Chapter 16: Spine-Chilling Sabotage

You shoulder-leaned on the bathroom door, grateful that you had three minutes to pee before undead-language arts class. One more class until the weekend, not that it really mattered. There would be no time for sleeping in. No time for a “halfway decent latte search” with Clawdeen or a rom-com rental with Draculaura.

Not when you had to screen every single interview you’d shot over the last eight days. Not when Ross, the guy from Channel 58, was expecting a rough cut on Monday so he could give notes. Not when it aired on Thursday.

You stepped out of the bathroom just as Cleo exited the girl's bathroom and clomped toward her locker in her platform wood sandals. Gold triangles swung from her ears in perfect time with the flounce of the hem on her black and emerald-green mini. Her figure-skater style, emphasis on figure, was so uniquely her own, so incredibly flattering.

You awkwardly stood there before you decided to try and mend things. Be the bigger person.

Y/N: Hey....Cute dress.

Cleo slammed a book into her locker, making a loud bang sound.

She clearly blamed you for the botched Teen Morgue shoot, for the falling-out with her friends, and simply for having been born a normie. But it was easier to attract queen bees with honey than with vinegar, so you forced yourself to be sweet.

Y/N: You know, I totally knew you were in here, ’cause I smelled your amber perfume, which is cool. Statistically girls with a signature scent are more ambitious than girls without signature scents.

Cleo responded with another loud noise.

Stay sweet… stay sweet… stay sweet…

Y/N: At lunch today, your friends were saying how much they missed you.

That was actually a lie. Lagoona mentioned how nice it felt to not have Cleo around at least three times. Clawdeen also saw her talking to some normies at the ice cream shop, so she pretty much wrote her off.

Cleo finally made eye contact.

Cleo: Oh, so you’re sitting with them everyday now too?

Obviously, Cleo felt threatened. If ever there was a time for some peacekeeping sweetness, it was now. But all you could taste was vinegar.

Y/N: What’s your problem?! I’m just trying to help, and you act like I’m the Roman Empire or something.

Cleo’s eyes widened to a warning. But you couldn’t stop. Assertiveness, combined with your ability to work in a historical metaphor, gave you more confidence than a figure-skater outfit ever could.

Y/N: I’m not trying to dethrone you. I’m just......Look. I never meant to come between anyone. I’m just standing up for what I believe in.

Cleo: So am I.

Y/N: How? By choosing a fashion shoot? Is that all that matters to you? What about equal rights and....

Cleo stomped her foot.

Cleo: What are you talking about? Have you seriously lost your mind? Did the zombies get you too?

You were taken back by the comment. You immediately thought to Ghoulia. How could she say something like that so casually?

Y/N: What?

You searched Cleo’s blue eyes for an explanation. A wink, a tear, a sign, a clue floating your way before you drowned in confusion. But Cleo offered nothing. Her gaze was hard and cold.

You slowly shook your head.

Y/N: You know what? Screw you. I'm done trying to be nice. You sound just like those worthless Hellscrea...

You stopped. You looked at her with wide eyes.

Y/N: No way. Is.....is the Normie you've been hanging out with Lilith Hellscream?!

Cleo simply checked her nails as if she was unaffected by all of this.

Cleo: You a friend of hers or something?

Y/N: Fri...Cleo, they're bad news! The Helsings only deal with dangerous monster by contract of the Monster Community. They hunt every monster. They don't care who you are. They're dangerous!

Cleo stopped and looked at you. She then smirked.

Cleo: Thanks for the warning, Julius, but I have more important things to do than to listen to your whining.

She suddenly lifted her middle finger and walked off. You stood there for a moment before took a deep breath. If she was really working with Lilith, then things just got a whole lot more dangerous.

--------------

Cleo hated bushes. They were too green and dirty. Yet, here she was, hiding in one. Her and Lilith were staking out the Dracula residence, waiting for an opening. They knew your laptop would be hidden away in your nerd shed.

As soon as that geek Dracula was gone, Lilith would hack into your computer and erase “The Ghoul Next Door.” Which, thanks to Cleo’s access to her friends’ Instagraves, they had learned Ross was expecting by the end of day on Monday. Cleo exhaled two weeks’ worth of social angst into the nature-scented air. Finally, the end was near.

She checked her phone. Zero messages.

Ptah!

