Bad Moon:Book One in the "I Am Chaos" series.

Chapter 3: Blue Bloods

Chapter 3: Blue Bloods

"I knew it," said Wynn as she threw open the door to our apartment.

I pulled my eyes away from the hall mirror, where I'd been trying to fasten on my earring back. "Knew what?" I asked.

"I knew you were going to put on that terrible bronze dress."

I looked at myself in the mirror. Of course I was going to put on the bronze dress – it was the only formal dress I owned. Floor length and figure hugging, it was made of a stretchy, shimmery material that allowed me to move. "I like this color," I said. "It sets off my hair."

"It makes you look really pale," said Wynn. She had three dry-cleaning bags slung over her shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you? Jewel tones, jewel tones, jewel tones..."

She hefted the bags onto the kitchen table. "Here," she said, handing one of the bags to me. "It's a size four, but it runs big. It will fit."

"You brought me a dress!" I beamed at her.

"Duh. If I had to spend one more night watching you float about in that stupid bronze piece of..."

"Got it, I got it, I'm changing."

The dress was nothing I would have picked out for myself. It was amethyst, fitted satin, and covered in itchy sequins. But I had to admit, it looked good on. It would have looked better on Wynn, who had the fuller figure, more suited to mermaid-style gowns, but with a pair of my highest heels, I made it work.

I'd already done my hair and makeup. It took me all of five minutes to get into the dress and zip it up, so I was shocked when I came out of my room and Wynn was ready, wearing an empire-waisted gown in deep blue.

"Come on," Wynn beckoned. "I've got an Uber about to show up." She handed me a red lipstick, grabbed a wrap, and headed out the door.



As we drove across the Charles River, the lights of Boston burned about us like stars. Wynn had called a black car, so we didn't look completely ridiculous showing up to the MFA behind a line of patrons in their BMWs, Audis, and Mercedes. An usher in a tie and tails opened our door and handed us out.

"Like Cinderella," I murmured to Wynn.

"If you don't stop acting like a peasant, I'm going to leave you at home next time," she said, using her best Katharine Hepburn accent. She held out her elbow for me, and I linked my arm through it. We strolled inside.

The MFA was thronged with guests. I'd expected a mostly older crowd, given that tickets to this thing cost a fortune, but there were scores of younger people as well. I didn't feel as out of place as I thought I might. 

The exhibit, which would normally be in Hall C, had been moved to the atrium for the soft opening. Built in 2010 to connect the older museum to the newer wings, the atrium was designed entirely of glass windows. In its center, a giant sculpture of green icicles rose from the ground to the ceiling like some mythological creature breaking free from the confines of the earth.

"They really pulled out all the stops, didn't they?" I said, under my breath, staring at the twinkle lights they'd strewn from the balcony and the waiters and waitresses circling with trays. Ten orchestra members from the Boston Symphony were playing near the sculpture.

"Are you surprised? Only the finest when the Brahmins come out to see an exhibit on Blue Blood Fashion." Wynn waved demurely to someone she recognized. Wynn's parents were doctors, so she'd grown up with money and felt right at home at events like this. This was my third Gala with Wynn and it still took me about two drinks to loosen up enough to really enjoy myself.