A few hours ago...

The glitter frozen in the trophy's blue plastic columns sparkled in the sunrise, and the golden volleyball on top was a shining mirror of the sun itself. Below the trophy, and the shelf it sat on, the sunlight fell across Brooklyn Greer's sleeping face and was snared in her long blonde hair. A pink and white quilt was pulled up to her tapered chin.

The alarm went off on Brooklyn's phone, waking her. She turned it off, then yawned and sat up in bed, stretching as she did.

She glanced out the window, and saw the sunrise.

“Oh, wow!” she said cheerfully. She jumped out of bed, opened her bedroom window, and took a deep breath of fresh air. “Thank you, Satan, for this beautiful day!”

Brooklyn took her morning shower, then, while her hair was drying, started getting her face in order. She was in good spirits, singing as she worked. “I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel...” It was feeling like a pink lip gloss kind of day, so she reached for its usual place on her bathroom counter. Her fingers closed on nothing.

She looked. No lip gloss. It didn't take much detective work to figure out what happened to it. She went down the hall to her kid sister's room. After a quick courtesy knock, she opened the door without being invited in. “Hey, did you steal my lip gloss ag-”

Yup. Her sister was caught red handed, sitting on her bed and putting the lip gloss on in a hand mirror. “Aaah!” she shouted.

Brooklyn jumped on the bed and snatched the lip gloss away. “Little kids shouldn't use grown up makeup!”

“I'm not a little kid!” Avery replied.

“You sure look little to me!” Brooklyn smirked deviously. Her voice took on an ominous tone. “You know what happens to bad kids who steal stuff?”

Avery gave a scared giggle and backed away from her. “What?”

“The SATANISTS get them!” shouted Brooklyn, pouncing on her and tickling her.

“Aaaah! Aaaah!” laughed Avery.

“Get you! Get you!”

“Brooklyn!” shouted their mom's voice. Brooklyn stopped and the sisters looked toward Avery's doorway. There stood their mother, hands on her hips. “Don't you dare say that! That is NOT something to joke about!”

“What isn't?” asked Brooklyn, confused.

“The Satanists getting your sister!” said her mom. “It's a very real danger! They just killed that girl Rebecca. That poor girl...”

Brooklyn remembered Rebecca's last moments. What a fun night that was, hanging out with her friends. She suppressed a smile at this fond memory, and instead gave a penitent-looking nod. “Sorry, mom,” she said. “Sorry, Avery.”

“That's okay,” said Avery quickly.

Their mom turned and walked away. “Come down for breakfast. It's ready.”

As Brooklyn got up off Avery's bed, the younger girl said, “Brooklyn?”

“Yeah?”

Avery smiled sweetly. “You're so pretty and cool. When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

Brooklyn was touched. “Awww,” she said. As Avery stood up from the bed, she said, “You won't have to worry about growing up, sis! The Satanists are gonna get you!” She gave her one last tickle, and Avery giggled. With that, they went downstairs to eat.

…......

While Brooklyn was eating breakfast, someone rang the doorbell.

“I'll get it!” shouted Avery, dropping her spoon into her cereal bowl. She pushed her chair out from the white-tableclothed dining table and ran to the door.

She opened it, and looked up. “LONDON!” she shouted excitedly. This was clearly somebody else she wouldn't mind being like when she grew up.

“Hi, Avery,” smiled London. Avery gave her a fierce hug, one with some momentum behind it. “Oof.”

“Hey, London!” said Brooklyn cheerfully. With her hair now dry, she had pulled it into her usual twin ponytails, one on each side of her head. She started eating faster, taking a big, crunchy bite of her toast.

Brooklyn's father looked at the teen over his morning paper. “What brings you here this morning, London?” he asked conversationally.

London smiled and ruffled Avery's hair as the girl separated from her. Her smoldering eyes met his gaze. “Just giving Brooklyn a ride to school.”

“Well, that's nice of you,” said Brooklyn's mom. She set her own breakfast plate on the table, and sat down. “I'm glad you girls are being careful. It's good to hear. I'd hate for anything to happen to any of you.”

“You don't need to worry about us, Mrs. Greer,” said London reassuringly.

Mrs. Greer's lip quivered, and she looked distant. “I'm sure that's what Rebecca told her mother, too...” said Mrs. Greer. She forced a smile. “Sorry. I don't want to scare you.”

