The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black: Book Two)

By Spencer Baum

Still reeling from the events of the Homecoming Masquerade, Nicky Bloom must prepare for the second event of the Coronation contest: The Festival of the Moon.

A week-long celebration of the immortals and the girls vying to become one, the Festival of the Moon begins with a wild party in the woods and ends with a date auction, where all the boys of the Thorndike senior class bid for the right to wine and dine one of the girls wearing black.

With help from Jill Wentworth and the rest of the Network, Nicky dives headfirst into the world of lust, gossip, and intrigue that is Thorndike Academy. And as she and the other girls wearing black struggle for position, Nicky must keep her true identity a secret, not only from the other students at school, but from the vampire who is watching her every move.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spencer Baum
• Release date: Sep 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301369560

Spencer Baum

Author of the novels One Fall and The Demon Queen and The Locksmith.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Melissa found Dominic in the shadow of the Onyx building. They kissed, briefly. Only a taste of the lips was necessary to feel the power of their bond. Then they were off, disappearing into the darkness together. They leaped onto the first floor ledge of the Wilson tower, then across the alley, landing half-way between the second and third floors of The Bonaventure Hotel.

Where are we going? Dominic asked.

Melissa smiled at him and said nothing, bounding ahead down L Street, leaping from building to building and knowing that Dominic was right behind. It was a game of chase now, the two of them dancing in the world above the street. They were wraiths in the night, finding the dark spots between windows and streetlamps, unseen and unheard by the bustle below them. They found a group of teenagers on the rooftop of the A&H building and Melissa decided to stop there. One of the teens, a boy with a blonde crew cut, stood dumbfounded at the sight of her, and dropped the bottle of booze that was in his hands. It shattered at his feet and he barely noticed.

Good evening gentlemen, Melissa said.

There were four of them. They smelled like they were all between eighteen and twenty.

Enjoying a little rooftop party, are we? said Dominic.

We were just leaving, said the blonde.

Good thing, said Melissa. I’m starving and you all smell delicious.

At that, all four boys were on their feet and running for the door they had propped open on the far end of the roof. Melissa let them get a few steps ahead before she started her chase. She decided the blonde boy, who was now in the lead, looked the most appetizing. He had soft skin stretched over healthy muscles and moved like a horse. She allowed him to get through the door and onto the flight of stairs before she made her move, flying towards him like a bullet. She brushed the other three aside, sending two skidding onto the concrete, and a third, who was just inside the door, down the stairs. Then she descended upon the blond boy with fangs bared.

She loved to listen to them scream as they died, their voices fading as the blood rushed into her mouth. Melissa drank deeply, inhaling the boy’s blood the way kids at Thorndike sucked at their sugary coffee drinks. When she was done she let the boy’s body fall to the floor.

Was someone feeling a little hungry? said Dominic.

More than a little, said Melissa. Three hours earlier, she was one of nine immortals who participated in a ceremonial hunt at Renata Sullivan’s mansion. She was the only one of the nine who came up empty on the hunt.

Dominic jumped over the railing and landed next to Melissa.

She really isn’t coming back, is she? he said.

He was referring to Daciana, queen of the Samarin clan, whose name was on Melissa’s mind as well. Daciana wouldn’t approve of free range hunting like this. For decades, Daciana and Melissa had worked together to create a food supply for the immortals that didn’t threaten the humans or disrupt their lives. They built the Farm, a giant complex in South Florida, where Melissa oversaw the growth and enslavement of thousands of humans who had no families to miss them when they were gone.

The Farm had given every immortal a well-stocked pantry of human slaves, ready to be eaten whenever their masters felt the urge. It allowed the immortals to integrate themselves into high society. No longer were they monsters who stole young people off the street; they were exotic super beings who met their needs with agriculture, just like everyone else.

Safe, stable, and boring—that was life for Melissa and every other immortal.

But Daciana was gone. There was no denying it now. She had missed the Masquerade, and none of the nine immortals who attended the hunt tonight knew where she was. No one had heard from her in weeks.

