1. Party : Anubis

Thea Monroe

With a mouthful of caramel ice cream, nestled in my bed fort of blankets and fluffy pillows, I watched my best friend Casey rummaging through my closet, creating a fabric avalanche on the floor.

The frustrated sighs escaping her lips were theatrical, like a dying cat gargling hairballs, a symphony to accompany my sweet treat in its special bucket.

Taking another spoonful, my confusion curdled like sour milk in my brain. “What are you looking for? You’re literally dismantling my wardrobe. And what in the name of Tutankhamun are you wearing? Did you whip up another cosplay for next Halloween? Remind you, it’s July. Summer, remember?” I smacked my lips, savoring the cold sweetness.

Casey spun around, another groan of pure, unadulterated frustration escaping her. “You have nothing to wear. When was the last time you even looked at clothes that weren’t pajamas or band tees?”

“Well…” The answer was as dusty as an ancient tomb, and a wave of guilt, lukewarm at best, washed over me. “I think… two months ago? I needed new underwear. Apparently, my collection leans heavily towards ‘granny panties,’ according to someone,” I emphasized, pointedly staring at her Cleopatra ensemble – a surprisingly authentic-looking linen dress and a meticulously crafted beaded collar.

She rolled her eyes with such force I thought they might get stuck. Huffing, she threw her hands up in the air, “Fine! Plan B then. I brought a backup costume, just in case your fashion wasteland yielded nothing. You get to borrow this tonight.”

Casey sashayed towards her oversized bag, slumped on my living room couch downstairs. I remained glued to my bed, still utterly bewildered.

“Another costume? What party are you even talking about? Are we going somewhere?” I asked, my brow furrowing into deep trenches of bewilderment.

She just grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye, and tossed a small, surprisingly heavy, black plastic box onto my bed as she bounded back up the stairs. I caught it instinctively, the weight a strange surprise.

She perched on the edge of my desk chair as I cautiously flipped open the box. Inside, nestled on a velvet lining, lay a breathtaking golden mask adorned with delicate, curling horns and a flowing white dress embroidered with shimmering gold thread.

The fabric was impossibly soft, like spun moonlight, trimmed with delicate lace.

“What is this?” I breathed, my mind struggling to reconcile the opulent beauty with my usual Friday night of ice cream and bad reality TV. The costume was eerily similar to depictions of Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of love and beauty. “It’s not Halloween, Casey. And why the mask?”

“I made it myself! Beautiful, isn’t it?” she beamed, radiating pride. “I was going to debut it in October, but since the theme of tonight’s party is ‘Ancient Egypt,’ well… I thought ahead. Two costumes are always better than one, right? Consider it sisterly sharing.” She snatched the ice cream bucket from my grasp, her enthusiasm infectious as she physically untangled me from my blanket cocoon.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Shower, then get into this masterpiece. The party starts at eight. It’s already six!” She propelled me off the bed with surprising strength, and I narrowly avoided tripping over the Everest of discarded clothing and my rogue blanket. I planted my feet, refusing to budge, and fixed her with a pointed stare.

“What ‘party’ are you talking about? Casey, you live in that neighborhood. The one where even the squirrels wear tiny monocles. I can’t just waltz in there like I belong.” My voice rose with a touch of panic. I knew her and her ‘brilliant’ ideas. This was trouble brewing, and I could smell it like burnt toast.

Our friendship, forged in the crucible of questionable decisions and lukewarm tequila at my cousin’s wedding, was an anomaly, a beautiful, baffling glitch in the social matrix of London.

Heiress to the Sterling Tech empire and I, Thea, perpetually broke archaeology intern, deciphering hieroglyphs for minimum wage – we were an unlikely pair, destined for separate orbits. Yet, years later, here we were, intertwined like ivy, two halves of a whole neither of us quite understood but both fiercely protected.

Living a tube ride away, our worlds remained distinct, yet Casey ensured they collided often enough to keep loneliness at bay.

My life revolved around the hushed halls of the British Museum, the scent of aged papyrus, and the ghosts of pharaohs. Hours were spent poring over artifacts unearthed from the sands of Egypt, tracing the elegant curves of hieroglyphs, whispering the names of gods long forgotten. I was drowning in the past, content amidst dynasties and deities.

