Page 4 of Red Masquerade

A woman, dancing, jolted into me, but quickly spun away, knocking into other people as she went, laughingopen-mouthed, her hand in a man’s. I inhaled a deep lungful of smoke, my throat dry, coughing, and my head spinning for a moment. We passed a man holding a cigar, his face heavenward, exhaling through his nostrils and lips like a beast, the smoke curling toward the ceiling like another dancer.

The crack of shattering glass disrupted the din from the other side of the room, then boisterous laughter bordering on shouts. One of the bartenders tossed a bottle into the air, and it spun before he caught it expertly, the patrons watching and cheering riotously. Spirits rained down as though from fire sprinklers.

There was another man, one I had flirted with previously, that held my eyes as we neared the door to the establishment, sipping on his own drink, a spark of jealousy in his eyes. I couldn’t remember his name. For only a moment, I wondered if he had seen me with Marcel, but then dismissed the thought, because why would it matter?

I hadn’t choseneitherof them.

Looking away, I still felt his stare searing into me, too; too many stares, too many eyes following me. Starving eyes, demanding.

“It appears we saved you just in time,” Flora said, her lips brushing my ear, the teasing lilt of music in her voice.

I nodded absently, shaking away the feeling of the gazes upon me. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, her hand on my arm comforting and familiar. Grounding me. “Tonight is about fun. I will not let anyone ruin your fun, doll.”

“The night isn’t ruined.” I gave her a smile, though I felt a part of me was shaken.

I was used toangeringmembers of the opposite sex, but I was also used to all of us playing a part, forgetting the real world outside of the walls of the joint, and just indulging ourselves. No other expectations. Not here.

When we woke up, the real world began again.

Flora gave me a dashing smile. “Perfect.”

Her hand tightened on mine before she spun around. “And now to make it even better, we’ll dance until our legs fall off at the grandest house in the state!”

With that, she whisked me onto the street, away from the insatiable hunger and excess of the speakeasy, away from the wandering, insistent stares, and into the open night.

Two

There was a sense of weightlessness on the lawn of the house.

As though our spirits were not only tied to our bodies, we floated across the lawn, not realizing we had moved until there was another drink in our hands. Champagne—real champagne—flowed, glasses towered into pyramids atop golden tables, liquid shining like the ichor of the gods.

We certainly believed that if we drank more, we were that much closer to divinity.

Dixon, Flora, and I had arrived on the overflowing lawn nigh to midnight, arms linked, stumbling out of his Duesenberg, which he parked expertly amongst a row of similarly gleaming and polished vehicles.

The man was forgotten as soon as the cool night air hit our skin, our wonderful chauffeur, our sentry.

It was strange, the combination of stares, of curious attention, and the sense of anonymity.

As we made our way from the drive onto the lawn, my heels sinking, the soft grass caressing my ankles, I thought perhaps we had stepped onto some sort of stage set.

“Helena! Look!” Flora clutched me tighter when she saw the house erupt from the trees.

Every window lit, dazzling against the black of the midnight sky. The white columns of the house appeared as bright as though it were mid-day, gas lamps illuminating the porch, strings of lights hung over the lawn, their bulbs mingling with the stars. Flickering, glowing softly, alighting like fireflies. Crafted from stone, spires reached upward, stabbing through low-hanging clouds.

Though, it was not simply a house.

“It’s a church.” Flora’s voice was steeped in wonder.

“Who wants to live in an old church?” I said, my eyes swimming. “What if there are ghosts—”

I stumbled, my toe catching on a stone step, and Dixon was there immediately, grabbing my arm. His fingers were firm, and I gasped, then laughed at my clumsiness.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything, but instead lifted a brow and sighed, steering us down the path toward the front of the house—church. “Vince Thornton, that’s who.”