Page 34 of My Cosplay Escape
“It’s the last for the night, I swear,” Stacey says, sliding my cell door open. “Mixed group. Über well-costumed… I couldn’t say no.” She gives my cell bars a tap. “You’ve got this.”
Über well-costumed? Okay, maybe that got my attention. I may not be seeing Ben-Day dots in my waking hours, but you can’t take the comics out of the girl. I take my time staring them down when they enter my cell. An on-point, devastatingly-real Badpun with his arm around an equally disturbingly attractive Fair Play stumble into my room, followed by a ’90s Nightbat with prom dress Penny Price on his heels. A vintage Mallard and Catstrike trail in behind them. A double take on my part reveals a gender swap—that’s Lady Mallard in tails and a male Catstrike. Totally adorable.
I say the same tired line with as much sass as is left in me and twirl my little black whip. I carry a small one on me now. It helps to have a prop. Also helps to be armed. The strobe light flashes, and the room plunges into complete darkness as I beat my well-worn path of retreat through the door to Jerry’s room.
I nearly scream when I see the ’90s Nightbat blocking my path.
I look for Jerry, but he and hisAbandum Advanceare gone. “You’ve lost your party, Nightbat.” My voice is rough from a night of cosplaying.
“Sometimes you find what you’re looking for by waiting.”
Sensitivity to strobe lights means that occasionally guests hang back in this particular room. Had Nightbat stepped out while I was admiring the other cosplayers?
I check the security camera in the corner of the room. The red light winks back at me, ever vigilant. I have nothing to be afraid of. But even if I did, I’m too tired to be afraid.
Nightbat’s lips twitch into the briefest of smiles. He moves closer, and while it isn’t easy to size up a man in cosplay of this magnificence, it is very easy to get carried away. I do the Catstrike equivalent of catching his eyes before blushing and looking down, which is to say I smirk, arch an eyebrow, and keep staring.
His eyes are inked behind the holes in his cowl, and in the dim light of the escape room, their color is indistinguishable. His chin is shaved clean, but something about him is very familiar. He’s definitely not my brother. Brent has a Dermot Mulroney scar on his lip from a surfboard accident, and the Nightbat standing before me has no scars on his lower face. Not a one. He also isn’t my ex. Daniel could never pull off a mask like this with his weak chin. Besides, his IG feed had him sporting a goatee in Shanghai this morning.
“And what are you looking for?” I drawl. Oh, but I’m getting good at the sexy, femme fatale voice.
“You.”
“Easy, Ash. There’s a lot more to me than you realize.” Turns out I’m not tired at all. I feel slightly panicked but also heady. I’ve watchedNightbat Returnsenough to fantasize about a moment like this. My favorite Nightbat comics are organized by which have the best Nightbat/Catstrike kissy-smoochy scenes. And in a moment like this—when I’m supposed to remember that I am Sarah Miller, who not too long ago was Sarah Miller Jonson, and the looming cape-clad gentleman is not really the millionaire, tortured golden child Ashley Osric of Abandum City, or any city, but probably a pathetic psycho with a paunch behind the sculpted rubber—I can’t remember. Cosplay is about playing. And goldfish, I want to play.
“Tell me.” He says the words urgently and gruffly. He stands closer and presses a hand to my waist. I feel that ASMR tingle crawl up my spine. He brings his other hand to my shoulder.
“I’m tempted,” I say. Shirley Temples, I am more than tempted. My brain explodes into fireworks. I hear the muffled shouts of a successful escape from my room. I bring a claw up to his lips. “But I’m not about to ruin poor Penny’s evening. You’re safe from the strobe light. Good luck escaping, Nightbat.” I shrug out of his arms and leave through the other door.
“Hey,” Stacey calls, jogging toward me. “Everything okay? We lost audio, and the feed cut out.” Stacey’s brow furrows. “Nightbat didn’t try anything—”
“I’m pretty sure he was just sensitive to the strobes.” I wrap my hand across my waist, resting my hand where Nightbat held me seconds earlier. “The cameras went out?”
“I’m going to check them now. They might have overheated. Or someone might have powered them down early. It’s been a crazy night.”
My voice is desperately authentic. “Yeah, I, um, I’m going to head out.”
“You sure? Frankie and Vanessa are planning quite the after party.”
“I can’t afford to miss another training run.” True… as long as she doesn’t ask what I’m training for.
“Say no more.” Stacey places a hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay? You sound out of breath.”
“Yeah, it’s hot in this costume.” I roll my shoulder, turn, and catch a glimpse of the last group posing for the camera. Badpun and Fair Play are laughing with their arms around each other. Penny Price, male Catstrike, and Lady Mallard are posingCharlie’s Angelsstyle. And ’90s Nightbat is gone.
“Hey, Stace?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“Were there three parties of two in that last group?”
Stacey checks her tablet. “Two parties of three. Penny Price, male Catstrike, and Lady Mallard were a group, and then Badpun, Fair Play, and Nightbat were the other. They wanted to be separate, but they agreed to be combined because of the time.”
I nod. “Cool.” My knees feel like they are about to buckle out. So Nightbat didn’t come with Penny. He came for me. And that should be terrifying, but it isn’t.
My spine warms over, and I have a new flush of delicious pinpricks. It was Adam. I’d bet my next two Venmo deposits on it. He’s the only man who makes my cosplay kitten come out and purr.
I leave through the emergency exit and am not at all surprised to see the dark silhouette of a gorgeous caped cosplayer standing in the alley.