Brooklyn washed her last bite of toast down with the remnants of her orange juice as she stood up. “It'll take more than that to scare US, mom!” She kissed her on the cheek before she and London left.

London's car was parked in the driveway, with the engine still running. When Brooklyn got in, Sydney and Paris greeted her from the backseat.

“Hi, Brooklyn,” said Paris.

“Hey girl,” said Brooklyn.

“Sup biatch,” added Sydney. She had long, sandy blonde hair and a pretty, high-cheekboned face. As London pulled away from the curb, Sydney leaned forward and held out a round, plastic Ice Breakers container. The semicircular lid was open, and with her thumb, she had a short plastic straw pinned against it. “Bump?”

“No thanks,” said Brooklyn.

Sydney smiled. “Suit yourself.” She sat back in her seat and took a mirror out of her purse. Holding the mirror flat, she turned the container sideways and tapped out a small amount of white powder onto the reflective surface.

“Your sister's so cute,” London commented to Brooklyn, over the sound of snorting.

“Aw, she is cute,” agreed Sydney with a sniffle.

London glanced at her in the rearviewmirror. “You should have seen her. She was so happy to see me. 'LONDON!'”

“Aww.”

“Yeah, she's sweet,” Brooklyn smiled. She checked her reflection in the mirror behind the sun visor. “Satan will just LOVE her!”

Paris looked up, over the back of Brooklyn's seat. Her green eyes were wide. Even through her tan, her freckles were visible, and she had mid-length, thick chestnut hair. “Oh?” she asked uncertainly. “We're still sacrificing her next?”

Brooklyn looked at her. She smiled and said, “Yep!”

“That's awesome! She's perfect,” said Sydney.

Paris bit her lip. Her hands balled into nervous fists on the seat. “Do...should we really do her?” she asked. “She's just a kid...”

“That's why we should sacrifice her,” said Sydney. “I mean, don't get me wrong, sacrificing that cheerleader was a stroke of genius. Since we're asking for beauty it makes sense to give Satan beauty in return,” said Paris. “But we're asking for youth, too. And I think he really likes children best.”

“I think that's true,” agreed London. “Besides, we already did one. What's another?”

Paris shuddered at these words. “But, but she's related to Brooklyn...Don't you think, if we kill her...the cops will trace it back to us?”

“The cops will never trace it back to us,” said Brooklyn cheerfully. “They'd never suspect a bunch of sweet, popular teenage girls of something so awful. We can do anything we want in this town!”

Paris saw London's piercing eyes find her in the rearviewmirror. “Are you having doubts again, Paris?” she asked, an edge to her voice. “You want to be part of the team, don't you? We have no problem kicking you off.”

Sydney looked her over. Paris shuddered at the coke-fueled hunger in her eyes. “Or maybe we'll just sacrifice you next. What a fine gift you'd make for our dark prince!”

“Just bear with it, Paris!” said Brooklyn supportively. “Think of all we have to gain! You want success, right? You want beauty, right? You want youth, right? Satan will give that to us! What he asks in return is really very trivial.”

Paris forced an uneasy smile. “Haha, y-yeah, you're right, guys. Satan all the way!”

Sydney smiled and held out the Ice Breakers container to her. “Now how about a bump?”

“N...no thanks...”

Sydney looked disappointed. Then, her eyes fell to Paris' arm. The hunger returned “Hold your arm out.”

Paris blanched. She knew Sydney well enough to recognize where this was going. “N-no...give me a break, Syd,” Paris tried. “I'm not in the mood.”

“C'mon, don't be lame, Paris. Just do it,” said Sydney. “I'll be careful this time. I promise I'll be careful. We're friends, right? We're friends.”

Paris hesitated. She didn't want to do it. But if she had any strength of will to resist her friends, to tell them no, she would have done so long ago. Instead, she held out her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself.

Sydney chopped up some more cocaine, then dumped the powder on Paris' arm, just below her wrist. Gently, carefully, she began to graze Paris' soft skin with the razor, collecting the cocaine into a line. “Now don't move...” she said in a soft, eager voice, quivering with excitement. “Don't move, Paris...”

An expected sear of pain. Paris was pretty sure she hadn't moved.

“Aw. You twitched,” said Sydney, not bothering to attempt to sound concerned or disappointed. “Let me get that...” Paris grunted in pain as Sydney's tongue lapped against her wound, licking up her warm blood.

