Chapter forty-two
Arthur
Iam wearing fake spandex.
Fabric that breathes more than I'd like.
The mask itches.
The emblem on my chest—some variation of a spider—feels ridiculous.
Henry, on the other hand, is thriving.
His costume glows. Literally. Blue Hanging Light Boy, apparently.
He bounces as we move through the entrance, hand locked in mine like this is the greatest day of his life.
Steven, dressed as Dark Man, is beside us. Cape flowing and entirely too comfortable with this.
"You look great, sir," he says, deadpan.
"I look like I've made several poor life choices," I reply.
Henry grins up at me. "Mom—Lindsay—will love it."
I don't correct him. I don't want to.
CAMICon is exactly what I expected. Worse even.
Noise. Movement. Chaos dressed up as joy. People brushing past without concern for personal space or net worth.
Henry navigates it like a professional. "Quinn says she's in Panel Room C," he announces, checking a phone that is definitely not supposed to have this much autonomy. "Two actors from that show with the time loops."
I nod, because nodding is easier than admitting I don't have a clue what he's talking about.
We move when Henry moves. We stop when Henry stops.
A teenager bumps into me, spilling something sticky across my costumed arm. I open my mouth to say something sharp, then stop myself.
"Sorry, man!" the kid says, already moving away.
Dark Man hands me a handkerchief.
I exhale slowly. This isn't my world. It's Lindsay's. And for her, I can be uncomfortable.
The panel room is packed. Applause breaks out as we slip inside, masks on, anonymous by virtue of absurdity.
I scan the room automatically.
Then I see her.
No ordinary sparkly hoodie today. Her entire outfit looks like it's made from sequins.
Maybe it is.
And of course, that bag that looks like it could be seen from space.
My chest tightens.
