Fear Itself

Checkerboard floors stretched in front me. Even over the sea people trying to bustle inside of what Dean told me was called “the Grove,” I could see the white and black tiled floor shimmering under the light of a single, massive, crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. It was gold, shining, and it made the whole room glow. Light reflected off the sparkle and shine of ornate masks donned by patrons within. The ones around me were covered in the shadows, cast out by the night. Even from afar, I could tell the people were strange. They wore simple black cloaks instead of coats, which were immediately discarded when they entered, revealing either simple but clearly expensive suits on men and ornate, often revealing cocktail dresses on ladies, save for two or three I saw from within wearing full-length ball gowns, looking absolutely astonishing in their grace.

Everyone, for the most part, was wearing some form of animal mask. I saw a lot of bats, many in black or deep shades like purple or midnight blue. Butterflies were common too, and as I perused the various colors, I ran my fingers over my own. I wondered why these masks were so strange and ornate. I had read once that masquerades once required simpler masks, yet mine literally looked like somebody had glued a giant blue and gold butterfly to the bridge of my nose. The wings expanded over the sides of my face, lined with gold glitter. Dean had told me butterflies were a go-to mask and that it was very popular when he had handed the mask and dress to me just days ago, demanding I attend.

The dress itself was a little too glitzy for my taste, but the longer I spent in London, the more I realized that my penchant for flowing dresses and baggy cardigans wasn’t exactly the norm. The dress was a royal blue to match my mask. A beaded illusion panel full of sparkling, gold stones and pieces stretched diagonally up from the scooped neckline to form a single cap sleeve, leaving my other arm bare. The dress was form-fitting, and the material beneath the empire waist was sleekly pleated and formed a short skirt, just a little shorter than mid-thigh (though I had to say my long legs really didn’t help the illusion of length at all). Dean seemed to be unaware of the fact that I didn’t own shoes, which left me one option: the same black boots I had been wearing daily since Avery took me out into town. They were considerably much dirtier since I acquired them: scuffed and stained with dirt, but the man at the door didn’t seem to mind.

After I had covered my left eye with my hand (what Dean told me was ‘the code,’ and basically something functioning like an invitation of sorts), the militia man looked me over as I removed the black sheath from around my shoulders. “Steam punk butterfly,” he commented with amusement and intrigue. “I like it.”

I murmured a brief thank you to the man as I made my entrance, handing the black cloak to a suited man standing at the doorway. He bowed to me, which caught me off guard a little, but he seemed to do the same for everyone else, so I did my best to keep it together as I entered the spacious, vast ballroom. Around the dance floor were lots of circular tables set with plates, glasses and deep purple table clothes. At the very back center of the room was a large staircase, adorned with a long, purple carpet draping down the steps. At the top was a single, wooden door, shut, and on either side of the door were two altars draped with purple coverings. On the left side of the room were several archways separated by white, greek-style columns, and just outside of that was a wall of hedges leading a bit further down to what I thought was a fire pit. All I could really see was a massive wall of sparking flames off in the distance.

The room was bombarding me with details. There was almost too much too look at, too much to process. I saw the large wooden door at the top of the stairs open, and from my angle, I could faintly see a hallway, slightly skewed in my line of vision, but there were halls and halls of doors. A woman, both unattractive and unappealing, barefoot and disheveled, stumbled through the door. Her dress was a simple, strapless white but stained with colors resembling vomit, dirt, and blood. She looked lost and confused when she entered; an obvious look of terror took over her face until a masked man scurried behind her, grabbed her, and took her back. Following soon were two more masked men, glancing at each other hungrily as they climbed the stairs, sneaking silently back behind the door as it closed.

A DJ sat in the far right corner, spinning the catchy electronic pop songs I was used to hearing around the time of the Autumn Festival. A few people sat at tables, knocking back glass after glass of red, clear, or beige liquids. Lines of white powder adorned silver trays, accompanied with straws sliced in half. They were being delivered by waiters in suits with long coattails and laid in front of anyone who so much as waved a hand. Dean had told me not to even talk to the servants. In fact, he had told me to stay as far away from them as I could. He also told me not to wear anything white under any circumstances.

