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Well. This was a left turn. Into Petco. Because, apparently, I need kitten food.
“I don’t really want to do this, Zahr.”
“Well, that’s too dang bad.” Zahra finishes painting a little bee on my cheek and plops a cheap set of antennae into my hair. I made my own costume—the little striped bee outfit complete with flouncy skirt and fuzzy long sleeves—but I did not get around to making the wings or antennae myself. Needless to say, Zahra got them last-minute off Amazon, and it shows.
Facing the full mirror wall in the room Zahra has dedicated to her costumes, I take myself in.
Everything in this room—from the mirror wall to the walk-in closets to the elaborate vanity table complete with roughly three thousand compartments—she installed herself shortly after she bought this ranch house. It’s her costume room mostly used for LARPing, streaming, and the occasional cosplay convention—where she is inevitably bombarded by a hundred adoring fans.
Who knew that graphic design and streaming video games in full costume could supplement the pitiful salary of a teaching assistant to such a luxurious extent? I am in awe every time I walk past Zahra’s three garages to enter her fully paid-off mansion.
She went from having nothing but an overnight bag and her motorcycle to having a house on ten acres of land. You know. So her LARP team of fellow YouTubers and nerds can meet and set up entire freaking medieval towns in the backyard.
“How many people are going to be at this party thing again?” I murmur. “I think I can only handle…downwards of three.”
“There will be upwards of a hundred, but don’t fret. People are great.” Zahra sits on a daybed in the corner and pulls on a pair of leather boots, which match the rest of her painted-on jumpsuit putting her every ample curve on display. “They taste just like chicken.”
I stare at her, uncertain what exactly she’s supposed to be. A leather biker jacket is normal for her. Full spandex might be pushing it, but only the smallest bit. On the whole, what she’s wearing is something she wouldn’t mind coming to work in. So given that it’s Halloween and we’re going to a costume party…
Her round nose squashes as she zips a boot up to her knee, drops her foot, and looks at me. “Well, okay, technically, they taste like wild pork.”
I blink. “What?”
“According to cannibals, humans taste more like the pork of wild boars. Not chicken.” Her lips pinch. “Apparently, human meat looks like beef, but tastes kinda like oily, gamey pork.” Her gaze lifts, hollow and chilling. “Our very flesh is a lie, Kass.”
Crossing my arms, I let the comment about what humans literally taste like roll right off me in favor of saying, “You look like a dominatrix.”
A wild smile crashes across her face. “Really? Excellent. I have whips. I can change up my costume last minute, no big de—”
“Zahr, why do you have whips?”
Standing, she plants her hands at her hips. “Do you even know how many anime characters are whip wielders?”
“No? How many?”
“Enough—” She clears her throat. “—for me to have maybe five to seventeen different kinds of whips.”
“Five to seventeen?”
Plastering her hands together, she points her fingers at me. “You know how in books, the girls are all given a bow as a weapon?”
“Yes…”
“In anime, they get whips. Or giant hammers. No, I don’t know why. Yes, I also have a couple giant hammers in my weapon’s closet. I’d have more, but they are harder to store.”
My mind drifts, and I picture a certain someone’s father popping out of a Whac-A-Mole.
Zahra grabs a gold and black helmet with cat ears off the corner of her daybed. “Are we ready to go, or are you going to keep picturing death-bonking Meda’s dad with one of my anime hammers?”
I straighten and fix my little bee-tennae. “Um. Excuse me. Get out of my head.”
She snorts. “Nope. It’s cozy in here. Lots of fifth-grade facts to soak in. Makes me feel smarter.” Touching my shoulder, she smiles. “I promise I’d kill him myself if I didn’t think he was taking care of Meda. You have to know that.”
“I want to know that, Zahr. But…the world isn’t magic. You weren’t there when I went to see them. You didn’t hear everyone confirm that he’s got a lab in his basement. You didn’t see how much alcohol he has stored in nearly every room.”
“I also didn’t hear the proof you recorded when you were talking to their butler.” She pops her helmet on and flips the visor up so I can see her eyes. “Because faeries can’t be caught on recording. And normal people in this town totally don’t have butlers.”
“Zahr. That had to have been a technical issue. The speaker wasn’t facing him right…or something.”