No, I think she might be gone for good, Melissa said, kicking the blonde boy aside. Beneath them, on the landing below, the boy’s friend was writhing in pain. Melissa had thrown that one down the stairs and it appeared he broke his leg in the fall.

Are you hungry? she asked Dominic.

I could eat, he said.

Melissa gestured down at the boy, who was letting out small, pathetic shrieks as he tried to pull himself up on the railing.

Please, the boy said. Please don’t.

Dominic smiled, his fangs out, and jumped to the landing. As the boy let out his final scream, Melissa went back to the roof, where she heard the other two boys hiding behind an air conditioner unit.

Nice night to come out and party, isn’t it? she said.

The boys didn’t answer, but she could hear them both cowering. Their breathing and heart rates were at panic levels. She could smell their adrenaline on the breeze. These two would make tasty after-dinner treats if she was so inclined. But she wasn’t. She had other plans for them.

If you come out now, I promise not to hurt you, she said. I’ve already had my fill for the night on your friend.

No sound from either of them.

Come on boys, this works so much better if you do what I say. Come out now and you won’t be harmed. If I have to go back there and get you, all bets are off.

They were whispering at each other, one of them encouraging the other to move. Then a tall boy with shoulder-length brown hair appeared.

There you are, Melissa said. What’s your name?

The boy was shivering. He was a skinny kid in a black T-shirt and jeans.

Seth, he said. My name is Seth.

Hello Seth, said Melissa, looking in his eyes and making the connection. Seth was the ideal subject: weak-willed, soft, and scared. Before Melissa even spoke a word, she was in Seth’s mind, firmly in control.

Tell your friend it’s okay to come out, she said.

Come out Martin, said Seth. She’s not going to hurt us.

Martin’s head appeared from behind the air conditioner then ducked away again, like a rodent poking out of a hole in the ground only to change its mind. In that second when he appeared, Melissa saw behind his thick glasses and put a hook into his brain.

It’s okay, Martin, she said in a soft voice. Martin appeared again, unable to control himself now. Melissa had gotten inside and he was drawn to her voice. That’s it. Come out little Martin.

He was a short kid who tried to make himself taller with thick hiking boots. His glasses were scuffed up and ill-fitted. His lips curved into a permanent fish face in front of his horridly crooked teeth.

Hi there, Martin. My name is Melissa.

Hi Melissa, Martin said.

Behind her, she heard Dominic returning to the rooftop, apparently done with his midnight snack.

Now listen to me boys, Melissa said. You both belong to me now. Do you understand?

I understand, said Martin and Seth at once.

What are you doing? Dominic asked. Are we taking these boys back to Florida?

No, said Melissa. They’re staying here to keep an eye out for us.

We’re creating spies in Washington? What’s going on, Mel?

Take a seat, boys, Melissa said to her new slaves. Seth and Martin both dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged like children in elementary school. Melissa turned to Dominic.

I found her, she said.

Found who?

The one who got away.

Dominic’s eyes opened wide with understanding, and, for the first time in hours, Melissa felt relaxed. What a comfort it was, after all that had happened on this night, to be with her bond, to have someone she could talk to about everything. So much had been going wrong for so long, and tonight it felt like everything was coming to a head. Daciana was missing, Renata was out of control, the clan was weakening, and Falkon Dillinger, the strongest of their many enemies, was positioning himself for an attack. Were it not for Dominic, lovely Dominic, with his piercing eyes and perfectly narrow face, his soothing voice and elegant manner—she was alone in this world except for him now. She couldn’t trust her sisters and brothers in the clan any longer. Every day that Daciana was gone the clan inched closer to demise. The familial loyalty that once held it together was turning to jealousy, rivalry, and disdain. She and Renata had almost come to blows during the ceremonial hunt.

She’s the newest member of the Thorndike senior class, Melissa said. She took the spot the Evans girl left behind.

You mean she--

Yes, she is the new girl who showed up to the Masquerade wearing black.

Dominic ran up to her in excitement. But surely this isn’t a coincidence!

