Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,100

and considered their reflections with approval. “Divinely decadent,” she drawled, gesturing with her black-lacquered nails. “All that time for my eyes, and just to cover them with a mask. Perhaps later—when it’s cock’s-crow and all unmask... Forward, darling.”

Lisette kept at her side, feeling a bit lost and out of place. When they passed before a light, it was evident that they wore nothing beneath the silk pyjamas, and Lisette was grateful for the strategic brocade. As they came upon others of the newly arriving guests, she decided there was no danger of outraging anyone’s modesty here. As Midge had promised, anything goes so long as it’s wild, and while their costumes might pass for street wear, many of the guests needed avail themselves of the changing rooms upstairs.

A muscular young man clad only in a leather loincloth and a sword belt with broadsword descended the stairs leading a buxom girl by a chain affixed to her wrists; aside from her manacles, she wore a few scraps of leather. A couple in punk rock gear spat at them in passing; the girl was wearing a set of panties with dangling razor blades for tassels and a pair of black latex tights that might have been spray paint. Two girls in vintage Christian Dior New Look evening gowns ogled the seminude swordsman from the landing above; Lisette noted their pronounced shoulders and Adam’s apples and felt a twinge of jealousy that hormones and surgery could let them show a better cleavage than she could.

A new wave group called the Needle was performing in a large first-floor room—Lisette supposed it was an actual ballroom, although the house’s original tenants would have considered tonight’s ball a danse macabre. Despite the fact that the decibel level was well past the threshold of pain, most of the guests were congregated here, with smaller, quieter parties gravitating into other rooms. Here, about half were dancing, the rest standing about trying to talk. Marijuana smoke was barely discernible within the harsh haze of British cigarettes.

“There’s Midge and Fiona,” Danielle shouted in Lisette’s ear. She waved energetically and steered a course through the dancers.

Midge was wearing an elaborate medieval gown—a heavily brocaded affair that ran from the floor to midway across her nipples. Her blonde hair was piled high in some sort of conical headpiece, complete with flowing scarf. Fiona waited upon her in a page boy’s costume.

“Are you just getting here?” Midge asked, running a deprecative glance down Lisette’s costume. “There’s champagne over on the sideboard. Wait, I’ll summon one of the cute little French maids.” Lisette caught two glasses from a passing tray and presented one to Danielle. It was impossible to converse, but then she hadn’t anything to talk about with Midge, and Fiona was no more than a shadow.

“Where’s our hostess?” Danielle asked.

“Not down yet,” Midge managed to shout. “Beth always waits to make a grand entrance at her little do’s. You won’t miss her.”

“Speaking of entrances...” Lisette commented, nodding toward the couple who were just coming onto the dance floor. The woman wore a Nazi SS officer’s hat, jackboots, black trousers and braces across her bare chest. She was astride the back of her male companion, who wore a saddle and bridle in addition to a few other bits of leather harness.

“I can’t decide whether that’s kinky or just tacky,” Lisette said.

“Not like your little sorority teas back home, is it?” Midge smiled.

“Is there any coke about?” Danielle interposed quickly.

“There was a short while ago. Try the library—that’s the room just down from where everyone’s changing.”

Lisette downed her champagne and grabbed a refill before following Danielle upstairs. A man in fishnet tights, motorcycle boots and a vest comprised mostly of chain and bits of Nazi medals caught at her arm and seemed to want to dance. Instead of a mask, he wore about a pound of eye shadow and black lipstick. She shouted an inaudible excuse, held a finger to her nostril and sniffed, and darted after Danielle.

“That was Eddie Teeth, lead singer for the Trepans, whom you just cut,” Danielle told her. “Why didn’t he grab me!”

“You’ll get your chance,” Lisette told her. “I think he’s following us.”

Danielle dragged her to a halt halfway up the stairs.

“Got toot right here, loves.” Eddie Teeth flipped the silver spoon and phial that dangled amidst the chains on his vest.

“Couldn’t take the noise in there any longer,” Lisette explained.

“Needle’s shit.” Eddie Teeth wrapped an arm about either waist and propelled them up the stairs. “You gashes

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