CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ILLIAS (HEAD VAMPIRE)
I warn you, girl. You do as he says, and I will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.
LILA MURPHY
I have a terrible imagination. (long pause) Let’s see what happens.
Vampire Falls. Season one, episode twelve – “Masquerade Brawl”
I’ve always felt indifferent about Abercrombie and Fitch, but right now I couldn’t be more grateful for their extensive hoodie line.
I rush through the lobby, Charlie Chamberlain’s grey hoodie pulled around me like a dressing gown, so my costume isn’t on display for the entire convention.
I can’t deal with the parallel universe I was in just now. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Maybe.
People mill around the foyer, whooping when their friends emerge from the lifts in lovingly created costumes. Usually, I’d be in heaven chatting to people dressed as Lila or Nightmare Vampire Number Three. I love it. I love, love, love it, but right now, if I interact with anyone I will hurl.
I turn down the corridor to the back entrance of the main hall, into the stage area. Two stewards are on the door and I nod as I walk past them, but one puts their hand up.
“Lanyard?”
I instinctively reach for it but it’s not around my neck. It must be back in the room. With my room key. And my cape. I let out a little whimper.
“I . . .”
“Sorry, ladies.” We all look round as Vivian sidles up to us, waving her (damn) lanyard around for the stewards. “Almost didn’t make it. Was getting my costume just . . .”
She does a chef’s kiss with one hand, and a hair flip with the other.
She looks like an advanced version of Vivian, like she’s downloaded an update that automatically gets sent to supermodel-type people.
She’s wearing a Dalmatian-print onesie over her costume, and I’m surprised (and relieved) she’s got trainers on so only towers above me in the standard, mortal kind of way. She looks down at me, smiling.
“Who are you?” she says, tugging one of the toggles on the hoodie. “Kip the Bartender?”
“Who are you?” I say, snatching my toggle. “Cruella de Vil?”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.”
She looks me up and down until I step out of her way, then walks through the doorway. I try to follow, but the steward puts her hand up again.
“You’re not getting through without a badge.”
I swallow and look at my phone. I have four minutes to race back, get my badge, if I can even get into my room, and get back again. My lip wobbles and I back away from them, not even sure where I can go to lick my wounds.
“I’m sorry,” says the steward, shrugging.
“Sorry doesn’t raise the dead, lads.”
I spin round as Roxy rushes towards us, winning back my love with a perfectly timed quote. She’s laden with bags and a pair of straighteners thrown around her neck, waving both our lanyards at the stewards then pushing me through the door.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” she pants, squeezing my hand.
I look back at her as she ushers me towards the changing rooms, equal parts anger and relief squeezing up to my eyeballs.
“Do not cry and ruin my masterpiece.” She reads a sign taped on a door with duct tape. “This is us, get in.”
She swings me through the door, and I can’t say I’m a huge fan of all this pushing and shoving and I would very much like my serene Roxy right now, but I think she might be in a pre-competition trance, like those pageant mums, or moms. She drops the bags, then pulls something long and red out of one of them.
“My cape!” I cry, my voice cracking as she shakes it out like a matador then fits it on my shoulders. “You got it. Thank you.”
She looks down at me as she fiddles with the fastenings.
“Kind of, yes.”
“What?”
“We do not have time, Eliza Gellar!” she says, squeezing my shoulders. “Have you seen the others?”
“Others?”
“Team Awesome! Have you seen them?” I shake my head as she sticks an earbud in her ear, like a frenzied wedding planner. “Good, that probably means they’re in position already.”
“In position?”
She ignores me and pulls my sword holders out of a bag then starts wrestling me into them like a toddler into a backpack.
“Roxy, stop!” I say. We managed some time in the conference room that afternoon so I could practise my routine. An alarmed-looking man in a suit and tie walked in while I was swinging my swords round. “Please, what are you talking about? Why are Team Awesome in position? What position?”
“Just trust me!” she snaps, which makes me not trust her, quite frankly. “Focus on your routine and character, OK? OK?!”
“OK,” I whimper (totally unfocused, by the way).
“Good. Vivian is about to start, then it’s you, then it’s Rashawn. Do you want to watch her?”
I don’t know what the right answer is.
“Yes,” I try.
“That’s my girl.”
