His Royal Highness(66)

Their smiles say they feel deeply sorry for me.

They shouldn’t. I look amazing.

Cal let me raid his closet. I’m wearing a purple linen shirt tucked into my jeans, and a small navy scarf is knotted around my neck in the French style. A call from Cal to the night crew in the Costuming Department produced a white beard that’s now glued to my jaw. My hair is tucked in a bun underneath one of Cal’s straw fedoras. He even let me borrow his watch, and an extra pair of his reading glasses hang from a lanyard around my neck.

The witches disappear inside and I glance back at Carrie—who, by the way, isn’t dressed all that sexy either. She has her hair slicked back into a half-up bun. She’s wearing a laced leather jerkin over tight black pants. There’s a dagger and a thin sword holstered at her waist. She looks like a medieval assassin.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Then I snap my fingers with realization. “Duh, you’re Arya.”

I turn to Thomas and take in his matching leather vest and trousers. “Which makes you…Gendry?”

He holds up a helmet in the shape of a bull’s head and beams, proud that I guessed right. They usher me inside and offer me something to drink. I accept whatever they have sitting in a massive punchbowl and then cough dramatically after the first sip, because holy hell.

“Is this moonshine?” I ask, wheezing.

“Just really strong punch,” Carrie assures me. “Thomas asked me to make it and I wasn’t sure of the correct ratio.”

“Maybe next time ask Jeeves for a little help? I think this just burned through the lining of my esophagus.”

Carrie rolls her eyes and throws her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be a baby. Drink up and c’mon—I need you to be my partner in this beer pong game Thomas is forcing me to play.”

Thomas, brave soul that he is, has invited way too many people into his apartment. Sure, he has plenty of space since he lives in exec housing a few floors below Derek, but every time I look up, it’s like the party has doubled in size. Or maybe I’m just seeing double? Who knows. Carrie and I suck at beer pong and are forced to drink a lot of her crappy punch.

I recognize most of the people here from around the park, though some of them must be Thomas’ friends as well because I don’t know the guy dressed like Einstein trying to get my attention.

“Our costumes could be friends,” he says, pointing between us.

We look like two old dudes.

I laugh. “Yeah, we should be playing chess in a park or grumbling about the merits of Brexit.”

He grins. “Exactly. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” I explain it and he laughs. “Is it weird that I still think you’re hot even with the beard?”

I’ve had exactly enough alcohol to think this comment is hilarious. It’s not. Sober me is rolling her eyes.

He extends his hand, I think to introduce himself, but Carrie drags me away. It’s funny. My costume should be turning men in the other direction, but I think they’re just curious about who the hell I’m supposed to be. Once we’re back in the kitchen, I check my phone for the one hundredth time, hoping Derek will text or call. He hasn’t.

I don’t want to be obsessively thinking about him. It’d be great if I could throw myself into this party like everyone else, but there’s this overwhelming sense of disinterest since Derek isn’t here. I don’t want to suffer through small talk with other guys. I just want Derek.

When I slide my phone into my back pocket, I glance up and spot Ryan over in the corner with some friends and I wave. He’s dressed like a pirate with a fake parrot perched on his shoulder. He waves back but doesn’t make his way over to me. It’s for the best.

Carrie finds me again, tugging me in the direction of the coffee table where she and Thomas have set up a Ouija board. I groan.

“Seriously?”

“Yes! It’s Halloween,” Thomas says. “Shit is about to get spooky. Someone kill the lights!”

It takes approximately forty-five minutes for people to locate the light switches around his apartment—“The left one. No, that one controls the fan.”—but eventually, Thomas’ place is plunged into darkness. A few phone flashlights are tapped on to illuminate the board.

For one second, a trickle of fear runs down my spine. Then a guy asks where the bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos went.

“Whitney, take the other side,” Carrie says, pushing the Ouija board’s heart-shaped magnifying piece toward me. Together, we take on the supernatural.

“Someone ask a question,” Thomas prompts the room.

“Is Whitney a virgin?”

I flip the crowd my middle finger and everyone laughs. We’ve all reverted back to tween-dom and soon enough, we’re asking the board the most ridiculous questions.

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?”

“Who stole the bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos?”

“Is the spirit of Elvis Presley among us?”

We’ve just identified that Elvis is, in fact, in the building—“Tell him I said hi!” someone shouts—when the door to Thomas’ apartment opens, flooding the living room with light. In theme with our current activity, we all scream our heads off.

Crouched over the Ouija board, I can’t see over the crowd, but Thomas stands and laughs, telling everyone to settle down. “It’s just Derek. Hey man, come on in.”