Chương 147: Chapter 168: Antici...... pation.

..... pation.

"Did you hear?" Elica asked me while Rinnie laid out rows and rows of shaped barrettes.

"Probably not," I said frankly.

"I've been up to my eyeballs in party prep. The only time I've taken a moment for anything but festivities was when I blew up a necromancer and scored a million brownie points with the magister's college. Why, what's happened?"

"Well, as it happens the royal family has officially called off the search for their daughter," Elica said, turning her head as she held up two unmatched earrings, comparing the effect. She examined one side with the topaz, and the other side with the rubies. She frowned, unsure.

"They've had her declared dead, and the state funeral is this next week. Starting on Oneday and lasting through Fiveday, culminating in their ceremonial burial, an empty casket." I considered that.

"Hmm. Not a bad strategy. It attempts to take the narrative off their necromancy allegations, and it diverts sympathy to their family. And it makes me look like I'm gloating and callous when I throw my egg-race tournament party the day after the state funeral and internment. Thanks for the warning, Elica."

"And do you already have a counterstrategem?" she asked, setting aside one set of earrings. I hate the fact that this is a stratagem, and that I need a countermove. I hate that her own family is using this for a cynical attempt to manipulate public opinion. She deserves better than that. I know that sounds hypocritical, because it is hypocritical. I had her killed for no crime other than that she stood in the way of the future I wanted.

If she was alive next year, her influence leads to two districts of the city being set on fire. If she's alive two years after, then her decisions lead to two entire cities being wiped off the map. She's a very sweet girl, but she is not worth a quarter of a million lives. I had to accept a lot of guilt and shame on myself when I decided to put my hand on the trolley switch. But, as Elica has pointed out, I do need a counterstrategem. I channeled lightning to give myself a couple of minutes to think.

And that lightning activated a light bulb in my brain.

"As a matter of fact I've got a great new plan," I said. I stepped away from my mirror and headed for the wardrobe, because now I need a tiara. Obviously I never invited the Freckentops to this unique harvest festival that I'm throwing. And likewise, none of their close allies. I'm carefully distancing myself from them now, casting a gauntlet. I'm not declaring war between the Freckentops and Harigolds, I'm not even declaring war between them and myself personally. I'm just shutting them out.

But more relevantly, that means that they did not get the invitation to this festival, or the messenger that brought it. Nobody has told them the difference between the usual autumn harvest festivals, and Halloween. They probably never asked. I've spent three months of weekends stopping by Lady Hanje's shop, approving samples and correcting designs. My side of it has not been very intensive, I stop by for a few minutes, give a "yes, no, no, brighter, no, higher, good job, do we have this in red?

, needs more bats, goodbye!" and they spend days trying to turn that feedback into tangible models for me to check out next week. We are creating a new vision cast entirely from my own imagination. And that's a scenario that has had... mixed results in the past. Musically, it seems these people can't seem to get enough of me and the innovations I'm borrowing from the real world. Shania, Kylie, Muse, Stripes, Haydn, Gershwin, they love it all. Egg races caught on among younger crowds.

Birthday songs and candles on cakes, they all love that. My attempts to promote baseball fail over and over. I don't talk about it much, but Hearstwhile just doesn't seem to have any patience for a team field sport where you spend most of your time standing still. And despite pain-in-the-ass fashion designers demanding my collaboration, nobody actually adopts any of my new ideas or emulates any of the new looks I try out sometimes.

I've given them dozens of new stories to tell, but I always have to couch it in the terms of their own world, I cannot get them to even look at Dune because the magic and technology there are not what they're used to. They won't listen to stories about anything they don't already believe in. Honestly, only a fraction of my ideas ever get adopted. And not a large fraction. I get famous for the things that work. The new roads in Hearster across the Fissuring, and the stories I am giving away to the minstrel's guild.

Ergonomic writing desks, and the handful of song compositions that I've signed my name to. Many people understand that I'm a genius at many different fields and an innovator of many fields. Fortunately for me, I don't think anyone out there is keeping track of all the ideas I've pushed forward that have flopped. Pogo sticks, sandwiches, baseball, bubble wands, light bulbs, zip-lock baggies, comic books, space heaters, disposable tissues...

I've brought around a lot of ideas that failed every test here in Hearstwhile. Just because something worked and took off and became a staple on Earth doesn't mean that every culture is going to appreciate it. And Hearstwhile is stubborn. Which I suppose is exactly what I should expect from a culture that has managed not to innovate at all for the past thousand years. There's just something baked into their mentality that resists any new idea.

Well, now they're going to find their match, I'm sure, because I'm pretty fucking stubborn myself, and I love Halloween. And as it turns out, Halloween is right at the center of this brilliant brand new stratagem that I've developed... Or I should say, it's brilliant if it works. Like always, I cannot tell if I've got a good idea until I see the outcomes. This place is full of surprises, and making big moves means taking big risks.