Though it was sunny out, there was about an inch of snow on the ground, and the snow was still falling. As Sydney snorted the line and Paris sobbed softly, Brooklyn started to sing. “It's beginning to look a lot like Christmaaas! Toyyys in every store!”

“Seriously?” asked London.

“You don't think so?” asked Brooklyn.

London sighed and shook her head. “First of all, we don't celebrate that false prophet or sing his praises. Secondly, it's not even Thanksgiving yet.”

“Aww,” said Brooklyn. “But...I love Christmas...I like the presents and decorating the tree...” She looked at London. “And...didn't you say it was originally a p...um, paggin holiday?”

“Pagan,” London corrected her, annoyed. “And yeah, it was, but the Christians corrupted it. You know that.”

“When your parents want you to do Christmas crap, just play along so you don't arouse suspicion,” said Sydney. “But remember your heart and soul belong to Satan.”

That thought made Brooklyn smile, reassured. Her faith felt newly reinforced. “Yeah, you're right!” she cheered. “Hail Satan!”

“Hail Satan!” the others concurred.

..........

Denver Hightower leaned over the girl, propping herself up with a hand against the girl's locker. The girl's back was against the locker door, looking up at Denver with terror in her eyes.

Befitting her name, she was a tower of a girl, both as tall and as sturdy-looking. She was not someone you would call a beanpole. While some tall girls looked like someone just grabbed the top of their heads and stretched them out, Denver looked like someone had opened her up in a photo editor and scaled her up by 25% or so. Her tan, toned legs went on for miles, and her asymmetrical bangs enhanced her pretty face. It seemed to her victim that she had to look up a very long way to meet Denver's dull, heavy brown eyes.

“I'm thirsty,” Denver said.

“E-e-excuse me?” the girl asked nervously.

“I need a buck for the soda machine,” Denver explained. “How about it?”

The girl slowly turned around and started putting in her locker combination. “O-o-okay, Denver. Whatever you say.”

Once her locker was opened, the girl quickly dug a dollar out of her backpack. She handed it over to Denver with a shaking hand.

“Thanks,” said Denver. She walked over to the soda machine and put the dollar in. She made her selection. The machine made a mechanical rumbling sound, but nothing came out.

Someone else might have left it at that. Denver was a bit more resourceful than most. She raised a long, toned leg, then gave the soda machine a heavy kick. The girl who provided the dollar let out a nervous squeak.

The machine meekly forefeited its can. Denver took it out. With a hiss and a crack, she opened it. She turned to the girl and blankly held out the drink. “Alright. I get half and you get half.”

“N-n-no thanks! Be my guest!” yelped the girl. She slammed her locker shut and made a hurried escape.

Denver watched her go with indifference and a shrug. She raised the can to her lips and took a gulp.

“Denver!”

London, Brooklyn, Paris and Sydney were walking over. Denver greeted them with her usual crooked smile. “Oh, hey, you guys.”

“Sup biatch,” said Sydney.

“Wanna sip?” asked Denver.

“Ew. No thanks.”

“Your loss.” She took another sip. “We have practice today, right?”

“Yep!” Brooklyn answered.

A sense of ease and calm came to Denver when she heard that. “That's good.” Her probation officer said volleyball was good for her, that it kept her out of trouble. Denver had to agree.

Sydney asked her, “Did you remember all your stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Good!” praised Brooklyn. “You've been doing really good about that lately.” Denver smiled.

“Heard any talk?” asked Paris nervously.

Denver looked at her. “Talk about what?”

“You know...” said Paris. She looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, then said quietly, “The latest sacrifice.”

“Oh. The cheerleader,” said Denver. “People are sad I guess. They know the last place she was seen was leaving the malt shop, but they don't know who she got a ride with. Nobody's said anything about us, if that's what you mean.”

“It's like I told you, Paris,” said London confidently. “We're above suspicion.”

“Still, it's kind of freaky,” said Sydney. “The way that guy sent that goth chick to the hospital. Things are getting kind of dangerous around here. We should be just as careful as everyone else is. Even if we can't be arrested it just takes one vigilante nut working outside the law to really mess us up. Or kill us.”

“I think you should lay off that crap, Syd,” said London with a coy smile. “It's making you paranoid.”