It wasn’t long before my eyes fell upon Dean. He was masked, but the obnoxiously large top hat adorned with white rabbit ears was a bit of a give away. He was seated at a long, rectangular table near the front of the room. It sat about fourteen, and he was seated beside the head of the table: a man with brown hair slicked back and eyes so dark they looked black. They were conversing, and a few times, the man would break a small smile, but it never looked like a genuine laugh. It was wicked, in a way, like he was laughing at things that shouldn’t have been funny. Dean was grinning, laughing, a tall, thin glass of clear liquid. His eyes caught me from behind his mask; I saw him flash a grin in my direction, and he excused him from the man, leaving him to sit and smoke in solitude.

“Blondie!” he exclaimed as he sauntered over, glass in hand, and enveloped me in a friendly hug. “Glad you came,” Dean added, looking me over. “What’s with the shoes, Blondie? Those are disgusting. Never mind. Here,” he said, handing me the glass. “Try this.”

I took the glass from him hesitantly and took a sip, only to spit the liquid out with the disgust. “Oh my goodness,” I remarked, face scrunched up as I shoved the glass back toward him. “No. Nope. You can have that back. I don’t want it.”

Dean snorted, taking it back with a shrug. “That’s fine, Blondie,” he replied. “We’ll get you out taste-testing another time.”

“That tasted like nail polish remover,” I lamented, lips protruding in a small pout.

“You’ve tasted nail polish remover?” Dean contended with an amused smirk.

“No,” I huffed. “You know what I meant.”

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, holding out an arm and motioning to the party, the display of people seated at tables, and the mass of movement on the dance floor. “Ace, don’t you think?”

Eyes wide, I looked to him. “Oh,” I chuckled softly. “I don’t really know what I think. This is um… it’s interesting.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic, Blondie,” Dean sighed. “But the League has the best parties!” he whined a little.

“The League?” I stammered. “This is a League party?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So what you’re saying is that my father is here?” My eyes were fixed wide under the mask, suddenly quaking at the idea of my father catching me, which was incredibly probable. There was no way he wouldn’t recognize his own daughter, even if I was masked. He saw me every single day for hours and hours. If he didn’t recognize me, there was something wrong. My eyes started searching for the exit once more. I needed to leave, now.

Dean merely shrugged, not nearly as worried. “Somewhere,” he acknowledged. “He’s masked, so I couldn’t tell you which one he is until he sits down at the table, but honestly, he’s usually a pretty aloof man. Don’t hear him speak much. Don’t even see him much outside of meetings.”

I nodded a little, feeling slight relief. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” I admitted quietly. My eyes continued to wander, now searching the sea of people for him while Dean’s statement sunk in. “You work with my dad?”

He nodded. “Occasionally,” Dean told me. “The Commander is much more interested in my company than your old man is. Like I said, he’s pretty aloof, but yeah. I attend meetings with the Board. Kennedy’s looking to put me on it, so if I keep this up, we could really get somewhere.” He cleared his throat. “But we’d best not discuss that here. Have you tried the lobster, Blondie?” he asked, quickly changing the topic as he pointed over to a buffet table full of food, all fresh and ready to be served: prime rib, lobster tails, jumbo shrimp and some other things I couldn’t identify.

“Um, no,” I replied, then glancing to him. “I like your suit, Dean.” I offered him a small smile, and he laughed.

“Why, thank you, Blondie,” he chuckled, bowing his head a little. “This would be a Chandler Jacques original.”

My eyes rested on the table once more, falling upon a bowl in the center filled with a red liquid, it looked thick. The top was a little frothy, frosted with a layer of white bubbles. “What is that?”

“That’s pomegranate juice. They always have it at League things,” he explained. “Don’t drink it.” Before I could ask, we were interrupted.

“Dean,” a french-accented voice whined from just past Dean’s shoulder. A man sauntered up, almost a whole foot shorter than Dean and just a few shorter than me. He had a tiny frame clothed in one of the finest suits I had seen on anyone in the room. He had golden brown hair perfectly styled away from his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask, just a pair of sunglasses. His face looked sour, unamused. Dean would later tell that his face always looked like that.

