“Peter Pan and Tinkerbelle.”
“Only if you’re Tinkerbelle.”
“Witch and black cat.”
“We’re going to a ball, not trick-or-treating.”
“Jesus, Honey, we’re never going to come up with anything.”
“Oh, I know! You can be an angel and I’ll be a little devil on your shoulder. Like the parrot, but sexier.”
“Ironic. I like it. But I thought fairies didn’t like Christian stuff.”
“Christians didn’t come up with angels and devils.”
“Whatever, let’s not get into it.” I got enough blasphemy from Mr. Clean-I didn’t need it from Honey, too.
What followed was a game of one-upmanship as we tried to outdo each other for the sexiest costume. Since I was shapeshifting and Honey was using her piskie glamour, it escalated quickly. We finally decided to call it a draw, but by that time we looked like we’d walked off the set of a porn video with a paranormal theme.
I was wearing a sheer white shift that might have reached midthigh if I pulled on the hem real hard. A halo of golden light encircled my head and elegant feathery wings fluttered at my back. I chose a pair of white stilettos that hurt like hell but did amazing things to my calves. I added some curves to fill out the shift, and most of them were plainly visible through the thin fabric. I thought I heard Mr. Clean’s chuckling at one point, but the TV wasn’t on.
I finished off the ensemble with a white garter, panties and stockings to maintain some sense of modesty, at least from the waist down.
Honey went with classic red leather. It started out as a bustier but was quickly reduced to a thong, thigh-high boots and something that might have been a bra or pasties, depending on where you draw the line. She completed the look with cute little horns, a tail and the requisite pitchfork.
When we were finished, we stood in the middle of my bedroom and admired our handiwork in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door.
“We’re going to do some damage,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think I’m cheating with the shapeshifting?”
“No way, it’s a masquerade. Besides, your boobs are spectacular.”
“Yeah. I always hoped they’d look like this when I grew up.”
“You should keep them.”
“Nah, just for the party. One night is enough.”
“Not for me it’s not.”
“You’ll live. Buy a magazine or something.”
“You’re beautiful, Domino.”
I smiled. “I have to be to keep up with you.”
If the End Times were upon us, the Bacchanal Ball was the right kind of party to close things out. Oberon had glamoured the whole club. I could see the magic plainly enough, but even without the witch sight I’d have known it the instant Honey and I walked in the door. All my worries and inhibitions literally dropped away from me at the threshold. I’d had a little headache when we left the condo but it vanished when I entered the club. I didn’t want to think. I only wanted to see, and hear, and smell and taste. I just wanted to feel.
Luckily, Oberon had provided plenty of amusements to indulge the partygoers’ senses. Witch-light cast a soft, surreal glow across the club, and the space was filled with hundreds-maybe thousands-of exotic flowers. The main bar was gone and it had been replaced by a huge oak banquet table piled high with food and drink of every description. A chamber orchestra performed on the stage-all of the musicians sidhe-and the music they played made me ache with longing for something beautiful I’d lost and then forgotten.
The costumes were incredible-no surprise, given all the glamour and sorcery in the room. Oberon appeared as Pan, standing at least seven feet tall on a goat’s legs, with curling ram’s horns, golden hair and a roguish thatch of whiskers on his chin. Titania was a forest nymph, which meant she was more than half naked and had leaves in her long red curls. These images suited them somehow, and I found myself wondering if these were their true forms, or had been once.
“Welcome to Arcadia, m’ladies,” the king said, bowing dramatically. “Welcome to the Dream.”
And that’s just what it was, that first true night in the fairy king’s Arcadia. Later, the memories would dance away from my conscious thoughts like embers on the wind. I remember we ate and drank, and everything I tasted was the very best thing, each morsel and sip a unique delight.
Terrence was there, an ebon-skinned Egyptian god with the head of a jackal. I remember Adan, and he tasted like cinnamon and apples again. I remember Honey lying beside me and a handsome young piskie named Jack, and I remember the joy I felt when I saw them together.
I remember Anton was there but I don’t remember what he was doing. I can only hope he wasn’t doing much.
At some point during the endless revel, I heard a song I recognized. A single violin played a sad, sweet melody that was at once haunting and seductive. The instrumental went on for a long time, and then Titania stepped onto the stage and began to sing.
The song was “Hotel California.” I remember looking around at the crowd. Some danced, slowly swaying as if in a trance, and others stood quietly watching the stage. All were weeping, and I realized I was, too. I can’t describe what I heard, and anyway, the sound was only part of it. The queen poured an immortal lifetime of passion and sorrow into the song. I remember thinking if there were real angels, this was the song they would sing.
I don’t remember the song ending, but Titania had left the stage when the dream turned into a nightmare.
I was reclining on a velvet couch with my dress bunched around my waist. Adan was draped over me and he was kissing my neck. Honey was curled around my forearm, naked and sleeping, and Jack was spooning her. He was also naked.
I heard screams and shouts, and I smelled sulfur and decay. Bodies were hurled away from the center of the room or crumpled where they stood. I heard the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone. I saw blood splash like buckets of paint on the walls and the floor.
“Fomoiri!” Oberon yelled, and I saw him charge the dance floor with a silver greatsword in his hands.
I didn’t recognize the king’s name for it, but finally, I saw the demon.
It was massive, towering above the crowd, but darkness clung to it and its form was constantly shifting, twisting, so that my eyes didn’t want to focus on it. It was vaguely humanoid and it was burning from the inside out, flame spilling from its eyes and mouth.
There were no batwings or horns. As I forced myself to look at it, I realized it was very like a human, except for the size, the special effects and the hideous deformities. Its back was hunched, its skull was misshapen and bone spurs pierced the mottled hide stretched over rippling bands of muscle.
The demon turned to Oberon as he charged, and it roared. Fire exploded from its mouth and engulfed the king, but it didn’t slow him down. He slammed into the thing and buried the sword in its side. The demon howled and swung one impossibly long arm. Its fist smashed into Oberon’s head with a sickening crunch, and the king went down.
The fairy king went down.
This was enough, at last, to shock me from my stupor. I got up and advanced on the monster. I started spinning spontaneous combat spells as fast as I could pull the juice, and they flowed around the demon like water around a stone. I hit the thing with malevolent glamours and it didn’t even notice.
By this time, the other survivors had recovered, too, and the air around the demon had become a storm of arcane energy. It just kept killing, and it finally dawned on me that there might have been a reason Oberon had attacked it with a sword.
“Physical attacks!” I shouted, and my words were followed shortly by the deafening sound of gunfire as all the gangsters who were still alive unloaded on the demon. I’d left my forty-five at home on account of my minimalist costume. I could have hidden it with glamour, but it would have ruined the experience. I snatched a semiautomatic from the waistband of a fallen soldier and emptied the magazine at the demon.
Bullets didn’t seem to have much effect, either.
