Nikki's Halloween Party - Pt. 8

A litle late today...

Aubrey bounced off on locked door and then against another. She frantically turned the knobs, shoving against one with her shoulder before she abandoned it for another door. Damian was behind her, testing the same door she had just left.

"I already tried that one, you idiot!"

Damian said nothing. Perhaps he was used to it. Or perhaps the situation they found themselves in, a situation in which all reality was up for grabs, required the ability to let some slights go. He registered the insult and then it was gone, almost as fast as it had come.

"Here!" Aubrey said, finding an unlocked door.

Damian followed her inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I have no idea. But I know that Nikki Crescent isn't just some socialite. Whatever's going on here, she's in charge of it. And that scares the shit out of me."

"So, what do we do?"

Aubrey loved him in the moment. He was an oaf, yes, but he was her oaf. And he was looking to her for some kind of guidance. It would, she knew, be up to her to get them out of this predicament. Damian would do whatever she asked short of coming up with a good plan for their escape.

"Let me think for just a minute..."

She drank in the surroundings. They were in a bedroom, and a big one. A wide bed sat on a raised platform against one wall, the covers casually cast askew on the top of rich silk sheets. Every piece of furniture looked expensive and suggested a vain femininity that Aubrey would have appreciated under normal circumstances. At present, the thing that stood out was an open door across the room.

"Wait here," she ordered without bothering to look if Damian obeyed her command.

Inside the doorway was a grand en suite bathroom, with a delicious clawfoot tub on one side and marble shower on the other. At the end of the room, past both of these, was the vanity over a marble sink, the mirror itself decorated by the gold veins that stood out on the marble's face.

Her hands drifted over the sweet fabric of the robe that hung near the shower door, some kind of cotton that was softer than any she had touched before. Everything in the room spoke of money and privilege. Despite the absurd danger in which she found herself, Aubrey could not resist the thoughts that came. they told her this was her place. She belonged in this sort of luxury. Her beauty, her cunning, these qualities should elevate her to the places of the wealthy and the elite.

"Some bathroom, isn't it?"

Aubrey spun. The bathroom door was closed now. And sitting on the edge of the ornate bathtub was the party's host, holding a caramel apple on a stick in her hand, one obvious bite missing from the side of it. She ran a slender finger around her mouth and collected a thread of caramel, then deposited it onto her tongue, lewdly sucking her finger clean.

Aubrey gasped, her mouth working like a fish pulled from the water, drowning in air.