Initiation

By Amber Marshall

Chloe almost shoved her Golden Rose lipstick up her nose when Rhonda popped into the mirror behind her and asked, “Getting ready for your big date?”

“Um, yeah,” Chloe replied, waiting for her heart to stop racing. She capped her lipstick and set it on the tiled counter next to the sink. On a normal Friday night, the bathroom would be filled with girls primping, preening, painting themselves up to perfection, all crowding the mirrors in preparation for their dates, their hunting parties. Tonight they found other bathrooms in the sorority house so Chloe would have the room to herself. Her preparation was more important.

She hadn’t styled her hair yet; it was still drying from the shower, hanging to mid-back and corn-silk blonde. Her wide, gray-green eyes were rimmed with dark gray eyeliner, and she had dusted some moss green shadow on the lids. Her eyelashes, she felt, were long enough without mascara; her eyes already looked too big, like some anime character. Her thin lips and tiny, upturned nose didn’t help the Japanimation look, though the shiny lipstick made her lips look slightly plumper. “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted as she reached for a big brush and some bronzer. Her face was too pale; Veronica, the head girl of the house, always said so.

“Everyone is, their first time,” Rhonda assured her, “but you’ll love it, you’ll see.” Chloe trusted Rhonda; she had been the sister to take Chloe under her wing, to stand up for her whenever Veronica gave her shit or started pulling rank. Rhonda was a big girl, dark skinned, dark-haired, and solid. No matter how hard she worked out and how little she ate, she just got thicker, muscular limbs and rounder curves. She was an Amazon among pixies. Veronica called her “the fat one,” but only behind her back.

Chloe never knew why Veronica hated her so much, but she had a few theories. Maybe it was because Chloe’s family held higher standing and she was afraid that Chloe would overthrow her. Not that Chloe ever had thought to, or wanted to. She didn’t want to lead ritual, or keep a houseful of girls in check, keep everything organized. She was content to be told what to do, not to think about what had to be done.

She went to the school her mother and aunts went to and joined the sorority like all the women in her family before her. And now tonight, her initiation. “I don’t know if I can go through with this,” she admitted.

Rhonda put her hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Hey, you’d be surprised how easy it is. My first time? I was so nervous I’m surprised he invited me home. Of course the wine helped. He had to take his parents’ liquor cabinet door off the hinges to get at it.” She smiled at the memory. “I was shy in bed at first, but he was very attractive. Then we were doing it, and I was coming, and without even thinking about it I just tore his throat out. It was amazing.” Rhonda’s fingers dug into Chloe’s shoulder painfully; her eyes were glazed in memory.

“Ow!” Chloe yelped.

Rhonda released her. “Sorry!” she said, patting Chloe’s arm gingerly.

“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “I hope this turns out as easy for me as it was for you.”

“Having second thoughts?” said Veronica from the doorway. Her stilettos clicked on the linoleum as she sauntered up to take up position on the opposite side of Chloe from Rhonda. Her lips were pursed in her own brand of sneer, her eyes diamond-hard. Flaming-red hair curled in a perfect mane, brushing her taut breasts that were pushed out like a shelf.

“She’ll be fine, Veronica. She just has first-time jitters,” Rhonda said.

“You don’t want to kill anyone, especially a guy you’re having sex with, a guy who might be nice, decent, who actually likes you, right? Grow up. It’s what we do, sweetie.” Veronica lifted Chloe’s chin with a long, manicured fingernail. “Too much eyeshadow,” she critiqued. “You don’t get to be a real Maenad without doing this, and you’re far overdue. You do want to be one of us, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Chloe insisted with more conviction than she felt.

Veronica bared her teeth in something like the dark reflection of a smile. “Good. Good luck, then.” She left. Chloe heaved a sigh.

“Don’t worry,” Rhonda said. “You won’t have to worry about liking this guy. I picked him myself—he’s a total horn-dog. In fact, you’ll probably have a hard time waiting to kill him.”

