LAMIAE

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR: COSTUME PARTY

Their team consisted of Sandra, Arleta, Casper, Dagmara, a new Laura, Alan, Nikolai and "Ginger". Ginger, as she suspected, was a redhead named David who was traveling with her and Nikolai on the train on the first day of her arrival in Kielce. However, she still didn't know why Nikolai had changed his appearance and why he was guarding her. After all, she wasn't in any danger.

"You never know," Casper muttered when Dagmara revealed her thoughts to him. "It was my idea to have someone go with you and it couldn't be someone you would later meet either at home or at school," he added, unfazed by her disgusted face.

It's true that Casper was the only one who was overly sensitive about security, but he was also the only one who had reasons to be so. He always took her from school whenever he could, and she began to suspect that he made it a point to protect her. And it didn't only apply to her. He also drove Arleta to the house, and only when Arleta's father was going to work and dropped her off at school, Casper didn't do it. The only girl who could travel alone on buses was Sandra. When Dagmara asked why, Arleta quietly whispered that Sandra had already passed her eighteenth birthday and she was in no danger, besides Sandra and Casper had never liked each other.

Tie meowed loudly as Casper forced priority and was honked by the driver behind him. Arleta didn't even notice it, so Dagmara didn't scold the boy either, even though she remembered Victoria's words from the diary.

I cannot downplay the fact that he feels better than others. When he runs a red light, he doesn't go to school...

"So who else will be on Stone Run?" she took up the topic.

"All young people," Arleta overtook Casper. "A few days ago I was at a meeting on Babia Góra, during St. Lucia, but then only the elders really meet. Your grandmother meets aunts from all over Poland, I was at this meeting for the first time, because there were some topics about me. Mostly it's just boredom. They meet three times a year, on Saint's Eve. Lucia - December 12, Walpurgis Night - April 30 and Midsummer Night - June 21. These dates are always the same. Young people, both girls and boys, meet only once a year, on Łysa Góra, where we will go today. This date is flexible, although it always takes place in December. Then you can have a drink without adult supervision," Arleta giggled, but Casper wasn't laughing at all.

"There, first of all, you have to be careful about what you say and to whom," he advised, and his voice suddenly became serious. "You can make alliances, meet allies, but also enemies."

"Why can I go there?" Dagmara became curious. She didn't think that from the moment she discovered the truth, she would be treated equally to everyone else so quickly.

"And why can I?" Arleta answered her question with a question. Even though Arleta was also not eighteen, there was a fundamental difference between them. Arleta learned the truth because of her age and the magic that activated within her, not by finding the entrance to the tunnel. "It doesn't matter how you were informed," the girl began carelessly. "Now that you know, you're one of us. This will also happen to you, and the fact that you found out about it sooner rather than later is probably even better. Besides, I had to be constantly careful about what I said. It was unbearable."

Dagmara knew that Arleta was the weakest link. If she could accidentally learn something from a person, it was from her. She liked her for that, for her truthfulness.

Arleta decided to go with Dagmara and Casper straight to the residence. She wrote a message to her mother that she was spending the night at a friend's house, which, according to the girl, her mother approved of it, because she believed that an only child should have contact with her peers.

"Does she know about the existence of magic?" Dagmara asked when the vehicle turned into a forest path.

"No," Arleta denied. "I tried to ask her once, but she laughed at me. Then I talked to my grandmother, but strangely enough she had no idea what I was talking about either. In my family, it must occur in every third, fourth and maybe even fifth generation. While doing a family tree in elementary school, I once came across the names Celesta and Bathsheba for two of my great-great-grandmothers, who else but witches have such names?"

"Yes, you're right," she smiled to herself. "Suitable for witches."

The car stopped. Tie lifted his small body lumberingly and meowed to be let out. Dagmara opened the passenger door and leaned out into the driveway. There was nothing left of the snow that fell heavily a few days ago. Only its residue in the form of mud reminded of the calendar winter.

The three of them walked silently home, with the cat weaving between their legs. Genevieve was already standing on the threshold, smiling from ear to ear.

"So how are you getting ready today?" she asked excitedly, to which Arleta inhaled loudly and said in a serious tone. "I have an idea, but I still need to come up with something for it."

Entering the house, Dagmara felt as if she had entered a sauna. It was incredibly hot and muggy inside, though only she seemed to feel it.

"Honey, you have to bear with it," her grandmother said to her, probably after seeing her uncertain expression. "I'm making a mask for you," she added, grinned again and fled to the kitchen, almost running in leaps, which, performed by a woman of her age, looked funny. Dagmara looked at Arleta and Casper with a silent question on her face. Arleta just smiled, tugging on her arm.

"Come on, I'll show you everything in a moment," she immediately led Dagmara across the courtyard to her room, and then forced her to sit at the dressing table.

"Don't move," she ordered Dagmara, and left the room for a moment. When she returned, she was carrying a semi-transparent bag with her - not just any small bag, literally a bag the size of an average suitcase. Inside there were various cosmetics, from all kinds of powders, several shades of lipsticks to eyelash curlers, eyelash extensions, moles, some smelly (probably long expired) perfumes and face masks. She shuddered when she picked up the wrinkled mask of a middle-aged woman's face. She had furrows on her forehead and cheeks.

Dagmara looked again. She saw wigs with shaved hair, gray, white or blonde, sprays and long nails filed into a triangle.

"I obviously don't understand something here," she began, still holding the mask in her hand, watching with her mouth open as Arleta tried on a wig straight out of a horror movie. She looked as if every fifth hair was left on her head, and if Arleta had not tried on the wig, she would certainly have thought that the headgear had worn out long ago, because instead of an elaborate hairstyle, only a caricature of herself remained.

"It's a costume party," Arleta explained briefly.

"Okay," Dagmara murmured, waiting for more information. She had already deduced that she was changing clothes, judging by what was in the bag.

"This is no ordinary party," she continued, taking off her wig again, but only to try on another one. "This party will be more like American Halloween. Each of us dresses up as a witch, you know, a real witch."

"But why?" Dagmara couldn't understand why she would disfigure herself with some old, ugly mask.

"It's a ritual commemorating old ideas about witches. And there is also a second reason that is not talked about out loud. Each of us wants to show our skills to others, the more powerful you are, the more you are able to interfere with your body."

Dagmara looked at the dressing table and then at the bag. This combination somehow reminded her of a certain photo.

"Casper's album," she whispered, remembering the photos the boy showed her last Sunday. One of them showed Victoria, sitting at the dressing table and applying red lipstick that covered not only her lips, but also the skin around her. Then, in the next photo, she saw several old ladies waving into the shot. Seeing such a picture for the first time, Dagmara didn't see Victoria in any of them, so she considered the photo to be a normal sight, at least of her grandmother's friends. Only now did she realize that Victoria must have "disguised" herself as one of those wrinkled women.