It was hard to believe that Deuce hadn’t come around. He’d texted Cleo once, the night of their fight, asking her to “reconsider.” She’d texted back THE MOVIE OR ME. To which he’d responded, BOTH. She typed WRONG ANSWER and cried into a heap of cat fur for hours.

It took all of her strength to play hard to get and not to pressure him to change his mind, especially since her heart-shaped hump was running dangerously low on reassurance. But if she didn’t teach him the importance of putting his girlfriend above everything else, who would?

But her friends? She definitely thought they would have come back by now. Which is why she hadn’t told Teen Morgue they were short two models and one stylist’s assistant. With the shoot only four days away, her need to fess up was becoming more urgent. Cleo’s professional connections were at stake, not to mention her father’s trust. If she told the truth now, the magazine could find replacements. But the day of? Would they even want to?

Cleo checked her phone again. Still no messages. Were her friends really having fun without her? Was it even possible?

Still, Cleo clung to hope.

Lilith: There's our opening. Let's go!

Cleo had completely spaced out and stumbled out of the bush after Lilith. She wasn't used to this sneaking around monster hunting crap. Plus, her heels were not made for this.

Her stakeout ensemble, a peach boyfriend cardi over mauve-and-gray-striped leggings, couldn’t have been more conspicuous if it flashed neon and blasted death metal.

Together they made their way to the backyard, sneaking all the way to your shed. Lilith opened the door, sending Radar right towards them. Cleo screeched, bending down to avoid being attacked. Lilith stared at her before looking at your bat.

Lilith: A monster hex. Of course Helsing would have one.

Cleo looked up and rose to her feet. She looked at the bat confused.

Cleo: A what?

Lilith: Monster Hunters put these around their camps to scare away monster with bad intentions. Like you.

Cleo rolled her eyes and swatted Radar, knocking him loose and sending him into a nearby bush.

Cleo winced, fanning the musty air. It smelled like flying coach beside a passenger eating nacho cheese Doritos. Cans of soda and balled-up fast-food wrappers overflowed the trash can by the door, as if trying to escape the maddening hum of machines and unflattering fluorescent lights.

Lilith: Here.

She pulled out a pair of red wool mittens.

Lilith: Put these on before you touch anything.

Cleo pinched the itchy mitts as if they were covered in poo.

Lilith: Oh, and here’s a HUNT wristband.

She slid a mangled yellow bracelet off her wrist.

Lilith: I melted down my old LIVESTRONG bracelets, and voilà!

Cleo: Seriously?

Cleo lowered her tortoiseshell frames and glared at Cleo in a why-wouldn’t-I-be-serious? sort of way.

Cleo: It looks like chewed gum.

Lilith: Perfect. Since we’re trying to stick together.

Cleo wanted to tell Lilith where to stick her itchy mitts and clumpy bracelet, but she wasn’t going to get into a power struggle now. Why ruin an already ruined Friday? Besides, HUNT was only a means to an end. And that end was near.

Cleo: What can I do?

Lilith: HIDE!

Cleo: What?

Lilith: Get down and turn off your ringers!

Lilith sprinted from her post and tackled Cleo to the ground. Together they crawled across the crumb-covered carpet to behind some of your VHS piles. Knees burning, Cleo regretted her decision to wear a miniskirt almost as much as she regretted having joined this ragtag operation. Knowing Lilith, this was probably just a drill.

They scurried under the long rectangular table which kept them hidden with a black cloth.

Cleo: Who was it?

Cleo was rearranging her black-and-pink chiffon banded mini to prevent a Cosabella sighting.

Lilith: Y/N, and....

The door squeaked open. A pair of scuffed hiking boots and knee-high platform boots entered.

Frankie!

The feet hurried inside, and you sat by by computer.

What are they doing here? Cleo asked with raised brows.

Lilith responded with a shrug of her shoulders. You tell me. Isn’t that your job? her bugged-out eyes asked.

We’re dead, Cleo said by finger-slicing her neck.

Cleo lifted her gaze in reverence to Hathor. She was about to ask for guidance and protection, but when she saw a constellation of crude marker drawings and what looked to be blood on the underside of the table, she decided not to involve the goddess in this one.

Frankie: Ready?

Someone began typing, then stopped after a few seconds and sighed.

Y/N: Ready.

