“So. Care to explain how two of my men were massacred in the street and you walked away without a scratch?”

Marcus carefully considered his next words as he reclined on the casino balcony. His cane rested across his lap, and Augustus glared at him from a seat of his own. He took a sip of his cocktail.

“We were attacked by two people—a woman in a wooden mask who attacked us with conjured glass, and a man who fought using his robes. Unfortunately, your other two men lacked my tactical genius—but you’ll be happy to know that a sharp wit and quick thinking saw me through to victory.”

Augustus continued to glare, though the balding man’s sharp expression softened somewhat. “I see. Let me guess—you’re going to dramatically pull out whatever was in the delivery package and hint at how you tricked and subsequently defeated the attackers in some daring and bizarre maneuver.” The manager sighed. “Yes, I know your type.”

Marcus immediately felt terribly called out. While Augustus wasn’t actually correct this time, the hero could totally envision himself doing just what the middle aged man described.

“Well, not exactly,” Marcus replied, leaning forward. “As soon as they attacked, I fled like a coward. I’m pretty sure they got away with the briefcase.”

It technically wasn’t a lie. He had crawled over to the fruit stand as quickly as he had been able, and as far as he knew the two attackers had indeed retrieved the briefcase—just not the mark inside.

Marcus actually felt somewhat guilty for taking the mark—not because he was stealing from Salieri, but because it almost felt like cheating—although to be fair, coming back from death was already a cheat all on its own.

He returned his attention to the present as Augustus spoke. “Are you serious?” His glare had returned in full force. “You call that a victory?”

Marcus shrugged. “Personal victory. Any fight you can walk away from and all that.”

Rubbing his chin in thought, Augustus continued to glower. The force of his displeased gaze was somewhat lessened by his repeated squinting—the umbrella currently wasn’t providing much shade, though Marcus’s rosy glasses protected him well enough.

“I’m going to discuss this with Miss Vinroze. Until then, you’re temporarily suspended. We will likely have more questions for you, but for now, just take the time off.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “The casino will be closed tonight for the masquerade. I suggest you find a nearby inn to stay at.”

Marcus perked up. “A masquerade? Am I invited?”

Augustus glared. “No.”

Pouting, Marcus sunk back into his seat. “You’re no fun.”

The manager stood and stretched. “Well I’m sorry, but the fun will have to wait. I have a business to run.”

He quietly departed, leaving Marcus alone on the deck to enjoy his cocktail. Several minutes and one drink later, the hero heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Marcus lazily waved Lilian forward with his hand—he couldn’t be bothered to crane his head. “Augustus just suspended both of us,” she said as she stepped into view.

“Bah, he’s just overreacting. I guess you could say he’s annoyed at me for doing nothing—I kind of lost some sort of important delivery, and two of his men died.”

Berret stepped into view as well. “That really doesn’t sound like nothing,” the swordsman pointed out.

“Yeah, well I just sort of let it happen and then ran away.”

“Oh.”

Lilian huffed. “You’re not really doing much to maintain my confidence in you,” she warned him. “I still feel pretty uneasy about this whole thing.”

Marcus waved his hand dismissively. “You two should probably stay on guard,” he cautioned as he rose from his reclining position. “The folks who attacked us seemed pretty intent about killing me too.” Lilian and Berret shared a hesitant glance as Marcus began sauntering back inside. “Just a minor word of caution, that’s all. Also…” he paused to glance back. “The casino is closed for a fancy event tonight. You’ll need to stay somewhere else.”

Berret furrowed his brow. “What about you?”

Grinning, Marcus turned back around and entered the upper floor of the casino. “Me? I have to get ready.” He straightened his collar. “I have a party to attend.”

Lazily descending the staircase, Marcus made his way towards the back rooms of the casino. He found Chloe just as she was exiting the outfit storage room. The chubby woman nearly jumped in fright before calming down and clasping a hand to her chest.

Stolen story; please report.

“Wow, sorry, you just gave me quite a fright,” she said as she regained her composure. “Do you need something?”

“Yes, actually—I need a favor.”

She tilted her head. “Which would be…?”

“I need a masquerade outfit. For tonight.”

Chloe smirked. “Yes, I might be able to help.” She paused. “You weren’t actually invited, were you.”

Marcus shrugged innocently and leaned on his cane. “Well, maybe not exactly officially…”

Narrowing her eyes, Chloe put both hands on her hips. “So, tell me why I should help you?”

Marcus frowned. “Well, admittedly there’s not much I can do for you now, but if you help me have fun tonight, I can help you have fun some other time.”

Laughing, the costumer dragged him by the coat sleeve back into the storage room. “Alight alright, we’ll see what we can do. You owe me, though.”

