Ten minutes later, standing in front of the mirror, I could not believe my eyes. I wore a brilliant red dress from the early eighteen hundreds - so low cut that my breasts pushed up and spilled half way out, and so tight all through the upper half that I was sure if I took too deep of a breath I’d pop all the buttons. I twirled around to see the back, suddenly feeling very much like a southern bell. My shoulders were bare; the sleeves began mid-arm and were puffy to the elbow. Around my waist she wrapped a wide black satin ribbon matching the two large bows on either side of the dress near my hips. There were rubies and garnets sewn into the material, making it glittery and shiny. Each time I turned back to face the mirror, the material made a swishing sound like fine satin. The bodice formed a v in the front, tight to my navel, and the bottom of the dress blossomed out like an umbrella with large satiny ruffles all around and to the floor. I looked exactly like Scarlett O’Hara - dressed for the ball. Constance then put a black choker around my neck with a giant ruby right at the front of my throat and she handed me a pair of black lace gloves.
“What about my hair?” I asked.
She opened a drawer and pulled out one wig after the other until we found one I liked. It wasn’t easy getting all my hair to cooperate and stay under, but we managed somehow. The wig had brown curls piled up on top in an old-fashioned style. Constance placed a large red bow in the back. Lastly, she produced a southern bell mask: pale-faced, pink cheeks and red lips, and was decorated with red feathers on either side. The only thing visible of the real me were my eyes...and half of my boobs! I guessed I could pull this off since it was assumed that no one should recognize me. I stepped into the tiny little slippers of red, put my mask on, and swished down the stairway in an outlandish display of skin and crimson. Now giddy with excitement, it felt like I was on my way to a real ball.
At the bottom of the stairway another gentleman showed me to a hallway that opened to an actual ballroom! It was the size of a football field. There were already people out on the dance floor, the violin music long gone, and in its place a band played from the corner of the far end of the room. The music was upbeat, similar to what was played at our pub.
Tables lined both sides of the room; each held vases of fresh flowers and candles. There were pillars all along each side between the tables, and on each pillar hung old- fashioned kerosene lamps with real flames that burned bright. They cast light enough to see, but I wondered how safe we could be surrounded by so much fire.
I made my way toward the tables and was immediately accosted by Captain Jack Sparrow. This particular man attempted to mimic the way my favorite pirate spoke when he asked me to dance. Even though he made me laugh, I politely declined. He scooted across the dance floor and began to pester Cleopatra. I arrived at a table before another character could bother me with ideas of dancing, but then I realized I had no idea how I’d ever be able to sit in this dress. If I bent over, I was sure to rip open the seams, and if I tried to sit, the fullness of the dress would surely envelope me completely. I stood there like a fool not knowing what to do. I tried to bend at the knees and reach for a glass of wine that was already on the table - with absolutely no success. Before I could completely grasp the stem, my finger pushed the glass over - spilling the red liquid all over the crisp white tablecloth.
“Flaming hell!” I whispered under my breath, embarrassed beyond belief. But then I remembered I wore a mask and no one could see my blushing red face. By the time I stood up straight and took a step back, a crew of three servers appeared out of nowhere, whipped off the place settings and the stained linen, replacing everything all in about three seconds flat. They were good.
Just before they left the accident scene, a man dressed as a roaring twenties gangster came along and stood in front of me holding two glasses of wine. He wore a pinstriped suit, a black shirt and white tie, a mask that had a big red scar down the side of his face with a scruffy beard painted on it. He held his plastic machine-gun under his arm until I relieved him of one of the glasses. I thanked him from under my mask, wondering. How did they expect us to drink out of the freaking glasses? Just then a server appeared with a basket full of straws. Cute - drinking wine through straws... just what I always wanted to try. They had thought of everything.
“Hello Madam,” my suitor tipped his hat.
“Hi.” My muffled words sounded ridiculous. “Are we allowed to give our names, yet?”
