Ghost Protocol

The brightly lit ballroom glittered with sweeping gowns and tuxedos. A parade of guests shuffled along the red carpet to flashes of cameras. Jacque, the maître ‘d, scrutinized his underlings as they burst from the kitchen doors to serve champagne and hors d’oeuvres to the chittering nobility. Noel, glanced at her watch, then tied her apron before hoisting the large silver tray onto her shoulder. “Five minutes down, five hours to go,” she sighed. She would only make a measly fifty dollars this evening, while cutting into her precious study time. Her final speech pathology exam rolled over in her mind. Noel pushed the kitchen door open into the ballroom, the clattering of plates replaced by a din of conversations and classical music. 

“Hors d’oeuvres Sir? It’s tomato with duck pâté on rye crostini.” She filtered amongst the glamorous men and women, offering morsels and gathering napkins soiled with lipstick and crumbs. She leaned over a table, sweeping the debris onto her tray. Despite loud voices all around, a whisper shot through her like an arrow.

“Do you see Alpha?” A handsome man with a thin mustache leaned against a pillar and spoke softly, as into the air.

“Not yet. But the night is still young. Is everyone in place?” A muscular woman swirled to him, speaking in a crisp accent.

“Should be. Watch for the signal. Let’s hope our friends in the back are ghosts tonight.”

“Excellent. If not, you know the back-up plan.” The woman swished away towards the restrooms, her long red dress rustling.

Noel kept her face to the ground, appearing intent on the table scraps and avoiding their scrutiny. Without turning, she hustled towards the next group waving their empty glasses. As Noel walked towards the kitchen door for another tray, she glanced up to see Jacque talking to the thin-mustached man. Although she could not hear them, her eyes just made out the words, “special” and “signal.” As a speech pathology student, her expertise in lip-reading and facial interpretation had developed out of necessity, since many of her patients had trouble with verbalizing and annunciation. Jacque appeared tense and suspiciously familiar with the man. 

“Straighten up! Check your posture! Hurry up! More trays! More wine!” Jacque’s sharp voice and a clap of the hands cut through the air as he followed her into the kitchen. Her heart quickened but she kept her face forward. Heaving the next tray onto her shoulder, she readied for the next round of invisibly serving libations to the opulent.

Jacque suddenly caught her elbow before she could depart. Leaning in, he calmly gestured towards the fireplace visible through the porthole in the door. “Noel, do you see the gentleman with the purple sash and the lady next to him? They have just arrived and are in need of some refreshments. Please take this tray to our special guests, the Baron and Baroness.” Jacque exchanged her half-empty tray with a new one. 

“Yes, sir.” Noel paused. Alpha, perhaps? She had to think quickly. She didn’t have any evidence that something was amiss, just intuition. Noel inconspicuously shuffled to the end of the room, buying time. She studied the tray. It looked the same as all of the other trays. She could feel Jacque’s eyes boring into her back, prodding prompt service to the VIPs.

“Oh, excuse me, miss?” Noel turned to face the muscular woman in the red dress. “I am simply dying of thirst. Do you have any water?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I can bring you a bottle in a moment, after I deliver this tray,” said Noel, momentarily distracted but undeterred by her request.

“Perfect. I’ll stay here until you get back. Thank you,” she said, causually. The woman parked to the far side of the fireplace, opposite the Baron, but not paying particular attention to him. 

Noel refocused. “Excuse me, Baron, sir, and Baroness, ma'dam, please enjoy some refreshments.” She held out the tray. Without making eye contact, the Baron mindlessly lifted a cracker topped with red pepper and stuffed it into his mouth, the crumbs sprinkling down his beard. He reached for another. The Baroness waved her on and continued twittering with the other guests about her designer gown. 

Noel turned swiftly on her heel to fetch a bottle of water for the woman in the red dress. Returning, she handed it to the woman who quickly discarded the cap onto to Noel’s tray. Noel thought she saw a slight effervescence in the water. The woman held the bottle rather than drinking immediately.

“Hot! Hot! Water! Quickly!” The Baron reddened, coughing and sputtering. Staring down at the remaining cracker spilling from his other hand, Noel realized the problem. The topping was a ghost pepper, over a thousand times hotter than a red pepper. And he had swallowed it whole. 

“Here!” The woman in the red dress hurried over to the Baron and nearly shoved her water bottle into his mouth. “Please, take mine," she said endearingly.

“Thank you, madam,” he choked, smiling, as he clutched his throat with one hand and lifted the open bottle to his burning mouth.

“Wait!” Noel cried out. “This will work better than water.” Noel reached for a pitcher of cream at the nearby coffee station. The Baron, without hesitation, shoved the open bottle back to the woman in the red dress and grasped the pitcher with both hands. He guzzled the entire container, cream pouring down his beard onto his shirt and sash. His face relaxed. Noel exhaled.

“Ah, much better. Young lady, come here.” The Baron wiped his mouth and motioned for Noel. “Outstanding to use milk instead of water to calm my fiery tongue!” His commendation suddenly transformed to condemnation. “Now take these crackers away immediately! I want to speak to the person in charge. This food is entirely unsuitable for general consumption. Not only is my appetite ruined, but my attire as well.” The Baron turned to his wife. “Please excuse me, dear. I am going to compose myself.” He then angrily marched to the men’s restroom. 

The spectators started to disperse. Noel’s memory awakened. The restroom! Noel dumped the tray of red-pepper look-alikes into the garbage and ran to find security. Her far-fetched theory of a targeted guest, evidenced by a partially overheard dialogue, lip reading, and a foiled assassination attempt by ghost pepper were met with chuckling and disbelief. “Please, will you just follow him to the bathroom?” Noel pleaded.

“Fine. We’ll send someone over. You get back to your job and leave the intrigue to the professionals,” the guard replied. 

Reassured, Noel turned back to her duties. 

“Eeeeee!” A scream pierced the hum of gossiping guests and silenced the music. The Baroness lay prone over her husband’s limp body halfway flung out the bathroom door. Noel caught the gaze of the thin-mustached man as he faded into the gathering gawkers and winked. 

Fifty dollars is definitely not enough for this job, Noel thought.