Chloe smiled nervously as Rhonda ran her fingers through Chloe’s blonde hair. “How about an uptwist? It will look so elegant. I know how bad you are at doing your own hair.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said.

Rhonda began twisting, applying product and pins. “I love your hair. It’s like corn-silk. I can’t do a thing with this nappy mess.” She pulled out one lock of her cloud of curls and grimaced at it, then released it. It bounced back like a spring. “Veronica’s after me to straighten it, but she can go screw. It takes her sleeping on rollers to get hers the way she has it. There.” Rhonda stepped back. “Perfect. No way will he turn you down, girl.”

“What should I do?” Chloe asked.

“Give yourself up to the god. Eat, drink, be merry, do as your body tells you. Just concentrate on having fun,” Rhonda said. “When the time comes, it’ll happen naturally. Like instinct.”

Chloe felt overdressed, walking down the brick-paved sidewalk in her black dress, in heels, her hair done up. The early-fall heat wafted up from the pavement, caressing her legs. Heads turned. Two older men in a pickup truck let her cross the street in front of them, no doubt watching her as she passed. It made her feel vulnerable, and yet powerful. She felt that elegant was the way to go for a date at an Italian restaurant, a date with a name like Angelo.

He was waiting for her under the awning of the restaurant, beside the a-frame blackboard announcing the specials in colored chalk. He leaned against the brick wall like he was the doorman, his head down, looking up through dark hair that fell in his eyes no matter how often he pushed it away. He was cute, at least, in a sort of gawky way; he could have tucked Chloe beneath his arm without her having to duck. He was wearing black, pinstriped pants, a white button-down shirt, and a red tie. He offered his hand. “Angelo,” he said.

“Chloe,” she replied, with a warm smile. “Shall we?”

He held out his arm to her. She lay a hand on it, and he led her into the dimness inside. She had been mistaken; tall and slender as he was, there was nothing awkward about the way he moved. He strode with a purpose, but no hurry in his step.

It was a beautiful place, with golden wood and navy velvet, cream-colored walls and low lighting. The waitress seated them at a little corner table for two. A single candle burned in a crystal holder between their water goblets. The tablecloth was snow white. Angelo pulled out her chair. The waitress lay crimson, cloth napkins across their laps, and set steaming bread and a bottle of herbs in olive oil on the table.

Chloe scanned the wine list and smiled. They had it after all; a merlot from the family winery. Her family owned a chain of wine bars, and usually they kept the winery’s product limited to those bars. Chloe was even more impressed with this place, that they managed to get their hands on some. “I’ll have a glass of the Bacchante merlot,” she told the waitress.

“I’ll have the same,” Angelo said, eyes on Chloe. “I like your necklace,” he remarked. Her fingers automatically went to the leather braid of the choker she wore, with the single silver charm: a cluster of grapes.

“Thank you,” she said. “Actually, Rhonda gave it to me for my birthday.”

“She has good taste.”

“So do you. I’ve never been to a place where the waitress placed the napkin on my lap for me before,” Chloe said.

Angelo smiled. “I like it because they treat you like this place is more expensive than it is. Not that it matters; order whatever you like.”

Chloe smiled back, a challenge. “I planned on it, since we’re going Dutch.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She pitched her voice lower, smirked. “Does that mean I have to ‘repay’ you later?”

Angelo turned his attention to pouring out the olive oil herbs on his bread plate. “That is entirely up to you, Chloe. As far as I’m concerned, you’re ‘repaying’ me right now.”

Chloe took a sip from her water glass. Damn. She liked him already. For sure it was a game; she remembered what Rhonda said about him being a horn-dog. But he was a skilled horn-dog. She wondered just who was playing whom, right now. Concentrate on having fun, she remembered. Still, she didn’t look forward to killing him. “So, do you come here a lot?”

Angelo shook his head as he dabbed his bread in the oil. “It’s no fun coming by myself,” he said. “Actually this is a rare treat. I don’t get out often.”

