Ghost Dance
The party was going splendidly, in Jeremiah’s estimation. Good impressions, that was the secret. At fire code capacity, this was the largest and most involved party he’d hosted by an order of magnitude, and he strove to show Minton House at its finest. The woodwork gleamed, and the tiled floors sparkled. The chandelier that governed the entryway dazzled in light, and the sitting room had been successfully converted into a bar and lounge. The ballroom’s wooden doors, pierced with intricate glasswork, stood wide open, and beyond them a trio of elderbrin played a waltz. Several thoughtforms on loan moved through the space, serving hors d’oeuvres and picking up abandoned glasses. Pleasant conversations filled the space with a satisfactory undercurrent of noise.
There was Lowell, showing several guests how to dance to the jazz the musicians had switched to playing. It had been a good decision to invite his dance instructor; somehow Lowell managed, with his three arms and legs, to make the most intricate dance steps seem within reach of his eager emulators. Lucerin, an apostate with whom he was only passingly familiar, cut an attractive figure grooving in a studded leather jacket and torn leggings under her miniskirt.
He caught movement in the corner of his eye. The route planner, Annalise, was beckoning to him from across the room, where she stood with a small huddle of paraders. He smoothed his immaculately styled hair, smiled pleasantly, and approached the group.
Ward never knew what to expect from each spirit he hosted as he worked to put in enough hosting hours to increase his standing at the Cathedral of Illuminism. He had to hand it to Du Va Leigh: for a ghost in a borrowed body, she still knew how to dance quite well.
She also knew what she wanted, and right now it seemed she wanted Penelope, their dance partner. Ward had just begun to let go and enjoy being whirled across the floor between Penelope’s lead and Du Va Leigh’s influence when he heard his hosted spirit’s inner voice.
I think she’s into it! Can we take her home?‡
I’m not entirely opposed, but I need some questions answered first. Ward responded nonverbally so as not to tip Penelope off to the discussion. The music slowed, and they moved closer.
Du Va Leigh ignored him. Can we extend the terms of the engagement? I don’t need to be at the Pale Embassy until an hour before dawn.
They turned on the dance floor, and a nearby hulking presence registered with Ward. The figure had come in with Penelope and had been looming in that corner all night, watching her.
I don’t know how long an extension I can authorize, Ward responded. Maybe a couple of extra hours, but only on condition of finding out if she has a significant other who cares whether she goes home without them.
I’m sure it’ll be fine. Du Va Leigh brushed off the question dismissively.
I’m not! Ward protested. Some of us have to deal with the fallout once you’ve passed on.
“Ward!” A man dressed in a loose-fitting shirt and pants, his hair unkempt, interrupted their dance.
“Marty, I didn’t know you managed an invitation.”
Who is this? Tell him to go away! Du Va Leigh insisted.
Oh, just a neighbor. I need to talk to him for a minute. Out loud Ward replied, “Is Sister Morthag here with you?”
Penelope disengaged, and her hand brushed Ward’s shoulder farewell as she said, “It seems you have a visitor. I’ll see you later.”
“We’ll be right back,” Ward assured her and tuned out Du Va Leigh’s seething as Marty began to relay a confused story about being kicked out of the halfway house by Sister Morthag. “I was giving such helpful suggestions,” Marty whined, oblivious to Ward’s attempts at tactful disengagement.*
Rhea relished the opportunity to dance again. She had found an enthusiastic and skilled partner in Jeremiah’s friend Querius, a vanta-black dancer extraordinaire who only came up to her shoulder. After several dances, Rhea asked about getting introductions, so they found drinks and made the rounds. She met Oxbow, a lacunae—a being who presented as a cutout from reality—through whom she could view images of a bustling city. Carrie and Cole were a human couple who lived further down the parade in Rus House that had been on fire for years. Angela and Brian lived in the lead house of the parade, right in front of the strange rook. It was clear Angela wore the pants, possibly for the whole parade.
