Page 128 of Red Masquerade

I shot him a look. “I haven’t seen the city since I left,” I said. It’d been nearly two and a half weeks since he’d brought me to the dinner club.

“We’ll watch over her,” Séra promised.

It had taken some convincing, but Vince didn’t want me out of his sight. Not when the vampires who hunted him knew of my existence, and not when the human world was searching for me, too. Lucas had yet to rescind his award of one million dollars for my return.

I wore a pair of tinted glasses and wrapped my hair in a scarf, for good measure.

We could have sent one of the servants, but Séra insisted on making it a day trip. I think she knew how stir-crazy I was feeling, even though I hadn’t voiced it. She linked arms with me, holding Sinclair’s hand on her other side as we made our way down the street.

My two vampire companions didn’t burn in the sun. Didn’t cower at the touch of iron, the sight of the Christian crosses on churches we passed, around the necks of otherpedestrians. The robust smell of garlic from a street vendor didn’t phase them, though perhaps the scent was stronger, more pungent, given Sinclair’s scrunched nose.

“We should put one on every block,” Séra said, swinging their joined hands.

“We have enough to.” Sinclair held the bundle of flyers in his free arm.

Admittedly, I paid less attention to the posting of the flyers. I watched the people on the street with a new set of eyes, inspecting each stranger through my glasses, wondering who was a vampire, hiding, and who was human? Was it obvious to Séra and Sinclair if we were to run into another inhuman creature? Or was it possible to blend in so completely that one could live wholly as a human, even if every cell in their body said differently?

I watched Séra and Sinclair’s expressions closely, but they gave no indication that we crossed paths with other vampires.

And the humans—it felt strange to refer to them as such, but how else could I?—they were all the same, yet different. I saw now the twinge of grime at the hem of many girls’ skirts; the worn cuffs of a man’s coat; the stray mark of kohl at a woman’s eye. I saw the tiredness pull down their eyelids, saw the sharp cheekbones hidden under rouge. Some with a glaze to their eyes, the telltale sign of an early drinker; some with blank, exhausted stares.

Perhaps I’d been ignorant to the strife of others before. My privilege gave me leave to spend away my days partying, dancing, living, while so many others—like Adam, so long ago—wasted away, slowly, beneath the surface. It was a fact I’d forgotten in our time apart.

No, not forgotten.

I knew. I knew what Adam went through. I knew how different his life was from mine, but I chose to ignore it, especially once he was taken from me. Preferred only to live at night, when only the shiny things caught the light.

Séra was pestering Sinclair for a treat, the sweet scent of cinnamon wafting down the block we walked. “I still love the taste of sugar,” she argued, turning to me and winking. “Besides, Helena can enjoy it, too.”

Sinclair grumbled and passed her a few coins.

As soon as they hit her palm, she was pulling me in the direction of the stand selling tarts, coated almonds, and pretzels. My mouth instantly turned watery, having forgotten how delectable some of the food on the street was.

“A cinnamon roll for me, please,” she said to the vendor.

He looked at me as he began to wrap her pastry in paper.

“The same, please.” I gave him a smile, but he didn’t return it.

Séra dropped the coins into his palm—more than double the cost from the look of it, but the vendor didn’t say anything, pocketing the change.

“Can you taste it?” I asked once we began to stroll away. Taking a bite, the sweetness spread across my tongue, and I nearly moaned.

Séra grinned. “Not like you can,” she said, but she began to eat it anyway. “But I still have a soft spot for it.” She linked her arm with mine again, and we began a slow stroll, in no hurry to join with Sinclair again. We could see him across the street, tacking a flyer to an electrical pole.

“You know, I had to eat human food when I worked at your house,” she said.

It had never crossed my mind before. “I hope you didn’t torture yourself with it,” I laughed, recalling Vince and my conversation about it.

She shrugged. “At first, it was unpleasant, but I found the more I did it, the more enjoyable it became.” She took another bite of her cinnamon roll as though for proof. “If I ate nothing at the house, the cook would be suspicious,” she said.

“I suppose.”

As we neared Sinclair, he turned, spotting us amongst the crowd on the sidewalk. But then his eyes darkened. I could see even from as far as I was, and he started toward us, dropping a few flyers in his wake.

Séra turned and spotted what Sinclair had seen before I even knew what was going on.

“Not another step,” she demanded, just as I was able to whirl around.