* * *
KAT
“Here,” Gideon murmurs, shouldering his way back through the crowd and handing me a plastic cup full of red wine.
“Thanks,” I murmur back. “They’re just finishing up the under-eighteen part.”
“Mmm,” Gideon says, into his wine. “I think it’s gonna be the sandwich.”
“I hope so,” I say. “Otherwise everyone labored all month in vain.”
He snorts as the emcee on stage waves his arms, trying to get everyone to quiet down. Behind him are three kids, all varying ages: a little one in a T-Rex costume, a teenager who’s dressed as some sort of spider-monster creature, and my honorary niece Rusty, who’s dressed as a bologna sandwich. She’s got two olives on toothpicks for eyes, and when she moves her arms the right way, the sandwich opens up to reveal a mouthful of teeth.
Apparently, when she was a kid, she saw some movie with a talking sandwich and refused to eat one for years afterward.
“And the winner is,” the emcee shouts, pulling a card out with a flourish that makes his cape flutter, “Rusty Loveless!”
The crowd goes nuts for the terrifying sandwich, and the sandwich herself takes several bows and also pretends to eat the emcee with its unsettling teeth. Finally, Rusty gets off the stage, and the adult costume finalists file on. There’s a Cruella de Ville, two zombie Care Bears, and then there’s Andi and Silas, both looking absolutely delighted to be doing stuff on a stage in front of all these people.
“Weirdos,” Gideon says fondly, and I laugh.
Andi is dressed as a boat. Specifically, she is dressed as Veruca Salt sitting in the candy boat from the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie, meaning that she’s got the boat around her waist, hanging from suspenders. Meanwhile, Silas has gone full Willy-Wonka-in-the-tunnel and has an entire psychedelic backdrop attached to his elaborate costume. There’s a top hat. There are ruffles. Neither of them can get through a doorway without careful planning.
“What do we do if they lose?” I ask Gideon.
“Try harder next year?” he says, then glances over at me. I raise an eyebrow. “Or…?”
“Dig up dirt on the winners until we can either find or fabricate something that disqualifies them?”
“Remind me never to cross you,” he mutters, but I think he’s smiling behind the beard. “Though if I ever need someone ruined, I’ll call you.”
“Happy to help a friend,” I say, and now he’s definitely smiling.
Up on the stage, the emcee is going through the costumes again, drumming up excitement and dragging it out and all that. It goes on forever, but Silas and Andi both seem perfectly happy to do their thing, and I like seeing them happy, so it’s fine. At last, the guy finally gets around to why we’re all here.
“And!” he says, flourishing his cape for the two-hundredth time. “The winners! Of tonight’s! Friends of the Chillacouth Annual Halloween Ghoul-a costume contest!”
“Ghoul-a,” Gideon mutters under his breath.
“Are!” Dramatic pause. “Silas Flynn and Andi Sullivan for tunnel scene from Willy Wonka!”
* * *
GIDEON
“We should do this every year,” Andi says, from where she’s sitting, sort of behind me.
“Do they have the ghoul-a every year?” Kat asks.
“It’s not always a ghoul-a,” Andi says. “Last year it was a spooktacular.”
“Yes, they have a shindig every year,” I tell them, since someone has to answer a question once in a while. Andi’s still got her boat costume on, though the cardboard is kind of rumpled, and I’m leaning against it and she’s leaning against the wall. I’ve got a hand around one of her ankles in what’s hopefully an affectionate gesture, because I can’t quite reach anything else.
“We’re formidable,” Silas says. We’re all in the back corner of the theater, sitting against the wall, plastic cups of wine in hand. “The four of us? This is a dynasty.”
“A Halloween costume dynasty,” Kat deadpans.
“You already came up with three more ideas,” he tells her, and she slumps into him a little more, his arm around her shoulders. He’s still in his ridiculous Willy Wonka getup, and she’s wearing a long black dress.
“I like to be useful,” she says.
“We don’t even know next year’s theme,” Andi points out.
“I’d do it again,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the bone on her ankle. There’s probably a name for that bone. Maybe I should know it? “That was fun, and I particularly enjoyed not having to wear the costume at the end.”
Andi laughs, then reaches forward to ruffle my hair. The boat’s still in the way.
“Next year I get to be a person, though,” she says, giving up. “Being a vehicle was kinda bullshit.”
“Winning bullshit,” Silas says.
“Still.”
“We’ll see what the theme is,” I say, and push myself to standing, then offer Andi a hand. Complicatedly, she gets up.
“Okay. Good work, everyone,” Silas says, straightening his purple velvet tailcoat. Where do you even get one of those? “Andi, pleasure performing with you. Kat and Gideon, excellent backstage work.’
“Thanks,” Kat says dryly. Silas sticks his hand out, palm down, and after a second of confusion I put mine on top of his.
“On three,” Silas says. He doesn’t clarify. “One! Two! Three! GO TEAM!”
“Go team!” says Andi.
“What?” says Kat.
“We were doing go team?” I ask.
“You’re all impossible,” Silas says.
“But you love us,” Andi says, slinging an arm around my shoulders and stabbing me with the prow of her boat at the same time.
“Yeah, I guess,” Silas says, and then we all head out into Halloween night.
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