Also, I'm just slightly out of my comfort zone with this, because I'm adapting what I know to what they know. Hearstwhile has a lot of folklore that doesn't map to Earthly western-culture folklore. Earth has Jason Voorhees and Frankenstein and Slenderman and wendigos, this world has Wheelhead and The Litten Child and Backteeth. But it also has a healthy and thriving tradition of evil sorcerers and, even moreso, evil sorceresses.

Every wicked witch and malignant fairy queen and evil stepmother and cruel goddess of Earth tradition has a counterpart in sorceresses here in Hearstwhile. Obviously, this is one of the things that has held me back for years. Gods know how many times some opportunity was shut away from me because someone heard about me and and envisioned whichever storybook villain sprang to their mind when they heard "sorceress". So, now I just need to make myself as evil as possible.

I dyed some black streaks into my hair, staring at the temples like a Reverse Bride of Frankenstein. The dye would not last very long, the magic of the void saturated my body ever since I almost disintegrated on the night of the fire. With that essence stamped directly to my body and my essence, my body bleaches itself over time. Most cosmetics and hair dyes only keep their color for about twelve hours. I have no idea what would happen if I got tattoos. But for a few hours at least, I can use makeup.

And I've got an extra advantage there. I have access to the blackhart essence that lets me stain my lipstick, eyeliner, nail polish and mascara an impossibly dark black color. I use a more moderated dark-blue color for the eyeshadow, and just a shade of contouring to set me off. All topped by a tiara. Conspicuously princess. Between the hyperblack essence and the perfect whiteness of the void, I am well set up to give a ghoulish gothic Halloween performance.

But ghoulish and outlandish is actually much easier for me than something more moderated and normal. I do have a damned hard time recreating my original coloration. If I had the choice.... well, let's not dwell. My dress is black beyond night, with a wasp-waisted corset instead of the usual bodice. Off shoulder and much lower-cut than I would normally wear, but Halloween is allowed to be a little daring. I balance this with a long, loose-woven shawl of silk threads, lace-edged with a scalloped fringe.

It is clearly a well-made and deliberate garment, but with just that first glance, it could give the impression of spider's webs. Elica has gone folkloric, dressed as The Rasping Queen, a tale told of the barbarian queen of unsurpassed beauty and wealth and cruelty, who nearly defeated the first kings of Hearstwhile. A dress made of fallen maple leaves, a crown of glittering glass, and a staff covered in a hundred jagged wooden teeth.

That was enough to show who she was meant to be, but of course Elica was not going to be content until she also had that "unsurpassed beauty" going for her. She and Rinnie were hard at work there at the vanity, getting everything perfect. Larianne was sitting on my bed, she was embracing her usual look except for a particular hat she was wearing, puffy crimson velvet with bands of rose gold and a crimped brim. It was identical to a hat worn in a portrait by one of her ancestors, an Ebonder witch of vast power.

Nobody ever seems to say outright that she was a necromancer, but it's rather strongly implied. I think the Ebonder family as a whole distances themselves from that ancestor, holding her as an outlier. On the other hand Vancy was dressed as a tiger, with ears on a headband and playfully-patterned dress and gloves. Apparently she's scared of tigers and thought this would represent her fears. Very first Halloween and I've already met the tradition of teenaged girls wearing cute costumes with animal ears.

If the Freckentops had really wanted to hurt me, they'd have announced the funeral next week so that the egg race would look frivolous and my birthday would look like braggadocio. I suppose every so often I do get a pass of good luck. I glance at the vanity on the other side of the room, and I try to remember how long it's been since the last bell that I heard. Kind of a while.

And it's becoming increasingly obvious to me that Elica is never going to reach whatever standard she is trying for, and that she could kill a theoretically-infinite amount of time just pursuing perfection. Time's up.

"Rinnie," I call out.

"That's good enough for now. Pack up what you can and get it ready to move. I've got a dressing room at the venue set aside so you can do touchups throughout the night. And I am not going to be standing around here any longer."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled.

"You just magic yourself into whatever costume you like."

"Yes it is," I agreed easily.

"But I stand by what I said." Cosmetics were put into boxes and caddies and snapped shut, ready to go.

"All right," I said, "bright lights incoming." I opened the portal and we stepped through, only a flicker of time passed before we arrived at the venue. A rented hall, decorated heavily, with the raised vestibules and entryways that I prefer. The other four stepped away, desperately blinking away the sparks in their eyes, but I snapped the portal shut and reached out with my sorcerous affinity to find the essences, it's a good way to anchor myself while I wait for my eyes to recover.

Wooden parquet flooring, crystal chandeliers above. I could feel wax tapers in the sconces with corded wicks, instead of the usual practice of using script candles to give off light from magic alone. Despite how clearly I could sense the wax, I only got a mutter back from the flames dancing along the top of the wick, my affinity for fire was slow and grudging still, and would be until next spring. My sight was coming back, and I could see the effect of the lighting.

