Page 111 of Foes & Cons
“In that case, I’ll ask everyone to clear the hall, I’ll speak to this mysterious redhead and herassociate bitch,and we’ll be back on schedule for eight. See everyone later.”
Associate bitch. I think that’s me.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
LILA MURPHY
So now what do we do?
JULIANA THE DEMON HUNTRESS
Now? Now we partake in the festivities, my surprisingly capable friend.
Vampire Falls. Season one, episode twelve – “Masquerade Brawl”
Usually, although karaoke is arguably the most beloved part of the weekend, the attendees roll down from their rooms or rock up from the bar to find a standard set of flashing lights, karaoke equipment and a low-key tech guy managing the song requests.
Not so when Vivian is thrown into the mix.
When I went to her earlier, hoping we could salvage the karaoke party, she listened intently, nodding along with her fingers clasped in front of her like a mafia boss. She then leant forward and said she would help, but more than that, we would make it the final convention party we would all remember until we’re old andBotoxed up.
She has not deviated from this self-appointed directive.
The entrance is adorned with swathes of black fabric and creeping red roses. Each time someone gets to the end of the rose adorned tunnel, a sensor triggers confetti cannons, showering squealing attendees with fake petals. The round tables are set up with black tablecloths, fake red candles flicker above shiny candelabras, and tiny fairy lights sparkle round the edge of each table.
Giant inflatable bats sit on either side of a flashing dancefloor, their wings flapping around as a fan pumps air though them. There’s a pop-up cocktail bar to the side, a glamorous mixologist in a burgundy velvet dress offering concoctions like Vampire’s Kiss and Bloody Scary.
Conference Hall A pulses with joy and happiness.
I hurry across the dance floor towards Vivian who’s at the karaoke helm. Someone dressed as Lila Murphy in the masquerade scene is on the stage, coming to the end of a classic from the musical episode. Inside the booth, Vivian moves between the laptop and control panels like a sea serpent, greeting the audience in her Britney mic, lining up songs and encouraging the singers, even the terrible ones, as she glides back and forth on her roller skates.
I mean, obviously she’s wearing her skates.
She looks up from the laptop and spots me, then raises her eyebrows in question.
I shake my head, and she presses a button on her earpiece.
“They’ll be here,” she says, a smile softening her face.
She rolls out of the way so her assistant tech person can plug an important-looking wire in. Toby (yes,myToby) is so small he slots in perfectly around a roller-skate-wearing goddess.
“Hi, Toby,” I say.
“Vivian said this was your idea?” he says, glancing up from the decks.
“I . . . not really, I mean, she . . .” I start, unable to take the credit for what Vivian interpreted from my hopefullet’s-make-karaoke-happensuggestion.
Toby raises his eyebrows and nods at me, then frowns at the switches and dials in front of him. It’s the most comfortable I’ve seen him all weekend.
“Good for you, Eliza,” he says, the tiniest of smiles nudging his wispy moustache.
I smile back at him, then turn to watch a blood-soaked Flayerdemon crucify a Lady Gaga song, but everyone is here for it and the roar of applause at the end is heart-warming. Everyone around me is smiling, everyone is happy the weekend didn’t just fizzle out, our final party just an afterthought.
Everyone apart from the people I really want to see.
“Hey, Eliza.”
I look round at Dylan Maguire, his silhouette strobing like a star breaking through the ozone layer.