Of course it’s not, Melissa said. We find her on the streets and bring her to the Farm. I give her the standard reprogramming that I’ve given to thousands of kids before and since but with her it doesn’t take for some reason. She runs away in the night with nothing but the everglades all around her for miles, but somehow she survives and gets away. It all makes sense now. She wasn’t some crazy anomaly after all. There was nothing wrong with my reprogramming. It wasn’t my fault. All this time, I knew it. She isn’t a normal girl. Far from it.

But what is she then?

She is Falkon Dillinger’s spy, Melissa said. Or rather, she was his spy. I paid her a visit after the dance. Now she belongs to me.

Dominic was pacing now, the silk blend of his Italian pants flowing like water as he moved. In a world of stunningly beautiful creatures, Dominic was a standout, not only because of the handsome eyes and face he brought with him from his human form, but because of his impeccable fashion sense. As years stretched into decades, it was so easy to lose interest in whatever trends were flowing through the human world, but Dominic never did. He visited Paris and Milan every season and came back energized with the latest fashions. While other immortals grew into tired anachronisms, stuck in whatever century they liked best, Dominic was a vibrant, dynamic form, changing with the times, and looking all the more beautiful for it.

On this night he wore a blue button-down that was perfectly fitted to show off the sleek form of his torso underneath. He had a wide, black leather cuff on his left arm—it was worn and rustic with a buckle closure. Atop the cuff sat a gold medallion with an engraved monogram showing Dominic and Melissa’s initials intertwined.

So your research was a success, he said.

The research. The years and years of research. The second-guessing of herself and her abilities. After the girl escaped from the Farm, Melissa lost herself in a six-year quest to understand what went wrong. She experimented on the minds of hundreds of young men and women, turning their brains to mush as she sought to understand how one little girl could simply stand up and walk out the front door.

Yes, the techniques I perfected in my research worked this time, and now I finally have the complete picture. The first time I met that girl, Falkon had closed off her mind and trained her to deceive me. But using the techniques I perfected in the lab, using pain and fear to really pry her open, I got inside.

Dominic laughed. Not even the great Falkon Dillinger is your match in matters of the mind. Truly, you are the greatest hypnotist among the immortals.

Melissa allowed herself to enjoy the praise. At least someone recognized her worth. It was a shame that she couldn’t tell anyone else in the clan about her triumph. Telling even a little bit of this story would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer, questions like: How did the girl get away in the first place? Why didn’t you tell anyone when you learned the girl was gone? Why didn’t you immediately go to Daciana?

These questions in turn might lead to the big one: What else is going on at the Farm that the clan doesn’t know about?

If anyone in the clan ever chose to ask that question it would be Melissa and Dominic’s undoing. Truth be told, there was a lot going on at the Farm that the clan didn’t know about.

Nicky Bloom would remain their secret. She would be yet another wedge that separated Melissa and Dominic from the rest of the clan. Another wedge that brought them closer to the schism Falkon Dillinger so clearly was trying to create.

First the Evans family. Now this, Melissa said.

A year ago, Daciana discovered that a Washington scientist named Hank Evans was consorting with enemies of the clan, so she had his entire family killed. One of those killed was a teenager named Shannon, whose death left an open space in the senior class at Thorndike Academy. Now there was this new girl who came to Washington to take the very spot at Thorndike Shannon left behind, a girl who had been under Falkon’s control for years, who had walked in and out of Melissa’s life, who had stared down Melissa’s reprogramming efforts and ignored them all…

How many more spies and traitors are among us? Dominic asked.

I don’t know, said Melissa. Our enemies have been laying the groundwork for years and we’ve been blind to it.

And now that Daciana is gone, Falkon is trying to make his move, said Dominic. But you’ve thwarted him. You took his spy and made her into ours. I love it. What did you find in her mind?

Not much, Melissa said. Falkon programmed her to report back what she saw, nothing more. He was careful not to put anything in her mind that might give away his plans if someone found her out. He is a clever one.

What’s our next move? Dominic asked.

