Free Anne & Henry by Dawn Ius Page A

there’s a strong chance I’ll end up the victim.
    â€œCatherine isn’t going to like this,” she says.
    That’s a serious understatement.
    We walk through the exit and out into the bright sunlight. The scent of exhaust breathes into the air as the line of expensive cars rumbles up to leave the parking lot. A single yellow bus idles at the end of the lane.
    â€œYou want a ride?” Sam says. “Maybe I can convince you that going to that party is a terrible idea.”
    My cell phone chimes an incoming text. Catherine.
    Shit, that was quick.
    I click on the message and the attachment, read theinvitation and the directions to her guest mansion in the woods. A shiver of unease runs along my spine. There’s nothing personal about the text, but as I scan my assigned role and the suggested costume accessories, it’s clear Catherine has something malicious in mind.
    Message received—loud and clear. Catherine’s doing her best to scare me off, make me think twice about going. Well, screw her.
    â€œWould you mind dropping me at the mall instead?” I say, and an anxious thrill runs the length of my body. “Looks like I need to do a bit of shopping.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Henry
    A magician and a blackjack dealer are crammed into the backseat of my car. Elvis leans toward the front dash and cranks the tunes, belting out one of his greatest hits so badly off-key it makes me cringe.
    As for me, I’m trussed up like a turkey, stuffed into a crisp shirt and silk tuxedo, knotted off at the neck with one of Dad’s old bowties. I catch Rick’s reflection in the rearview and a twitch of envy crawls under my skin. More Criss Angel than David Blaine, Rick-the-magician embodies cool. Me? I’m predictable.
    My shoulders tighten and I roll them forward, back, ease some of the tension. The fingers on my left hand drum against the steering wheel and my right hand grips the stick shift. The urge to jam the car into reverse pulses through my veins, swells with every curve of the dense, tree-lined drive.
    Things haven’t been right with Catherine and me fora few days. Shit, maybe they never were. Tonight, no more dodging phone calls and making excuses—I’m ready to cut loose, have some fun. Screw everything for one evening.
    I round the last corner and Catherine’s “getaway” mansion emerges from the woods. It’s an oppressive stone lodge perched on an acre of private forest on the other side of the lake. Light shines through the giant bay windows, creating the illusion of a wide-eyed jack-o’-lantern. Fitting. This place has always given me the creeps.
    I park and pop open the driver’s side door. “Let the fun and games begin,” I say, emphasizing the sarcasm.
    â€œOh, hell yeah,” John says, and his enthusiasm lightens my mood. His white pantsuit glows under the car light, the fake gold embellishments sparkling like stars. John’s Fendi shades are the only real accessory on a shitty Elvis getup. Collar up, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest—maybe I got off easy.
    The front door opens and a steady thump of bass winds its way through the tall hemlock trees. A bride emerges from the shadows, long white train in her left hand, wine glass in the other. I can’t see her face, but her blond hair cascades over her left shoulder, and for one terrifying split second, I worry it’s Catherine.
    Rick slaps my back and I cough. “It’s just Liz,” he says, like he can read my mind.
    I bite the inside of my lip to conceal the smile forming as we climb the stone staircase and cross into Sin City.An enormous crystal chandelier hangs over a large blackjack table, and across the room, a bank of six rented slot machines clink, swoosh, and beep in competition with music pumping through a kick-ass sound system. There’s even a faux stage at the back of the room. Catherine really knows how to work a theme.
    A thin