“I don’t see why not. My name is Steven. Would you care to dance, Miss Scarlett? It’s an offer you can’t refuse!” He used a gravelly voice, trying to sound like the Godfather.
I curtsied and said, “Why, mercy me, Steven, I don’t rightly think so.” My southern drawl was amateurish, but he chuckled nevertheless. “I’m not much of a dancer.” I went back to my normal dialect. “My name is Lizzy, though I really do feel like Scarlett tonight.”
“Well, that’s a shame, Lizzy. I would love to twirl you around in that most exquisite of dresses. You look absolutely ravishing.”
Of course, I noticed his eyes were mostly on my chest. Annoyed and bored, I brushed off his compliment like a piece of lint, and began looking around to see if I could pick out either my sister or Fiona and have a real conversation. There were many more people here now - I guessed about fifty to sixty. It would be hard to pick them out in a costume. But I had already figured out that this gangster was Random Steve, the guy who invited Fiona. Not intriguing at all and a bit of a pest.
“Well, Miss Scarlett, I believe I will venture out and see if I can’t find myself another flower that does enjoy dancing.”
I curtsied again and nodded my head. And he was gone. Thank goodness. I stood with my back to one of the pillars sipping through my straw watching the dancers. The Grinch and Princess Leia whirled by in a breeze. Across the room, I saw Pocahontas dancing with Spiderman, and then random Steve, the gangster, tapped his shoulder and cut in. He didn’t waste any time at all.
There were angels and fairies, cowboys and Indians - all the usual costumes seen at masquerade parties. I was quite surprised, however, when I saw a man dressed as Count Dracula, considering where we were. He was tall and wore all black, except for a gold vest. His mask even had fangs showing blood dripping down the side of the mouth. His cape was black on the outside with golden threads woven through, and the inside was blood red. He stood motionless on the other side of the dance floor, leaning against a pillar looking around exactly as I was. Maybe he wished he hadn’t picked that exact costume and felt stupid, thinking it better to hold still and be seen by few rather than to mingle and be seen by all.
He turned his head to the sound when loud laughter came from his right. It was a woman dressed as Elvira sitting at a table with a few more people. This had to be Fiona. Although the laugh was muffled, I recognized it as hers. It made sense that she’d pick a dark, Goth woman since that’s exactly what she wanted to become. I toyed with the idea of strolling over to her side of the room to see if I could hear her talking. I would have to walk all the way around the room to keep from disturbing the dancers on the floor. Which direction would be shorter? Left or right? I examined both routes and decided to go left. I took a few more sips of wine almost emptying the glass - one accidental spill was enough, and began my journey. Within two steps I noticed that light-headed feeling and thought I needed to slow down on the drinking.
On my way around the perimeter of the room I spotted Santa Claus, Peter Pan, and Elvis. I turned my head back over my shoulder when one of the funniest costumes caught my eye: Napoleon Dynamite wearing dorky plaid sweat pants and crazy red hair, and his mouth hanging open wide. Not watching where I was going, I plowed headfirst into the chest of the scariest and ugliest creature of all time: an evil-looking clown, similar to one I’d seen in a movie. A killer-clown, no less. He was beyond hideous. And I hated clowns.
I gasped, just as much surprised as frightened, and he grabbed my arm to keep me from falling over. I felt a twinge of electric current run through my arm, though his hand
was gloved to resemble one of those giant fake hands. And even though his voice came soft and gentle, I couldn’t stand how his face looked with those giant red eyebrows arched up well into his forehead and the huge grin of a red mouth plastered on such a chalky white face.
“I am so sorry,” he said with a slight nod, still holding my arm.
He had such a deep voice that I thought he should have dressed up as Darth Vader.
With a gentle tug, I eased my arm back saying, “That’s okay. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“My name is Rohan,” he said with a slight bow.
“I’m Lizzy,” I said, clearing my throat and looking past him. I couldn’t look at his face. It was just too repulsive.