Chloe reached for the bread. “Me neither, except for Girls’ Night Out.”

“Ah, well that must be fun, anyway.”

She winced, remembering many an expedition into the world of ear-blasting clubs, sticky-sweet drinks, whooping girls dancing on tables and falling off, Veronica elbowing her out of the way to chat up the guy Chloe was talking to. And it always ended up with her holding someone’s hair for her. “Well… it depends on the night. And the girls.” She licked oil off her fingers.

“I understand.” The waitress set their wineglasses down. It was rich and dark, not fruity like the Arbor Mist stuff that the sisters guzzled on the rare nights that they stayed in. Blackberry and plum with hints of cocoa. Chloe licked her lips. Angelo spoke, “When Rhonda told me she had a friend she wanted me to meet, I was afraid she meant the redhead. What’s her name?” He waved his piece of bread around as though reeling in a memory.

“Veronica,” Chloe said, as though finding a sudden bitterness to the wine.

“Mm, that’s the one. I only met her once. I don’t think she liked me much.” Angelo smiled to himself wickedly. “Not that I was too surprised. Or disappointed.”

Damn. She really liked him.

“After all, it looked like she’d rather rip my throat out than look at me.”

Damn…

“We should figure out what to order, huh?” Chloe said, and put her menu up between them to cover her look of guilt. “What do you recommend?”

“Anything. It’s all good. What are you in the mood for?”

“Not meat,” she said before thinking. She’d be having enough later.

“Vegetarian?” Angelo asked.

Chloe laughed. “No, it’s just that I can never eat as much meat as they usually give me at restaurants. I think I’ll have the alfredo.”

“Now me, I’m big on meat. I think veal parmesan is in order.” Angelo shut his menu. “Funny, isn’t it, that the pain of something innocent would make for such a tender, delicious meat.” His eyes held hers. It was a test. A normal girl, Chloe knew, would either giggle like it was a joke or react with disgust. Call him crazy or sick. Maybe walk out.

She lifted her wine glass to her lips. “Yes,” she agreed, “it is interesting.”

There was a stretch of silence as they regarded each other. Did he suspect what she was? How could he? Most people, upon hearing “Maenad,” would respond with blinking and tilting of the head.

Angelo went for his wine glass, realized it was empty, and set it back down. “It’s nice to meet a girl who doesn’t freak out easily.”

“Is that why you don’t go out on many dates?”

“Because I like veal?” Angelo sidestepped smoothly. “I couldn’t tell you.”

The waitress came and took their order. “More wine?” she asked.

“Bring the bottle,” Chloe told her.

Angelo said, “You know red doesn’t really go with fettuccine alfredo.”

She smiled, “It’ll be very good with your veal, though.” Chloe shrugged. “I know I should get a Chardonnay to go with something creamy, but I really don’t care what it goes with. I like the merlot best.”

“Ah, a girl unbound by convention. I like that. Rare to find in a sorority girl.”

“Just be glad Veronica isn’t here, telling me my shoes don’t match my purse,” Chloe chuckled.

Angelo smiled. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell her. How did you come to be in the sorority anyway? You don’t seem the type at all.”

“It just happened. Family tradition, you know? My mom was a sister, my aunts were, my cousins.” Technically it was true, she told herself. “I went to school, and it was the first thing I did after buying my books. I’m still not a full sister, though.”

“Yeah? What do you have to do?”

“Just the standard initiation. You know how these organizations are.”

“Which consists of…?”

Chloe gave him a look. “Even if I knew, I still wouldn’t be allowed to tell an outsider,” she scolded lightly.

Angelo put up his hands. “Sorry, you’re right. Forget I asked.” To Chloe’s relief, they moved to lighter conversation, about school and friends, things she could answer freely. They were so intent that they barely noticed the waitress until their food was in front of them.

