Page 48 of Red Masquerade

Though, as we ascended the steps, his absence left an exposed feeling at my back. He was always a sort of layer of protection, even if he wasn’t mine. There had been instances over the months where he’d told of handsy men, men who insisted I come withthem at the end of the night. He knew when I wasn’t keen. Knew that any decent man would step in to protect a woman harassed.

On either side of the path leading to the house were small gardens, providing seclusion amidst its tall ferns and vines. The electric lights, though strung above the path, didn’t reach into the foliage, and as we walked, I saw the flash of a leg here and there, hands gripping beaded skirts, the sharp gasp of woman, heady giggles, masculine moans. Once through the gates, the revelers couldn’t help themselves. There was an electrifying lust in the air: lust of life, of each other, or becoming someone else.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I had second-guessed myself countless times on the ride over, but as we approached the dark wooden doors, those bells in my ears rang ever louder.

Flora stopped and took my hands. “Yes. Absolutely.” Her brows pinched in determination. “What good would it do to avoid him?”

I sighed, because she was right. I had promised I would return, as ill-advised as it may have been, and here I was. To figure all this out.

It was eating at me, day and night, knowing he was here,alive, and not near me. Even if I didn’t understand.

Following her into that devilish foyer for the second time, Flora never let go of my hand, winding us through the crowd. She ignored the servers and their champagne, though I longed for a glass to prepare me for the evening. She tugged on my fingers, whipping her head side to side, asking others, “Do you know of Thornton? Does anyone know where he is?”

A man in a gray suit, maybe twenty years our elder, burst forth a laugh at the question. “The question of the hour!” And he lifted his glass in cheers and turned back to his group.

Their yelling had garnered some attention, but the best answers Flora got were shrugs before people turned away from us.

The decorations this evening were silver, tinsel hanging from the chandelier, the electric lights flickering like stars. The massive ballroom held hundreds of people, all who gave us odd looks as Flora asked for Thornton’s whereabouts. Why did we care? Why did we think thatweof all people would be given an audience? Why not just enjoy the party, whomever the host?

It was the usual attitude—to enjoy the liquor and leave before the sun came up.

“We’ll never find him,” I said, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Of course we will,” she said. “He just needs to know you’re here.”

A server flitted by and I could not resist grabbing a flute of that golden ichor. I downed it quickly, savoring the slight burn on my tongue, down my throat, the wine perhaps laced with something headier.

Yet Flora looked determined as ever and led me toward the grand stairs.

“Are you sure we should go up there?” I tugged on her hand. Though I knew, if I wanted to find him, going tothat roomon the top floor would likely be the quickest way.

She gave me a look. “I’ll turn this house upside down looking for him,” she said plainly.

Pushing through the throng, we paused at the second landing. The crowd of the ballroom was below us, but there were plentyof people on the second floor, leaning precariously against the banisters, wandering down side hallways. A woman leant so far over the railing I thought she’d fall, but a man clutched at her dress, keeping her steady while she waved down at someone below, laughter streaming from both of them. Flora pulled me past the couple, toward the large hallway that branched off into smaller corridors, much like a tree.

The house was a maze. Surely partygoers had gotten lost before. I nearly did, when running away from what I’d seen the other night, taking a wrong turn a couple of times in my panic. One could probably extend their stay past the one night, find a spot and hide for weeks before they’re found.

Just how many rooms did this house have?

And how many were reserved for the bloodletting?

It became increasingly more difficult to push through the crowd when there was an eruption of noise coming from downstairs. The crowd rushed to the banister to see the commotion, the heralding of jazz horns and loud bass, and suddenly dancers were out, and men broke from the crowd to mingle with the entertainers, as though the scantily clad ladies were there just for them.

And maybe they were. Here, anything was possible.

Flora only looked for a second before shoving her shoulder through a group, with me in tow.

“Where are you going?” a deep voice demanded, and we both stopped in our tracks when a male figure blocked our way, popping out of the crowd.

Dixon.

His jacket had been discarded somewhere, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His mahogany hair was combed, only one strand falling before his eyes, which darkened when they landed on us. He looked at Flora, then at me, his brows pulled so low I nearly expected a growl from him. He was often displeased with us, in his protective way, but the anger that radiated from him made the air staticky in a way I’d not felt before.

“Out of our way.” Flora made to step past him, but his arm shot out, caging around her waist.

She glared at him, annoyed. “Why are you even here?”

“Because,” he ground out, “I know better than to let you off on your own.”