Prom Nights from Hell(70)

 

«Twisted, I know.»

 

They laughed together for the first time.

 

«Well, get back in there and destroy that prom.»

 

«I'm on it. Go to hell, Jezebel.»

 

«Thanks, Sheeb. Back at you.»

 

Jezebel winked once, and then smiled wider until the black of her teeth seemed to envelop her entire face. She evaporated into the night.

 

Sheba lingered in the dirty alley until the alluring scent of brimstone had faded away entirely, and then break time was over. Invigorated by the idea of joining the front lines, Sheba hurried back to her misery.

 

The prom was in full swing, and everything was falling into place.

 

Celeste was scoring high in her malicious game; she awarded herself a point for every girl who cried in a dark corner of the ballroom. Two points for every boy who threw a punch at a rival.

 

All over the room, the seeds Sheba had planted were flowering. Hate was blooming alongside lust and rage and despair. A garden straight from hell.

 

Sheba enjoyed it all from behind a potted palm.

 

No, she couldn't force the humans to do anything. They had their innate free will, and so she could only tempt, could only suggest. Little things-high heels and seams and minor muscle groups-she could manipulate physically, but she could never force their minds. They had to choose to listen. And tonight, they were listening.

 

Sheba was on a roll, and she didn't want any loose ends, so before she turned back to her most ambitious scheme-Cooper was pliant with intoxication now, ready for her direction-she sent her thoughts searching through the crowd for those small, annoying bubbles of happiness.

 

No one was walking away from this prom unscathed. Not while Sheba had a spark in her body.

 

Over there-what was this? Bryan Walker and Clara Hurst were staring dreamily into each other's eyes, totally oblivious to the wrath and despair and bad music surrounding them, just enjoying each other's company.

 

Sheba considered her options and decided to have Celeste interfere. Celeste should enjoy that-nothing was more evilly fun than flaunting your power right in the face of a pure romance. Besides, Celeste listened to every suggestion Sheba fed her, entirely agreeable to any demonic scheme.

 

Sheba continued with her evaluation before acting.

 

Not too far away, Sheba found that she'd dropped the ball in an inexcusable fashion. Was that her own date, Logan, actually enjoying himself? Impossible. So, he'd found his Libby after all and they were both unacceptably happy. Well, that would be easy enough to rectify. She'd go reclaim her partner and send Libby running away in tears. Amateur and crude to intervene bodily… Still, better that than let happiness win even one small battle.

 

Sheba's assessment was almost done. There was just one more tiny pocket of peace-not a couple this time; it was a lone boy wandering into the far end of the room from the hall. That annoying Gabe Christensen.

 

 

 

 

 

Sheba scowled in his direction. What did he have to be happy about? He was rejected and alone. His date was the scourge of the prom. A normal boy would be full of rage or pain right now. But he insisted on making more work for her!

 

Sheba inspected Gabe's mind more closely. Hmm. Gabe wasn't really happy. In fact, he was worrying intensely at the moment, searching for someone. Celeste was quite clearly in his view, writhing to a slow song with Rob Carlton (Pamela Green watched the display with shocked eyes, despair leaking deliciously into the air around her), but she wasn't the source of Gabe's worry. There was someone else he wanted to find.

 

So he wasn't happy-that wasn't the sensation that had trespassed on Sheba's atmosphere of misery. It was goodness itself that was exuding from this boy. Even worse.

 

Sheba ducked behind the palm and pushed out with her thoughts. Smoke oozed from her nose. «Gabe.»

 

Gabe shook his head absently and continued with his search.

 

He'd waited half an hour as throngs of girls left the bathroom, drove after drove. Here and there Gabe had felt a weak pull, but nothing at all like that one girl's raging, suffocating need.

 

When three separate groups had all come and gone, Gabe had stopped Jill Stein to ask after the girl.

 

«Black hair and a red dress? No, I didn't see anyone like that in there. I think the bathroom is empty.»

 

The girl must have slipped past him somehow.

 

Gabe had just returned to the dance floor, brooding over the mystery girl. At least Bryan and Clara and Logan and Libby were having fun. That was good. The rest of the class seemed to be having an exceptionally nasty evening.

 

And then, there it was again. Gabe's head jerked up, feeling the desperation he'd been searching for. Where was she?