“Would you like to dance, my lovely Scarlett?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you out there yet.” Another one calling me Scarlett. How adorable.
“Ah, no thanks.” I looked down at my hands.
“Oh, come now. I think we would fit together quite well.” In his attempt to be seductive, he reached out and stroked my arm using only one finger. I felt a flicker of goose-bumps travel up my arm, and thought if it wasn’t for his stupid costume, this would be a serious case of temptation. Something about him seemed familiar in a weird, uncanny way, which made no sense to me at all. But he was so grotesque - there was no way I could even stand to have a conversation with him.
“I’m on my way over there to speak with another guest, but perhaps later?” I didn’t want to seem rude just because he was so ugly; he may very well be an awesome guy –without the mask.
“Well then, perhaps I shall see you later.” He bowed and began to walk away. Two steps later, he turned his head glancing over his shoulder – totally giving me the creeps and chills all at once. Damn clowns ruining everything.
I continued on, this time watching and looking ahead at all times, hurrying to the table where I had seen Elvira. She was gone. Great, now what? I looked over the dance floor and spotted her dancing with one of the Three Stooges. That could be why she had been laughing; perhaps the guy thought he was a real comedian.
A voice from behind me said in a scratchy, annoying way, “It vill not be long now.”
I turned to see that the voice had come from the Count himself. Still leaning on the pillar looking out at the dance floor, he did not turn his head, nor look in my direction. His arms were crossed on his chest and, other than his foot tapping to the music, he was mostly still.
“Okay, thanks.” I said, rolling my eyes at his odd comment. I didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t seem all that interesting and at first, I wasn’t even sure if he had been talking to me. Only his head moved as he watched people dance by; he seemed quite bored.
It occurred to me then that perhaps I had been assuming things.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked, and then took a long sip from my straw, now emptying my glass.
He looked at me for a moment and said, “I saw you glance over vhen you heard your friend laughing. I saw vhen you spilled your vine.” His voice came across raspy and low and it seemed like he enjoyed making fun of me and all of my mishaps. At first I couldn’t get over how strange he acted, but then I realized he’d been trying to sound like he was from Transylvania. Great, another weirdo.
“What’s with all the interest in watching me?” Not that he was looking at me now; his eyes were everywhere but on me.
He snickered under his mask before he said, “You are rather hard to miss in that enticing red dress!
The way he said ‘enticing’ made me want to cover myself up. His attitude annoyed me to no end, and I didn’t bother to respond to his comment.
“I also saw you bump into Rohan,” he added. “Why did you decline his request?”
“I don’t see how that should concern you,” I snapped. “I don’t see you out there either. It doesn’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself at all there, Count. Why don’t you try dancing or something instead of just standing around making fun of people?”
“I do not care much for parties,” he sighed, completely ignoring my question.
He still sounded hoarse and kept on doing the accent, yet he spoke distinctly, sounding out every syllable and word as though he read it off of a script. The more he annoyed me, the redder my face got. It burned just as much from anger as from heat. I wondered how much longer we had to wear these absurd plastic faces. And why was this guy so evasive and irritating, and how did he know who the hideous clown was anyway?
I managed to keep my voice even and steady and asked, “So why are you even here then?”
“I did not have a choice. It is The Veinvedia.”
I kept an eye on him while we spoke, but his preoccupation in watching out for someone else became obvious; his head continued to scan over the dance floor. Just then I spotted Fiona dance by and waved at her, calling her name. She craned her head my way and waved back. I scanned the room again, looking for Melinda, assuming that she would have, most likely, chosen a skimpy outfit for her costume; she’d be upset having to discard her sexy dress for this insanity. At first I considered the Hooter’s girl. No, too chubby. Then I caught sight of Little Red Riding Hood. The cute little dress was short and low cut in front; the hooded cape was red and covered her whole head; the mask was of a little girl with a huge grin. In her right hand she held a little basket. That had to be her. I knew those legs. After all they were the same as mine.
