Meg Cabot - Awaken

“Guess I don’t have to ask which one it is,” Alex said as we approached Seth Rector’s father’s multimillion-dollar development. Only one of the units was finished, and I could see it lit up like a beacon through the rapidly beating windshield wipers.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kayla said from the backseat beside me. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, except possibly for that time I did all those lemon drop shots on my birthday.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a convincing voice. “We won’t be staying long.”

“What are lemon drop shots?” Frank asked from the front seat. He’d reluctantly allowed Alex to drive, but only because the latter had actually driven a car before and had a license. The two of them were equally in love with Patrick’s tricked-out Jeep.

“Never mind,” I said. “Just don’t drink one if someone offers you one at the party. Don’t drink anything anyone offers you, in fact.”

“Why are we even doing this?” Kayla asked. I recognized the anxiety in her voice from the day Farah Endicott had asked us to sit at her table at Island Queen — now undoubtedly underwater — and Kayla had refused. “How is going to a stupid party given by the guy who killed Alex possibly going to help the Underworld?”

“It’s going to help me,” Alex said, “when I walk up and kick him in the nuts.”

“We’re here to look for Furies and evidence that Seth and those guys murdered Jade,” I said. “That’s all. We are not killing anyone, kicking people in any part of their anatomy, or bribing anyone with pieces of eight.” I smacked Frank in the shoulder as I said this last part. “Is that understood?”

“What if they try to kill us first?” Frank asked, clearly disappointed.

“Then,” I said, “you may maim them. But only a little, and only in self-defense.”

Frank looked more cheerful.

Alex found a place to park along the road leading to the spec house. It was impossible to park any closer due to the waves, which were sweeping well into the development’s construction site, swamping its half-poured tennis courts. The private swimming lagoon, of which Mr. Rector had been so proud, had been swallowed up by the sea, its recirculating waterfall now clogged with sea grass.

The driveway of the demo home was just as clogged, only with expensive sports cars and F-150s, the vehicle of choice for most students at Isla Huesos High School. They had clearly gotten to Reef Key well before the weather had turned.

“They’ll have been drinking since way before the storm started, too,” Kayla informed us grimly.

“How nice,” I said, before we left the safety of Patrick’s car to run the considerable distance through the rain to get to the front door.

In order to take advantage of Reef Key’s natural beauty — water views on three sides, mangroves in which my mom’s favorite bird, the roseate spoonbill, had once nested (before construction and the oil spill caused by my dad’s company disturbed them) — without compromising the multimillion-dollar homes’ integrity during storms like Cassandra, all of the houses on Reef Key were being built on ten-foot-high stone pilings.

The space beneath the pilings — at least according to the presentation Mr. Rector had shown me the time he and Farah’s dad had taken me for an impromptu tour — could be filled with a three-car garage, or a storage room, or even a stylish in-law apartment (which would technically be illegal since, according to recently passed legislation, this violated flood-zone regulations. But who was going to tell?).

It was a haul climbing up the majestically curved steps to the front door, especially under the assault of the rain, and I could only imagine it would be worse when carrying bags of groceries or, in the case of Seth and his friends, kegs of beer. I heard the heavy beat of the music coming from the house before we’d hit the first step. By the time we reached the gaudy stained-glass door — double dolphins cavorting in sea foam — it was so loud, I could make out the lyrics.

Alex didn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell since no one would have heard anyway. He let himself in, hoping, I expected, that the sight of him alive and well would send everyone running and screaming in shock.

“Surprise!” he shouted.

Not a single person noticed. The people dancing — and there were a lot of them — went right on dancing. The people sunk down on the white leather couches, smoking, went right on smoking. The people gathered around the sliding glass doors, looking out over the water, pointing at something and laughing, went right on pointing and laughing.

“Better luck next time, mate,” Frank said to Alex sympathetically, and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Move,” Kayla said, shoving Alex a little so she could get inside from the rain. She and I stood on the white tile floor of the threshold, dripping and looking around. There was a DJ in one corner — or rather a guy who looked like he attended IHHS but had his own portable equipment and probably a large van. But he seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping everyone in the mood … him and the keg in the corner opposite him.

“Beer,” Frank said appreciatively. “Real beer!” He immediately began moving towards the line for the keg.

“Great,” Kayla said with a sigh. “Ditched for beer. Story of my life.”

“I can’t believe this,” Alex said. “No one recognizes me.” He looked down at himself. “Is it the shirt?”

“Oh, my God,” Kayla said irritably. “I liked you better before you died, when you were the silent, moody type. Ever since they revived you, you never shut up.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Alex said. “Maybe instead of an NDE, I’m a whadduyacallit? Oh, right, a revenant, and no one but you guys can see me.”

“Everyone can see you,” I assured him, closing the door behind us. “It’s just that it’s a party. Everyone’s too busy having a good time to care about anyone else.”

“This sucks,” Alex said sullenly. “If someone murders you and you get revived and come back to wreak vengeance on your killers, they could at least have the decency to notice you.”

I patted him on the shoulder in a manner I hoped he’d find comforting.

“Mr. Rector has a business office downstairs,” I said. “Since no one is paying attention to you anyway, why don’t you go break into his computer and look for proof of his dirty dealings?”

Alex stared at me blankly. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Like that he set up your dad to take the fall for his drug dealing back when they were in high school together. Or maybe that he uses his current business for money laundering. Something like that would be good.”

Alex brightened. “That’s an excellent idea,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.” He began to mill through the crowd, barking, “Move it,” in a deep voice that sounded to me like an imitation of Frank when anyone got in his way. Everyone was so drunk that they actually followed his command.

“Ladies.” Frank returned, carefully balancing three red drink cups in his hands. “Elixir of the gods, one for each of you.”

Kayla made a face. “Is that beer?”

Frank made the same face right back at her. “No, it isn’t. I know how you feel about beer, my fair young lass. I got the two of you punch, from right over there.” He nodded at a crystal bowl set up on a long narrow table along the lone wall that wasn’t made up of sliding glass doors. Beside the punch bowl were bags of chips and deli trays that might once have contained meat and crudités, but which now looked as if they’d been ravaged by hungry raccoons.