Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

“Happy New Year!” she exclaims to us, her dark purple lipstick clashing wonderfully with her hair color. “Come on in!”

“Happy New Year,” my dad says, awkwardly trying to handle the dish and shake her hand.

She just takes the dish from him. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Jacob told us to bring food,” I tell her, stepping in the house and looking around. “Hope it’s enough.” I expected to hear music and see a bunch of people, but so far it’s quiet and empty.

“Jacob said that?” Dawn says, rolling her eyes. “Think the man is just trying to get some extra food to be honest.”

“Are we the first ones here?” my dad asks, also looking around.

“First ones?” Dawn asks, then notes the expectant looks on our faces. “Oh, I see. You thought it was a big party. Sorry to disappoint you. It’s just us. And now you. We keep our celebrations…small.”

I get it. I should have noticed there were no cars outside, and there have never been any other cars outside except Jacob’s beige Mercedes from the seventies. The Knightlys keep to themselves because they’ve got way too many secrets that no one else would understand. No one normal, anyway.

I nudge my dad with my elbow since he’s still standing there looking around. “Oh, well that’s good. I don’t think I could handle a crowd of strangers right now,” he says.

Dawn gives him a sympathetic head tilt. “I know how you feel. Well, come in. We’ll put this to good use,” she says, lifting the dip.

“And this too,” I tell her, holding up the bottle of Prosecco. “Want me to get some glasses?”

“That would be groovy,” she says, nodding to the kitchen while my father takes the bottle from me. “They’re just in the top shelf by the fridge.”

I go into the kitchen and grab the glasses just as a shiver runs through me. I look over my shoulder, not surprised to see Max walking in.

He stops by the cupboard beside me and eyes my sweater. “I feel like I missed a memo about wearing ugly sweaters.”

Meanwhile I’m staring at his purple and gold polyester shirt with the first few buttons undone. “You have the nerve to make fun of my sweater when you’re wearing that?”

He shrugs and grabs some serving plates. “You try finding something to wear in this house that fits.” He looks down at the shirt and moves his arms slightly, showcasing how small it is on him, the buttons straining.

I have to say, despite how gaudy it is (which makes me think it’s Jacob’s), it does a good job of showcasing his muscles. Was he always built like that? Either I never paid much attention to the way he was put together, or being in Hell made him even bigger than he was before. A similar thing happened to Dex—he went into the Veil and came out all jacked—except Max was already built like a Mack truck before.

I manage to tear my eyes away, lest I give him an ego boost, and pick up the glasses. “I’m still going to take you shopping,” I tell him. “Nevermind the fact that you’re going to look like one the Bee Gees until I do. And no, we’re not shopping at Eddie Bauer or Cabela’s or wherever it is you used to get your clothes.”

I take the glasses out to the living room where Sage and Jacob have appeared, Jacob talking to my father, Sage putting some music on. They all have beers, with Dawn setting out the dip on the table, which is already piled high with other appetizers and booze.

I say hi to Sage, nod at Jacob, and set down the glasses while Dawn picks up the Prosecco. “We have the Dom in the fridge for the countdown. But I say we start with this bubbly just because.”

“Suits me,” I tell her. Honestly, I could drink the whole bottle and then some. The fact that it’s New Year’s and I had that shitty dream, which I’m starting to think might have actually been real, has me wanting to get super drunk.

And drunk I get. Actually, everyone gets drunk, including my dad. He’s been drinking a lot lately so it’s not a stretch, but to see him relaxed around these people makes me feel a bit better for dragging him over here.

It isn’t until later, when my father and Dawn start grooving to the Jackson Five, that Jacob pulls me aside. “Do you mind if I have a word with you, love?” he asks politely. Okay, I guess not everyone is drunk. Jacob seems as sober as anything, his clear eyes cutting into me.

“Sure,” I tell him, hoping he’s not going to tell me anything that will ruin my buzz. Fat chance.

He motions for me to follow him down the hall, and I do so until I find myself in a small library of sorts with a desk in the middle. Max is already there, leaning casually against the desk with a beer in his hand, still looking ridiculous in that shirt. I remember what he said about getting easily hungover the other day, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been taking it slow with his drinking.