The Banshee had rented out the best dance hall in all of the Borderlands, The Scream Garden. Its 18th century French façade was two stories of muted white limestone walls and ornately designed wrought iron. Huge stone steps with pillar-like rails led up to the main door. Anjou and Famine marveled at the majestic sight. There was no such grand design and splendor in The Deadlands.
They walked through the doors into the main hall and were struck by the grand architecture inside as well. Huge golden chandeliers hung from the low vaulted ceilings with what seemed like grace and elegance. Their candles burned with a similarly striking glow. The walls were painted white with elegant and elaborate golden designs around the windows and doors; the floor was tiled in rich shades of brown and black. The pair glanced around with stupefied wonder. They felt out of place in such a building. The room was filled with a myriad of dancing ghosts and vampires, all attired in dress reminiscent of the same period of the building: the men in colorful satiny jackets, breeches, equally garish ascots, and powdered wigs; the women were clad in richly embroidered silken dresses with flared skirts and ruffled sleeves.
At the moment, the women were all dancing the gavotte to Lully’s Tragedie Lyrique. The men stood aside and watched with pompous delight. Ghostly waiters in formal wear floated about with trays of wine glasses filled with various shades of liquid. The Baroque music that the guests danced to played loudly from somewhere within the capering flock. There had to be a band there somewhere thought Famine. He hated this type of music and wished it were something else. Even The Jazz Zombies would be better.
“I don’t think we belong here, Uncle. We’re not fancy enough.”
Ankou scanned the room anxiously. “I don’t think they’ll pay us too much attention. They’re too caught up in their own little world to care. Now where is Miss Morrigan?”
As if by magic, Morrigan appeared through the throng of dancing figures and approached them. She was dressed in a bright white gown with narrow sleeves, a low pointed waist, and a huge billowing bell-shaped bottom. Unlike the other women at the dance, she had gone for the powdered wig. She smiled and opened her arms to greet her guests.
“I’m so happy to see you guys! Thanks for coming!”
Famine hugged his friend. “No problem. We just feel a little weird here is all.”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about that. You’re a lot more interesting and genuine than any of these things. Ankou, how are you? You look great!”“Thank you, Miss Morrigan. I’ve never had to dress this way before. I had to do some reading up on the subject before I even thought about coming. I hope I did a good job.”
Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. “You both look wonderful, don’t worry. Would you care for anything to drink? I think we have some non-alcoholic stuff.”
“What’s the fun in drinking if you can’t get a little tipsy?” Ankou said with a laugh.
“I think we can find something for you!” she replied.
Morrigan motioned to a passing glowing white ghost who looked at Ankou and Famine with a degree of disgust. Famine started to say something but she spoke to the waiter first. “Be a good man and fetch Mr. Ankou a glass of our best wine. What would you like, Famine?”
“If you have some soul juice that’ll be fine.”
“And one glass of freshly squeezed soul juice for my good friend.’” The waiter bowed and floated away muttering under his breath.
“Where’s The Banshee?” asked Ankou.
“I think she might be talking to the chef. That’s where she was headed last time I saw her.”“As soon as that ghost gets back with my drink, I’ll go find her and let her know we’re here.”
Within a few seconds, the waiter had returned with the refreshments. Ankou took his wine and gave Famine and Morrigan a smile. “You kids have some fun now. If you need me, I’ll be with The Banshee.”
“I think we’ll be fine, Uncle. Thanks”
With that he walked away, a few of the guests giving him quizzical looks as he parted the crowd.
Ankou found The Banshee in the middle of a small crowd of vampires. She was dressed much like Morrigan save her black gown. Her green hair was made up in the style of wigs everyone else wore. As he approached her, she smiled and slightly bowed to the thin black-eyed, gray-skinned vampires. She then broke away from them and came up to the cart driver with her hand extended.
“Mr. Ankou! I am very pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from everyone.”
Ankou looked perplexed at The Banshee’s hand. His eyes suddenly flashed and he bent to lightly kiss it. It seemed pointless as she was wearing elbow length white gloves. “Same here, my dear woman. I hope all you heard was good?”
The Banshee leaned in and cupped her ear as if to hear what he was saying. The music seemed to have gotten louder as a new dance began. It sounded like something from Bach. “What’s that?” she asked.
Ankou raised his voice a little “I said, I hope you heard good things about me!”
“Yes, they were. You’re very well loved”
“What,” he asked, “I can’t hear you!”
