Page 77 of Let Us Prey

“Made?” I ask as I look to Chess for confirmation.

He nods, a small smile flitting across his lips. “Yes. Delores and her friends used my measurements to make our costumes—including Aubrey and Renard—as their mid-term projects. I wasn’t allowed to watch them create, so I’ll have to grade them mentally as they are revealed.”

Pfft. He’s going to give them perfect scores no matter what, but I hope to hell they actually had enough skill to create costumes that don’t look like kids at a craft fair.

“Great,” I reply, rolling my eyes at both of them. “This is going to be a nightmare; I know it.”

Fitz grabs a paper taped to the top of his box and laughs. “She created an adorable little manifest for the box.”

Our girl is nothing if not thorough.

Not your girl, Felix, I remind myself as I flick out a claw and slice the tape on the top of my package. It’s bigger than Chess and Fitz’s boxes and that makes me worried, too. What if she put me in some weird inflatable dinosaur monstrosity? I didn’t buy anything and I’ll be forced to admit to Henrietta that I don’t have a costume.

If I end up monitoring detention for a month because of her, I’m tanning that girl’s hide even if she isn’t mine.

My phone buzzes, startling me as I pull out a mass of tulle and sequins that have my eyes almost bugging out of my head. I drop the bundle back in the box, sucking in a calming breath when I realize what she dressed me as. The screen shows a message in the group chat and I roll my eyes to the ceiling for patience when I see it.

BabyGirl: You got the boxes!

TigerKing: We did.

I groan when I remember fucking Fitz picked out the names for this damn thing. As if the costumes weren’t humiliating enough.

BabyGirl: Tell me, tell me! We worked really hard on them and I can barely contain my excitement. I’m bouncing off the walls like Fitz when he has too much caffeine. My friends and I spent a lot of time picking out the different themes and our grade is kind of riding on this so…

Her needfor reassurance makes my dick twitch in my sweats. I can tell by the way she looks at me in class and the tone in her voice now that she’ll respond so well to praise. Letting her show me what a good girl she can be when she’s not being a petulant brat would set both of us on fire; I know it. But that’s not my place and it can’t be. I can’t allow her to charm me with her cotton candy hair and big blue eyes like she has Chess and Fitz.

I have to be strong.

But it couldn’t hurt to give just a little so she doesn’t get hurt, right? The way she talks about her home life with the others doesn’t sound like she’. given much encouragement. Her parents’ dismissal of her performing talent particularly irritated Chess, and he’s usually very easygoing.

Praising her for working hard wouldn’t be out of line, right?

I look over at Fitz as he holds up the sexy nurse outfit that glitters with sparkling accents and appears to be cut perfectly for his body. He’s waving it at Chess, not perturbed by the matching fishnets, cap, and heels in the slightest. My twin is adaptable as fuck, and I think he’d wear a banana hammock and flip-flops if Delores sentit for him. When he offers to take Chess’ temperature with his meat thermometer, I shake my head and go back to my package.

Lifting the enormous pile of gossamer and sparkling fabric, I chuckle to myself. I suppose I deserve to wear a Rainbow Magic fairy dress after giving her hell about her hair in class. I’m sure she thinks I’ll balk at the yards of material, crown, wings, and matching shoes, but I could give a fuck. So far, her choices seem to coincide with things she associates with each of us: Fitz making her feel better and my pushing her boundaries.

It makes me super curious to see what she’s picked for everyone else.

“Fitz, stop trying to play with his ass and let Chess show us what she picked for him,” I growl in annoyance.

Chess gives me a red-faced, apologetic look, but I wink at him. He and my brother are good for one another; I give Fitz hell because he’s my brother, not because I actually give a shit they’re fucking. “Give me a second to unwrap it, Felix.”

My twin is on it before his consort can finish the sentence, ripping into the tape and paper like a toddler stealing someone else’s Christmas present. He yanks the garment out of the box, his eyes full of delight. “Chessie! You’re a can-can dancer!”

The dress looks like something out of that French musical thing Renard made us watch one night and I scratch my head, wondering what that’s supposed to mean. “He’ll look pretty, but I’m not sure I get it.”

“I told her she could follow her dreams, and dance is part of that,” Chess says with a soft smile. “I think it’s a pun.”

Chuckling as the realization hits, I shake my head and pick my phone up to text the smart assed little cottontail. She texted again while I was inspecting the goods and I turn away from the other two as they playfully snark.

BabyGirl: Did I do a good job, Sir?

Son of a bitch, she’s going to fucking kill me.

TigerKing: You did well, princess.

The little dots appear, and I watch as she types, erases, and types again. I don’t have the patience for this shit usually, but I’m interested to see how she reacts.

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