Page 112 of Beneath the Light of the Moon
Oh, well.
The price he’d pay for being lazy and wanting to keep his face and skin covered.
“How much longer?” Mikko asked, tired of bumping shoulders with everyone on the sidewalk.
“Why? Second guessing this already?”
“No…maybe.”
Cristiano laughed.
“What? These boots are meant for riding not walking,” Mikko added defensively.
“And who’s idea was that?”
“Mine,”he grumbled. “But you encouraged it, saying something like ‘it’s Halloween, Mikko, live it up.’”
“Fair, but when I’m right and the ladies are hanging off your arms by the end of the night, I expect a thank you.”
There was only one woman he wanted hanging on his arm. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Suit yourself.” Cristiano grinned, before pointing up ahead. The brownstones had thinned out, a large swatch of grassy lawn—its green dulling with the frigid air—spread out before them. “But here we are.”
Faux tombstones lined the tall wrought iron fence edging the sidewalk from the manicured landscaping. Fallen leaves filled the spaces between the decorations. Twinkling lights and skeletons littered the lawn, the voids between them creating walking paths. A few mature trees stood stoically, sheltering the “quaint” house they were going to.
“You said this was asmallparty,” Mikko commented as people filed up the drive and into the ornate, Romanesque house. It felt rude to only call it a house; its grandeur deserving more. It was reminiscent of a castle.
And he was going to laugh his ass off if Cristiano’s friend was dressed as Dracula.
People dressed up for the occasion mingled on the lawn, either surrounding a couple of the small fire pits or wandering through the maze of decorations expertly set up.
“Itisa small party…for us.” Cristiano wasn’t technically wrong, but—
“You’re lucky your pumpkin head is truly attached, or else I’d swat it off your damn shoulders.” Mikko rumbled darkly, though his words lacked any true malicious intent.
His friend’s laughter warmed something deep inside his chest as they headed toward the entrance.
As soon as they’d stepped inside the time capsule of a mansion currently draped in cheap Halloween decor, Mikko had flipped his helmet’s visor down. The dark tint of it made it hard to navigate parts of the house, the wall sconces dimmed to set the mood, but it also allowed him to remain anonymous.
Rugs softened his footsteps as he followed Cristiano toward the kitchen where the drinks were being served. Apparently, the friend who set up this “quaint” party could be found there. Brushing past the shoulders of other partygoers, Mikko trailed behind, his sharp eyes cataloging his surroundings. It was a habit he found hard to break, even when he was somewhere non-work related.
Polished woodwork lined the halls before opening up to a bright kitchen, its tiles spotless. Everything had a place and purpose, an idea he could personally get behind, but something about the coldness of it had his mind pausing. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if this room was even used by the family who owned the mansion. More cheesy decor was scattered about, flickering faux candles and black glittery skulls lined every flat surface.
There were two large islands amidst the sprawling white marble. The first one was where a group of people gathered to talk, and the other had a man dressed up as a werewolf serving drinks to whoever wandered up. It was trendy and gaudy, but he had little time to formulate a retort to Cristiano about how their definitions of small were vastly different when his friend was already making a bee-line for the bartender.
Be ready to socialize,he thought.
“Weston!” Cristiano called out, rounding the island and clapping the other man on his back. Most of his costume had been shucked off, claw gloves and mask sitting on the counter, to give him the ability toplay bartender. Weston’s light eyes lit up when he spotted Cristiano, quickly setting a bottle of liquor down so he could embrace the other man.
“Cris, glad to see you”—a lifted brow as he took in his costume—“and I see you’ve outdone yourself. As usual.”
Cristiano spun playfully to show off his outfit and hair.
“Every year has to be better than the last. I’m the Headless Horseman,” Cristiano said before gesturing to Mikko. He opened his mouth to follow in suit, but his friend beat him to it. “And this is my steel horse also known as my getaway method, Mikko.”
Weston chuckled and reached out to shake his hand. Quickly, the other man grasped his fingers, and Mikko was grateful for his gloves. Mikko nodded before flipping his visor up to appear less closed off and more personable for the benefit of his friend. He added, “More like I’m the only one who can drive us home after these kinds of parties.”
“Ha! You’re just jealous I know how to let loose,” Cristiano jabbed.