Roxy grabs my hand and we head out to the back of the stage area. The Vampire Falls soundtrack plays out front, which doesn’t calm me down as much as it usually would, but it does remind me that I’m here, among my people, among my friends.
Vivian steps out of the shadows as if my very thoughts summoned her from Hell. She’s in full cosplay mode now, no cute dalmatian onesies here, and I gasp at her incredible height increase. Roxy puts an arm across me like she’s a gang leader and we’re about to have a rumble.
“Bitches,” Vivian says, putting her hand on her waist and, you guessed it, flicking her hair over her shoulder. I don’t know what shampoo she uses but I got a waft and she smells like Heaven.
If Heaven was in Hell.
I wait for Roxy to say something but she’s speechless. Not good, not good at all. Vivian has brought her absolute A-game in the cosplay department. Actually, there should be a letter invented that comes before A and they should probably call it Vivian.
She’s a waitress from the Full Moon Diner, in a short turquoise jumpsuit with bright pink buttons and piping around the breast pockets, a little pink sailor hat tilted to one side on her head (attached using real-life sorcery), bright pink knee-high socks, and a pair of pink roller skates, giving her the appearance and height of an actual superhero.
I point at the skates and turn to Roxy, who’s forgotten how to close her mouth.
“Are skates allowed?” I ask. “Should I have skates?”
Roxy shakes her head. Vivian glides past us and I’m devastated to see that she’s a natural on wheels.
“Good luck, bitches,” she calls, then disappears behind the curtain.
“I don’t think she’s human,” says Roxy, her mouth still open.
“Really?” I say, my palms turned upwards in the universal why, God? position. “Is that it?”
“Did you see her? I mean she’s normally . . . but that’s just . . .”
Roxy stares at the curtain, biting her lip. What the hell is going on here? I smack my hands together.
“What the hell is going on here?” I snap. Roxy blinks, then looks at me. “You’re supposed to be pep-talking me, not wet daydreaming about the enemy.”
Roxy shakes her head, then grabs the bag from her shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I just wasn’t prepared for that level of Vivian. I don’t think anyone is.”
I half whimper, half shriek, and Roxy ushers me out of the Vivian perfume cloud, around the corner until we’re at the edge of the stage.
We both peek round the curtain. Conference Hall A is set up with round tables around the dance area then stretching back to the doors.
Everyone, like, all the attendees are already sitting at the tables, most with drinks, ready to be entertained, including the table of special guest judges at the front.
“Right. Team Awesome are ready to get into position as soon as Vivian’s done her bit.” She holds a clipboard up and points at it. “This is you, babe. This is what you’ll be doing, remember?”
I frown at the notes and diagrams on the clipboard. I swallow and take a step back, but Roxy has pre-empted me and grabs my hand.
“There is literally nothing on this page you haven’t done before, babe, and it was fine this afternoon. Suit-and-Tie Guy was surprised but impressed. I could tell.”
“But I didn’t feel pukey then.”
“Nothing to be pukey about, babe. You do it on Insta all the time, and in stage combat,” she says, fussing my hair. “Just hit all of your marks. Fake McKinley has taped crosses on the floor.”
“Really?” I say, craning my neck and seeing small white crosses across the stage and runway. “Fake McKinley did that?”
“Yeah. He’s a theatre nerd, apparently,” she says, waving the clipboard. “Helped me work out the extra bits and he’s going to do the second fight with you.”
“Instead of you?” Roxy nods. “But my music is what we agreed?”
She gives me a don’t-insult-me look.
“ACDC,” she says.
“‘Thunderstruck’?”
Roxy shrugs. “Of course.”
It’s the song Juliana chooses on the jukebox before slicing and dicing all the vampires in the Full Moon Diner in her very first episode. It was quite the character intro.
I peek out at the audience again. So many familiar faces, but they all look so judgey right now. A couple of them are literally dressed like judges. Demon judges, but still the same thing.
A Headset Guy ushers Vivian onto the stage and she rolls into the shadows, doing a quick spin when she hits her mark in the middle.
She looks over her shoulder at us and winks.
In an attempt to confuse the enemy, I smile back and give her a double thumbs up, but she smiles even wider and turns to face the curtains.
“What was that?” whispers Roxy.
“A smile and thumbs up might throw her off.”
“You’re not smiling, you’re growling. And you’re doing a double bird, not a thumbs up.”
I look down. Look at that! It’s like my phalanges know me better than I know myself.