Chapter Text
Monday, 2:15pm
“Cousin,” Lucanis said, stepping into Caterina’s office waiting room like a man approaching his own death by firing squad.
Illario looked up from scrolling Fadestagram, tapped his mouse so the computer wouldn’t fall asleep, and propped his feet on the desk with the air of someone preparing for nonsense.
“Lucanis.”
“I need your help.”
Illario coughed violently. “Apologies. I thought I heard you say you needed help, but clearly that was a hallucination brought on by this terrible cough.”
“Xiqaa is having a birthday party.”
A long silence. Illario returned to his phone with exaggerated calm.
“Not a question,” he observed after a minute, inspecting his nails.
“It is not,” Lucanis agreed. He inhaled, bracing himself. “The party is a costume party. I have never been to a costume party and I have no idea where to begin.”
Illario lowered his phone and looked at Lucanis with comically widened eyes. “Cousin, have you ever been to a party—any party—in your life?”
The answer was obvious. Lucanis flushed bright red. “No.”
“You need more help than I can provide.”
Illario did not elaborate. He simply waited for Lucanis to accept his fate. Just as Lucanis was about to retreat in defeat, the elevator dinged.
Aydenne strode out, Teia right behind him, both radiating the kind of energy that made Lucanis consider fleeing to another country and changing his name.
“What’s this about a costume party? Are we invited?”
Lucanis groaned and covered his face.
Illario smirked. “I told you this required more help than I can provide.”
“Yes, but…” After a moment’s consideration, Lucanis swallowed his objections. “The sooner we begin, the sooner this ends.”
Aydenne dragged an ornate coffee table closer to the leather bench seating, assembling a war table. Teia opened her laptop with the ceremonial flourish of someone cracking a party cracker.
“Never fear, Luca — the party squad is here!”
Teia patted the seat beside her. Illario groaned but joined her anyway.
“Teia. My love. You know I adore you. But,” he tucked a curl behind her ear with overblown tenderness, “do you truly need me for this?”
“Of course! This is a big moment; your cousin requested your help. Aydé and I are here to help you, but you are helping Lucanis.” She patted his leg with firm finality.
Aydenne watched them with fond amusement, though his fingers continued their rapid-fire typing.
“Aydé,” Teia warned, “come back to us. Viago will survive without his report at the top of the hour.”
“You say that,” Aydenne replied, “but you don’t have to see his face first thing tomorrow.” Still, he minimized his browser.
Lucanis perched on the edge of the bench, awaiting measurement for his coffin.
Teia cracked her knuckles over the keyboard. “All right. First question: theme.”
“There is a theme?” Lucanis asked, horrified.
“There’s always a theme,” Aydenne said with the razor-sharp focus of a man drafting a battle plan. He opened a new browser window; a small spreadsheet overlapped one corner. “If Xiqaa didn’t specify one, that means your costume is open to interpretation, but it has to be legendary.”
Illario nodded solemnly.
Teia spun her laptop toward Lucanis. “Okay. Option one: you go as a pirate.”
“No,” Lucanis said immediately.
“You didn’t even look,” Teia protested.
“I do not need to look. I know what pirates wear.”
“Or,” Illario said thoughtfully, “we lean into your strengths. Something dignified. Something elegant. Something that says: ‘I am not here under duress.’”
“That is not a costume,” Lucanis said.
“It is if you accessorize,” Illario countered.
Teia snapped her fingers. “Oh! What if he goes as a crow? He could wear a life-size crow head as a mask!”
All three of them stared at her with various expressions of disgusted disbelief.
Teia wilted. “Right. Yes. No. Terrible idea. Moving on.”
Aydenne cleared his throat. “I’ve compiled a shortlist.”
“You compiled—how?” Lucanis asked.
“I typed ‘costume ideas for emotionally repressed men’ into the search bar,” Aydenne said, completely serious. “Then I made a list and added a column for yes/no and notes. I’ll email it to you when we’re done.”