Like everyone else here, I've used mage's candles almost exclusively my whole life. Especially after the fire. The steady, clean, smokeless light of them was if anything more convenient than electrical lighting on Earth. But replacing them with small drops of flame all around the room created a different ambience from the beginning. Something a little wilder, older, chaotic. Rustic, and with a warmer color that is more evocative of a harvest festival, but also untamed and capricious.

Flickering flames, dancing shadows. Ironically, the candles were an expensive choice. If we'd just used regular mage candles they would have been included in the price of renting the venue, but bringing in beeswax pillars with scented oils was our own overhead. But I want this done right. People are used to harvest festivals that smell of roasted pig, fresh-picked gourds, spiced cider. I've helped my family throw enough of those to know exactly how it's done.

But this time, we've got mixtures of clove and bergamot and patchouli, musk and petrichor. Unsettling, but not unpleasant. A shape wobbled in front of me, still not quite in focus.

"Er, Lady Natalie?" he said.

"Ah. Hello Ondre," I said, identifying him by his voice.

"Sorry, I won't have my vision for another minute or two. It seems things are going well?"

"Yes they are," he said hurriedly.

"But, the Lady Hanje Toor has asked that I let you know that it is not too late to call this off, we can still dispatch riders to the homes of our more prominent invitees. We could tell our guests that in light of today's announcements we feel it is respectful to observe silence. Or, if you rather, we can swap most of this out and replace with mourning colors, the venue has plenty of funereal drapery in storage that we could bring out."

"Absolutely not," I said.

"We do not flinch. This is not a challenge, this is a feint to test our nerve." Not that it would take much of a change to get this place ready for funereal decor, most of the place was already done up in a basic black.

"Very good," he said, bowing. I had almost enough of my vision back to make out his expression. But still, even without fine details I could make out more of the room. Over there, the apple-bobbing cauldron. The entrance to our haunted house attraction. The table where the canapés would be laid out shortly. There was already a performer in costume as Wheelhead the night-time bogeyman, walking in stilts around the common room, ducking under the chandeliers.

At a back corner, the mad science was all spread out: we had a Jacob's Ladder that was already charged up and flowing bright-sparking bolts up its antennae, and a Tesla coil at a reasonable distance. Canisters, heavily insulated, were hidden underneath tables and stages back there, soon to deploy the dry-ice fog. There is plenty of theming: paper skeletons, drapery of cobwebs, a cluster of taxidermied bats that occasionally rustles and squeaks like living things. Nothing gory or too ghoulish, not yet.

I want to walk that fine line of frisson and fear, more of a thrill than a terror, just enough spook to get the burst of relieved laughter afterwards. This was almost exactly what the invitations had recommended for the masquerade, and it was our watchwords for the evening. Vancy walked up to my side." Natalie," she hissed, loud-whispering.

"There's a man over at the entree table who has an apron soaked in blood!"

"Corn syrup and food dye," I corrected.

"It's glossier and keeps its color really well. The blood is fake, this is all showmanship. But, it's also really sticky and hard to wash off so be careful not to brush up against it."

"Little chance of that!" she shuddered.

"You should have gotten a better venue, the balconies are unsafe too."

"Because of the signs warning you not to lean on the railings?"

"Yes," she said, but there was also about half a "?" at the end there, an unsure tone that indicated she could see that I was up to something.

"The railings are perfectly safe," I said.

"But we do have a paid performer who will be tumbling over it during intermission, and falling onto a large cushion underneath."

"Oh!" she gasped behind her hand, eyes round and big.

"Oh, that will be-""Just a little scary, but very entertaining," I finished for her.

"This is about making big impressions and taking bold action. But I'm not going to do anything unsafe. You know very well that I am a meticulous planner and I get very put out if anything does not go according to my projections." Vancy shifted her weight and glanced away from me.

"Um, some people have a different way of phrasing that."

"I'm sure they do," I chuckled.

"Would you be a dear and grab me some tea sandwiches? I need to speak to Ondre." I nodded at the man who is bearing down on us with slightly-unseemly haste. Vancy patted my shoulder.

"I'll leave you to your secret scary masquerade party planning, and I'll be back with finger foods." She walked away humming. She's gonna flip when the third course comes out and includes the first of the faux-foods. Fingers, eyes, all the classics. Ondre approached and hit the most hurried and perfunctory bow.

"My lady. I've relayed your terms to Lady Hanje and she agrees entirely. But our contracted reader for the entry to the, ah, corn maze? has fallen ill and wishes to send her grandmother in her place. An experienced lector, but I will require approval-""You have it," I nodded.

"Old ladies reading ghost stories are always creepier than young ladies. We should have pitched the grandmother first anyway. All to the good. Now, where are we at with that falling pumpkin in the walk-through?" After fifteen years, I finally get my Halloween party. My way. And it's going to be perfect.