The Origin of Kyra

Chapter seven

Carlos never shied from a mission, and if Mal wanted a howler, there was no alternative but to provide one. There was nothing he could do about it, AP Evil Penchant or not. He knew his place on the totem pole.

First things first: a party couldn't be a party without guests. Which meant people. Lots of people. Bodies. Dancing. Talking. Drinking. Eating. Playing games. He had to get the word out.

Thankfully it didn't take too long for everyone he crossed paths with at school, and the minions of everyone they crossed paths with, to spread the word. Because Carlos didn't so much issue an invitation as deliver a threat.

Literally.

He didn't mince words, and the threats only grew more exaggerated as the school day wore on. The rumors spread like the gusty, salty wind that blew up from the alligator-infested waters surrounding the island.

"Be there, or Mal will find you," he said to his squat little lab partner, Le Fou Deux, as they both dissected a frog that would never turn into a prince in Unnatural Biology class. "Be there, or Mal will find you and ban you from the city streets," he whispered to the Gastons as they took turns stuffing each other in doomball nets in PE.

"Be there, or Mal will find you and ban you and make everyone forget you, and from this day onward you will be known only by the name of Slop!" he said almost hysterically to a group of frightened first-years gathered for a meeting of the Anti-Social Club, which was planning the school's annual Foul Ball. They turned pale at his words and desperately promised their attendance, even as they trembled at the thought.

By the end of the day, Carlos had secured dozens of RSVPs. Now, that wasn't too hard, he thought, putting away his books in his locker and releasing the first-year who'd been trapped inside. Kyra on the other hand, wouldn't done anything to him. He kept thinking about his crush on the Lion princess. Or should it be Lion Isle princess? He just didn't know what to say to Kyra.

"Hey, man." Carlos nodded.

"Thanks. I really have to pee." squeaked the unfortunate student.

"Sure," Carlos said, scrunching his nose. "Oh, and there's a party. My house. Midnight." "I heard, I'll be there! Wouldn't miss it!" the first-year said, raising his fist to the air in excitement.

Carlos nodded, feeling mollified and more than a little impressed that even someone who'd been trapped inside a locker all day had heard the news about the party. He was a natural! Maybe party planning was in his blood. His mother certainly knew how to enjoy herself, didn't she? Cruella was always telling him how boring he was because all he liked to do was fiddle with electronics all day. His mother declared he was wasting his time, that he was useless at everything except chores, and so maybe if he threw a good party, he could prove her wrong. Not that she would be around to witness it, though. She'd probably be enraged to discover her Hell Hall crawling with teenagers. Still, he wished that one day Cruella could see him as more than just a live-in servant who happened to be related to her. He made his way home, his mind awhirl. With the guests secured, all he had to do was get the house ready for the blessed event and that couldn't be too hard, could it?

A few hours later, Carlos took it all back. "Why did I ever agree to have this party?" he agonized aloud. "I never wanted to have a party." He raked his fingers through his curly, speckled hair, which made it stick up in a frazzle, a lot like Cruella's own do.

"You mean tonight?" A voice echoed from the other end of the crumbling ballroom, from behind the giant, tarnished statue of a great knight.

"I mean ever," sighed Carlos. It was true. He was a man of science, not society. Not even evil society. But here he was, decorating Hell Hall, which had seen better days long before he'd been born. Still, the decrepit Victorian mansion was one of the grandest on the island, covered in vines more twisted than Cruella's own mind, and gated with iron more wrought than Cruella's own daily hysterias.