A bubbly torso floating atop a cloud introduced herself as Annalise, mistaking Rhea for a new resident. Querius drew away, and Rhea listened carefully to Annalise’s unorganized descriptions of other districts in the city.
“I’ve only been with the parade a few months,” she enthused. We went through Brickhouse, it’s so nice but a little too pricey to buy. The parade was actually cheaper! You would think it would be higher demand. Vici, the house of water, doesn’t work for a lot of people beyond the initial novelty factor, but I would totally move to Brickhouse eventually once I can afford it. There are cool libraries and museums in Palindrome, but probably my favorite district is Zardim. There’s not much to do there, but all the houses have these origami structures that fold and unfold throughout the day.”
Rhea noticed Marty accosting Ward—and her roommate’s obvious discomfort—and pulled herself away, saying, “I’m so sorry, I think I need to help a friend, but it was wonderful meeting you!” She walked over and said to Ward, “I know you’re on the clock—I can take this from here,” and, turning, “Marty, you should catch me up.”
Though Rhea’s kindness had relieved Ward of listening to Marty’s sob stories, it took a couple more numbers with new partners before Du Va Leigh could angle Ward’s body back to Penelope. Her most recent partner looked none too kindly toward Ward right now, as though it were his fault this had all occurred, and the hulk still stared and loomed from the shadows beside the curtains.
Ward wished he could explain to the fellow that tonight he was just a vessel for another’s entertainment, merely along for the ride. Du Va Leigh ignored him completely, thoroughly enjoying corporeality once more.
Marweg stayed clear of the dance floor‡, aware that any attempt at dancing might make him a threat to himself and others, but he was enraptured by the socializing. He thoroughly enjoyed the event until he encountered two acquaintances he wished weren’t.
Fickhart was a colleague of Groffnaniard, a contact of Marweg’s at Sunpath Safaris, through which he had obtained more than a few of his menagerie’s current occupants. Fickhart was a bit more credulous than the average safari member, bordering on cryptozoologist. Marweg delighted in fanciful creatures that existed, and the speculations Fickhart insisted upon were dismaying.
The conversation, however, was currently dominated by Millems. A fellow cherub breeder and member of the Association of Erotic Progenation, he was eagerly describing the latest in a long series of failed attempts to convert their boutique vocation into extraordinary passive wealth. As he described a weekend seminar as “life-changing, a must to attend,” all Marweg could focus on was how the conversation was slowly driving all the interesting folks away.
Fickhart noticed too and tried to interject a recollection of his recent sighting trips in search of the “insulidian phasmid.”* The two competed for Marweg’s attention, but Marweg stood, uncharacteristically speechless, feeling trapped as Millems continued his sales pitch at him amidst Fickhart’s interjections.
“Using these six proven methods, you too can . . .”
“It’s an unproven business model. The phasmids’ habits, however . . .”
At last, Marweg snapped up and decided to risk rudeness. “I’ve found I prefer the niche markets. If your strategy succeeds, Millems, all the cherubs will bear the same characteristics. I should like to provide varietals. Anyway, Fickhart, tell us more about this googly being of yours.”
Millems stormed off in frustration, and Fickhart laughed. “Oh, thank the suns. Marweg, you should know that Sunpath Safaris has a shipment coming in from Red; there may be something of interest to you in it.”
“I’m really much more intrigued with the creatures of the Green and Blue suns; there seems an awful paucity of good specimens or even accounts here,” Marweg replied. “Red is a rough neighborhood, and I must confess that I am more on the right-hand path myself as a Goetic.”
“Understood, understood. Would you be looking to join the expedition or to review what they return with?”
“The latter, quite. I’m not sure what I would be looking for, but if I can have an early pick, I would be appreciative. I’m looking for things on the peripheries.”
They shook on it, and Marweg heaved a sigh of relief as Fickhart moved along, liberating him.
