“How does it look?” He holds out his arms. Beneath the scarf he wears a ratty button-down shirt and a pair of pants that have been striped vertically, dark blue and green, with fabric paint. Strictly speaking, he’s not tall or narrow enough to be Dallas, but damn, he makes it look good.
“Wow.”
He spins for me, and the scarf even moves like it should, the ends swishing at his ankles. “Where did you get that?”
“My sister crocheted it for me.”
“Kind of sad you have to wear shoes, though.”
“Yeah, had to ditch Dallas’s bare-feet-as-pacifism metaphor in favor of foot safety.”
“You look awesome.”
“We look awesome.”
I strap the saber around my waist before we enter Murphy’s.
I think if I had to pick a party to come to, it would be this one. The walls are lined with books, and short bookcases separate different sections of the room. A refreshments table is set up beside the checkout counter. “Monster Mash” plays over the store speakers. A flock of Hogwarts students in black robes and house scarves take up most of the middle of the room. A couple of faeries, a vampire, and a witch chill against the back wall. Fixing the pumpkin decorations around the cash register is a girl dressed as a sushi roll.
“I would kill for sushi right now,” I say.
Wallace pulls out his phone. I get a text.
Oh, god, me too. We should get some after this.
Leaving a party for sushi? Yes, please.
Wallace leads me to a dark corner where probably the second-largest group of people has congregated. I almost trip over my feet. They’re all dressed in Monstrous Sea cosplay. Some have Amity’s white hair, or Damien’s silverware necklace. Some have the white lines of Nocturnian constellation tattoos drawn on their faces or arms. A large portion of them wear the high collars and red/gold/black color scheme of the Rishtians.
When they see us, several cries of “Dallas!” and “Kite!” welcome us. Wallace smiles, his ears turning pink, and reaches back for my hand to pull me through the crowd. I let him take it. His palm is rougher than I expected from a writer, but warm. We hold on to each other tentatively, and when we reach the table at the heart of the group, Wallace lets my hand slip out of his.
Seated at the small table is a young woman with a toddler in her lap, and a boy our age, smiling at the screen of a laptop. The woman is dressed up with the wild brown hair—wig—and layered desert clothing of Imi, another of the Angels; and the toddler, a little girl, is dressed in a tiny outfit to make her look like Imi’s daughter. The boy wears an Under Armour shirt with a high collar—no doubt supposed to be the precise, temperature-regulating thermatrol suits the Rishtians wear—and a jacket made to replicate the one worn by Rishtian aeronauts. Food from the refreshments table litters the space between them.
The boy and the woman glance up at the same time and say, “Wallace!”
The boy turns the laptop toward us, where two more girls sit in one video chatroom.
Wallace starts texting again. Another message pops up on my phone; this time a group message with four numbers I don’t recognize.
Hi, guys, Wallace writes. I brought a friend. He steps to the side so I can’t hide behind him. This is Eliza. Eliza, this is my friend Cole and his cousin Megan. He motions to the boy and the young woman. And Leece and Chandra. The girls on the computer. They each say various versions of hello, giving me enough time to swallow past the knot in my throat and say it back.
“Wallace said you’re on the forums,” says Cole. I’m glad he dressed like a Rishtian; he has the sharp, shrewd look many of them wear.
“Um. Yeah. I just don’t talk much.” Only for Dog Days, which I am currently missing. I left a message on my LadyConstellation page saying I was sick and wouldn’t be able to watch, so hopefully no one gets upset. “Are all of you?”
My phone pings.
Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. They’re the other Angels. Sorry—I guess it wouldn’t be obvious that we’re friends in real life too.
I look around at them. These are the Angels on my forums? The next rung down on the popularity ladder from me? And all in one place?
My head feels light. One hand goes for my phone and the other searches at my side for something to hold on to, but there’s only open air.
Wallace goes on. Cole is Fire Served Cold, Megan is Quake, Leece is Tree Chimes, and Chandra is Dark Switch.
It doesn’t mean much until I put the formatting with the names. I see them all the time in different parts of the forums:
Fire_Served_Cold, rainmaker’s friend, who hangs around the live chats.
QUaKE, who supervises the roleplaying boards.
~*treechimes*~, who can be found fangirling over the Monstrous Sea custom merch threads.
And darkSwitch, who draws probably the best fan art I’ve ever seen in my life.
With Wallace as rainmaker, together they make the Angels, the guardian clans of Orcus. In the story, the Angels are the ones who keep the planet in balance. When something—like the corrupted hand of the Alliance—threatens that balance, they intervene. These Angels keep the balance on my forums, as moderators.
I feel like I stepped into Power Rangers. They wait for me to say something.
“Um” is all that comes out.
“You make a great Kite Waters,” says Cole. “Too short, though.”
“Cole,” Megan warns. She bounces the little girl on her lap, who giggles. “You look great, Eliza, don’t listen to him. Now sit down, both of you. Eat something!”
It’s half invitation and half demand. I slide onto the seat next to Wallace. The saber gets stuck in the chair legs.
“Turn me toward, Wallace!” cries the girl on the computer, Chandra. Cole swivels the laptop around until Wallace and I appear in the webcam. I sink down farther, face hot. “Wallace,” Chandra says, “what is this nonsense about the new Auburn Blue chapters not going up soon? Izzy and Ana are the only canon ship I like, you cannot disappoint me with this.”
Sorry. Wallace shrugs. Soon. I have the rest of the story outlined, I just have to find time to write it. School’s been killing me lately. And with the transcription . . .
“Oh, yes, the transcription you won’t let anyone see yet.”
You can see it when more is finished!
“Don’t worry about it, Wally,” says the other girl, Leece. Leece and Chandra sit in two very different rooms; Chandra’s walls are blank and dark brown, while Leece’s are bright and covered in Monstrous Sea posters. A huge stuffed seacreeper rests beside a pillow behind her. “If you have the inspiration to work on the transcription, do that. Besides, Chan doesn’t know what relationships are good for her.”
“Excuse you!” Chandra barks. “Were you there when Izzy and Ana were forced into their arranged marriage? Were you there when they formed a relationship of mutual trust over the inner workings of airship engines? What about all the times they saved each other while fighting the Alliance? They never even knew if they romantically loved each other—they just grew together. And that is perfect and beautiful and no one can take it from me!”
“Excuse me, everyone?” A voice comes over the speakers. The girl dressed as a sushi roll at the cash register holds a microphone. “It’s almost time for the costume contest. If you’d like to be entered, please come fill out an entry card and put it in here.” She holds up a jar shaped like a grinning skull.
“Oh, yes.” Cole pushes himself out of his seat. “Anyone else entering? Wallace and Eliza, don’t answer. I’m putting your names in anyway.”
Before I can say no, Cole is gone.
Wallace’s shoulder bumps mine. He’s always like this, he texts only to me. We won’t do it if you don’t want to.
I dig my fingers into the edge of the seat and stare at the tabletop, deepening my breaths so it doesn’t feel so much like my lungs are being crushed. Stand in front of all these people, in this costume that isn’t even mine, and expect them to, what, applaud? I’ll fall on my face.
“Eliza?”
I look up. Wallace, Megan, Leece, and Chandra all stare at me.
“Um, what? Sorry?”