Illario peered at Aydenne’s screen. “Why are there so many vampires?”
“Because they’re dramatic and darkly handsome,” Aydenne said. “It’s basically Lucanis already.”
Lucanis buried his face in his hands. “I regret coming here.”
“You should,” Illario said cheerfully. “But we’re committed now.”
Teia clapped once. “All right! Let’s narrow it down. Luca, what’s the vibe you want to convey?”
“Vibe.” Lucanis stared at her blankly. “I do not know what that means.”
Aydenne translated. “Do you want to look mysterious, dangerous, approachable, unapproachable, like you’re celebrating, like you’re suffering, or like you’re suffering while celebrating?”
Lucanis considered this. “The last one.”
Illario beamed. “Excellent choice. It’s a natural fit for you. You always look like someone is trying to stuff a legally binding addendum into your soul.”
Lucanis couldn’t stop himself from picturing Lorem I. Candleslut, and a cold chill crept up his spine—Spite materializing behind him, pen already uncapped, a document titled Addendum to Your Regrettable Choices ready for signature.
“Perhaps we go with something slightly more… carefree?” he said, voice thin.
Illario squinted at him. “Carefree? You? What happened in your brain just now?”
“Nothing,” Lucanis lied, far too quickly.
Teia leaned forward, eyes narrowing with investigative zeal. “Lucanis. Did you remember something upsetting?”
“No.”
Aydenne didn’t look up. “He remembered the lawyer.”
Lucanis flinched. “I did not—”
“You absolutely did,” Aydenne said. “Your whole aura shifted. You went from ‘mildly suffering’ to ‘I’m being audited by a man who looks like me.’”
Illario perked up. “Oh! Candleslut the clone lawyer. The one with the matching murder-tie.”
“It is not a murder-tie,” Lucanis muttered.
“It’s the exact shade of blood after it oxidizes,” Teia said helpfully. “Very chic.”
Lucanis pressed a hand to his forehead. “Can we please not discuss him?”
But the memory had already breached containment.
Spite stood in his mind again: immaculate posture, immaculate suit, immaculate disregard for human warmth. A tax summons given flesh, delivering paperwork with priestly solemnity, speaking in a tone that had never once been touched by joy.
Lucanis shuddered. The memory took hold.
Teia stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Oh Maker. You’re thinking about the flowchart.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” Aydenne said. “Your pupils dilated. That’s ‘subpoint C’ dilation.”
Illario studied him, delighted. “Cousin, did the Candleslut bring you more paperwork? Did he tell you you were in violation of subsection four of your own personality? Contracting with that firm was one of our grandmothers’ more demonic notions.”
Lucanis groaned. “He had a chart titled Emotionally Affected Risk Factors: L. Dellamorte Variant.”
Teia’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she managed not to laugh directly in his face. “Oh no. Oh no. That’s so specific.”
Aydenne nodded gravely. “That’s bespoke emotional profiling on the level of Viago de Riva. Artisan bureaucracy.”
Illario clapped his hands. “New rule: no costumes that remind him of the lawyer. That includes anything with a tie, a collar, or a rigid posture.”
Teia added, “Or anything that looks like it could serve legal documents.”
Aydenne typed something. “I’m adding ‘no flowcharts’ and ‘no serving’ to the list.”
Lucanis exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”
Illario patted his shoulder. “Of course, cousin. We’re here to help you avoid psychological collapse, naturally.”
Teia brightened. “So! Something carefree. Something that says ‘I am not being haunted by a man named Lorem Ipsum.’”
Aydenne looked up. “Do you want whimsical? Playful? Chaotic? Or the kind of carefree that suggests you’ve finally embraced the dreaded fun?”
Lucanis considered this. “Whimsical,” he said. “But not too whimsical.”
Illario grinned. “Excellent. We’ll find you something that says: ‘I am fun, I am festive, and I am absolutely not thinking about my legally-binding doppelgänger.’”
Lucanis nodded, relieved, and Aydenne snickered.