Epilogue

 

 

 

 

“Are you ready yet?” Dara shouted from the living room, her raspy voice echoing in the house, bouncing off the walls.

I shot a glower toward my room’s door that stood slightly ajar and, pulling my strange clothes, I hastened, going out of the room. I loped down on the stairs, into the living room.

“Almost,” I shouted back. “Stop nagging, sis!”

“We’re going to be late,” she said indignantly, pointing at the clock on the wall. It showed 8:10. The celebration party at McManus’ pub was scheduled to start at 8 p.m. sharp. Though I very much doubted the masses of supernaturals would pop up before 8:30.

“No, we won’t be,” I snarled as I joined her in our living room.

Dara’s eyes fell on my outfit, ugh, correction: costume, her pupils growing wider. Her mouth gaped open.

“Oh! You look… interesting,” she mumbled. A suppressed twitch across her lips indicated she was trying hard not to burst out laughing. She, herself, was in a costume, though hers was more standard. Clad in a blue, flowing dress with a hood, a small set of wings fluttered behind her shoulders; she clutched a glitter star wand, next to her purse. Dara’s costume screamed the fairy godmother.

I shot my sister another glower and rushed across the corridor, taking the corner, and went right into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I heaved a deep breath of air and put the heavy mask under my arm on the sink. As I saw my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The dark brown fur of the costume made me look like a distant relative of Alf. The attached bells on the belt jingled every time I moved my feet.

“I’ll make you pay for this, Raphael,” I muttered, fighting a new laugh.

A week ago, right after my admission into the Council of Nine, now the Council of Ten, the archangels had come up with the idea to celebrate the victory of the White Court over the Black Court, throwing a grand party. Jeff had wholeheartedly agreed to host such a party. Except this time, it was open only for White Court members. Which meant the incubus Marc, still dating my sister, wouldn’t be present. Sometimes, life was fair.

Then, Raphael had the brilliant follow-up idea to make the celebration party a masquerade. Further, learning about the Balkan folklore tradition of kukeri, he learned about men masked from head to toe who scared off all evil spirts.

“For the past year, you’ve spent a lot of time fighting villains, ranging from the likes of Drogo and Hades, up to the big, bad boss, Lucius. You need some good, old-fashioned protection against any of their left-over powers. It’d be good for you to put on such a kukeri costume,” he’d said one evening as we were having dinner at his cottage in Angels’ City. Shortly after that, he ordered a tailor made costume for me from a Slavic witch in Angels’ City. On her mock-up pictures of the costumes, the outfits didn’t look so extravagant.

The bathroom door’s handle creaked, opening cautiously and Dara’s head peaked in.

“We need to go, Aiya. It’s past 8:20.” She hesitated for a moment and added, “The costume doesn’t look that bad. Actually, it’s nice.” She cracked a smile.

“Oh, really?” My hand reached for the large, furry mask, resting on the sink. As I put it on my face, I looked in the mirror: the mask’s fur and dark colors were in tone with the costume, and two small horns adorned the mask’s top. How fitting! This mask was designed to scare off evil demons. I said with effort, my words coming out muffled, “Now I look like Baba Yaga.”

“Who?” Dara arched a brow.

Taking off the mask, I said clearly and easily, “The evil Slavic witch. Haven’t you heard of Baba Yaga?” Phew, now it felt better: I could speak normally and breath better. I began wondering how long I could stand in Jeff’s crammed bar in my full costume. Probably not long.

Dara shook her head then grabbed my wrist. “Come out, Aiya. We’re late.”

As I protested that I hadn’t put on any make-up, the doorbell rang.

“Great! Here’s your boyfriend. Hopefully, he’ll make you hurry. If you don’t come out in five minutes, I’m leaving the house alone.” Dara threw her hands in surrender and bolted to the front door to greet the archangel.

In a minute or three, after I applied some light make-up on my lips and eyelashes, I went to the living room. Raphael had just slid into the sofa, in his full splendor. He wore the suit of Captain America, the trademark shield resting on the sofa, next to him.

“Aiya, is that you?” He asked me in disbelief. I’d put on the heavy furry mask to test his reaction.

“Yup,” I mumbled, the mask hardly allowing me to produce audible speech.

“I wouldn’t have recognized you. You look… terrifying. But cool,” he quickly added.

“Hey, it was your idea about the kukeri thing,” I said, my voice acid as I pulled off the heavy mask.

“You’re right. I take the blame.” He chuckled and, glancing at his wristwatch, he asked, “Well, are we ready? It’s 8:30. The party has already started. Let’s go!”

