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Even though I was the one to organize the party, I was impressed by it. Enchanted. Details on paper never match up to the shapes they form in reality.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of guests filled the warehouse, an ocean of vivid costumes beneath the moody purple and orange lighting. Projectors plastered scowling ghouls and bats over the walls. Cobwebs draped in filmy clouds from the high ceiling, like vines, and trailed from every conceivable surface. Fog machines blanketed every inch of the floor in a blanket, drifts rising into the air to obscure faces, identities. Tables of party foods and drinks lined a section of wall, all of them with some sort of macabre twist. Cupcakes with gummy eyeballs, blood-red punch with crimson ice cubes, finger foods made to resemble actual fingers, brownies with white strings of cotton candy and edible candy spiders.
Attendants, dressed as vampires, faces painted white, wearing red contacts, drifted through the crowds, replacing trays of food and tidying up as they went.
It looked as if I had thrown a party for the undead. Ghouls, zombies, goblins, vampires, witches, and werewolves of different varieties made up the vast majority of the guests, though there were a fair amount of princesses and cat girls and characters from video games and movies thrown in.
The air had a thick smell, a nigh undetectable vapor from the fog machines layered over cheap rubber and body odor. Time and time again, I found myself straying back closer to the food, where the scents of sugar could replace the fouler ones of the crowd.
It wasn’t as if I wasn’t having fun, though. To be honest, I was having a blast, more fun than I could remember having in the past couple of years. No one knew who I was. No one rushed up to me and demand to talk to me, and no one tried to usher me away to introduce me to someone they thought I might consider important for one reason or another.
For tonight, I was just a handsome man.
I mingled with the crowd for hours, talking to the other guests as if I was one of them. Though everyone was fantastic, I didn’t really find anyone who stirred a spark in me. The special one I searched for continued to be elusive.
“Hey! Masked prince.”
I turned at the shout. A rather broad and clearly drunk guy a few years younger than me came stumbling over.
“What’s up?” I asked, suddenly nervous. He might have recognized me, somehow. The commotion had caught the attention of a few party-goers near us and the last thing I wanted was for this to start a wave of realization about my identity.
The guy drew up in front of me and fixed his blonde wig. He also dressed like a prince, though was more of Prince Charming type, while I was more nondescript, unable to be assigned to any story in particular. “There can only be one prince at this party,” he slurred. “I been challenging all the other princes to duels. I’m undefeated. You’re next.”
I started to smile.
“What’re you laughing at?”
I bit my tongue to stop my smile from spreading. This guy wanted to play, then fine. I would play. “It amuses me that you think you’ll be the one true prince. Your opponents must not have been very talented.”
Someone in the audience let out a murmur, an “ooh,” at the challenge.
Prince Charming grunted at me. Maybe it was supposed to be more of a scoff. “You’re going to regret this. I challenge you to a duel.”
“I don’t exactly have a sword.”
“Are you a man or aren’t you?”
I jerked back, startled. “You don’t mean…”
What on earth has my party turned into?
Prince Charming burst out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you. Here. A sword.” He held out a toothpick to me, one in the shape of a wooden stake. A spot of grease smudged the tip. I knew exactly where he’d gotten the toothpick from—the pepperoni vampire hearts on the buffet table.
I accepted my so-called sword. It was too small to hold firmly. I grasped it with my thumb and index finger. “Okay. Now what?”
Prince Charming produced his own “sword” and pointed the greasy tip at me. “Now we duel. The best prince wins.”
Before I could react, Prince Charming lurched forward and poked me in the meat of my hand. I yelped and jerked my hand back, almost dropping my own toothpick. People around us laughed and started cheering, chanting encouragement mostly for Prince Charming. He’d struck the first blow, so he had the best chance of winning.
Well, I wasn’t about to be outdone at my own party.
I stabbed out with my toothpick, deliberately missing his hand. He jerked. Quickly, like plucking out a bee stinger, I pulled his toothpick out of his hand.
Prince Charming opened his palm, staring in comical surprise at his lack of a weapon. “Well,” he said. “This is an unexpected turn.”
I laughed, and so did he. He threw his heavy arm around my shoulders and squeezed so tight my laughter turned breathless, constricted.
Releasing me, he grinned at my eyes. “That was awesome, man.”