Boop…

Someone began dialing on speakerphone.

Boop… boop. Boop… boop… boop… boop.

???: Ross Healy.

Y/N: Whaddup? It’s Y/N. Y/N Van Helsing.

Frankie: And Frankie.

She giggled.

Lilith rolled her eyes.

Y/N: We just sent it.

Cleo gasped, then covered her mouth. Just sent it? Today? But it’s not due until tomorrow!

Lilith shot her a how-could-you-screw-this-up? glare. Cleo flicked some carpet fluff off the side of her shoe, pretending not to notice.

Ross: Hey, V-man, thanks again for getting it in a day early. The network is dying to see it.

Y/N: As long as they know it’s rough. But I can change whatever. So just let me know.

Ross: You got it. Thanks again, V-doggy-dog. I’ll be in touch.

The line went dead.

Y/N: I hope this works.

Frankie: It will. You’ll see.

If only someone were there to reassure Cleo. Someone to tell her she hadn’t just blown the biggest opportunity of her life. Someone to tell her she’d find a way to get her friends back. Someone to tell her this movie wouldn’t change life as she knew it, even though it already had. Because that life was good. Things went her way. People listened to her. And no one......

A cell phone rang.

Y/N: Hey. Everything okay?

Ross: Everything’s great, Helsing. As long as you tell me this is a joke and you’re sending me the real movie in zero-point-two seconds.

Lilith lifted her head.

There is a Geb!

Y/N: Whaddaya mean?

Ross: What do I mean? I mean, what’s with all the blurred faces?

Ross was now shouting.

Ross: Our viewers are going to think they have cataracts. We can’t air this. Send me the clean cut.

Lilith smirked. This is exactly what she wanted. Proof! And exactly what the monsters feared.

Another botched job by Frankie Stein. What a shock!

Now what? worried Cleo. A clean cut would be the end of the monsters. Their identities would be exposed. Their images would be downloaded all over the world. They would become targets. Medical experiments. Scapegoats. No matter how docile and charming the interviews were, normies would find some reason to be afraid. Some reason to discriminate. Some reason to hate. They always did.

Ross: So, are you sending it?

You didn't answer.

Ross: Y/N?

Y/N: Sorry. I can’t.

Cleo flinched. What were you doing? You had a chance to make a name for yourself and move on up in the world. You could rid yourself of the monsters and Ghouls.

Ross: You’re kidding, right? This is a huge opportunity.

Y/N: I know. But I promised.

Ross: Promised who?

Y/N: My friends.

Ross chuckled.

Ross: These freaks are your friends?

Y/N: Yes, and they need to be protected. I promised that they would be protected.

Ross: I thought you were a Helsing, kid. What would your uncle say?

You stayed silent for a second, then you sighed.

Y/N: He would tell me I was an idiot for even talking to you in the first place.

The line went dead.

Frankie and you were silent. It was over.

Golden!

Cleo tried to mirror the frustration on Lilith’s face but stopped for fear of looking constipated. All she wanted to do was bust out from under the table and leave berry-scented lip prints on every stupid movie poster in the room. Geb had saved her once again. “The Ghoul Next Door” was ancient history! She didn’t have to betray anyone! No crime. No time. She pulled off the red mitts and let them fall to the carpet. She was free!

Frankie: I’m so sorry. You worked so hard on this.

Y/N: It’s okay.

Frankie: No, it’s not.

Frankie sniffled.

Frankie: I shorted it again!

Y/N: How? You promised to keep everyone safe, and you did.

There was a short pause and then another sniffle.

Frankie: They’re going to be so disappointed. How are we going to tell them?

Y/N: Together.

Awww. Liquid warmth filled Cleo like the melted chocolate inside Hasina’s molten lava cake. You were pretty decent for a normie.....if you didn’t suck so bad.

The door to the shed closed with a defeated click.

Cleo emerged from under the table and smoothed her skirt. Either the fluorescent lights were making her hands look ashen or stress had faded her in a big way.

Cleo: You think it’s still sunny outside?

Lilith shrugged, wiped her cheeks dry, and stood.

Cleo: Now what?

Lilith: We start over.

Cleo: I couldn’t agree more.

Cleo hooked her ruffled denim tote over her shoulder.

Cleo: See ya on the other side.