We left the house and Dara stayed to lock the front door, then joined us, piling into Raphael’s rented car, a silver Mustang. He drove to Jeff’s pub at higher speed than was strictly legal, but the distance was so little, I doubted a police officer would notice or bother with this mild offense. We arrived at McManus’ in under five minutes. Raphael parked the car at the parking lot left of the pub’s entrance. I adjusted my mask and the bells before I went out of the car, joining Dara and the archangel. Flashing a grin over his shoulder and raising his Captain America shield, Raphael pushed the pub’s door open.

A wave of noise rolled out, combined with the scent of different alcohol drinks, candles, meat dishes and whatnot. The pub was crammed with all kinds of supernaturals, but the overall magical signature felt very positive and benign. Music was thumping and conversation rang through the whole space. Everyone in sight was in costume, wild colors and clothing choices mixing in a collage of fantasy, mythology, and pop culture. The supernaturals nearest to the entrance cheered and waved at us to come in.

I grabbed Dara’s hand. Raphael extended his hand, holding the door open with his shield, and the three of us swept inside.

I’d never seen McManus’ so packed: supernaturals from all the different realms of Angels’ City had swarmed Jeff’s pub; their chatter, laughter, and banter deafening. Weaving through the enormous crowd, Raphael, Dara, and I reached the bar and perched on our three reserved stools. I’d spoken with Jeff earlier and he’d secured these chairs for us.

“Three martinis,” Raphael ordered, waving at Maggie. She’d put on a Princess Leia costume and I had to admit she looked gorgeous in it. The wig’s curly locks went well with her chubby face, giving her a sultry vibe. Several single men had lingered longer at the bar, trying to hold conversations with her while they ordered drinks.
I took off my mask, sipped my Martini, my eyes falling on the colorful crowd, the noise level threatening to harm my hearing. I recognized Durga. She stood in the center of the dance floor; Shiva next to her. They performed some complicated dance. The goddess had put on a costume of Scheherazade while Shiva had dressed as a genie, his blue skin very fitting.

I turned to Raphael, placing the high glass on the counter. “Look who’s dancing in the middle of the stage.” I pointed at the Hindu pair, and he chuckled, swallowing his drink. Dara arched a brow, but her attention was focused on a man in a Black Bird costume, awkwardly dancing on the floor, bumping into other supernaturals in the process.

“This reminds me to ask you, what was the dance Shiva did after Lucius injured Durga? I thought he’d destroy us, together with the whole realm.”

“Ah, that dance?” Raphael turned his beautiful eyes at me, playful sparks flashing in them. He ran his fingertips across the glass’ rim. He said, drawing his head nearer to me, “That was Shiva’s famous Rudra Tandava. He tends to go into it when he’s extremely upset and angry. Like upon his first wife’s death.”

Oh, I didn’t know that. As my hand reached for my glass to take another sip, Isis came to us, dressed as Cleopatra. Osiris trotted after her like an obedient puppy in his Pharaoh costume; a golden tunic flowed from his chest down to his knees, highlighting his muscular body. The headpiece of King Tut crowned his outfit, a golden foam snake in the front inspired awe and respect. He looked splendid.

“How’s the mood, kids? Everything fine?” Isis asked us, her gaze lingering on me. I raised my glass in salute and mumbled, “fine” in response.

“You did a good job back in Hades’ realm, kid.” She patted my shoulder and rushed to the far end of the room where the Egyptian gods and their minions had gathered. The Greek department was in the opposite corner. I noticed Zeus and Hera, dressed as Hercules and Megara, his first wife.

Isis didn’t say anything about my costume, I thought, but said nothing.

“Fancy a dance?” Raphael asked me, extending his hand to me.

“Now? In this costume?”

“Yes, why not?” He winked at me and hopped on the floor, inviting me to join him. I grudgingly complied, the heavy costume thumping on the floor as I joined the dance floor, the jingling bells announcing my arrival. Several supernaturals turned their heads expectantly at me. Durga flashed me a smile, then focused her attention back on her dance with Shiva.

“Shake your legs, love, like this,” Raphael shouted, trying to outvoice the loud music. He began shaking his limbs on the floor, his movements resembling those of a bear. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the mask hindering my free laugh. I imitated him and the bell’s jingling mounted.

“Oh, no, I look ridiculous,” I complained and was ready to give up and slide back onto the bar’s stool, but he stopped me with his hand.

“This is the purpose of the kukeri costume and the noise: to ward off the evil spirits. Keep the dance, dear.” He winked as he swirled around me, his Captain America shield raised, his other hand placed on my thigh.

Okay, we looked utterly bizarre and stupid, but who cared? It was healthy to let out the steam and goof around for a short time. As I increased my shaking on the ground with my arms and legs stretched out, Raphael drew closer to me, his scent of vanilla and strawberries assuring me everything was perfect.