A glance at the clock told her it was already almost eight. The dance was always full to capacity, but she knew she didn’t have to worry about getting in, nor having no place to sit once she got there. The elders always had a table reserved for them, and for whichever family members they decided to favor by allowing them to sit in the empty seats.
It was a cool night, with a brisk wind blowing from the east. Over the Mogollon Rim, a horizontal half moon, the one sometimes called the “witch’s cup,” had begun to rise. Margot allowed herself a brief glance at it, then continued to walk steadily toward Spook Hall, where the dance was always held. Another good thing about this costume — she could wear flat ballet-style slippers with it. Much better for negotiating Jerome’s slanted and uneven sidewalks than the heels some women forced themselves into for the event.
As always, she ducked in through the side entrance, avoiding the queue at the front. Matt McAllister, one of Jerome’s volunteer firemen, was standing guard duty at that door to prevent people from doing the very thing she had just done, but of course he merely waved her through, saying, “Your table’s in the same place, Margot.”
Of course it was. And it would be the same people sitting at it, just as they always did, year after year. Well, except last year. Then it had been Angela’s contingent of “bodyguards,” of whom Margot had been one. Fat lot of good that had done. It still wasn’t easy to admit that Damon Wilcox had managed to slip his own brother into this event, right in the very heart of McAllister territory. Even now she couldn’t help wondering if there was something she could have done to detect Damon’s spell, although logically she knew that merely being able to cast illusions didn’t necessarily mean you could see through those created by someone else.
She repressed a sigh and pushed through the expanding crowd to the table where Allegra and Bryce were already seated. Allegra’s husband sat next to her in one of the spare seats, and Bryce’s wife beside him. That left three extras, after Margot claimed hers, and she always let Allegra and Bryce hand those off to those of their children who might need them. It wasn’t as if Margot ever brought a date.
A date. There was a good one.
Luckily, it was dark enough in the room that she doubted the others could see the sour expression she currently wore, although she did her best to remove it before she sat down. “Evening,” she said, nodding at the group, all of whom had drinks in front of them already.
“Happy Halloween!” chirped Allegra, and Margot felt the scowl begin to creep back. Samhain itself wasn’t for another three days, after all, and it should mean something quite different to the witches in her clan than it did all the civilians around them. It was a time for acknowledging the change of the seasons, and those who had gone before them, not for dressing up and looking for any excuse to attend a party.
She managed a faint smile and sat down, then realized she probably should have gone to get a drink first. Not that she ever drank much at these things. Still, something told her this was one night where getting mildly intoxicated might not be such a bad idea. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about driving home.
In the meantime, there were bottles of water sitting in the middle of the table, so she reached over and took one.
“A good turnout tonight,” Allegra said, her voice pitched unnaturally loud to carry over the music. At the moment it was a recording; the band wouldn’t start playing for another fifteen minutes or so.
Since that was the same thing Allegra said almost every year, Margot summoned another half-hearted smile and nodded, but didn’t bother to reply. Obviously used to this sort of behavior, Allegra gave a slight shrug and turned back to her husband, continuing the conversation they’d been holding as to whether having ten pumpkins was enough for Halloween, or whether they should go get some more.
As if it matters, Margot thought. Yes, there were a score of McAllister children in Jerome young enough to care about trick-or-treating, but she thought they probably cared a good deal more about the type of candy the Moss household would be handing out rather than how many pumpkins decorated the front porch of their somewhat ramshackle Victorian house.
She drank some water and gazed out at the crowd. The room already seemed filled to bursting, so fairly soon they would start turning people away at the door. Where those disappointed attendees would go, she had no idea. Possibly there were other Halloween parties down in Cottonwood. She’d never paid much attention to the existence of any alternatives, as of course she always had a place here.
The band started up, roaring into a spirited rendition of “Monster Mash,” and Margot let out a sigh. Same music, different year. It wasn’t even that she disliked loud music, although she was sure most people who knew her would be surprised by that. No doubt she looked to them like the type who would have Mozart playing in the background all day. Little did they know that sometimes she’d close all the windows and shut the blinds, and blast the music she’d loved back in high school, Pearl Jam and Nirvana and Green Day, singing along as she dusted and watered her plants. What was that saying? “Dance like nobody’s watching”?