reason for wanting to go as the Lady of Shalott was the beautiful wig.
Now she slipped on a pair of boots—the floor-length full skirt covered them anyway—and headed for Brock’s room.
On the way, she ran into Stan, whom she had to admit made a mighty fine Zorro, but she was still a little irked for his part in the cutting of her calf during the staged shark attack. He might be willing to cut himself for the sake of the therapy, but that didn’t mean he could do it to her, too. She hadn’t been able to ask him anything about it at Christy Ranch, but now she wanted him to know she hadn’t appreciated it.
“Any word on Giovanni?” she whispered.
“Not now.” He took her hand, and, in character, kissed it, before continuing in the opposite direction toward the main building, once more giving her no chance to complain about her injury.
Daphne also ran into Cam and Bridget, whom Daphne hugged, saying, “So glad you’re okay.” They were dressed as Annikin and Padame—not the happiest of endings for those two, either. Behind them were Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum—Vince and Dave. They looked hilarious in their matching striped caps, large white collars, blue bowties, and red pants.
“We’ll see you there,” Vince said with a wave.
“Contrariwise!” Dave shouted. “She’ll see us there!”
Daphne shook her head as they moved on. She hadn’t even knocked when Brock opened the door.
“Wow,” he said, giving her a once over.
“Wow yourself.” He looked hotter than hot: her knight in shining armor.
Hand in hand, they made their way to the ballroom.
Daphne couldn’t believe the crowd awaiting them at the ball. Where had all these people come from? At least sixty, maybe seventy, most of whom she could not recognize (and it didn’t help that the lights were dimmed and everyone was in costume), walked around the food tables and bar. Two zombies mingled with a human-size apple, Picachu shared drinks with Wonder Woman, an alien made nice with three steampunk characters, and Mario flirted with Katniss Everdeen. None of the members of the younger crowd were there, which was strange, since Daphne had passed them on her way to Brock’s. She wondered what they were up to. A few couples—Thing One and Thing Two, Dracula and a vampiress, and a doctor and sexy nurse—danced on a small wooden dance floor near an empty stage where two large speakers sent big band music throughout the ball. On the far end of the room near the back tables, Daphne spotted the mad hatter, A.K.A. Hortense Gray.
“Check out your parents,” Brock said of the cowboy and Indian speaking with the doctor.
“Oh my gosh.” Her father had merely worn a cowboy hat and boots—not much of a costume. But her mother had on a full Indian headdress, a fringed tan leather jacket, and tall matching boots. She looked young and…happy.
Before Daphne reached her parents, Zorro came up behind her and asked for a dance. She noticed the rest of the regulars were trickling in as well.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Stan asked Brock.
“No. Of course not.”
Daphne was not much of a dancer. Plus, it was a slow song. How awkward. “I was just on my way to talk to my parents,” she said, trying to get out of it.
“One song.” Stan widened his eyes in an urgent way that alarmed Daphne.
“Well, alright.”
She followed him to the dance floor and stood there awkwardly as he took her in his arms, leaving just a few inches between them.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked.
“My leg hurts.” That was a lie. It had already healed, as far as she was concerned.
“Sorry about that, kiddo. Dr. Gray’s orders.” He twirled her under his arm.
“Do you always do what Dr. Gray says?”
“She has helped a lot of people.”
Daphne had nothing to say to that. She had to admit—not aloud but to herself—that she and her parents were a lot closer since the rock lice and the shark attack.
“I want you to know something,” Stan
Now she slipped on a pair of boots—the floor-length full skirt covered them anyway—and headed for Brock’s room.
On the way, she ran into Stan, whom she had to admit made a mighty fine Zorro, but she was still a little irked for his part in the cutting of her calf during the staged shark attack. He might be willing to cut himself for the sake of the therapy, but that didn’t mean he could do it to her, too. She hadn’t been able to ask him anything about it at Christy Ranch, but now she wanted him to know she hadn’t appreciated it.
“Any word on Giovanni?” she whispered.
“Not now.” He took her hand, and, in character, kissed it, before continuing in the opposite direction toward the main building, once more giving her no chance to complain about her injury.
Daphne also ran into Cam and Bridget, whom Daphne hugged, saying, “So glad you’re okay.” They were dressed as Annikin and Padame—not the happiest of endings for those two, either. Behind them were Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum—Vince and Dave. They looked hilarious in their matching striped caps, large white collars, blue bowties, and red pants.
“We’ll see you there,” Vince said with a wave.
“Contrariwise!” Dave shouted. “She’ll see us there!”
Daphne shook her head as they moved on. She hadn’t even knocked when Brock opened the door.
“Wow,” he said, giving her a once over.
“Wow yourself.” He looked hotter than hot: her knight in shining armor.
Hand in hand, they made their way to the ballroom.
Daphne couldn’t believe the crowd awaiting them at the ball. Where had all these people come from? At least sixty, maybe seventy, most of whom she could not recognize (and it didn’t help that the lights were dimmed and everyone was in costume), walked around the food tables and bar. Two zombies mingled with a human-size apple, Picachu shared drinks with Wonder Woman, an alien made nice with three steampunk characters, and Mario flirted with Katniss Everdeen. None of the members of the younger crowd were there, which was strange, since Daphne had passed them on her way to Brock’s. She wondered what they were up to. A few couples—Thing One and Thing Two, Dracula and a vampiress, and a doctor and sexy nurse—danced on a small wooden dance floor near an empty stage where two large speakers sent big band music throughout the ball. On the far end of the room near the back tables, Daphne spotted the mad hatter, A.K.A. Hortense Gray.
“Check out your parents,” Brock said of the cowboy and Indian speaking with the doctor.
“Oh my gosh.” Her father had merely worn a cowboy hat and boots—not much of a costume. But her mother had on a full Indian headdress, a fringed tan leather jacket, and tall matching boots. She looked young and…happy.
Before Daphne reached her parents, Zorro came up behind her and asked for a dance. She noticed the rest of the regulars were trickling in as well.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Stan asked Brock.
“No. Of course not.”
Daphne was not much of a dancer. Plus, it was a slow song. How awkward. “I was just on my way to talk to my parents,” she said, trying to get out of it.
“One song.” Stan widened his eyes in an urgent way that alarmed Daphne.
“Well, alright.”
She followed him to the dance floor and stood there awkwardly as he took her in his arms, leaving just a few inches between them.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked.
“My leg hurts.” That was a lie. It had already healed, as far as she was concerned.
“Sorry about that, kiddo. Dr. Gray’s orders.” He twirled her under his arm.
“Do you always do what Dr. Gray says?”
“She has helped a lot of people.”
Daphne had nothing to say to that. She had to admit—not aloud but to herself—that she and her parents were a lot closer since the rock lice and the shark attack.
“I want you to know something,” Stan
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