THE MAYFAIR MOON - The Darkmoon Saga I

Chapter 8 - The Mayfair House

Most of the faces staring back at me were not welcoming ones. Six. Eight. Eleven. I stopped counting because you have to look at people to do it. And I never signed up for a party, so my introverted self was ready to slip away unnoticed and get the hell out of there as fast as I could.

But then I saw Isaac.

He sat on the center of a giant leather sofa with girls on both sides of him and one lying across the back behind him. Another one was sitting on the floor between his legs. These particular girls couldn't have been his sisters. No way. Sisters, at least in my world, don't sit so close to their brothers. They don't lay their heads on their brother's lap and stroke his hair. Most of all, a sister in my world would never lick her brother's earlobe. That one eyed me from across the room with a threatening glare that sent a chill through my bones. Isaac gently pushed her to the side.

I turned away, repulsed by the whole display. And feeling stupid that I let myself feel the slightest attraction to him that night when we first met. I should've known...

As I stood there feeling unwelcome by all and somehow slighted by a guy I hardly knew, Isaac stood and forced himself through the crowd of hormones and walked straight toward us. "Adria. It's good to see you again." I remembered that dimpled smile so vividly, but I wasn't feeling its warmth tonight. Isaac looked exactly like a guy who had been trying to convince a girl he liked that he was one person but then got busted with the hard, ugly truth of his authentic self.

I fake-smiled back at him. "Yeah. You too." I turned to Zia then. "You were gonna take me up to your room?"

Isaac frowned, and from the corner of my eye, he gave Zia a stern look that might've said: Why did you bring her here?

But Zia had other things on her mind than his disappointment in her—she gazed beyond him and then whispered, "You should probably go deal with Rachel. She looks livid."

It was obvious which one was Rachel and why Zia seemed worried as the raven-haired girl sat with clenched fists and a tight jawline. Surely, she wasn't looking at me like that. I hadn't done or said anything to cause it. Had I? I was beginning to wonder.

Zia took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. "Come on; my room's this way."

The lighting in this place reminded me of our den at home, where only one lamp and the TV put off a dim glow amid the surrounding darkness. It seemed Zia's whole house was as dark. We walked up the creaking stairs and passed a few bedrooms on the second floor, which were empty except for odd pieces of mismatched furniture and unpacked boxes piled against the walls.

Zia's room was at the end of the hall, full of the same stacks of boxes, yet still looked like a room that had been lived in.

"We haven't had time to unpack," she said and went over to a mound of clothes and tossed them onto the floor, revealing a chair underneath.

I took the chair and pushed aside a stray sock.

"Where did you move from, anyway?" I asked.

"South Carolina."

"All of you...I mean, all of them moved here?"

Zia shook her head. "Oh no, just me and my brothers and the Mayfairs. Most of the others just hang out here."

Zia plopped down amid a fluffy black-and-red bedspread.

"How many of them are Mayfairs exactly?"

She looked up in thought as if counting in her head. It seemed she started to answer at one point but then had to recalculate, using an invisible chalkboard in front of her, moving her finger around.