Four Of A Kind

Chapter 270: [4.88] Museum Quality

"Rule three." I looked at each of them in the rearview mirror. "Have fun. Actual fun. Not competitive fun where someone ends up crying. Not strategic fun where someone is gathering intelligence for future leverage. Regular, normal, human fun."

Sabrina closed her book. "I don’t know what that means."

"I know you don’t. Try anyway."

We exited the vehicle in a configuration that probably looked insane to anyone watching from the gymnasium windows. Four girls in matching costumes with wine-red hair and purple eyes. One shorter girl in a maid outfit that Harlow had produced from somewhere at the last minute. One even shorter girl in gyaru fashion that belonged in a Shibuya street snap rather than a Long Island prep school. And me, in a vampire butler costume that cost more than my rent, carrying a box of custom-made fangs and a garment bag containing Vivienne’s backup outfit because of course Vivienne had a backup outfit.

"Isaiah!" Felix materialised from behind a cardboard tombstone, his Dracula cape billowing. His fangs were already in, giving his words a slight lisp. "You look incredible! Like a real vampire! Like the kind of vampire that makes people question their sexuality!"

"Thanks, Felix."

"I mean it! The cape alone is, wait." Felix grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "Is this silk? This lining is actual silk. Who made this?"

"Harlow."

Felix looked at Harlow with an expression usually reserved for religious experiences. "You made this? By hand?"

"Mostly by hand! The machine did the buttonholes because my fingers were getting blisters, but everything else was me!" Harlow bounced on her toes. "Do you like the clasp? It’s a tiny heart! I made it from polymer clay and then coated it in resin!"

Felix touched the clasp with the reverence of an archaeologist handling a newly discovered artifact. "This is museum quality."

"You’re sweet! I made yours too, you know. The one on your cape?"

Felix looked down at his own costume, which featured a significantly less impressive plastic clasp in the shape of a bat. "You made my bat?"

"Of course! Every costume in the cafe has a custom clasp. Yours is a bat because you’re Dracula. Isaiah’s is a heart because..." Harlow trailed off, her cheeks reddening. "Because hearts are nice."

Cassidy snorted from somewhere behind me.

Marin appeared next, clipboard in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. She had added whiskers to her cat-ear headband and wore a maid costume in black and orange that managed to look both festive and authoritative. Her eyes swept over our group, lingered on Sarah’s outfit with open curiosity, and then landed on me.

"Angelo. You’re early. I’m marking this as a miracle."

"I’m always on time."

"You were seven minutes late to the last three setup sessions."

"Those were practice. This is the real thing."

Marin consulted her clipboard. "Espresso station is set up. Fog machines are tested and operational. The menu boards are finished." She looked at Vivienne. "Your sister’s coffin illustrations are genuinely impressive."

Vivienne nodded once, the movement containing approximately seven different emotions she would never admit to experiencing. "Harlow is talented."

"I also need someone to test the blood punch recipe because Patterson tasted it yesterday and said it needs more cinnamon, but I think cinnamon in fruit punch is an act of war."

"I’ll handle it," I said.

"Good. You’re the only one here with actual bartending experience." Marin checked something off her list. "Also, three girls from 3-B asked if the vampire butler would be taking individual photos with customers and I said I would check with the butler himself."

"No."

"That’s what I told them. They seemed disappointed." Marin glanced at Sarah and Iris. "Volunteers?" ƒгeewebnovёl.com

"This is Sarah." Iris stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this introduction. "She’s my friend. She’s very enthusiastic. She will work for food."

"I’ll work for the chance to exist in this building," Sarah corrected. "This school looks like Hogwarts had a baby with a country club. Are those real gargoyles?"

"Decorative," Marin said. "But the one on the north tower does leak during rain, which creates a cool effect."

"Incredible."

Marin assigned Sarah to table service alongside Iris, gave them both aprons with small coffin logos that Harlow had apparently screen-printed at three in the morning, and directed everyone inside the gymnasium.

The space had undergone its final transformation since Friday’s dress rehearsal. Black drapes covered every wall, with purple uplighting creating shadows that genuinely looked atmospheric rather than cheap. The fog machines sat in their designated corners, ready to fill the room with ground-level mist at timed intervals. Patterson’s beloved coffin archway framed the entrance, complete with fake cobwebs that Felix had applied with the dedication of a man who understood that commitment to detail separated excellence from mediocrity.

Our cafe occupied the prime central position that Patterson had fought for. Ten tables draped in black cloth, each with a miniature candelabra that used battery-operated candles because the fire marshal had been very clear about open flames. The espresso station was my domain, a professional-grade machine that the PTA had somehow acquired for the day, flanked by syrup bottles, whipped cream dispensers, and an army of cups that Harlow had individually decorated with tiny hand-drawn bats.

"This looks amazing," Sarah whispered, and for once her voice carried genuine awe rather than performative excitement.

"It looks adequate," Vivienne said, though the slight upward curve of her mouth betrayed her actual opinion.

"It looks like we’re going to destroy 3-C’s haunted house and Patterson is going to get his trophy," Cassidy said, dropping into a chair and putting her combat boots on the table.

I walked behind the espresso station and ran my hands over the equipment, checking temperature gauges and steam wand pressure. Two years at the Velvet Room had given me an instinct for machines like this. The grind looked slightly coarse for espresso, so I adjusted it half a turn clockwise and pulled a test shot. Dark amber, thick crema, exactly right.

"Dude." Felix appeared at the counter, still lisping around his fangs. "You look like you belong behind that thing."