Home > The Monster Ball Year 3 : (A Paranormal Romance Anthology)(2)

The Monster Ball Year 3 : (A Paranormal Romance Anthology)(2)
Author: Heather Hildenbrand

I still have seven other tasks to complete by my twenty-first birthday in order to gain my nine tails. If I don’t, I’ll lose my supernatural status, my ability to shift, and be forced to live the rest of my life as a human.

The fact that I stopped gaining tails was enough to make my parents resent me. Things got worse when my strength tail appeared earlier than it should have. I figured it was because I was a quick study. But after that… nothing. No more tails.

“I’m sorry, Liv. I didn’t mean it that way. You know I’m just worried about you,” Tori says, the tension in her shoulders easing. Like me, Tori is eighteen years old, but she blitzed her first six tasks and is on the verge of achieving her full powers.

In many ways, I guess I’m lucky that all my parents did was disown me. It wasn’t often that kitsune couldn’t acquire all their tails. For those who can’t, there are dark rumors that some of the powerful families take deadly action if their children don’t measure up. I don’t know if the stories are true, but a few years ago, a daughter from the powerful Rossi family died in a car accident—a month after she failed to gain all of her tails and became human.

“Take a walk with me,” Tori says. “I do have some news that might help.”

Her arm loops through mine, and I let her lead us through the dark streets of downtown Seattle while I keep my eyes on the road ahead of us. We’re in South Park. The worst of the worst frequent these parts. It’s why I love to come here. Mixing with them gives me an adrenaline rush, and I love to gamble with their cash.

Tori wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know why you subject yourself to the smells of this city.”

I swallow a snort. Kitsune have particularly sensitive noses, so I’m sure she’s finding the pungent scent of trash and old cigarette stubs thoroughly enjoyable right now.

“It’s better than getting a regular job,” I say. “At least hustling is fun and gives me the freedom to keep working on my tails.”

Her elbow jabs into my ribs. “Are you really, though?”

I shrug and don’t answer. Attaining my third tail has proven to be difficult. After failing dozens of times, I haven’t tried again since Tori last visited.

We continue down the street, leaving South Park to enter the tree line that separates the worst of the crime from Delridge, the suburb of Seattle I call home. There’s nothing ritzy about Delridge, but at least I don’t need bars on my windows to feel safe.

The stars twinkle as I inhale the fresh air from the trees around us. The moon shines high, and I sigh. Our kitsune magic is always at its strongest under a full moon. I sense Tori’s power as she basks in the light. Every tail gives us more access and control of our full power.

Tori stops us before we exit the small forest area. “Have you ever heard of The Monster Ball?”

Laughter escapes from my lips. “You mean the fictitious party everyone wishes they could attend?”

Her jaw tightens and a twitch forms in her cheek. “It’s real, and I think it’s the answer for at least one of your tails. Assuming you get an invitation, that is.”

“Why on earth would I want to go to some pretentious party with other supernaturals I don’t know?” Even if it is real and some paper appears from thin air like the rumors suggest, a party can’t help me gain my tails.

“I’ve heard that magical things happen at The Monster Ball. People find what, or who, they most desire when they attend. And I was thinking…” She pauses, and I know I’m not going to like what she’s about to say. “It might help you achieve your beauty tail.”

I die a little inside. I know she isn’t trying to hurt me. My beauty tail was supposed to appear on my eighteenth birthday, supposedly the easiest tail because all it requires is naturally good looks—which most kitsune have in spades, both male and female. All kitsune primp and preen for months before their eighteenth birthday to make sure they look their best on the day. When my tail didn’t show up… well… it definitely messed with my head.

Tori hurries on. “A ball is the perfect opportunity to get dressed up, dance, relax, and feel beautiful. It can’t hurt to try, right?”

Her hazel eyes plead with me to agree, but I shake my head.

By agreeing, I’ll be giving myself hope, and that makes me vulnerable, more vulnerable than I’ve been in a long time. Not to mention, I’ve already decided that beauty isn’t everything. In fact, fuck beauty. It’s supposed to be more than skin-deep anyway.

“It’s a hard no from me, Tori. I’m sorry. I appreciate your efforts. I really do, but I don’t think the desires you speak of mean the same thing you’re hoping for me.”

“Just think about it, and if you’re lucky enough to get a ticket, come find me when you get back. It will happen in just a couple of days on All Hallows Eve.” She hugs me tightly. “I have to get back. They don’t know I’ve left.”

After we say our goodbyes and she continues to the parking lot, I begin the ten-minute walk to my studio apartment and consider her words. I gave up hope a long time ago, but no matter how much I don’t want to believe Tori, I’m terrified of losing my identity, that irreplaceable part of me that makes me me.

I hurry up the stairs and insert the key in the lock, trying to shake off the fear at the back of my mind—a fear that quickly turns into a prickle at the back of my neck. Glancing down the corridor, I’m suddenly aware of a disappearing shadow at the edge of my vision.

Considering I’ve just hustled someone, I should be paying more attention to my surroundings, even with the distraction of Tori. If I wasn’t so deep in thought, I would have been more alert. I remind myself that gaining my tails comes second to staying alive.

 

 

2

 

 

Two nights later, the moon sits high in the sky as I pass through the tree line after a lucrative hustle. My target was a twenty-something businessman completely out of his depth in the grimy bar I found him in. He was drinking away girlfriend troubles, crying into his pint of beer. I actually feel a little bad about the hustle, but I did him a favor by taking him outside afterward and putting him in a cab.

There are far shadier people than me in South Park, and two guys with switchblades were already eyeing him as an easy target. Even after I cleaned out his wallet, he still had an expensive watch and cuff links to lose.

I definitely didn’t want to end up having to play rescuer. Though I always dress so I’m able to fight. Tonight’s attire includes snug black shorts and tights, knee-high boots with solid heels, my favorite chain belt that can double as a neat little noose, a bracelet consisting of large reflective ovals linked together, and a short-sleeved V-neck shirt combined with a push-up bra. That last item is a different kind of weapon.

It’s nearly midnight as I hurry through the trees. The damn back of my neck is prickling again.

I’m definitely being followed.

I slow my pace, bend to a crouch as if I’m adjusting the zipper on my boot, and angle my wrist just right. The reflective segments on my bracelet are large enough for me to use as mirrors to see behind me. The stranger from the bar two nights ago—the one with the tribal tattoos—casually pauses on the path behind me. He doesn’t try to hide or pretend he’s there for any other reason than to follow me. Cocky asshole.

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