Casey, meanwhile, was immersed in the relentless present, navigating boardrooms and blueprints, preparing to inherit a kingdom of steel and glass – Sterling Properties, a behemoth of office buildings and investment ventures.

Despite the contrasting landscapes of our lives, a shared hunger for something beyond the mundane flickered beneath the surface.

A yearning for the extraordinary, a quiet ambition to leave a mark, however small, a ripple in the vast ocean of existence. We rarely spoke of grand ambitions, but I sensed it in Casey’s restless energy, her constant drive. I felt it in my own quiet fascination with civilizations that had vanished, leaving behind whispers etched in stone.

Tonight, however, grand ambitions and world-bettering schemes were far from my mind. Rich kids, rebelling in ritzy silence, was tonight’s agenda. Discreet parties, whispered rumors, the delicious thrill of transgression for those born into gilded cages.

They were desperate to taste the forbidden, their rebellion as carefully curated as their Instagram feeds. A scandal, a leaked photo, a mention in the wrong gossip column – social death for the heirs and heiresses of London’s elite.

“Just go, Thea. You look like you’re about to dissect Tutankhamun’s mummy, not attend a party,” Casey’s voice, laced with exasperation and affection, cut through my reverie.

She punctuated her command with a gentle shove towards the bathroom door. “Shower. Now. Unless you want to arrive fashionably late and tragically un-goddess-like.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, cocooning me in the steam-filled sanctuary. Water cascaded over my head, washing away the day’s museum dust and the lingering scent of old books. I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror.

My hair, a thick curtain of brown, tumbled past my waist, framing a face dusted with freckles, eyes the color of dark chocolate flecked with black. Ordinary. Utterly, irrevocably ordinary.

Emerging from the steam, towel-clad, I found an outfit laid out on my bed, a shimmering cascade of gold fabric.

Casey, perched at the kitchen counter, was a whirl of sleek blonde hair and manicured fingers tapping at her phone screen, oblivious to my internal debate about crashing a party designed for socialites. Her persistence was legendary, a force of nature as potent as any Egyptian curse.

Hesitantly, I picked up the costume. A dress. Not just a dress, but an incarnation. Taking a deep breath, I slipped into the silken fabric. It clung to my skin, light as air, yet sculpted to every curve. Slits ran high on either side, revealing glimpses of my pale legs. At the waist, a delicate band of fabric connected the fitted bodice, creating an illusion of bare skin beneath intricate gold embroidery.

A touch of makeup, winged eyeliner mimicking the feline grace of ancient Egyptian art, and I turned to face the mirror.

My breath hitched. It wasn’t me. It was… someone else. Or perhaps, someone I was always meant to be.

Hathor.  Goddess of love, beauty, music, and joy.

The dress, the makeup, the gold jewelry adorning my neck and wrists, the intricate mask waiting to be placed upon my face – it all conspired to transform me. If I didn’t know it was my reflection staring back, I might have believed I was in the presence of a deity.

A gasp from behind spun me around. Casey stood silhouetted in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. “Thea… you look… incredible,” she breathed, awe coloring her voice, a tone I’d never heard directed my way before.

A shy smile touched my lips, fighting against the sudden surge of self-consciousness.

“So… does this mean I have to start acting like a goddess? Because I’m still pretty confused about this whole ‘rebellious rich kid’ party thing.” My laugh was nervous, a shield against the unfamiliar feeling of being truly seen.

Casey grinned, her usual effervescence returning. She stepped forward, taking my hands in hers. “No, darling. You just have to show them you are a goddess. Trust me, tonight, no one will be able to take their eyes off you.” And with a wink and a tug, she swept me out of the apartment and into the London night, ready to face whatever gilded chaos awaited.

The heavy oak doors swung inward, releasing us into a world drenched in gold.

My eyes wandered around the place in fascination because everything was decorated with gold decorations in Egyptian style and green vines with glittering chandeliers at the ceiling above.