“Speak of the devil!” Dean exclaimed, embracing the smaller man in such a massive hug he almost spilled the other man’s glass of wine all over him. His expression didn’t change at all when Dean grabbed him. In fact, he huffed.

“You’ve really got to stop leaving me at parties like that, Dean,” the man miffed. “If I have to talk to one more bimbo in a tacky cocktail dress about how she wished my dresses had more glitter on them, I’m going to cry, Dean. I’m going to actually cry. Puppet just off and left to go rendezvous with Kennedy’s brother, and you ditched me for Kennedy. I need new friends.” He pouted. He looked pretty serious about this, even though I couldn’t see his eyes.

Dean just laughed, “Blondie, this is Chandler Jacques: the man, the myth, and the legend. Also, he’s just one of the biggest fashion designers in the entire world. Did you know he makes costumes for Videodrone?” I had no idea who or what that was, but I just nodded and raised my eyebrows like I was interested anyway. “Oh, and he worked with your grandmum, Blondie. Isn’t that brilliant?”

I barely had time to answer when I heard the man from the table call out, “Cassidy!” Dean’s head snapped around, he gave the man a wave when he beckoned. The man, the only one in the room unmasked, waved him over, snapped his fingers, but then, the man proceeded to whistle. Several people from the crowd began to head toward him, and a few headed for the staircase and disappeared behind the door.

“Gotta run, Blondie,” Dean bid me farewell quickly, giving me a pat on the shoulder before hustling back to the man with the cold, black eyes. Kennedy. That had to be Kennedy. I felt slightly nauseas all of a sudden. The Commander of Earth, the horrible man with the cold eyes was just feet away from me. He was real; he was a living, breathing human, and he was surrounded by men with guns as well as a few other attendees who had rushed over when he whistled.

“That hat is probably the most dreadful thing I’ve ever seen,” Chandler commented dryly, sticking his tongue out of his option mouth and making a gagging sound. “He’s such a moron.”

I giggled softly, and I saw Chandler crack a tiny smirk. “So, you… worked with my grandmother?” I asked, trying to hide how truly curious I was. I hadn’t even known I had a grandmother. Father had never mentioned them before. “On which side?”

Chandler looked me over for a moment. “Oh… you’re…” he fell silent. “Hm, you’re Giroux’s kid, aren’t you? Dean mentioned you… briefly. Swore me to secrecy,” he commented, rolling his eyes a little, which I could faintly see behind the black lenses. “Um… I did, yes, I studied with Roslyn McQueen for a few years. She was a lovely woman… lonely,” Chandler explained. “I didn’t know her before the divorce, though.”

“Divorce?”

“Yeah, after you mother d—“ Chandler cut himself off and cleared his throat. “Passed. After your mother passed,” he corrected himself. “Rosalyn and her husband divorced. She needed some help with her boutique, and I was interested in fashion, so she hired me to help out and ended up teaching me the tools of the trade, if you will. Met Dean there, too when I was fitting him for a suit…” he trailed off and paused. “But that was seven years ago. I haven’t seen her since. She’s a bit of a shut in anymore, lives in her work… kind of like your dad. Who is… scrumptious looking by the way, absolutely beautiful with those eyes of his,” he said, suddenly a little bit giddy. “Appears you’ve inherited those fabulously Aryan looks.” I grinned, and Chandler eyed me, sizing me up in a way similar to the way Harley did when I met her. “And you’re tall… model tall. Just like your mother, and let me tell you, I would have loved to put a dress on the woman. She was flawless.”

“Yes, everyone said that she was very beautiful,” I told him, smiling softly at the thought. Pictures of her were enough to know that she was truly an awe-striking woman. I could see why my dad was so in love with her, at least on the surface.

