn’t do it to impress anyone but themselves and their intense geekiness.

Gwen admired that.

Shame she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy it. “I better find my mother.”

“There’s Mitch,” Blayne pointed out. Gwen nodded and walked over to the table her brother was sitting at.

“Nice costume,” she mocked.

“Hey, hey. Watch what you say.” Mitch glanced over his Roman soldier outfit. “I’ll have you know I’m a legionnaire.”

“A common foot soldier,” she threw back at him. “You couldn’t even make yourself a captain or a general?”

“What?” he asked as she dropped in to the seat beside him and Blayne sat across from them. “You think I have Roman soldier costumes lying around for my use? I got this from the wild dogs. Everyone’s in costume tonight, according to wild dog law.” He looked his sister over. “So you better change.”

“I am in costume, you cretin.”

Mitch leaned back, took another look. “Really?”

“White go-go boots? You see me wear these every day?”

“Don’t get snappy. You look cute. The mole’s a nice touch.”

“It’s a beauty mark.”

“Whatever.”

“Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’ to me?” Blayne asked.

Mitch glared. “No.”

Determined to deal with her burden now rather than later, Gwen demanded, “Where’s Ma?”

Mitch shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Gwen kneeled on her chair and studied the crowd closely. “Where is she? Who is she talking to? She didn’t corner anybody yet, did she?”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for our mother. Why aren’t you?”

“Because she’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not here? You said you didn’t know where she was.”

“I don’t know where she is in the big cosmic scheme of life at this very second. But I do know she’s not here.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cause I talked to her ten minutes ago on the phone and she was screaming about how she was running late and the goddamn neighborhood kids were already ringing her doorbell and how she hated giving the goddamn neighborhood kids goddamn chocolate, but she didn’t want them egging her goddamn house. And she hated this goddamn time of year, and why was I calling her on this goddamn night when she had to take the goddamn kids trick-or-treating?”