Surely she isn’t working alone, said Melissa. Even if she doesn’t know who is helping her, it is obvious that someone is. An unknown girl doesn’t get into Thorndike without expert help, probably help on the inside. There are people watching over her, people looking out for her, even if she doesn’t know who they are.

And you will use these slaves to find these people, said Dominic.

They looked back to Seth and Martin, who were still sitting patiently on the ground.

I feel like it’s all coming unglued, said Dominic. Infighting in the clan, misbehavior, no leadership, and now Falkon is making a move against us. Someone needs to take charge in Daciana’s absence. It should be you.

I fear that Renata thinks otherwise, and at this very moment is rounding up her own group of supporters who would make her queen.

I can name twelve or more from the clan who would choose you rather than her, said Dominic.

And there are a dozen more who believe Sergio is Daciana’s true heir. And many others from the early years of Coronation, like Bernadette and Rochelle and Genevieve, who think they should be in charge. This is precisely why we must uncover Falkon’s plan, said Melissa. We will unite the clan behind a common enemy.

"You will unite the clan behind a common enemy, said Dominic. And they will see that you are the new queen."

That is my hope, Melissa said. As she spoke the words, she thought about the look in Renata’s eyes when the two of them fought in the woods during the hunt. It was a murderous look. Renata was prepared to fight to the death to defend what was hers.

Melissa wondered if she was prepared to do the same.

It’s time to move, she said. I want to be on a plane for Florida before sunrise. We need to introduce these two young men to the lady they’ll be following.

Chapter 2

Art lay in bed, his body rolling, his memory drifting. He was in and out of dreams of the night before. Flashes of memory from the Masquerade and Nicky’s after-party rolled end over end as he slept, as if he were tumbling backwards through his life, re-living some parts in reverse, missing others entirely. He saw himself taking tequila shots at the bar while pop superstar Jada Razor was dancing on a stage barely twenty feet away. He saw the gin martini in his hand and heard himself explaining to Mattie and Jenny why he had double-crossed Kim Renwick. He saw Nicky Bloom, floating among them, already as dangerous and beautiful as the immortals she was destined to join.

His stomach churned in anger. No, not churned. Buzzed. It was buzzing like a bee. Or maybe it was a bee. An angry bumblebee, trapped inside, wanting to crawl up his gut and explode out of his throat.

Art pushed his way out of the blankets and stumbled into the bathroom, not yet certain if he was really awake or if this was still a dream, but knowing what he had to do. He pulled open the toilet lid, looked down at the clear water inside, and puked his guts out. It came out in one giant, burning heave. Tequila, gin, wine, and whatever else he’d dumped down his gullet over the past twelve hours. All the fun of the night before was now distilled into a fiery maroon mess of dreck that had invaded his dreams from the first moment he crashed out in this….

This…what? Where was he?

And what was that buzzing sound? The bumblebee? Was there really an angry bumblebee? Art looked down into the toilet, half expecting a fuzzy abomination to crawl out of the bowl and sting him in the face.

The realization that there was no bee, that he lived in the real world where bumblebees didn’t come out of your stomach, was slow to come, so he sat on the floor and waited. He pushed his back against the toilet, buried his head in his hands, and held still, figuring it all would start to make sense soon enough.

He was alive. Yes, of that much he was certain.

He was alive and his name was Art Tremblay. He was the grandson of Reginald Tremblay II, who had saved a little girl’s life one day and in so doing, created a family fortune. He was a recent inheritor of a one-quarter share in that family fortune…a gift to him from his mother as part of a multi-billion dollar divorce settlement. That share was being held in trust for him now and would become his to do with as he pleased on his eighteenth birthday, which was only two weeks away.

He was a student at Thorndike Academy. He was a senior. Last night was Homecoming. He had gone to the Masquerade at Renata’s mansion, then to Nicky Bloom’s after-party at the Hamilton Hotel.

He was awake. There had been some question about that a few minutes ago, but now he was pretty darn sure he had left that strange spinning movie of last night and was ready to start going in the right direction again.

