Page 72 of The Debutantes
The lock clicks.
I turn to Piper to check in, but she’s already tightening her mask and striding down the hall like a shark tracking its prey. Okay, then. Guess we’re doing this.
As soon as we step into the main room, I can see what Renee meant. On New Year’s, the energy in here was like a gala for loud fancy drunk people, but now, even though the room is still crowded with couples in masks, the conversations are hushed, everyone watching the throne in the middle of the room like they’re waiting for something big.
I catch Piper’s eye, knowing we’re both thinking the same thing. It’s not just any throne. It’s the one they used at Les Masques.
And then I realize what else is different. There’s still lots of old guys and young women, but tonight, there are younger-looking boys here, too. It’s hard to tell with the masks, but based on a quick look around, I think they could be anywhere between our age and early twenties. They’re all just milling around, and none of them has a woman with them.
I spot Renee with a man wearing a black mask. He turns, and the light catches its inky feathers and beak. A raven. Didn’t April say one of the guys on the balcony had a raven mask?
I grip Piper’s arm. “Look, that’s—”
“Who are you here with?”
We both spin toward the deep voice. One of the members, hidden behind a silver plastic mask.
I freeze, but Piper gestures broadly at the group of men around the bar.
“Oh, he’s getting our drinks,” she says in a put-on drawl. It’s higher than usual, and she’s laying on a thick Southern accent that’s sort of, well, country bumpkin, like she’s playing the role of someone who could never be an upper-crust Maid. “I just can’t get enough of how fancy they are here. Those cute little cherries and everything!”
The man narrows his eyes behind his mask, but if he clocks the lie, he doesn’t show it. “Make your way to the throne. The Lieutenant is about to begin.”
As soon as he says it, the lights overhead dim and then come back on twice, like they do at Sav’s plays when intermission is ending. The men start leading their partners toward the throne.
One man steps forward and faces the crowd. He’s wearing a golden cape and matching hat with a ridiculous white featherplume. A gold cloth mask hangs down over his face, covering everything except his eyes, which look through two holes cut into the fabric. He’s dressed like one of the Deus Lieutenants, I realize, the guys who ride on horseback in the parade every year, right in front of the King’s float, so everyone knows he’s coming.
There’s something familiar about this guy, the way he’s standing, but I can’t quite place it. Before I can say anything, Piper loops her arm through mine.
“Come on,” she says, still with that smile on her face, but her eyes are alert. “Let’s go.”
I don’t think we have a choice. The man who came up to us watches as we go to stand with the other girls. There’s maybe ten of us, and no one seems sure what we’re supposed to do. I look at Renee, but she’s staring straight ahead. Finally, I catch her eye, but she just gives a small, almost invisible shake of her head.
I look around and realize there’s a clear divide between the women and the men now: us in the middle, them surrounding us. It feels like they’re watching us through glass, the way rich people do when they’re picking out the lobster they want for dinner.
Head up, Atkins,Coach’s voice comes into my head. I scan the room for the Jester, but I don’t see him. Not yet.
The Lieutenant steps forward, and the other men watch as he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out something small and shiny. He lifts his hand, and as the light hits the metal, I realize what it is. A cowbell.
The Lieutenant’s eyes slide to us, the women crowded around the throne. With the mask on, it seems like that’s all he is, just two blue eyes in their circles of pale skin.
He shakes the cowbell once. The metal clangs and then fades away. There’s a breath.
And then the noise is everywhere. Cowbells appear in the other men’s hands, and they shake them at us like we’re cattle, all of them with the same lazy, drunken smiles on their faces. I grip Piper’s hand, and she squeezes. For the first time, I can see how scared she is.
The noise builds, high and low pitches mixing together into an attack of sound, metal on metal, until finally, when I think I might scream just to drown it out, it stops, the Lieutenant slicing his hand through the air like a conductor.
“Omnes nos reges!” he announces.
“Omnes nos reges!” the men echo.
The Lieutenant slides his cowbell back into his pocket, addressing the room like a man who knows he’s in charge.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to the Feast. Tonight, as always, we gather for many reasons. First, to honor Deus, our God.”
God.I know that’s what “Deus” means in Latin, and it’s what they’ve always called the King of the parade, but there’s something creepy about the way he says it, like he really believes it.
“We are here,” the Lieutenant continues, “to thank Him for the bounty He has rained upon us. To remember the sacrifices we must make to protect it.”