“Of course not ,” shouted the Banshee as she began to walk away, “Please follow me. There’s a quieter place to talk on the terrace.”
Ankou took a drink from his glass and did as he was asked. The Banshee had made it to the terrace quickly. She shooed away a few ghosts that had congregated there with the classiness that only she possessed. Ankou had a weird feeling about her. Was she trying to be flirtatious? He didn’t go for her type, and besides she was married. He’d just have to be firm. Just as he was about to say something along those lines, she spoke.
“Now that’s much better. I can actually hear now. I’m sorry that The Reaper couldn’t make it. I think he would’ve had a good time.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. He felt bad about not being able to come. Plus, Famine wanted to come and see Miss Morrigan. How could I refuse?”
“Indeed, Mr. Ankou, how could you?”
Ankou quickly glanced inside the ballroom and then down at his own clothing. He leaned in to whisper to The Banshee. “Tell me, why is everyone dressed differently? I thought this was an Edwardian dance.”
She giggled. “No, it’s a French Nobility style dance. A few years difference in the two, I’m afraid.”
Ankou looked crestfallen. He took the last drink from his glass and sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s quite okay. I changed the dress style at the last minute. I honestly don’t care what any of these folks think anyway.”
“Really? Then why even host such a thing? Seems a little pointless.”
The Banshee gave Ankou a serious look. She slightly lifted the skirt of her dress and walked to the end of the terrace. Ankou put his empty glass down and followed her. She was gazing off into the empty night meadow. Low-lying fog swirled on the ground in a moving blanket. Dark shapes moved within it.
“You know sometimes things happen to you that make you look at life in a new way. A few weeks ago I would be in there laughing it up and kissing the cold dead asses of those high society snobs. I would be trying my best to be like them because that’s what I thought I should be doing. When I found out that that Rusalka had taken Morrigan, I saw that I had been wasting my time. I have spent far too much time in the company of those who could care less about me and not enough time with those that do. I will admit that I still enjoy shopping and some of the finer things in life, though. It’s hard to give that up.”
Ankou cleared his throat and tried his best not to sound too abrading. “You have to enjoy death, Mrs. Banshee. You can’t go around being serious all the time. It makes you old. Before you know it, you’re just some dried up soul collector who’s seen better days. That Famine boy taught me to get out and enjoy things. There’s no harm in that.”
“I know. Azazel has pointed that out many times. But to answer your question, though I may not care about what t
hese people think anymore, I have to let them believe that I do. It’s about keeping up appearances. I have to go on letting them think I have this high status. It’s the only way I keep their respect.”
“I’m sorry. I still don’t understand.”
The Banshee turned to face him. “Look at them, Mr. Ankou. They’re a bunch of Deadlings…ghosts…vampires…and zombies…plus anything else out there in the Borderlands. We’re the ones with the true power and prestige. We’re the symbols and embodiments of death. They should fear us. They should know that we’re the ones who rule over them. I can’t let them see a side of me that’s weak. It’ll throw everything out of balance. Do you see what I mean? We have to keep up appearances to keep them where we want them.”
Ankou shook his head in agreement. “You’re right. We can’t have them thinking they’re better or even equal to us. Death keeps with death.”
“Exactly. Let the Borderlands minions keep in the Borderlands. The Deadlands is ours.”
Ankou leaned towards The Banshee and whispered. “Did you know that Llorona started fighting for them? Not physically fighting…but fighting as in trying to give them equality?”
The Banshee looked taken aback. She spoke as if someone told her the gown she wore was ugly. “Where did she get such ideas to do that?”
“Who knows? All she said was that it wasn’t fair they were treated. She said it was distasteful to be so bigoted. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate or dislike them. I just think they should stay in the Borderlands. Death is the ultimate…with those guys in The Deadlands we’d be nothing.”
“Try to talk some sense into her. I like Llorona. I don’t want to see her get involved with things that might hurt her or our world.”
Ankou patted The Banshee’s shoulder. She gave him a surprised look. “I’ll try. Now, I think you should be getting back to you party. You don’t want them to think you’re too good to talk to them.”
The Banshee smiled even wider. “Thank you for coming tonight. Give my regards to Llorona and The Reaper. You go enjoy the festivities, Mr. Ankou. I’m sure Famine and Morrigan are.”
She curtsied and walked back into the room. Ankou sighed, took off his hat, and rubbed his head. He stood on the terrace for a few seconds longer before putting the hat on again and joining the party.