Chapter 1: Zorro Meets the Sorority
The text came through just as Greg was debating whether to microwave another sad burrito. His phone buzzed against the Formica countertop.
Katy (Cousin): Sigma Kappa Halloween bash. Tomorrow night. Costume mandatory. You in?
He grinned. His social calendar had been a barren wasteland of textbooks and his roommate’s dubious laundry habits. A thumbs-up emoji was sent before he could overthink it.
The Sigma Kappa house looked less like a building and more like a fever dream. Orange and purple lights bled from every window, and the bass from inside made the porch stairs tremble under his feet. Greg adjusted the black domino mask and gave the brim of his cheap Zorro hat a tug. He’d gone for classic, which was code for ‘last minute’.
The door was opened by a girl dressed as a neon-pink jellyfish, her umbrella-hat wobbling precariously. “Whoa, swashbuckler. Enter at your own risk.” She giggled, waving him into the chaos.
Inside was a labyrinth. Dim hallways, draped in what looked like borrowed velvet curtains, swallowed people whole. The air was warm and thick, a cocktail of sweat, candy-sweet perfume, and the undeniable skunky scent of weed. Strobe lights from a downstairs basement cut through the haze in erratic pulses, freezing faces in manic grins and exaggerated gestures.
“Greg! Over here!”
He spotted Katy weaving through a cluster of pirates and zombies. She was a retro airline stewardess, the sky-blue uniform snug, her blonde hair pinned up in a perfect bouffant. She threw her arms around his neck. “You made it! Come meet the crew.”
She dragged him by the wrist past a table where a black lace cloth was stained red with punch, a half-eaten sheet cake sitting forgotten beside a plastic skull. They plunged into a quieter side hallway and into a cluttered bedroom. The music was muffled here, replaced by the low hum of conversation and the gurgle of a bong.
Three other girls were perched on a mismatched assortment of beanbags and a velour ottoman. A lava lamp bubbled placidly on a dresser.
“Ladies, my cousin, Greg. Greg, this is Maya, Chloe, and Sasha.”
Maya, a brunette in a cat-ear headband, nodded. Chloe, wrapped mummy-style in what looked like toilet paper, gave a shy wave. Sasha, dressed as a very convincing Wednesday Addams, held the bong. “The more the merrier,” she said, her voice monotone. She lit the bowl, inhaled deeply, and passed it to Katy.
Katy took a expert hit, held it, then exhaled a smooth stream of smoke toward the ceiling. She passed it to Greg. “Medicine for the social anxiety.”
“Who’s anxious?” he said, taking it. The water bubbled reassuringly. He took a pull, the heat spreading in his chest. He coughed once, handed it to Maya.
“So, Zorro,” Katy said, settling onto the floor beside him, her skirt rustling. “Save any damsels on the way over?”
“Just from my roommate’s attempt at conversation. It was a civic duty.”
She laughed, a bright, familiar sound. The weed was doing its job, softening the edges of the noise from downstairs, making the fairy lights twinkle a little brighter. They passed the piece around again. Talk drifted—classes, terrible costumes they’d seen, a scandal about a stolen lawn gnome.
Talk drifted—classes, terrible costumes they’d seen, a scandal about a stolen lawn gnome. Katy adjusted her pillbox hat, a stray blonde curl escaping to frame her cheek. “Aunt Linda sent me another care package,” she said, leaning back on her elbows. “Mostly dryer sheets and dental floss. I think she’s hinting at something.”
Greg grinned, the weed softening the edges of the room. “Moms and their silent critiques. Mine mailed me a single tube of antifungal cream. No note. Just…here you go, son.”
“Ew,” Chloe whispered from her mummy wrap.
“What’s your major again, Greg?” Maya asked, passing him the bottle of seltzer they were sharing.
“Undecided. Which is a fancy way of saying I’m paying too much money to be confused.”
“Join the club,” Katy laughed, her knee nudging his. “I switched from poli-sci to communications last month. My dad almost had an aneurysm. He’d already pictured me arguing before the Supreme Court.”
“You’d look good in the robe.”
“Right?” She smiled, a genuine, unguarded thing that made her eyes crinkle. For a moment, it was just them, like when they were kids building forts in her living room, the complicated family dynamics of adulthood not yet a factor.
The energy of the house was shifting. The bass from downstairs thickened, a physical pulse coming up through the floorboards. The door to the bedroom opened and closed as people flowed in and out, their voices louder, their movements more animated. A guy dressed as a shredded Spartan offered a small, translucent baggie to Sasha. She peeked inside, then glanced at Katy. “Molly. Clean stuff. Jake brought it back from Denver.”
Katy’s blue eyes met Greg’s. A playful, challenging arch appeared in her brow. The stewardess persona seemed to melt away, replaced by something more electric. “What do you think, Zorro? Party’s getting started.”
He felt the spontaneous itch, the urge to dive in. The night was a blank page, and his usual caution was blurred by the smoke. “Why not?” he said, his voice a little rough. “It’s Halloween.”
Sasha portioned out two small, pale pink pills onto a paperback cover. Katy took hers dry, throwing her head back to swallow. Greg put his on his tongue, chasing it with warm seltzer. For a few minutes, nothing happened. They just kept talking, the conversation looping back to easier things—the best pizza place near campus, a podcast they both liked.
Then it came on not as a rush, but as a slow, warm tide. The scratchy velvet of the ottoman began to feel incredibly soft. The laughter from the hallway sounded like music. Greg felt a deep, unlocking sensation in his chest, a warmth radiating outward to his fingertips. He looked at Katy and saw her glowing, the fairy lights seeming to halo her bouffant. She smiled, and it was like the first real smile he’d ever seen.
“Wow,” she whispered, her voice full of wonder.
“Yeah,” was all he could manage. The compulsion to move, to be part of the bigger pulse of the party, grew irresistible. He stood up, the black cape swirling around him. It suddenly felt heavy and ridiculous, a costume from a different, stuffier night. “I need to lose this cape. It’s like being hugged by a bat. Anyone got anything less…dramatic?”
The Spartan, who was now chatting with Chloe, overheard. “Dude, I’ve got a something in my car. It’s kinda savage.”
A costume without a cape. A mask that covered more of his face. It sounded perfect. “Yeah,” Greg said, the word floating out of him. “That sounds cool.”
“Keys are in my pocket, man. Silver Honda Civic, back right tire’s low. Trunk’s unlocked.”
The cool night air outside was a shock, a beautiful, crisp slap after the house’s humid breath. Everything felt hyper-real. The gravel of the driveway under his shoes, the distant shriek of laughter, the way the porch light haloed in the mist of his breath. He found the car, popped the trunk. Inside, amidst jumper cables and a gym bag, was a bundled leather harness and a pair of rigid plastic claws with metal fittings. The mask was a single piece, crude but effective, covering the upper half of his face with drawn-on sideburns and a snarling expression.
He shrugged out of the Zorro costume right there, draping it over the spare tire. The October air raised goosebumps on his arms and torso. He pulled the harness on, fumbling with the buckles across his chest and back. It fit snugly, the leather cool against his skin. He slid his hands into the claw apparatus, the weight of them foreign and strangely powerful. Finally, he pulled the mask over his head.
The world narrowed. His vision was framed by the eyeholes, the sounds of the party muffled slightly. He looked at his reflection in the car’s dark window—a silhouette of muscle and shadow, a feral, anonymous shape. He flexed his hands, the plastic claws catching a sliver of light. He didn’t look like Greg anymore. He didn’t even feel like Greg. He was just a feeling, a pulse, a set of hands ready to touch the night.
He slammed the trunk shut, the sound final, and turned back toward the thrumming house.