Chloe had her second forkful in her mouth before she realized Angelo wasn’t eating yet. He had his eyes closed, head bent, just smelling his food with a slight smile on his lips. She watched as he cut a slice and practically tore it off the fork. She was surprised his eyes weren’t rolling around in ecstasy. Angelo seemed to come to his senses when he realized she was watching him. “Excuse me,” he said, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. “Like I said, it’s a rare treat.”

Chloe giggled. “No, that’s okay, enjoy your food. You’re a guy, so you’re allowed.”

Angelo quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a funny thing to say.”

She shrank in her seat a little and twirled her pasta on her fork. “Well you know how it is with girls. Food’s a necessary evil, but you don’t let yourself get into it. Especially sorority girls, god, you wouldn’t believe—“

“I don’t see them here, do you?” he asked, staring at her intently. “Go ahead, really get into it. Use your hands.”

“My hands?” Chloe laughed. “They’ll get all gooey.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Put your fork down.”

“They’ll kick us out!” She looked around nervously, afraid someone had already taken notice.

“I doubt it. Come on.” Angelo snatched Chloe’s fork from her in one smooth motion.

Chloe picked at her meal; the noodles were slippery. She plucked one up and ate it. Her fingers were covered in butter and cream. Angelo was watching her intensely, nodding. Chloe felt a flush of heat spreading through her, from the look in his eyes or the wine or embarrassment she couldn’t say. “How is it?” he asked.

“It’s delicious,” Chloe replied. She licked her fingers, watching him watch her. “Here,” she offered up a noodle, twisted around her finger, “try some,” and gave him the most seductive smile she could muster.

He slurped the noodle off her finger and was cleaning the rest of the sauce from it when the waitress cleared her throat and asked, “How is everything?”

“Perfect,” Chloe answered, not breaking Angelo’s gaze. She had him trapped. It wouldn’t be long now, she knew, before she had to make the decision that had already been made. She tried not to think of how she’d clean herself up before walking back to the sorority house to face the congratulations of her sisters, leaving this one’s body cooling in the ground. She fought with the sinkhole in her stomach that appeared with that thought.

“Anything else I can get you?” the waitress asked, wrinkling her nose at the pair.

“The check,” Angelo answered.

“You’ve barely touched your food!”

“Wrap it up,” Angelo told her, brandishing a ten dollar bill. The woman took it and left. To Chloe he said, “I hope you didn’t want dessert.”

They walked back to his place, arms around each other. Chloe felt like she was walking through deep water, her head swimming from the wine. They stumbled through crowds, laughing at themselves and each other, until they got to his building. He fumbled with the key while Chloe nibbled his neck.

Angelo led her up two flights of stairs and into a narrow hallway. He unlocked the door to his place. It was tiny, with a kitchenette sharing space with a living room. They found the bedroom. Chloe backed up as they kissed, tripped over something and fell onto the bed, pulling Angelo down on top of her. The thought that she would have to kill him kept floating to the surface; she pushed it back down. It’s what we do, Veronica’s voice whispered in her head. But it wasn’t what she wanted to do. Did she ever want that life? Or was it just that her mom and her grandmother and aunts and cousins all back through the ages had been doing it? What choice did she have?

“God, you smell so good,” Angelo panted into her ear as he unhooked her bra. His breath smelled like wine; his mouth tasted of it. Chloe turned her head as he cupped her breasts; everything she saw trailed afterimages of itself. She shocked herself by seizing his shirt and ripping it off of him. Buttons flew everywhere.

“Sorry, I just—“ she said. “I don’t usually do this.”

“It’s okay, I have more than one white shirt,” Angelo said, silencing her protests with a kiss. Chloe returned it eagerly, her hands moving to his belt, the fly of his pants; she was becoming frantic with lust. She was slipping off her panties and pulling Angelo down on her when he stopped and said, “I can’t do this.”

“What?” she said, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head and backed away to a sitting position. “I’m sorry. I—I haven’t exactly been truthful with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Chloe demanded.

“This wasn’t just a date. I was supposed to… well, you won’t believe it.”

