The Exorcist Doctor

The night after they all picked out their new clothes, Bharncair grew larger.

At least, that was how it felt to Vivi as she stood before the Grand Ball of the Endless Masquerade, located at the heart of the heart of Bleakhearth. Even the Mothlight Theatre nearby—which she’d thought was already impossibly grand—seemed almost modest by comparison. The Grand Ball was a full-on citadel with towering spires, golden spotlights shining everywhere, and carved pillars and archways decorating the exterior in terrible excess. It demanded everyone in the area to look at it, and by the Saintess, it got her undivided attention.

She clasped her hands lightly in front of her, fingers tightening. The seemingly neverending flow of people moving in and out of the giant building unsettled her as well, because they were somehow a step above the wealthy patrons she’d seen going in and out of the Mothlight Theatre. Their gas masks were pure gold, their gloves were pristine white like they’d never seen a day of hard labor, and their laughs, their chatter, their clapping each other on the backs as they gave smiles that didn’t carry the meaning behind them… it was all so fake, yet so Bharncair at the same time.

This was a den of wolves masquerading as sheep, and the Grand Ball was where they all went to hunt each other.

“Yo… that ain’t a ballroom,” Evelyn muttered beside them, eyes wide as she stared up at the giant building. “They’ve got a whole damn city inside that thing.”

Liorin nodded beside her, equally stunned. “How tall is it? It… keeps going up?”

Even Jin, who’d spent the better part of the week reacting to the world with all the visible emotion of a locked door, looked slightly taken aback. Seeing that helped her a little, strangely. If Jin could be impressed into stillness by architecture, then maybe it meant she’d also be allowed a second or two as well.

Unfortunately, Gael had no respect for silent awe.

With a bottle of alcohol tucked under one arm and his cane tapping impatiently against the street, he spread his free hand towards the building and took on the bright, annoying tone of a tour guide who had absolutely not been hired.

“Welcome to the Endless Masquerade!” he said cheerfully. “Supposedly it’s an event that’s been going on for at least eighty years straight, day in, day out. The music never stops, the dancing never stops, and if someone dies politely enough, I assume the Three-Faces just drag the body away without missing a beat. It’s the Bleakhearth tradition—any business, entrepreneur, social climber, fixer, liar, and general bastard trying to achieve something in the ward has to come here at least once to dance, smile, trade names, trade favors, and make connections. It’s like… uh, well, it’s not like anything else you can find in Bharncair. It’s pretty one-of-a-kind.”

Fergal gave the building another long look. “Every night?”

“Every godsdamned night.” Gael nodded. “That’s why the Three-Faces made such a fuss about the show continuing. This is the only place they don’t have any authority in since it’s majority owned and sustained by Vharnish—real, honest-to-god elite upper-city folk who wanted some place to socialize and make connections with prospective Bharnish they can ascend—so the plan is simple: we get in, split up, and look for traces of artificial Myrmur Hosts. Anything odd, any strange traffic, any strange rooms, we do not start a fight. I repeat, we do not fight in any public space where there’s dancing, music, or anybody rich-looking enough to give us the stink-eye. If we stop or interrupt the Endless Masquerade badly enough, we’ll make enemies out of Vharnveil.”

Evelyn raised a hand slightly. “Question. If somebody starts a fight with us first?”

“Then you be very creative about where you drag them before you beat the shit out of them.” Then he clapped his hands and grinned. “Alright then! Split up!”

The pairings had already been decided before they came. Evelyn and Liorin stepped together first. The younger girl wore the flowery red dress she’d fought against in the Boutique, though with her aggressive posture, she somehow managed to make it look less delicate and more like she might rob someone in it. Beside her, though, Liorin’s flowery green suit looked absurdly good on him—enough so that Vivi felt a small pang of surprise every time she looked his way. They seemed excited rather than nervous, though, which Vivi supposed was one of the advantages of being very young and very bad at imagining consequences.

Fergal and Cara stepped forward together next. The gangster boss’ classy black suit made him look old-fashioned in a stern, expensive sort of way. Honestly, Vivi had to admit he looked good in formal wear. But Cara, in her elegant half-green, half-red wrap dress, somehow managed to look even more dangerous than he did.

“Don’t slouch in there,” Cara scolded, straightening Fergal’s collar. “You’re the representative of the Saint’s Hands. I’ll break your posture myself if you make us look bad.”

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“I’m standing just fine,” Fergal muttered back.

“You’re standing like a dockhand at a funeral.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means stand straighter.”