He was in a bathroom. A bathroom with white and blue tiles on the floor and floral wallpaper. This was not his bathroom. In fact, this wasn’t any of the eight bathrooms in the Tremblay mansion. This wasn’t a bathroom he had ever been in before.

Was he at a friend’s house? His mother’s?

Two capital H’s embroidered on the towels clued him in. He was in a hotel room. At some point last night, some point that was long gone from his memory, he had left the party on the top floor of the Hamilton and checked into a room on one of the floors below. Not that he could remember checking in, or opening the door, or stepping inside…did he remember anything that led him here?

Yes. He remembered saying good night to Nicky Bloom. He didn’t know where he was when he said it, but he could hear his own voice speaking the words.

Good night, Nicky.

Sweet dreams, Art.

Then she kissed him on the cheek. That much he knew for sure. He remembered how intensely exciting that was, how certain he felt that the kiss was just the beginning of something more…

But if anything more did happen, he didn’t remember it. He willed himself to his feet, his head wailing in pain at the motion, and he staggered out of the bathroom, hoping with all his heart that she was in his bed, and if not she, then at least a note she had left behind.

There was no girl in the bed, no note, no bra or panties or other evidence of a fabulous night. Just a jumble of sheets and blankets with a buzzing bee inside them.

His phone was the angry bumblebee that had woken him up—he understood that now. His phone had fallen out of his pocket in the night and was somewhere under the sheets. Whoever was calling now had tried to call a few minutes before.

There was only one person who called Art over and over and over until he got an answer. Only one angry bumblebee.

Art tried not to look at the screen but it was too late. He’d seen the shape of the letters out of the corner of his eye and remembered programming them into his contacts all those years ago.

Incoming call from Dad.

While Art was partying with Nicky Bloom and her entourage, his father had been puddle-jumping the Asian airports back to Hong Kong after a two-week hunting adventure in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Art’s father had been out of contact for a while, but at some point in the past few hours he had returned to civilization, and when he did, when his phone went from no reception to four bars, he almost certainly got news from all his friends about what went down at the Homecoming Masquerade.

About his son’s betrayal.

The phone stopped buzzing. It had gone to voicemail. In the silence, Art heard the sound of his own heart racing out of control in his chest. He felt like he might need to throw up some more.

And then the phone started buzzing again.

No, Art whispered, as if he was the victim in some cheesy horror movie, as if his phone was some angry demon that would only be satisfied when he answered it.

Dad, the screen taunted. DAD DAD DAD. At that moment, the bold, white letters were more than the musings of some microprocessor in a plastic case. They were a message straight from hell. They were the angry totem that would always reappear no matter what you did to it. Throw it out the window, stomp it to smithereens, flush it down the toilet—it would always come back to life and demand your attention. Your father is going to speak with you whether you like it or not, the phone said to him. The more you put it off, the angrier your father will get.

Art picked up the phone and pressed ANSWER. Before saying hello, he quickly pressed the minus button on the side to turn down the volume, hoping to get a jump on the shouting that was about to ensue. Art so completely expected a tirade that he heard one in his mind even when it didn’t come.

What the hell were you thinking? I raised you better than that! What are you, some blubbering buffoon? Why can’t you get your head on straight just one time in your miserable life?

Merv Tremblay’s voice spoke to Art in memories from childhood, and Art felt the physical abuse that sometimes accompanied the shouts. A smack upside the head. A twist of the arm. One time Merv grabbed Art by the ear and dragged him to his bedroom. Another time Merv pushed him into the wall so hard the sheetrock cracked.

Art was so deep in the well of memory that it didn’t register to him at first when his father began the conversation with a different tone. Art didn’t comprehend the words Merv was saying the first time they came through the phone, and Merv had to say them again.

How are you feeling?

How was he feeling?

Who is this? Art asked, convinced some new assistant was calling from his father’s phone. Merv Tremblay would never ask how his son was feeling. Merv Tremblay didn’t give a shit.

What do you mean who is this? It’s your father, Art.

Oh, sorry Dad. I didn’t…I guess I…I’m feeling okay, I think.

You sound a little hung over, said Merv.

