I feel myself relax, just a little, though I can’t say why.
The redhead is back, a woman trailing closely on his heels. Our eyes meet, and my breath stutters. Falls away.
She’s stunning. With skin like the darkest night and luminous with even more stars. Strength radiates from her solid form. A fighter as well. Truly magnificent. The connection here runs soul-deep. She someone special, I can feel it. I?—
“Fulton.” I don’t know where the urge to say it comes from, but she looks so happy. So relieved. Until a ringing sounds from within her pocket.
She answers it with a sigh. “Yes?”
Something’s wrong. I can see it in the shifting of her expression, the rise and tensing of her shoulders. Her eyes dart to the others, and to me, as she listens to the caller.
“Slow down, George.” Her hand massages the nape of her neck. “Have you tried calling him?”
George? I know… what?
Fulton’s hand slices through the air as if to cut down some unseen enemy. As if she can’t stand not moving in that moment. “We’ll find him. I promise.”
She ends the call with the press of a button. Her eyes lock on me even as she addresses the others.
“Zane’s missing,” she says.
Zane.A spear of anguish shoots through my chest, but… I can’t see it.
A commotion rises. Voices ring in the hall, getting closer until a pair of arguing men shove their way into the doorway. Agus and Eko.
Wait! There was something there. Some thread I reach for, try to tug on. But it slips from my grasp like smoke.
“There’s something else.” Agus sighs. He pulls a thin, pearlescent envelope from his pocket and holds it toward me. “It’s addressed to her.”
Fulton snatches it from his fingers before I can even process if I want to move. She has it open faster still. Reading it over, her expression falls. This time, when it’s presented to me, I take it.
Come all, come one.
Hide your true self within a mask.
It’s time to play and have some fun.
That’s your only task.
There are no rules for you to break.
All sins allowed. Feel free to partake.
Proceeds to charity.
An invitation to a masquerade party. Below it, neatly written in red ink:
Come to me, or Charade pays the price. —C
“I don’t understand.” I feel something welling up in my throat, thick and sticky. It aches, this longing, but it’s laced with something dark. Broken.
The man with the red hair takes the invitation from me, reading it over with growing nervousness written in his features. “Do you remember anything, Kaye?”
I shake my head. “Some names… What happened to me?”
“An accident.” The one with the piercing eyes reaches over to take my hand and something flashes before my eyes. A kiss pressed along my knuckles.The jackass is Jaspar.“You just remembered something, didn’t you?”
“You’re Jaspar?” I ask. “How did you know?”
