(April 2019)

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

Chauvet glanced up from her work table, surrounded by printouts and bags from Party City. It was the same thing Gwen had said the last time Chauvet had visited the wonder, only to shatter into light when Katie powered down to try and reason with her. The fourth time was the charm--now Katie knew that if she wanted to be in the presence of her cousin, she needed to stay powered up to allay whatever dissonance Gwen had at being a ghost. As long as she didn’t see Katie, then she didn’t seem to mind what she did or didn’t remember, which meant that she talked.

And talked.

And talked.

Chauvet shrugged, trying not to move too quickly in case she spooked the ghost. “Yeah, I brought whatever you asked for last time. Cups, plates, invitations, the works. They didn’t really have any debutante plastic-wear, so I just got the rainbow ones because. Coming out party.” Chauvet laughed, but it was lifeless as the companion beside her, and then she set back to her work, checking a list of names on printer paper. She tapped one, wrote it on an envelope, and then pressed her shiny signet ring to it, making it disappear somewhere else to the Cosmos.

“Ooh, you found a list of previous attendants?” Gwen asked, leaning across the table. She wore a dress that was like Chauvet’s, but different--still white, still starry, draped in pearls, but cut for a different time. “When I was writing invitations for my own gala, I sent almost five hundred invitations, to guests from all across the galaxy. It was splendid, simply splendid.” She fluttered about, reaching for things she couldn’t touch with translucent hands.

“More like...I found a list of moons and stars and planets on Wikipedia and I printed them all out to cover our bases,” Chauvet quipped back, scratching out the most recent name. She noticed that as long as she didn’t realize Chauvet Page was really Katie under the glamour, Gwen would play some sort of game where she was Genevieve Degrasse, Small Lady of Chauvet of the Silver Millenium, even though she looked like herself and less...the swarthy knowing coquette in the picture at the end of the hall. Still, if Chauvet chose not to play along, then the cracks of light would appear again, and the last thing she needed was to be alone, not if she had to do...apparently...party planning to power up.

“It’s simple,” Gwen had said during their last visit. “You’re not a squire because you’ve never been confirmed by the Gala. If you host your premiere, then I’m sure you’ll resonate with the wonder and it will reward you in kind.”

Chauvet wasn’t sure she even wanted more power, except maybe to help Colin when it came to kicking youma a**. But still, sitting at a table and working on crafts with Gwen almost felt like she hadn’t gone missing for nearly four years, like Katie would have the chance to pick up where they left off, like nothing bad had happened.

It was...almost good enough. The same way that bringing a hot glue gun up to her wonder had been almost good enough, until she remembered that Chauvet was in space and that it didn’t have outlets. It sat dejectedly at the end of the table, waiting to do crafts that would never be finished.

“Don’t you have a list of friends to invite? Rivals? Paramores?” Gwen pawed at the list idly, pinching her lips when her hand clipped through the table. “Surely someone to attend on your behalf?”

“All my friends are on the Idiot Express,” Chauvet drolled, rolling her eyes. Still, she paused just long enough to write Austin Lynch on the next invitation, followed by Sophia Thomas. On a lark, she wrote Mistress Material on a third envelope, crossed it out, and labeled it Stillwaterite instead. She had no way of knowing if she was supposed to invite the chaos senshi or whatever, but Chauvet didn’t really care. Still could hang, even if she had stabby blood friends.

“Tell me you’ve at least invited a Neptunian quartet for entertainment,” Gwen-evieve quipped, rubbing her face. “If there’s going to be dancing, there simply must be music, and any Neptunian will happily play if you just give them a stage.”

“I’ll do you one better,” said Chauvet, who pulled her phone from subspace. She tapped the screen a few times, and then something heavy and bass-filled shook the tiny device until Gwen’s whine cut through enough to make her stop.

“I mean real music, something with strings and purpose, Gwen whimpered, rubbing her temples. Chauvet assumed that ghosts couldn’t get headaches, but then again, Gwen had always been a little drama queen, wanting to put on a show.

“Noted, your highness,” came the page’s response, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t recall you being so anti-Biggie.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I just want to ensure that you have the best premiere possible. Have you invited the family? Do they know to be proud of your achievements?”