“You know, usually, I don’t like ginger on anybody, especially ginger with freckles, but Amelia Giroux made it okay, and honey, that wedding dress she had.” Chandler paused to groan, but it seemed like a groan of ecstasy and not so much a groan of disgust. “That thing inspired me to design, I’m telling you. The lace sleeves and the detailing and the applique, I just, I can’t. There aren’t even words to describe how beautiful that dress was. Honey, I would have gone straight if I had chance to marry her and see her in that thing up close and personal. And maybe out of it. I’m sure that wedding lingerie was just as fabulous.”

Chandler was interesting, though I wasn’t necessarily sure I wanted to discuss my parents post-wedding, that whole situation was enough to make me squirm a little. I watched Chandler sip from his glass of red wine. I couldn’t but shift my neck, trying to get a glimpse behind the glasses, and I found chocolate brown eyes behind the lenses. Just as Chandler glanced in my direction, I shot my eyes down at my feet. “So,” I drawled. “What’s with the sunglasses? Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a mask?”

“This is my mask,” he huffed. “Everybody is just going to have to deal with it.”

The door above the stairs creaked open again, and the few who had rushed upstairs emerged with the woman from before: the one in the dirty dress who didn’t have any shoes. They had vice grips on both her arms as it seemed she couldn’t walk on her own. Her legs wobbled, and her knees knocked together. Her head rolled forward and hung; her hair fell over her face, and I couldn’t see her anymore. They got her down the stairs and took her outside. Dean, Kennedy, and their entourage followed outside solemnly. I seemed to be the only one paying any attention to them.

“Looks they couldn’t find a virgin this year,” Chandler quipped, amused. “Again.”

I watched as the group circled the woman, accompanying her outside, but they walked far off into the distance, and they disappeared behind the veil of flames in the garden. Almost immediately after their exit, the DJ lowered the music and lifted the mic to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen of the League, if I could have your attention please!” he announced, and every stopped and turned to face him, so I just followed suit. Monkey see, monkey do, right? Those were Dean’s words of wisdom. “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the announcement of our Autumn Festival King and Queen!” he shouted, and the audience roared and clapped with unbridled excitement.

Chandler began looking around, and his eyes fell upon something or someone in the distance because he was suddenly very interested in something on the far side of the room. “You’ll have to excuse me, doll-face,” he shouted over the applause. “But it appears I’ve spotted Mr. Right, well… Mr. Right now anyway.” He laughed, so enthused by his own joke before chirping, “Toodles, darling.” He skirted off through the crowd, leaving me alone now.

Once the applause died down, the DJ opened an envelope and cleared his throat. “I now present to you…” he paused for dramatic effect before swinging an arm toward the stairs and proclaiming, “King Dallas Faust and Queen Violet Elliot! Two our very own Board members!”

Suddenly, a couple emerged at the top of the stairs. There was a man, slightly wrinkled, with dirty blonde, nearly light brown hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind a simple black mask. The queen, Violet, stood beside him, blonde hair tucked tightly into a classic, neat bun. Her dress was a full-length lavender ball gown. Her mask was simple as well and matched the lavender but was adorned with gold trim around the edges. Arm in arm, the two whispered banter at each other the whole walk down stairs as the audience continued roaring with applause so loud I almost didn’t hear the shriek coming from behind the fire pit outside. The scream vanished shortly after, fading among the sound of crackling flames.

Nobody even moved. Nobody looked outside. They were too focused on their beloved “king and queen.” The DJ kept talking, something about an honorary dance, but all my senses were fixed outside on the wall of flames peeking over the hedges and the group of dark figures circled around it. Music began playing, a slower tune this time, something that sounded almost classical, but everyone was jostling, fighting for a partner. I was shoved into mine, and my head collided with a man’s shoulder. We both made some kind of pained, grunting noise upon impact.

I rubbed my head a little, and before I could even look up, I heard an all-too familiar voice ask in disbelief, “You?”

My blue eyes widened when I finally lifted my head and saw the chestnut brown eyes behind the fox mask my accidental dance partner donned, and once my shock subsided, I scoffed. “You’re lucky you’re wearing that mask, Eyebrows. I could have seen those caterpillars from miles away.”

