Chapter 16
Phoebe
“Oh, Jesus. ProfessorMac’s one of the chaperones?” Tara gripped my palm and dragged me closer to the library’s entrance, decorated like the golden gates of Heaven. Either side was flanked by professors draped in flowing gowns. Halos or horns poked through their hair. One even held a plastic pitchfork.
Tara squeezed my hand and groaned.
“Ouch, that hurts.” I tried to yank my fingers from her death grip.
She pinched them tighter. “You know if he sees us, he’ll bore us to death with his war stories.”
She has a point.
Instead of complaining, I sped up, glancing surreptitiously in his direction.
Luckily, Professor Mac had some other poor student trapped between the door and wall. The guy’s gaze darted everywhere, as if looking for escape.
“Oh yes. Back during my Desert Storm days”—Professor Mac reached up to straighten his askew halo, a rounded coat hanger wrapped with gold Christmas garland—“we had sand coming out of every orifice of our body, and then some. Why, when we went to pee...”
Tara and I crossed the threshold in a blur, leaving his high, reedy voice in the background and pushing ourselves through a throng of people.
“I don’t even wanna know where his conversation was about to go.” I let out a breath of relief, turned to her, and grinned.
She held a palm over her chest. “Yeah, that was close.” Letting go of my hand, she gave the area a calculated stare.
“I kind of feel sorry for that other guy, though.”
“Better him than us.” Tara’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit. Look at this place. Did you help with the decorations?”
“No, they did it this morning while I was in class.” I strolled forward, weaving through a few people milling about. “The art department did most of the work.”
The interior of the library, three stories high with the middle open all the way to the glass-domed roof, revealed twinkling stars high above in the black sky. Each level, from floor to ceiling, normally showcased shelves of books. But tonight, large paper drawings of beautiful angels and terrifying demons warring in Heaven and Hell re-enacted the scenes of Michelangelo and Dante, creating a wonderfully tragic fantasyland.
Flames from electric candles glowed from draped tables pushed to the sides of the cavernous room. A large staircase led to the upper decks, its banisters twined with black and red crepe paper streamers fluttering gently from the disturbance of passersby.
Overhead, static poured from speakers, then a short squeal from a microphone split the murmuring voices of the crowd. “Good evening, students and faculty of Barkley University. A quick reminder this year’s masquerade is being held by Zi Theta Alpha to raise funds for autism awareness. So, if you haven’t already, please leave a donation in one of the marked collection containers located at the front. Now, enough from me. You guys want to hear music and party, right?”
Raucous cheers rose and echoed upward, mine included.