“Try me.”

“My pack said I had to bring a girl home and… well, and kill her. So I—“

“Whoa, wait,” Chloe interrupted, raising herself on her elbows, “your ‘pack’?”

“Um, yeah,” Angelo said, looking up at her through his hair. “I’m a werewolf. It’s funny, actually, that you mentioned initiation into your sorority, ‘cause this was supposed to be my initiation. But—“ he plowed on hurriedly, “I can’t do it. I understand that you’re probably freaked out—“

“You’re a werewolf. Werewolves exist. Right, sure, very funny.” Chloe pulled her panties back up, wondering if she should kill him right now. The girls wouldn’t know if she did it during sex or not. “Rhonda said you were a horn-dog; she didn’t mention that you think you are a dog.”

Angelo bristled. He made no move to clothe himself, though Chloe was already searching for her dress. “Not a dog,” he said, his voice low and tense. He stood up.

“Look,” Chloe snapped, brandishing a high heel. “I don’t care what you think you are, you Furry freak, I’m not into that kinky costume shit.”

That was when he changed. His features seemed to melt as he dropped to all fours, covered in dark fur, fingernails becoming claws. Chloe didn’t expect this; all she’d seen was movie werewolves, creatures somewhere between man and animal. She had imagined howling transformations, the man writhing in pain. She didn’t expect this silent, graceful shapeshift into a dark-furred wolf with Angelo’s eyes.

“The hell?” she breathed. She stood ready to flee, her body trembling. He didn’t growl or spring but sat there, watching her.

“Okay, okay. I guess I believe you,” she said. She fell to a sitting position on the bed.

Angelo changed back, getting to his feet as they changed back from paws. “The only women alive who know this secret are mothers, mates, and sisters of the pack. You can’t tell anyone, or I might as well kill you right now.”

“I thought you had to kill me anyway,” Chloe said.

“I don’t want to.”

“You won’t get initiated if you don’t,” Chloe said, speaking partly to herself. Still she sat on the bed, not moving. “Why spare me?”

Angelo shrugged and looked to his feet. “I like you. You’re smart and funny and sexy. I was expecting this idiot sorority girl I’d be almost eager to rip up, but you’re totally not what I expected.”

“You’re definitely not what I expected,” Chloe admitted. “But,” she pulled herself together, made herself be tough, her voice cold, “you might as well try to kill me, because I have to kill you. I was supposed to tear you apart tonight.”

“What?”

“I’m a Maenad—“ she said.

“Maenad… those are the worshippers of Bacchus,” Angelo said. “They killed Orpheus when he refused to party with them. I remember reading about it in my Greek Mythology class. But they can’t still be around.”

“Not in the same way,” Chloe explained, “The religion had to go underground, especially when Christianity got big. We had to come out of the woods, play by new rules. What I said earlier was true; the women in my family have been doing this since way back. So I’m pretty much a sister by default. But I still had to make my first kill. So Rhonda sets me up with someone she calls a ‘total horn-dog...’”

“She probably thought that because I was trying to get her in here to kill her. I asked her out to dinner, and she brought up this blind date idea, saying she had a friend who could use one.” He eyed her. “So prove it.”

Chloe laughed mirthlessly, in frustration. “How?”

“I don’t know how, but I proved it to you.”

“See this necklace you admired earlier?” she asked, standing up and getting in Angelo’s face, pointing to the cluster of grapes at her throat. “We all wear one. Look around campus sometime and see how many girls have one of these around her neck. We worship the god of the grape.”

Angelo scoffed. “A silver charm necklace proves nothing. There’s a whole sorority with matching Sigma Iota Sigma tattoos on their ankles.” He smirked, “Unless it has magical powers you could show me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I could rip your throat out. That’d prove it pretty well.” Chloe bared her teeth. They weren’t quite fangs, not in the vampire sense, but they were definitely sharper and more dangerous than regular teeth. The canines were almost serrated, the better for tearing.