Alex let out a sarcastic laugh and quickly tugged me toward him. His right hand was situated firmly on my waist, and his other grasped my right hand in a loose grip, automatically bending my elbow and raising my arm. I nearly shoved him away, but he only pulled me back, close enough for his lips to touch my ear when he whispered, “I loathe this just as much as you do, but people are staring at us. Just follow my lead.”

“You can dance?” I asked, not bothering to hide my shock as he moved his hand from my waist momentarily to place my free hand on his shoulder. He pulled away from me just a bit, but he was still close enough for this to be uncomfortable. We stood as we waited for the rest of the crowd to move.

“I work in disguise, sweetheart,” he murmured, already obviously unamused by my questions. “I have to know how to blend in.”

“Hmm,” I hummed thoughtfully, eyes never leaving him, watching carefully, even as the first beat sounded and his left foot traveled forward with unexpected grace. I followed in reverse, moving back with him. “Just didn’t expect it from someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted with obvious offense. “That I’m not wealthy, polite, or polished enough to know how to waltz?” We moved again, this time in a bit of an L-shape. In a way, I was lucky to have him guiding me because I was sure I’d have fumbled over myself otherwise. We moved in another L-shape, a complete circle.

“Yes,” I replied bluntly.

“Wow,” Alex scoffed as his left foot slid into his right, and we stood with our feet parallel once more. “You sound just like your father. Unbelievable.”

“I do not,” I countered, nose wrinkling up with distaste. He stepped back with his right foot now, and I followed forward with my left. “He’s a boring, old man. I sound nothing like him at all.”

“You’ve spent eighteen years in a house, and you don’t think you’re boring?” he returned with a small smirk playing at his features.

I narrowed my eyes and huffed through my nose. We moved in another L-shape. “Yeah, well, you’ve got funny eyebrows.”

We continued spinning in rhythm, and Alex just huffed a laugh. “And you’re nothing more than an overzealous, naive child.”

“Hmph,” I replied. We were drifting in and out of other couples, spinning softly, smoothly. This was rather nice, I reasoned. Not Alex. The dancing. “I don’t like you,” I quipped.

“That’s fine,” Alex laughed. “I don’t like you either.”

“I mean it,” I told him, trying to look as serious as I possibly could. “I’ll never like you,” I added. “Even if this place suddenly caught fire right now, I wouldn’t like you. I wouldn’t even try to save you.”

“Ouch,” he muttered, grimacing. “Now, that was just mean.”

“Like you even care what I think of you.” I rolled my eyes a little at him. He just grinned at me with this awful mocking look on his face.

“You’re right, dear. I really don’t.” He paused. “But it’s funny,” he continued. “Because somehow, I think you do.”

I shook my head. “Nope,” I retorted. “Nope. I don’t care if you think I’m an idiot because I think you’re an idiot,” I told him.

“Oh,” Alex chuckled condescendingly. “I’m the idiot?”

“Yes.”

“Funny. I wasn’t the one who let myself get kidnapped.”

“Hey,” I snapped. “You were the one who kidnapped me.”

Alex laughed again. I could see his eyes squinting up behind the mask. “And you were the one who invited the strange man in your bedroom downstairs for chocolate pudding,” he quipped. “Didn’t your daddy ever warn you about stranger danger?”

“No,” I answered meekly, not wanting to back out of the spat, but admittedly backed into a corner at this point.

A chuckle sounded from his throat as we came to a stop. “My point—“ he paused and moved an arm behind my back, abruptly dipping me and tugging me back up when the music ended. “—exactly.”

Our faces were so close our noses nearly touched, and we were practically exchanging oxygen. I felt shaky, and my breath caught in my throat like a lump I couldn’t swallow. Our eyes were locked, and I don’t know if the same shock registered in Alex’s face, but I knew that I was feeling it, and it only got worse when my eyes wandered just past Alex’s shoulder and saw the familiar blonde head of my father. I almost choked, and I quickly shoved Alex off of me. “I have to go,” I said. I bustled back through the crowd of people and toward the front door.

When I took another black robe from the man waiting, I glanced back. I thought I saw Alex looking at me, so I offered a small smile and scurried off out of the building and back to my home on the other side of town, watching as smoke and a foul odor coming from the Grove blanketed the sky.