She closed the door behind them, and Marcus took stock of the expansive room. The lighting was fairly dim, but he could make out rows of racks of all manner of outfits—from the most plain and modest to the most dazzling and audacious—some even rivaling his current apparel.

Rubbing his chin, he began to consider how he could narrow down the near limitless options. “I think we’ll start with color palette,” he mused. “Perhaps pinks and purples? Light blue and lavender?”

Chloe squinted. “Yes, it could work. Besides the colors, what kind of aesthetic are you thinking of?”

“A distinguished gentleman,” Marcus declared, “lively and eccentric, whimsical and optimistic.” He turned to face her. “Say, do you have any wigs?”

Grinning, Chloe confirmed that they did. “I’m fairly certain we even have a pale pink one that will work quite well.”

Marcus clapped his hands together in glee. “And a sumptuous, deep purple suit jacket?”

Chloe gestured to the middle of one of the racks. “And over here,” she continued, making her way to a different rack, “we have a beautiful baby blue dress shirt that I think will fit you well. Then we can add in a pastel pink tie…”

“…and an elegant black cane…”

“…and a smiling silver face mask…”

“…and what about the pants?”

“We can just match the suit jacket. Black dress shoes of course…”

“Of course.”

Once they had decided upon the outfit, the implementation process was fairly straightforward—the entire ordeal took less than half an hour. As he finished straightening his tie in one of the full length dressing mirrors, Marcus cocked his head to face his comrade in the art of fashion.

“I forgot to ask… do you know when the first guests are supposed to arrive?”

“Right after sunset,” Chloe replied, “and the full staff should all be here an hour before that.”

Satisfied with the knot, Marcus then used a shoehorn to assist with slipping on his stylish black footwear. The shoes were surprisingly comfortable—they seemed to have already been well broken in. He supposed that they had been used regularly for other people’s outfits.

“I suppose I’ll have to… arrange for my entrance soon, then,” he said—by which he meant, where would he hide and how would he sneak in.

“There are private rooms on the third floor,” Chloe told him. “Some of them are already reserved, but I think a few should be free. You can probably find the ledger and the keys behind the front desk.”

Thanking her for her time and assistance, Marcus exited the back rooms and headed out to the main area of the first floor. Glancing around cautiously, he made sure that no one was in sight before climbing over the polished wooden front desk counter—the side door was locked.

It only took the hero a moment to find the guest room ledger and the keys—really, it was all far too easy. After marking down one of the currently empty rooms with a new alias, Marcus clambered back over the counter and headed for the stairs.

Judging by the character and angle of the sunlight still streaming in, he had about an hour and a half before the event began.

The third floor of the casino felt closed off and private. While there was nothing stopping Marcus from wandering the walkways crisscrossing over the treetops, the rows of closed, intricately carved wooden doors gave an impression of exclusivity.

Finding his room number, Marcus used the slender metal key to unlatch the thick, heavy door and stepped inside.

The spacious suite was richly carpeted in red and strewn with luxurious pillows. A private bar stretched across the left side, while the right opened up into a master bedroom with a king sized bed.

Removing his mask and setting it down on the central living area table—it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it did restrict his vision and make breathing more of a conscious activity—Marcus then made his way to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. Taking a loving sip, he scanned the horizon—the wide floor to ceiling windows provided access to a balcony overlooking the deck, which in turn overlooked the water.

There was a small bookshelf in the corner. Whiskey in hand, Marcus sauntered over, choosing a title at random.

The History of the Wraithlands, Volume I

Why not? It was a rather thick, hefty book, and its reptile hide cover seemed to be in fine condition. Taking a seat on the plush sofa, Marcus set his tumbler on an agate coaster and began to read.

The sun was low on the horizon and Marcus was halfway through the extremely lengthy introduction when he began to hear indistinct chatter wafting up from below. Flipping the book closed after memorizing his place, he picked up his mask and walked out to the balcony.

A little over half a dozen people mingled out on the deck. Grinning from beneath the shiny silver mask, Marcus considered how he would make his entrance. He wanted to be fashionably late, but not miss too much—especially not too many other arrivals.

After checking himself in the mirror and finishing a dozen more pages, the hero unlatched the door and stepped into the hallway. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned over the railing to look down at the floors below.

Sharp dressed and dazzling rich men and women mixed below. Streamers and banners added to the already marvelous decoration, and a small band took up a cheerful yet elegant melody.

Standing up straight, Marcus headed for the stairs. It was time to party.

The crowd below was about to experience what it truly meant to have a good time—Marcus would make sure of that—whether they wanted to or not.