He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there
was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.
And yes, that was a smirk on that face.
He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in
shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat
sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of
his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk
cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.
But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone
was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in
strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long
enough to reach his chest.
Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”
The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss
to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.
Blink. “Wh-who are you?”
“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with
his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”
Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a
goblin who looked quite like that.
And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of
mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely
unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”
Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”
“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for
The riding crop nudged him in the belly. “So, who are you
supposed to be?”
One of those elaborate eyebrows arched at him.
Virgil pointed back at his room. “Oh, and warning, the
terrible two have already been at the candy.”
The Goblin King’s shoulders slumped. “Great.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”