Rhea exhaled with relief as she managed to get Marty to excuse her. She had agreed to be Ward’s wingman, as he had never hosted a spirit in such a social context before, but she had hoped to do more than deflect inane conversants. True to his word, Jeremiah introduced her to a magnificent weaver with faces that slowly rotated around her head. Celeste had no space in her own weaver cell but promised to make an introduction to another weaver, Indra, who would be eager to have Rhea under her tutelage.
After Celeste was called away, Rhea was approached by Violet, a handsome but disconcerting figure with a flamboyant cape and needle teeth. He offered anything you wanted to know, for a price, and quickly moved on once it became clear that Rhea could not afford his services, intriguing as they were.
Marweg kept an eye on Gertrude, the matronly, silver-haired goetic who moved through the crowded lounge with an aura of authority and an entourage of bees—occupants, presumably, of the honeycombs that graced the sides of her head. He had been trying and failing to muster the courage to approach this Master of the Pacts several times his superior when a jovial pair clapped hands on him and introduced themselves. A stiff elderly vance in military garb caught Gertrude’s attention, and Marweg gave up on his aspiration and found himself already shaking hands with—
“—Smick, and my partner is Früz,” the smaller of the two shared excitedly. It seems they had recognized Marweg from a public meeting of the Lattice Vitale, an organization of naturalists and enthusiasts. Marweg never neglected an opportunity to share about his menagerie, and when Smick brought up the notion of visiting each other’s, Marweg scarcely noticed that he and Früz had somehow swapped shirts in the conversation.
“Annalise, neighbors,” Jeremiah said, smiling as he reached the paraders. “What seems to be the trouble?”
He noted the heavy displeasure on Annalise’s face and the stormy expression on Angela’s, and then he felt the unease of Carrie and Cole, Oxbow, Mikey, and Angela’s husband, Brian. His smile faltered as their collective attention turned toward him.
“It’s improper, not consulting us on the change!” Angela admonished. Brian nodded vigorously beside her. “We’ve gone completely off the route we put forward at the last homeowners’ meeting. I hope you have a good explanation.” The committee chair turned to Annalise again.
Annalise flicked a pleading and incensed look at Jeremiah. “Look, it is my job to coordinate the Stamwhence Parade route,” she said, gesticulating irritably with two of her hands while the other two flipped through pages on a clipboard. “There was not sufficient time to put the matter forward to a vote, and so I made an executive decision—”‡
“You were never given carte blanche on the route,” protested Carrie. “Your decisions affect all of our houses. We needed to know what you were doing.”
“I’m sure Annalise knew what she was doing,” Jeremiah said, attempting to soothe them. “She is quite right, Zennan didn’t wish to be disturbed again—”
“She has overstepped her authority,” Angela declared. “It shall be addressed during the next meeting, be assured of that.”
“Pardon me,” said Oxbow, “but where are we headed right now?”
“That’s the problem; we don’t know,” exclaimed Mikey. “The mists of Arca could deposit us anywhere in Satyrine—even the ruined expanses!”
Mikey’s voice carried into the rest of the room. Marweg’s conversation died midsentence. The dancers, excepting Ward and Penelope, abruptly stumbled into stillness. The music jarred and grew discordant before shakily continuing, drawing Rhea’s attention beyond the group of people who’d formed around her and Violet. Some conversations grew more animated, while others cut off as guests went to the windows. Jeremiah followed one group and peered out the front glass.
Quiet fog slowly swallowed the waterfall house ahead of them. Minton House and all its party guests followed as the Stamwhence Parade moved slowly through the fog and emerged into a war-torn terrain of ruins and wreckage, empty and abandoned to the elements and to time.
‡ Silver Sun: Revolutionary. Lust.
* Originally, the interrupter was meant to be Costas, the over-sharer, but this character ended up merged with Marty.
‡ Enveloping Darkness
* Yes, this is a Disco Elysium reference.
‡ Revealing Knife—Silver Sun: Precise action required. Secrets to be discovered. Next card relates the nature of the secret. Followed by: Lucky Coin—Green Sun: Something good is coming. Not something planned. Elimination of a problem.