Chauvet’s stomach twisted into knots, thinking about the idea of inviting her aunt and uncle to an event where their dead daughter would be host. She turned away, eyes glassy. “No. They don’t know about...me. Being Chauvet. It’s too messy, getting them involved this late in the game.”

“Well have you at least got hors d’oeuvres and drinks squared away?” Gwen crossed her arms. “You can’t just have your guests go thirsty, it’s rude.”

Chauvet blinked hard, tried to focus. If she thought about food, she didn’t have to think about problems, or how to explain things, or how she wanted to be anywhere but here. “...I got some chips and oreos,” she responded, motioning blankly to another set of bags. “Not like...five hundred people’s worth, but I’m still kind of on a budget. I can always get pizza the day of. I know some people in cheesy places.”

Gwen assessed the offerings with an upturned tilt of her nose, then finally shook her head. “No. No, it simply won’t do. Come this way--I’ll show you what this wonder can provide, if you’ll just ask it to help you.” Gwen sat up and started to walk towards the gallery doors, and a few steps into her gait turned into a soft glowing light, guiding Chauvet’s path. Unmotivated and tired, Chauvet followed behind, climbing over and under various artifacts in different states of array. Gwen told her they all needed to be catalogued before they could be shown to the public again, but Chauvet wasn’t even sure where to begin.

“I think we need to throw a yard sale or something,” Chauvet drolled, stepping over a rolled up tapestry and a sandy pair of shoes. “Because this is...an advanced amount of crap.”

”It isn’t crap,” Gwen huffed from the end of the gallery, reforming into her cross-armed pouty self in the doorframe at the opposite end of the gallery. “Those are Silver Millenium artifacts, and I--we--worked really hard to get those! These things wouldn’t exist without the protection of Chauvet, you should be grateful!”

“Okay, I guess,” Katie shrugged. She lifted her dress to step around a water pitcher that was far too ornate to have ever been used. “It’s just--kind of a mess, though, I mean. It’s gonna take a lot of cleaning.”

“We’ll get it fixed up before the Gala,” Gwen nodded, slipping through the closed door. Chauvet had to rustle the doorknob to get it to comply for an earthly body, spiraling down stairs that led into the dark. Descending down by the light of Gwen’s translucent glow, Chauvet touched her hand on the wall, tracing the lines of marble as they changed to rougher, weather-worn stone. The air felt dead, frozen in time and only just beginning to thaw, and in the dust at the bottom of the stairwell were more tiny footprints, leading further away. “Kind of a fixer upper all around,” Chauvet quipped, which earned her another ghostly huff. Gwen settled at the end of the hall, folding her hands in front of her.

“The seventh floor is not a fixer upper--it was a gift, from the seventh Chauvet to me, and now these riches pass to you,” the ghost said, pretending to lean her hand on a cask. “There aren’t many left, but these are the leftover casks of champagne commissioned for my own commencement, when I was a page. If you serve it, foods will taste better, lights brighter, and your guests will know what it is to follow our words--Remember the past to know the future.”

Chauvet followed the line of casks as far as the light would let her see--there had to be about a dozen left. Gwen waited expectantly at first, and then tapped the flat of her heel. “Well? Do you like it?”

“It sounds like we’re going to roofie people.”

“Chauvet Page.”

“I’m just saying!!” Chauvet shrugged, then turned back towards the stairs. “Thousand years of aged space booze, I hope cleaning up vomit is one your super powers.”

The voice behind her laughed. “Katie, eww, that’s super gross.” Chauvet’s eyes widened--she remembered my name--but when she turned back towards the hall no one was there. She stared blankly for a moment, considered calling out, then slowly started to climb for the surface. Normally she’d be all about abandoned and known-haunted spooky stairwells, but for some reason she just wasn’t in the mood.

There were invitations to write, decorations to make. Artifacts to...clean, if they could be salvaged. Gwen had never been given the time to tend to the place, and now she was stuck here, half a memory and a shade of the girl Katie knew. Sulking hadn’t made her feel better about it, nor had destroying her liver, trying to fight bigger or badder monsters, nor kissing strangers. At the end of her rope, Chauvet tried the last thing available to her.

She got to work.