Without another word, she crossed the grimy carpet and walked out. Each step that echoed in the empty yard brought her closer to starting over, and proving that there was, indeed, a life after death.

------------

Cleo was the first to arrive. As before, she followed the sound of rushing water through the leafy thicket and emerged in the Steins’ secret backyard. The rock-bottomed falls were still flowing and frothing. The grassy perimeter was still manicured and damp. And mist still danced above the stone ledges of the pool. But this time the visit felt completely different. Because this time Cleo was freshly spray-tanned and thrilled to be there.

A late afternoon breeze blew her bangs skyward. It was much too chilly for her bronze minidress and black satin booties with the bows on the back, but Cleo was feeling too festive for anything less.

Cleo: Hey.

Frankie was sitting alone on the ledge, finger-batting her wrist seams like a cat with yarn. You were off to the side staring at your feet with your arms crossed.

Frankie: Hey.

Even her gray terry sweats looked miserable.

Cleo: Laundry day?

Frankie lifted her eyes. Normally periwinkle, their hue had been downgraded to plain blue against her SillyPutty-colored makeup.

Cleo: What happened? You’re toting bigger bags than Mary-Kate Olsen!

Y/N: Buzz off, Cleo.

Cleo considered recommending cold cucumber slices, a steaming mug of Hasina’s skin-replenishing Nile elixir, and a more inspired comeback. After all, Frankie had proved herself to be a noble warrior by rejecting Ross, and she deserved some kindness. But that wouldn’t kick in until Cleo was absolutely sure “The Ghoul Next Door” was “The Ghoul No More.”

Y/N: What are you doing here, anyway?

Cleo: I got your text about the movie.

Cleo sat.

Cleo: And if it’s not too late, I want to be in it.

Frankie: Ha!

Frankie had laughed with her mouth closed. After that, there was nothing more she was willing to share. You had long since given up on the queen bee-outch. The others soon arrived. So you waited together in silence.

Before long the yard was buzzing with monsters. They greeted one another warmly, with hugs and energetic high fives. No longer a passive group bound solely by secrets, they saw themselves as a force, a proactive faction on a do-or-die mission to change the world. And their pride was palpable. All around Cleo, bubbles of conversation rose and popped, sprinkling the yard with giddy enthusiasm.

Cluad: HBO is gonna be all over this. They love edgy dramas.

Heath: Really? I see it more as a comedy.

Rochelle: Or a Broadway musical.

Clawdeen: Oh, and you know some author will try to turn it into a teen series.

Lagoona: You think Oprah would put it in her book club?

Draculaura: Of course. She’s a sucker for outcasts.

Venus: Funny, I thought you were the sucker.

Draculaura: Funny, I thought you were funny.

Robecca: Have you seen Jackson’s sketches? He drew doll versions of all of us.

Deuce: Imagine getting yourself in a Happy Meal?

Claud: Yum. I imagine it all the time. By the way, is it me or is someone grilling a tenderloin?

Despite being ignored by her closest friends, Cleo felt surprisingly good. In fact, she felt regal. Like a stoic queen privy to the impending doom of her people, she accepted her solitude as a by-product of her wisdom, an it’s-lonely-at-the-top sort of thing. But she wouldn’t be lonely much longer. Frankie was calling the meeting to order, and in a matter of minutes, these conversation bubbles would burst. And the Teen Morgue shoot would be right there to sop up the mess.

Frankie: Thanks for coming.

The applause was uproarious. Amid the fervor, Draculaura, Lagoona, and Clawdeen kept casting sidelong glances at Cleo, probably wondering why she was there. Deuce winked at her but chose to remain with his fellow cast members. Ghoulia stared at Frankie expectantly, in her usual zombielike state. Claude and the other Wolf brothers howled triumphantly. Rochelle and Jackson were at the very front of the crowd, wearing smiles so wide that the corners of their mouths nearly fused. They had no clue what was coming.

Frankie stepped up onto the stony ledge, just as she’d done before. But this time she made no attempt to silence the booming falls. Viveka and Viktor stood at the back of the crowd, eyes low. They already knew.

Frankie: I’ll keep it short because most of us have a quiz tomorrow. We worked really hard on ‘The Ghoul Next Door’ and...

Claude snickered.

Y/N: This is serious. The movie isn’t happening. Channel 58 isn’t going to air it.