Hieroglyphs, or at least what looked convincingly like them, adorned the walls, framing colossal golden statues of pharaohs and gods. Green vines, thick and lush, snaked around the golden columns, their leaves catching the light from the glittering chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling like celestial jewels.

The music was already playing in every room, a rhythmic pulse of drums and stringed instruments that vibrated through the floor. The scent of flowers, heavy and sweet like jasmine and lilies, mingled with the sharper tang of alcohol, drifting through the air like a hot breeze on a summer night. It was opulent, excessive, and undeniably intoxicating.

“Wow,” Casey breathed beside me, her voice hushed with awe. “This is… something else.”

She was right. Tonight’s theme, ‘Night of the Gods’, like Casey told me, was in full swing, and the sheer spectacle of it all was almost overwhelming.

The party pulsed with a low thrum of bass, spilling out from a grand mansion nestled in London’s remotest area in the city. Costumed figures milled about the dimly lit rooms, a kaleidoscope of mythical creatures and historical figures, all rendered in expensive fabrics and impeccable taste.

The air hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume and something else… something sharper, less pleasant, that pricked at the edges of my perception.

We navigated the crowded rooms, Casey a beacon of confidence in her Cleopatra ensemble, me trailing slightly behind, still adjusting to the weight of the Hathor mask and the unfamiliar attention that seemed to follow me.

Whispers rippled through the crowd as we passed. “Who is that?” “Is that… real gold?”

The whispers were flattering, unsettling.

As the night wore on, a subtle unease began to settle over me. Beyond the glittering facade of wealth and revelry, there was an undercurrent of tension, a sense of something amiss. Conversations were hushed, glances darted, and a nervous energy permeated the air, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

It was then I saw him. A figure standing apart from the throng, his costume seemingly simple – a dark robe, a stylized jackal mask – yet he exuded an unsettling intensity. Anubis, god of the dead. His gaze, or what I could discern of it behind the mask, seemed to linger on me for a fleeting moment, a cold, assessing stare, but enough that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Breaking the spell, he moved from my sight, a silent glide through the crowd, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something glint beneath his robe. Gold. Not costume jewelry. Real gold. And something else, long and slender, catching the dim light – a staff, perhaps? Or… was that a scepter?

Something undeniably ancient.

My archaeologist’s instincts flared. This party, this gathering of privileged youth in their elaborate costumes, had somehow attracted something… other. Something dangerous. And as Anubis vanished into the throng, a chilling thought solidified in my mind.

This wasn’t just a party. It was a masquerade. And tonight, the masks might be hiding more than just identities. They might be hiding secrets, and perhaps, something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface, brought here, into the heart of London, under the guise of revelry and rebellion.

The whisper of ancient gods and forgotten curses echoed in my mind, and for the first time, I felt a prickle of genuine fear. Tonight, being dressed as a goddess might not just be a costume. It might be a target.

Walking further, we entered a big room full of a buffet of delicious food and drinks, a veritable feast laid out on golden platters.

Mountains of glistening fruit, roast meats, and pastries were arranged with artistic precision. Waiters in pharaoh-inspired costumes moved through the throng, offering trays laden with glasses. Scattered around the buffet were small tables and chairs in the corner, providing pockets of space for guests to talk and socialize amidst the grandeur.

And the guests… they were magnificent. The crowd of people wore masks and clothes, cosplaying Gods and Goddesses. Isis, Horus, Ra, Bastet – they mingled and swayed in the dimly lit room, their identities hidden behind elaborately crafted masks of gold, feathers, and jewels. It was a swirling kaleidoscope of costumes and mystery.

This obviously was a party for a night to remember, and no one would remember their faces because of the masks. Perfect opportunity to avoid certain people and have fun with a new crowd for just one night.

Taking some drinks from the tray that was served by a waiter, who walked past us, Casey thanked him and gave me a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled my nose as I took a sip.

“Cheers! For this night to be a moment to remember and celebrate our friendship!” she cheered, raising her glass, clinking with mine. Excitement shone in her eyes, reflecting the chandelier light.

“Yeah, cheers!” I said, following suit, raising my glass towards her. We clinked glasses, the crystal ringing out in the opulent room.

“To nights we can’t quite recall, and friendships we always will.”

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