Yeah. A little hung over. Maybe I am.

His dad laughed. Flying pigs in a frozen hell, Art Tremblay had told his dad that he was hung over and his dad was laughing. What was going on with that guy? Was he high? He must have been high. Art knew his dad to partake in designer drugs from time to time—prescription pain pills, animal sedatives, weird shit from Italy and Mexico—his dad must have been on something. There was no other explanation for this.

Art had defied his father in a big way last night. The Tremblay family was loyal to Galen Renwick. Merv and Galen had been friends long before Art was even born. Art’s decision to go to Nicky Bloom’s after-party was a slap in the face to the old man. It made things complicated for Merv, both at work and on the golf course. It was the brash decision of a teenager who wanted to tell his father where to stick it.

A little hung over, eh? Merv said between chuckles. I suppose that’s to be expected. I remember the after-party my senior year. It was on a yacht and there was a pirate theme. We drank rum right out of the bottle and sang sea shanties. It was a really smart way to do it. By the morning, when everyone was puking, we didn’t crowd the bathroom, we just leaned over the side of the boat.

It occurred to Art that he had never heard this story before. It was the kind of thing a father tells his son if he likes him, if he wants to be his friend.

Hey Dad, have you spoken with Galen Renwick today? Art asked.

More laughter from Merv. Oh yes, he said. Oh yes indeed. I think it’s safe to say that man is shitting his pants right now because of what you did.

So…you’re okay with what I did last night?

The laughter stopped. There was a second of silence, and during that time, Art pulled the phone away from his ear. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. Some reflex kicked in and Art knew, just knew, that now was the time his dad would start yelling, that this first minute of pleasantries was just his dad screwing with him, giving him an ever-so-brief taste of a loving father-son relationship before pulling the rug out for good.

But he was wrong. His father didn’t start yelling. He did just the opposite. He spoke in a low, sincere tone, like he was giving advice, like he was being a parent for once in his life.

Listen, Art, he began, I know last night was tough for you. We all thought it was going to be an easy decision this year. It seemed so obvious that Kim Renwick was going to win. But then this new girl showed up.

Nicky, said Art. Her name is Nicky Bloom.

I know. I’ve heard all about her. My phone has been going crazy for hours now. You know, I think I’ve spoken with more than twenty people today. He started laughing again. Oh goodness what a stir you caused last night. Crashing into that girl…what’s her name?

Rosalyn. Kim wanted me to throw Nicky into Rosalyn so she’d spill her wine and ruin Nicky’s dress, but I crashed into Rosalyn instead.

Yes, yes—that’s what I’ve heard. And then the new girl got you a different jacket and kissed you in front of everyone. Seriously Art, people were calling me to tell me the details even before the dance was over. The whole world wants to know what we’re doing, because if the Tremblays are supporting the new girl, it changes everything.

What are you telling them?

The truth, of course. I haven’t spoken with my son yet so I have nothing to say. I think I’ve repeated those words a hundred times since I got to the airport.

Seriously? That’s what you’re telling them?

Waiting for all the facts before condemning his son—this didn’t sound like the Merv Tremblay that Art knew.

"Of course that’s what I’m telling them. And if they push me for more, I tell them it’s none of their goddamn business, and none of mine either. I tell them you’re the senior at Thorndike and that’s the way the contest works. The seniors are the ones who decide which after-party to attend. The seniors are the ones who get to bid at the Date Auction. We parents provide the funds, but it’s the kids who spend

Reviews for The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black

[isisunit · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I was greatly looking forward to this installment of the series by the time I'd finished devouring the first book. Unfortunately it just didn't read as well as the first book did for me. Not that it was bad, it just felt rather rushed (particularly when you take into account the amount of time it actually covered).Still, this is a series I plan on sticking with as I am interested to see how some of the issues and situations get resolved. I just hope that for the remainder of the books the characters stay true to themselves, without radical shifts in personality that are put down to maturing [too much for a 24-hour period to explain, especially for a teenager].Being such a short book it it still easily worth reading, if only to work towards getting the answers for things that took place in the first book.