Angelo moved into a ready stance. “You could try,” he challenged.

She lunged. Angelo caught her by the shoulders in mid-leap and threw her onto the bed, twisting her around so she landed on her stomach. He pinned her, arm across the back of her neck so she couldn’t turn and snap at him. She wriggled, trying to break free, but he held her firmly. He growled, but it was almost a sensual growl.

“It’s interesting,” Angelo panted into her ear, “a person on their stomach is like a turtle on their back. Unless you have some massive upper-body strength.”

Chloe’s face was crushed into the blanket, inhaling his scent. Her hair, come free of its uptwist, pooled around her. A fallen bobby pin was digging into her shoulder. She could feel Angelo’s heart pounding against her back, hear him pant and feel his breath on her neck. They were both racing, full of adrenaline. “It’s kind of funny,” she said, “I was supposed to lure you to bed to kill you, and you were supposed to lure me to bed to kill me. And here we are…” Sex always seemed a lot like a fight to Chloe, and all this excitement was making her damp. It seemed Angelo was having similar thoughts; she could feel him hardening against her.

“What are the odds, huh?” Angelo said.

"So, you've got me pinned. You gonna kill me?"

“I told you, I don’t want to kill you. But you'll try to kill me again, if I let you up.” He ground down harder against her.

“Honestly, I never wanted to do it much in the first place. And I did have fun tonight.”

“Me too,” Angelo said. “So what do we do?”

Chloe smiled. “Well, if you’re still, um, up for it,” she giggled a bit, “we might as well enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Just what are you saying there, Maenad?” Angelo said. He lifted his arm from her neck and raised himself up on his hands, to allow her to flip over on her back.

Chloe reached up and pulled him down, shoving her mouth against his roughly, lips parted. He responded with fervor, rumbling low in his throat, squeezing her almost painfully against him, his kiss bruising her lips.

“Is it possible for one of your kind to have sex without killing afterward?” he asked when they broke off.

“You were the one saying how great it is that I’m unbound by convention,” Chloe said.

It was after they were satisfied when reality set in. “What do we do? What do we tell them?” Angelo asked, running his fingers along Chloe’s tangled hair, picking out bobby pins and tossing them onto the floor. They made little plink noises when they hit.

“We lie,” Chloe decided. “Catch an animal, bloody ourselves up a little. They won’t know. Appearances are everything, right? How closely will they investigate?”

“They might know,” Angelo said quietly. “Rhonda will know I’m not dead; I’m in Psychology with her.”

“She’ll lie for me. She’s my best friend, and she’s the only one who knew who my date was,” Chloe said. “Did your pack know it was me?”

Angelo shook his head. “No. They won’t check on me until the end of the weekend. I have all weekend to do this.”

Chloe raised herself up on one elbow. “Could you kill someone else?”

Angelo smiled sadly. “I don’t really want to kill anyone.”

“Me neither,” Chloe agreed. It felt better to admit it, that she wasn’t cut out for this. “Maybe I should just leave the sisterhood.”

“I don’t want to leave the pack,” Angelo said. “I don’t know if they’d let me out alive.”

Chloe felt a chill of fear go through her. She might be cast out if found out, but he might be killed. She sat up. “There are rabbits, they live near the library. I see them all the time,” she told him.

He nodded. “Go. I can take care of myself.” He watched her dress in silence. They went in for one last kiss.

“I don’t know if we can see each other again,” Chloe said.

“I know,” Angelo replied. He gave her another sad smile. “Go hunt some cute little bunnies.”

Chloe left, moving carefully down the stairs in her heels, her throat aching in a strange way, as though she was about to cry. She was starting to sober up. She leaned against the wall in the stairwell, dug in her purse, and pulled out her little flask. It could hold about two shots, and was engraved all around with a ring of grape vines and leaves. Right now it held two shots of brandy, the good stuff from the family winery. She downed it. “Liquid courage,” she whispered to herself, and let herself out.

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