Page 26 of Red Masquerade

Ididn’t tell Flora I was returning to the mansion, didn’t tell Dixon.

Maybe I should have, maybe I shouldn’t have gone alone, but I couldn’t get Mr. Sinclair’s words out of my head.Meet me there. Next weekend. You’ll know.

The top floor. Where the people in robes convened.

The anonymity I had felt my first time on the lawn increased tenfold when I was alone. I wasn’talone; there had to be thousands of people trampling down the plush grass, spilling liquor and holding on to each other, lest they float away. But without Flora at my elbow, without Dixon watching us, I felt like I had arrived without a dress, like I didn’t have anything covering me, shielding me.

It was thrilling.

No onethere knew who I was. I was just some brunette flouncing around on her own.

My throat itched for some gin. The servers whirled through the crowd just as they had the first evening I had visited this house.

I made my way toward the massive front door, the foyer, and found the red ribbons from before had been taken down. This weekend, the decorations consisted of tinsel streamers hanging from wall sconces, shimmering under the scintillating chandelier. The servers wore gold-colored vests, and the lights had been dimmed, the sparkling highlights in the room even more eye-catching.

Many of the guests’ wardrobe matched the scenery. Perhaps whoever took advantage of the parties every weekend and knew what was coming next. Golden flappers, girls with shimmering kohl around their eyes, ruby lips, men with jackets both on and discarded, traces of gold along their cheeks and through their gelled hair.

I had missed the memo. My dress was a deep emerald, my shoes the same I always wore to these things. I had painted on my makeup more sharply, dragging out the winged kohl around my eyes, exaggerating the curve of the bow of my lips with my rouge.

But no one noticed. Everyone glimmered in the lamplight, and the crowd writhed, couples spinning and moving together, limbs tangled in dances that bordered on indecency.

My mother would faint, but I just wanted to feel what they were feeling.

Perhaps that was why the parties were so popular; why they had grown in attendance so quickly, despite thehouse’s owner being so enigmatic—on this lawn, in this repurposed cathedral, you could be anyone. Propriety didn’t dictate you.

You could dance how you wanted.

Dowhat you want.

It was heady, addictive.

I did not need to drink to feel the effects of the evening. I felt a lightheadedness, a giddiness, like the air itself was laced with relaxing poison, a tincture to cause the utmost euphoria in the guests.

A giggling woman passed me, her hand laced through another’s, and her eyes caught mine. Auburn hair, cut so short it curled around her ears and forehead, a golden band holding it at bay. Her blue eyes glistened. She smiled with lowered lids, her hand trailing along my shoulder, an invitation to follow, as the crowd ate her up. Her touch sent a tingling through me, down my arm.

I shivered and pushed through the crowd to the grand stairs.

When a server appeared from nowhere and offered a glass, I didn’t refuse, tipping my head back and downing it all at once. I turned to ask for more, but he was gone.

The stairs were so crowded I feared I wouldn’t be able to make it to the next level.

But those robed figures had gone to the second floor, and I knew they must be related to whatever Sinclair wanted me to see.

I shoved my way through people, the landing slightly less crowded, but from there, I wasn’t sure. The balcony we stood on, looking over the carousers below, opened up to another foyer-type room that split into two hallways. People scatteredthrough the halls, more calm than the main event, couples leaning on the walls, facing each other and grinning.

Making a guess, I went down the one to the right. The walls were painted a deep, velvety red, with golden curtains as decoration, portraits of noblemen—though, who, I had no clue—gilded wall sconces with bright electric bulbs. The floor shone like a mirror, the marble veined through in subtle grays.

As I walked, it became quieter. I couldn’t hear the music from downstairs by the time I came to the end of the hall, which went off in both directions again. And one corridor showed another staircase, with only a person or two milling around, neither of them in those dark red robes. But they looked at me all the same, watching me with interested eyes.

I climbed that staircase, feeling their eyes on me the whole time. They were simple party-goers, not like the people lost in the throng downstairs. They were like that calm set that stayed away from the dancing, observing, mulling oversomething.

The third floor was so quiet, it was easy to forget the debauchery just below. The twining limbs, people wrapped around each other like a snake around a tree. The search for forbidden fruit was palpable; the veil that befell as soon as one stepped through that grand foyer door.

Did anyone ever venture down this way?

It was then I saw the slip of a robe around a corner, the same ruby-red hue of blood, the figure gone before I could even tell if they were man or woman. I hurried my steps, but grimaced at theclackof my heels.

Cursing low, I stopped and nearly pulled them off—but why should I sneak around?