But Jin—in the plainest black suit there was—stepped up next with Maeve, who donned the most beautiful emerald shirt dress Vivi had ever seen. If she weren’t wearing the lower half of a Raven mask still, Vivi would be hard-pressed to even tell she was ever a partner of Gael’s, especially considering she’d disconnected her bloodshackle—apparently for the first time in two years, since she hadn’t known about the disconnect function until Jin told her.

That left Vivi with Gael.

She smoothed a hand over the front of her gold-and-white bouffant dress and tried not to look as aware of herself as she felt. The dress was plain by upper-city standards, but that didn’t stop it from making her feel terribly visible. Maybe she should’ve chosen something even plainer. Beside her, though, Gael looked completely comfortable in his usual coat and hat combo. He was so comfortable, in fact, that he uncorked a new bottle of alcohol and took a long swallow before everyone, burping when he finally finished.

“Stay sharp and let’s get this over with quickly,” he said brightly, tucking the bottle back into his coat. “The drug Maeve and Jin took to let them detach from the two of us without toxic buildup won’t last longer than an hour or two, so let’s say we’ll regroup at… midnight? Sounds good?”

No one argued with that.

One by one, the four pairs approached the front entrance. Their golden tickets were checked by Three-Faces attendants with elegance that made even ticket inspection look ceremonial, and then the doors opened wider for them, admitting them into the Grand Ball.

Vivi and Gael were the first pair to enter, and sure enough, the interior corridors were no less lavish than the exterior had promised. Rich velvet carpets swallowed footsteps. Mirrors in golden frames reflected the streams of guests drifting towards the main ballroom. Wall lanterns glowed through tinted glass, washing everything in amber and rose and a little bit of romance, while music spilled from moth statuettes hung here and there, giving the building an even softer ambience.

And as the two of them made their way down the main corridor together, the crowd responded to them exactly as Vivi had feared they would.

People gave them space. Slight widenings of the path. Tiny hesitations in the shoulder, careful decisions not to brush any sleeves. It was the Raven mask, of course. Gael might as well have worn a sign reading ‘plague and calamity’, and the new bioarcanic equipment on his back didn’t help his image either.

What’d he call it?

The… ‘Vile Canister?’

The pipe-like machine on his back was compact enough not to ruin his silhouette, but it was still noticeable since nobody else carried even the semblance of a satchel or a backpack into the building. She wasn’t even sure what use a machine made out of milkweed bug organs would serve in this mission—courtesy of Arnell of Ironwych, or so she’d heard—but maybe a wide berth was exactly what Gael wanted. Traveling through the Grand Ball might’ve been a lot more cramped if he hadn’t brought it with him.

As they neared the main ballroom, the music grew louder, livelier, and clearer. So did her nerves.

“... Are you really sure about this pairing?” she asked at last, keeping her voice low as they walked.

Gael glanced at her. “Why?”

Vivi hesitated. “Evelyn and Liorin together make sense. So do Fergal and Cara. But… shouldn’t I go with Jin, and shouldn’t you go with Maeve?”

“Hah!” He gave a short, cheerful huff. “Unfortunately, while I do know how to break down in the local bar with a shit-ton of grace and conviction, I don’t know how to do the formal sort of dancing expected of guests here. Neither does Maeve, despite her Vharnveil origins.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Eh. Not really. Well, she can’t do it well enough to fake it in a place where everybody’s pretending they were born doing it.” He shrugged. “That’s why you and Jin matter. You two are the ones with proper upper-city dance lessons, which means you’ve gotta guide me and your dearest crush has to guide my dearest wifey.”

“But what about Cara? And Evelyn?”

“Cara’s from Vharnveil too, and the kids are kids. They can dance like shit and nobody will bat an eye.”

The reasoning made sense, but it was still somehow not reassuring enough. The glances from the other patrons hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were growing more noticeable the closer they came to the ballroom—probably because they all wanted the question answered, ‘would the Raven dance, or was he just here to kick up a storm?’

She felt herself shrinking again, shoulders drawing in, every instinct telling her to become smaller—

“Hey,” Gael said suddenly, looking at her pointedly. “Remember your training. What’s the first thing about getting stronger?”

Vivi blinked once.

“Um…” She swallowed a gulp. “To be strong, you have to act like you’re strong.”

“So puff your chest out, straighten your spine, and we’re gonna walk in like we belong there.” He grinned, slapping her back hard enough to send her staggering a few steps forward. “Act confident and you’ll be confident. Everything else can show up late. We get results outta this, and Jin might just look at you in a more favorable light. What do you say?"

And for a moment, Vivi forgot about the crowd. She didn’t look at the corridor, or the gold, or the masks, or the huge swung-open doors waiting at the end of it.

She looked only at Gael.

Then she drew in a breath, lifted her chin, and forced her spine straight.

“... Wicked?” she muttered.

Gael grinned. “You’re learning.”