Page 85 of Red Masquerade

A chill settled over me, even though the embers warmed the fireplace across the room. Tea was again set out for me, along with fruit and a few pastries and butter. Perhaps a servant was coming in while we slept, setting out the breakfast for me and tending to the fire.

The night before was hazy; I couldn’t much remember even getting into bed, much less falling asleep. But my body was sore, an ache low in my belly. The ghost of peppered kisses on my chest, my neck. My elegant dress from the evening in a heap on the floor.

I took my time stretching, waking my limbs. Nibbled on a pastry while I considered what to wear in the massive closet. Pulling on a comfortable day dress of warm pink, I slipped my feet into comfortable woven stockings that went over my knee, then into house slippers.

Where did Vince go? I knew he slept—despite his change, he still needed to, even if perhaps the need was no longer as great as it was for me. But I wondered just how long I had lain alone in the bed, arm subconsciously stretched out as though waiting for his return.

And—how did he spend his days? What did he do in between parties before I’d arrived? I almost couldn’t fathom him doing anything else, like I still expected to find him with ink staining his hands, the India soaked so deep, becoming part of his flesh. A darkness within, seeping out.

Sometimes, I missed the way those painted fingers looked against my skin. Like he had a darkness within, seeping out.

I left the empty room behind and made my way into the hallway. It looked exactly as it did when I’d been “snooping” the other day—except for the whisper of voices tumbling down the hall. Too far for me to make out, but just loud enough I thought I heard a woman’s laugh amidst the muddled noise.

Who else was here? Vince had said there were two others, besides Sinclair, who he trusted enough to let live here.

Two other vampires I had yet to meet.

I followed the sound, my curiosity pulling me like there was a thread in my chest, reeling me in. Past those watching portraits, gloomy landscapes, statues of Venus and Adonis, blazing electric sconces, even in the middle of the day. Realizing I was going inthe opposite direction than I had before, I tried to memorize the route to get my bearings, but it all looked the same. A confusing twist of corridors, as though meant to disorient, distract.

But the echo of the voices guided me, and suddenly, I was before a doorway.

A sitting room, the windows thrown open, bright with white sunlight. Smoke wafted through the doorway, the smell rich and dark. A phonogram played a small tune, background noise to the chatter.

I found Vince immediately—standing before the windows, looking out at the grounds. His back was turned to me, his arms crossed over his chest, and even from the distance, I saw the furrow to his brow, his mind working behind those gray eyes. Thinking about something, lost in thought. White gossamer curtains fluttered about him, catching the breeze, dancing in the air, like curious and searching fairy wings.

The conversation died. Vince turned at the silence.

And three others sat at a table. Sinclair, smoking, a newspaper pulled open across his lap. Lounging back in his chair.

I gasped at a familiar face. “Séra?”

The young woman had ditched the black-and-white uniform for a warm, rosy-hued dress that made her skin shine. She stood, smiling brighter than she ever had at the house. The fabric rippled around her as she came to me.

“Helena!” She beamed. “I am so happy to finally see you here.” She stopped a few feet before me, holding her arms open like a friend. She meant to hug me, but perhaps because of how I had known her, the roles we’d played, she thought better of it. Shewas no lady’s maid here—she was a guest, lounging and smoking in the parlor like she belonged here.

And it suited her much more.

“Ah, there she is,” Sinclair said around his cigarette, the smoke puffing out his lips as he spoke. He pulled it away from his face and gave me a short smile before returning to the newspaper spread before him.

There was one other in the room, the only unfamiliar face.

“This is Veronica!” Séra smiled, presenting the other woman at the table who hadn’t bothered to get up.

Her arms were bronze under the electric lights, her dress an elegant black, but the beading was extensive—expensive. Her dark hair was longer than mine, waves framing her high cheekbones. She held a cigarette holder, exhaling the smoke out in front of her.

“Nice to meet you.” She had watched the whole thing, no recognition in her eyes, but no curiosity either.

“You too,” I said meekly, my mind still whirring. Séra was here, with them—Sérawas a vampire. A fact that had somehow slipped between the cracks. And she’d been with me, at the house, alone, in my bedroom.

She didn’t seem any more surprised to see me than Sinclair.Happy to finally see you here.

She knew. They were all unsurprised—like they’d known I’d be coming.

I ignored the apprehension settling in my chest. There had been so many revelations these past days that I was bound to feel it in my core, and maybe given a few days, I’d start to feel normal again—as normal as I could, anyway.

Vince came to stand beside me, his hand settling on my back. Strong and grounding. He’d not gotten dressed in anything other than his undershirt and trousers. No need to show off in front of his companions.

The three that had been with him this whole time, while I was off elsewhere.