I waved when she glanced toward me, and she waved back and grabbed her partner, pulling him to the side of the floor, and edging closer to where we stood. I wasn’t happy to see that she had been dancing with none other than my discarded clown. He stood with his hands on his hips and an air of impatience.
She bent forward and whispered, “Lizzy?”
“Of course, silly.” I giggled and then asked, “Have you seen Fiona yet?” I kept my eyes on Melinda so as not to see the ugly clown. He was glaring at me now.
“No, where is she? Did she find her soul mate yet?” she asked sardonically.
“She’s dressed like Elvira.” I did a quick scan of the dance floor and then pointed to the far corner near the band. “See her long black wig?” I ignored her other question.
“Oh wow! I thought that had to be one of the Ravens the way she was acting. I guess she’s really ready then; she fits right in!” Lindy quipped.
I sensed her clown was getting restless, though I still could not bring myself to look at his face. He remained silent and now had his arms folded across his chest, but his sigh was loud and a blatant sign of boredom. The Count had been listening to our whole conversation as well, but he had his eyes on the ugly clown man. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Lindy danced with him - he had such a horrifying face. Eventually his throat clearing convinced her to finish their dance, and he whisked her away in a fury.
A few moments later, Fiona came by to chat. She brought her new friend, still in Stooge costume.
“Lizzy?” She lifted her mask up and peeked out at me.
“Yes, it’s me.” I nodded.
“This is Rufus,” she said as she took his hand in hers. “Rufus, meet my best friend in the whole world.”
She was fidgety, excitable, and spoke louder than usual. It made me think he was the one. He took my hand, sending a slight shock with his greeting - static electricity from dancing near Fiona, I guessed. The layers of her dress flowed with black silky material - quite revealing and sexy, and extremely static.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” As he said my name his eyes inadvertently darted toward the Count, and then back to me, and I wondered if they knew each other. “Are you with anyone yet?” He asked in a polite manner, but caught me off guard.
“No, am I supposed to be?” I knew that came off sarcastic, but the man standing before me could be the guy who’d be taking Fiona away from me. It would be hard to feel anything positive toward him.
“We don’t force anyone to couple off, but it tends to happen more often than not.”
He
was one of them then - with my Fiona. Did she realize who he was, or did she plan to keep looking? I excused myself and pulled her aside for a moment.
“Fiona,” I whispered softly, “Is he the one?”
She lifted her mask so I could see her face and as soon as she did, I knew the answer. She had the hugest grin, her eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them, moist with tears, and her head went up and down like a bobble-head.
“He’s already shown me his face!” she whispered, “and he is gorgeous. He has the exact color red hair as mine, and after I asked him if he would please change me tonight, we took off our masks and he kissed me!”
I was confused. How did this happen so fast? They didn’t even know each other. What’s with the kissing? I thought he was just supposed to change her, not kiss her. Maybe I should have read more of the booklet they passed out earlier. I lifted my mask - it was so humid and hot under there. I didn’t care anymore, and I knew she saw the puzzled look on my face.
“Lizzy, it’s the thing they called ‘being chosen’ and it makes sense once you decide to be turned. I had a feeling I was supposed to be here! If you choose correctly, and find the one who has chosen you and prepared the way for you to be here tonight, you just know. It’s like it’s supposed to happen.”
Fiona appeared happier than I had ever seen her and now she’d be getting her cake and, presumably, eating it too. A small part of me was envious, and I began to wish I could find my perfect someone. My next thought was about Emrys, and how I wished we had found him and invited him. I tried to convince myself it really didn’t matter, until I pictured him hitting on some other college girl this exact minute. I had gotten myself so worked up thinking about it; I never heard the rest of Fiona’s words. Before I could stop her, she was off to the dance floor on Rufus’ arm.
The Ravenswynd Series - Boxed Set Page 11