Page 134 of Red Masquerade

Him.

Not Vince.

We continued on, pushing through the crowd as we neared the house. It stood bright against the pitch dark sky, the stars hardly even visible once within the glow of the lights. The drive was packed, luxury cars of every brand parked in a line all the way to the gates. Servants were already making their rounds, even this far down the lawn, their trays filled with champagne glasses, stacked in perfect pyramids, not a drop spilled on the grass.

The only thing I could think of, seeing all these people, was Dixon’s warning.There’s always collateral damage.

“Is he here yet?” I whispered.

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes, a line of concentration between her brows. “Not yet,” she said.

She carried a handbag and pulled a black mask out from within, reaching up and tying the ribbon at the back of my head. It only obscured half my face, my painted lips still exposed to the air. Decorated like a Venetian mask, with a lacy applique over the velvety material.

“Where’s Vince?”

“Inside. Brooding.”

She was the only one—besides Flora, now—that knew I was here. After I had told everyone my idea, she seemed the most on board. So when Vince insisted I hide elsewhere for the evening, I went to her. I told her how I knew Marcel, and that I thought I could draw him in, help corner him somewhere. All she would have to do was make sure Vince, Dixon, and the rest of them were there to finish the job.

“He’s a right prick,” she sneered. “He deserves what’s coming to him.” And then she agreed to my plan.

Her ferocity frightened me; the calm, cool exterior holding her true self back was all I had seen yet. But with the coming of Brancato, I got a sense she was amused, eager to see this play out. I knew she would get it done, would get the men where they needed to be.

Tonight she was wearing a deep blue dress, cut off right above the knee. Not as flashy as mine, but stylishly devastating all the same. A deep V at her chest, her long limbs on full display. Her makeup looked like she’d just walked off a stage.

“Sinclair? Séra?”

Her eyes slid to me. “Partying.”

There was a blood party this evening, if anything, so that Vince’s Made vampires were close by—newly Made, and other vampires in the area here just to get a taste. Back up, should we need it.

There’s always collateral damage.

“We’re going through the front door?” We were approaching the colonnade, strings of lights leading to the gardens, almost like the stripes of a circus tent. Music spilled out onto the lawn from inside, the massive front doors propped open. Even the servers wore masks, simple, single-toned eye masks, that helped them blend in.

“Youare going through the front door,” she said, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “I’m staying out here.”

“But—” I glanced at the doors, at the crowd within, knowing the Vince and the others were inside, and if they saw me before Brancato came—

“Don’t be so scared.” Veronica glanced me up and down once more. “It doesn’t suit you.”

I straightened my shoulders at that.

She gave me a nod, satisfied at what she saw in me. “We’ve got you,” she said over her shoulder, a bit softer this time, as she turned to go. The first time I’d seen any softness from her.

And with her words, I steeled myself, and stepped foot once more into the manor. Ready to bait a vampire who lusted for my blood.

Forty-Seven

The party raging within was like nothing I’d seen before. The previous affairs had been rowdy displays of opulence, a peek into some mythical, palatial world. A chance for the common man to feel like a god. Tonight was a bacchanal.

As though stepping past the threshold once more into a veiled other-world, a sort of haze settled around the foyer, a sweet smokiness that I couldn’t decide was real or in my head. It calmed the jitteriness of my limbs, the vibrations I swore I felt around my heart, like it was begging to flee.

Something about being unable to discern anyone’s identities was frightening and thrilling. If I were just a simple partygoer, I’d revel in it, finding a man to pull into a corner somewhere, without taking off our masks, knowing that tomorrow his name would still be a mystery. And plenty of people were doing just that—alcoves full of small groups of huddling people, deep inconversation, some with only couples, mouths fused together, in compromising positions. Like something out ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream, with their elaborate costumes, a sense of wonder permeating the room.

The room was so full, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it into the ballroom, or even further into the house.

There was no way that none of Lucas’ men were here, either. Friends of his who would know my face could cash in for that million dollar reward.