From The Kelly Quintet.
Book 1: Outfauxed
Book 2: Hunt of the Black Kites (2025)
Dear Anisha,
Who knew that Ballroom D could be so difficult to find? For the whole evening I searched, hallway after hallway, room after room. RinthCon–a kind of world expo of sorts, but held in subterranean chambers–was simply enormous. A greater myriad of wonders, horrors, and curiosities passed before my eyes than I could detail in a single letter, and yet I was blind to their charms. Sergei was somewhere in this maze, being awarded some kind of prize, and here I was, missing it.
Finally, at the conclusion of a circuitous set of passageways, I glimpsed the bronze plaque, Ballroom D. But the place was deserted. Bits of trash was littered between rows of chairs, and the temporary stage was empty. A single man pushed a strange black machine up and down the carpet. It roared and grumbled. I shrunk back and let out a slow, shuddery breath. My legs ached. I was hungry.
And I was too late. The ceremony was over, and now how was I to find Sergei?
I loped, disconsolate, into the hall. A girl dressed as a ghoul sat against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her eyes fixed on the same pamphlet that I’d been given. She looked at the photograph of my brother and bit the edge of her lip.
“Were you here?” I blurted out. “For the ceremony?”
The girl looked up at me. Her eyes were lined with black chalk, and her full lips tinted dark. She seemed affronted by my abrupt question. “Yes.”
“When did it end?”
“About twenty-five minutes ago.”
Oh, Anisha! My heart just dropped. I knew I’d missed it, but what a narrow margin. The bitter taste filled me.
“What did he win?” I pointed to the picture of Sergei. “I mean, what is the Order of Alpha?”
“Creative Arts award.” Her voice was flat and disagreeable. “He’s insanely talented–I mean, look at him. But like all brilliant people, he’s a real jerkwad. I wonder if that’s coincidence, or if people like him are just used to people falling all over him all the time.”
My mouth fell open. I didn’t know what a jerkwad was, but it didn’t sound like a compliment. “He’s not either!” I argued. “He’s very kind. And sacrificial. He’s good.”
“Yeah, well, looks like you missed him, so you’re not exactly an authority then, are you?”
I drew up to my full height, quite towering over this bitter ghoul on the ground. “He’s my brother.”
“Sure he is. Tell him next time you see him that it’s good manners to acknowledge your fans. He’d be nothing without us. All I did was ask him to sign this–” she waved the pamphlet– “and he literally straight-armed me. Didn’t even look me in the face. I mean. What a prick.”
This I knew was certainly an insult. “My brother is not a prick.”
The girl looked at me sharply, a building challenge in her angry eyes. She didn’t believe me the first time. “Phineas Com is your brother?”
“N-no. He–” I pointed again at the pamphlet “is my brother. Sergei Kelly. My name is Muriel.”
The girl looked from the pamphlet to me, then back again. “All right,” she said slowly. “I’m going to assume this is a joke. This is Phineas Com.” Her fingernail, painted black, tapped the glossy surface.
“His name is right there!” I retorted. “Sergei. Kelly.”
“Oh–kay,” the girl said, mirroring my over-articulation. “Yeah. That’s who he’s
cosplaying as. That’s the look that won. The guy is an artist.” She must have read the confusion in my eyes because she went on. “Cosplay. Makeup, wigs, period costuming, the whole nine yards. The Order of Alpha is a cosplaying society. Have you actually never heard of this before?”
“No, I’ve never heard of someone dressing up as my older brother,” I said. My eyes burned. Frustration, disappointment, and anger chased each other through my chest.
The girl stood up and put her hand on my arm. She wore a white gown with singed, torn edges, and it pooled around her feet. There was sympathy in her black-lined eyes now, and I turned away before the effect could weaken me.
“Never mind. I’m going to go.” Never mind that I had no idea how to get back to Kensington Park. I wanted to escape from this maze-like dreamworld of costumes. I had no idea why this Phineas Com was disguising himself as my brother, but I hated the idea of it. Sergei’s name has already been dragged through the mud. The last thing he needs is some prick in the underworld doing the same.
“Okay,” the girl said again, but this time it was timid, and a bit kind. “Look, I have no idea what you mean when you say you’re Sergei Kelly’s sister, but if you want to talk more, I’m working a table in the Artist’s Ally two days from now. Aisle 7. My name is Gloria. Okay?”
“Okay,” I muttered, then fled down the hallways until I finally found a quiet, dark corner to sleep.
I’ll write the rest soon, Anisha.
With love,
Muriel
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