Frankie pouted big enough for all of them. A chorus of shouts came from the monsters.

Draculaura: What?

Clawdeen: Fur real?

Lagoona: You’re bloody joking, mate. Right?

Deuce: Of course he’s joking. Why wouldn’t they air it?

Cleo crossed her spray-tanned legs and closed her eyes. She felt as though she were sinking into that hot bath, but instead of water, justice washed over her. And instead of lavender, the bathwater was infused with the soothing aroma of you-should-have-stuck-with-me.

Y/N: The network people said they’d air the piece only if we showed your faces.

Venus: They can’t do that!

Spectra: It would destroy us!

Y/N: We refused.

The yard was silent except for the sound of crashing water. For a second, Cleo actually felt sorry for her friends. Not for their loss of fame but for their failed attempt at freedom.

Billy: Right on, Helsing!

Billy started to clap.

The applause was scant at first but began to mount until everyone in the yard was cheering for Frankie and you. Their support lingered, but their giddy enthusiasm was gone. The light had drained from their eyes. Their fire had smoldered to a thin ribbon of smoke.

You couldn't find joy in this. You had failed them. You had....you had failed the mission. You had promised them that you could show the world that monsters weren't that bad, and yet, you failed.

Cleo stood with grace. Rolling back her glistening shoulders, she crossed the lawn. Weaving unnoticed through the crowd of bodies, she felt like a ghost on a quest to reclaim her lost soul.

Clawdeen saw her first. Her yellow-brown eyes, like two tigereye stones, bore right into Cleo. Once the inspiration for Cleo’s first jewelry collection, those eyes seemed hard and cold.

Cleo: Hey.

Clawdeen nudged Draculaura and Lagoona. All three girls were glaring now.

Draculaura: What are you doing here?

Red lipstick was smudged on her chin, but Cleo didn’t dare to comment.

Cleo: I came to see if I could help with the movie, and then…

Clawdeen: What about your precious modeling career?

Cleo: I canceled the shoot. You guys were right. This is more important.

The girls exchanged validated grins. Cleo was about to elaborate on the fake “tongue-lashing from Anna Wintour, who had high hopes for the budding designer-slash-model,” when a distractingly warm breeze blew against her shoulder. It smelled like lemon Starburst.

Cleo: Billy, stop spying!

Billy: Oh, sorry. I didn’t know this conversation was private.

Cleo: If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to spray you with self-tanner. And then you’ll know exactly what private is.

Cleo wiggled her baby finger.

Cleo: We all will.

The girls couldn’t help giggling.

Billy: Later, hater.

The lemon-scented breeze was gone.

Lagoona: So, you reckon you’ll be able to get the modeling shoot back? You know, now that the movie is bogged.

Cleo: I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it.

Cleo sighed.

Cleo: I guess I could try.

Clawdeen twirled an auburn curl around her finger. Her long nails were painted with yellow and brown pinstripes.

Clawdeen: You think they’d take us back too? Or did you already promise the job to your new best friends?

Cleo knit her professionally arched brows in confusion.

Draculaura: That blonde normie you've been around.

Cleo: No way! I would never ask them to model. Have you seen her bone structure? It’s so… normal.

The other girls nodded in agreement.

Claqdeen: So, there’s a chance we can still do it? You know, if we practice our poses and do our squint-prevention exercises?

Cleo: I guess. If you really want to.

They nodded and squealed and told her they really, really, really, really did.

Cleo: Clawdeen, I was thinking, you could wear the earrings on your birthday if you want, maybe for a glamorous Sweet Sixteen photo!

Clawdeen: Really?

Clawdeen squealed.

Clawdeen: That would be amazing!

Cleo: Does this mean you forgive me for being so selfish?

Draculaura: Do you forgive us for being so judgmental?

Cleo: Only if you forgive me for telling you to wipe that lipstick off your chin.

Draculaura wiped her cheek and looked at it. She then turned to her friends.

Draculaura:  Thanks a lot! Why didn’t you tell me?

Lagoona: We were too busy looking at your wonky eyeliner to notice.

They all busted out laughing. Deuce glanced over and gave Cleo a way-to-get-your-friends-back thumbs-up. Cleo winked back just as her friends pulled her into a group hug. She’d deal with Deuce later.

Draculaura: Mummy’s home!

Cleo: Mummy’s home.