26. Hattie

HATTIE

" I can't believe you convinced me to squeeze into this," I mutter, adjusting the tiny halo perched precariously on my head and giving the giant fluffy wings stretching over my back a wiggle and a jiggle.

"Oh, quit your witchin', Hattie. You look fabulous," Bunny says, giving my angel wings an approving nod. "Angel pin-up girl was the perfect choice."

"Perfect choice if I were you." I sigh, glancing down at my white corset and scandalously short tulle skirt. "I'm not the one trying to lure an entire herd of purple hot-looking alien men to my love den. This dress hardly covers my bottom, and before you say a word, the white rhinestone-studded fishnet stockings aren't helping my cause either."

"Oh stop. You look hot to trot and you know it. We both do. We're different sides of the same coin in and out of costume." She slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in. "I knew the minute I met you that you were swimming on the same sexy wavelength."

Maybe so, but Willoughby Hall—or Halloween Hollow as it were—is on its spookiest wavelength tonight, all decked out like a veritable house of horrors.

Headless holograms float through the air—mostly headless horsemen doing their pumpkin-wielding thing—miles of fake cobwebs drape the walls, and eerie green fog seeps around the floor. The scent of mulled cider, caramel apples, and roasted chestnuts mingles with the faint odor of something woodsy, creating a festive atmosphere.

By some miracle—aka emptying out every local gym in a three-state radius with the promise of free food—I've organized a singles mingle that's dovetailing right along with the country club's Bewitching Ballroom Bash. Both are being held here—and since the ballrooms are technically conjoined, it's a mish-mosh of the upper crust along with vixens of a certain social status and an entire biker gang of shirtless green ogres.

Bunny is in heaven. The rest of the club members are in hell.

It's been a long Halloween season filled with cauldrons of candy and far too many boxes of Moon's chocolates. Good thing I got fifty pounds' worth—they were gone in a day. Mostly because I gobbled them all down myself, but Peyton doesn't need to know that. However, my jeans are fully aware.

Although right now, I'm not wearing jeans. I've squeezed myself into a slightly quirky yet sexy costume that has me dressed as the aforementioned angel pin-up girl. Think fishnet stockings, a white corset, and a fuzzy little halo that's listing to one side of my head. The skirt is short enough to be scandalous but hopefully long enough to avoid an arrest for indecent exposure.

The effect is somewhere between a 1950s housewife and a mischievous sorceress.

Perfect for the occasion.

Bunny opted to let her true colors shine and dressed up as the little devil she is. Same costume as mine but in red with fewer halos, more horns, and a pointy tail she's been wielding like a whip. And with all the metal studs protruding from places you'd never want a metal stud anywhere near, she is indeed the edgiest girl here.

A tall, green, and rather studly ogre struts by and Bunny begins to purr like a jet engine. "Excuse me, I've got a sudden craving for something tall, green, and studly."

She takes off and my mouth falls open. Either she's a mind reader or Bunny and I really are on the same sexy wavelength.

But nonetheless, I'm not alone here at the house of horrors. Clarabelle and Peggy are here with me, of course.

Peggy is dressed as a glamorous vampire, with a tight red dress, fangs, and a velvet cape that billows like a red velvet tornado every time she moves. It's clear as Madame Violet's crystal ball that Peggy is hellbent on securing that silver fox vampire bartender for herself, once and for all.

Clarabelle has gone for a more whimsical look, sporting a fluffy pink unicorn onesie complete with a glittery horn and rainbow tail. On our way in, six different little kids took a selfie with her.

Peggy was both insulted and incensed. I told her she was more the speed of the teen scene, and once they showed up in droves they'd probably pay her to pose with their menagerie.

A couple of pastel fairies, complete with wands and rhinestone-encrusted crowns, float this way and it's none other than my mother and Nora Maddox.

"Oh my goodness, you both look fabulous," I coo at the oddball bestie duo.

My mother has donned a pink fluffy ball of tulle, and Nora is wrapped in the same cotton candy getup only in blue.

Mom pats her lemony locks as she shimmies her shoulders my way. "Nora and I wanted to keep to a theme so Winnie set us up with these."

"We wanted a classy theme." Nora nods my way. I would have purchased something far classier than this, she muses to herself. Think Marie Antoinette or Cleopatra. But then, the Velvet Vanity well seems to have run dry. How in the world that seems to have happened overnight, I cannot fathom. I nearly fell off my Hermes loveseat when my accountant suggested that someone was dipping into the kitty and skimming a little off the top. And then the useless louse suggested I hire a forensics accountant to track the money trail. What did he think I was paying him for?

She snaps up an orange cupcake with a cobweb frosted over the top, along with candied black widows, and crams it into her piehole. My mother is quick to do the same as the two of them drift off toward a tray laden with cookies in the shape of bejeweled haunted houses.

Hoomans are weird, Cricket groans while perched in my arms.

And don't think for a minute Cricket isn't annoyed by this haunted whole affair. I landed her in a bat costume, complete with little bat wings attached to a harness, and a small, pointy-eared hood to give her that perfect flying rodent look.

I figured she didn't want to be crammed into anything too invasive and this way she could fly away or at least pretend to when things got too spooky for her. And I'm guessing she'll make a few of the guests scream in the process, too.

Rookie, however, is stuffed into what amounts to a furry jacket with a hood that sits over his head with glowing yellow eyes and a menacing red mouth with menacing fangs.

He's a werewolf and he seems darn proud of it, too.

I let him pick his own costume out, and even though I was personally rooting for the clown getup (think rainbow wig, big polka-dotted bowtie, and cute red nose) he thought fur on fur was on par for the evening seeing that he wanted to give off spooky vibes in an effort to protect me if the need should arise. Come to think of it, he does look rather menacing.

Of course, we couldn't leave Mr. Jolly Beary out of the fold—he ended up as the clown. And considering Rookie insisted we strap Jolly to his back, it looks as if the werewolf is holding a clown hostage and is en route to take him to his lair.

I tried to let Cricket pick out her own costume as well, but since she refused to do so, I had to step in and rely on my costumes for cats' acumen to kick in.

Hoomans are not weird. Rookie is quick to come to the defense of all mankind. Look at those cupcakes they're gobbling up! And those baskets filled with criss-cut French fries, and those little meatballs on a stick! Hoomans are brilliant is what they are. He nudges my leg with his snout. What do you say, you brilliant hooman? How about splitting a few of those treats with me tonight? We can start now. Have I mentioned you look like an angel tonight?

I make a face his way. "You really know how to lay it on thick." I'm about to suggest we start with the chicken and waffle sliders. Winnie and Fitz spared no expense with the buffet they've set out for the country club free of charge. Winnie says it's Fitz's way of trying to convince the uppity members of that ritzy establishment that they should host more shindigs at Willoughby Hall. Little did he know, he could have saved his spare change, seeing that I'm in charge of the venue options. I foresee many more headless hologram-strewn nights here with the who's who of Brambleberry Bay. And judging by the delighted faces of the masses, the members won't mind one bit.

Someone spills one of those baskets onto the floor and French fries scatter every which way.

"Go do your thing," I say to Rookie and he vanishes before I can finish.

Wait for me! Cricket yowls. French fries are my thing, too.

She leaps from my arms and takes off like a bat out of the hot place. And I can't help but laugh.

A scream goes off, and the lights give a mean flicker before the entire place is plunged into darkness.

And just like that, it's the spookiest Halloween on record.

They really should look into fixing the electrical around here.