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CHAPTER39
CHRISTY
“Jakub, can I come in?” I ask, pushing open the door to his bedroom.
I’m wearing my gold ballgown, the one I’d seen in my vision. I’ve no idea where The Masks got it from or how they even knew my size, but it’s a perfect fit. The sheer material of the top half of the dress moulds to me like a second skin, my modesty hidden beneath flesh coloured underwear and tiny crystals that glint in the soft candlelight. The skirt is layered with silk and tulle that floats about my legs as I move.
“Please,” he replies, standing by the arched window. A cigarette hangs out of his mouth, the blue-grey smoke lifting in the air above his black, tousled hair.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I say, moving towards him, my ballet slippers quiet against the wooden floor.
“I don’t. This is a special herbal mixture courtesy of Thirteen.”
“Like marjuana?”
“It has a similar effect,” he replies, dragging in a deep lungful before stubbing the joint out in an ashtray on the window ledge. “Big events like this can be stressful.”
“I see,” I say, stopping short as I lift my hand and straighten his thin black tie resting against his gold shirt. “We coordinate.”
Reaching up, he fingers the gold ribbon woven into my hair. “We do. Except you’re far more beautiful. Look at you. You’re a vision, Christy.”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if the dress would fit you properly…”
“It’s perfect.”
He stares at me for a long time, his fingers tracing the shell of my ear and over my cheek, before his thumb presses against my bottom lip. “I’ve been standing here watching our guests arrive and there’s a huge part of me that wants to send them away, close the gates and pull up the moat, locking us all in forever. The thought of being separated from you is killing me. How can I part with the woman who brought me back to life? Tell me how I can do that, Christy,” he implores.
Grasping the lapels of his jacket, I push my body against his, my stomach tightening with anxiety, my core aching for his touch, my heart pounding with emotion. “Because it’s the only chance we have. I know my sister. She will kill you. We have to do this.”
“And once you leave, what then?” His vulnerability floors me as he dips his head and brushes his nose along the tip of mine.
“In my mother’s letter to Thirteen she said we neededtime. She didn’t just mean time for this connection between us to grow, she meant time to persuade my sister not to come back here and kill you the moment she knows you’re alive. I have to leave. I have to persuade her to letyoulive. I have to,” I say, pressing my lips against his and kissing him with every single part of me, willing him to do this, to trust me.
When I reluctantly pull back, he presses his eyes shut and nods. “This isn’t easy for me. The Brovs are very possessive,protectiveof what belongs to them.”
“I know,” I reply, because what more can I say.
“I have something for you,” he says, dropping his hand and picking up a small leather case that’s resting on the table next to the window. Beside it is a shiny black mask, its surface is so reflective that it’s almost like the surface of a lake at night time, or a pond... A shudder ripples down my spine as goosebumps scatter over my skin, another portent that I choose to ignore.
“What is it?”
“It’s a gift,” he replies, flipping open the lid. Inside is the gold mask I’d seen myself wearing in my vision. Up close it’s even more beautiful than I remember, with fine gold inlay and beading all around the outer edge. “I want you to wear it. I want you to show the world that you’re ours, that you belong to The Masks just like this mask once belonged to my mother.”
“Your mother?”
He nods. “When I said I don’t remember her, I wasn’t lying, but I do remember a story my father told me about her after I found this mask forgotten about in the room now filled with my collection of curiosities.”
“What was the story?”
Jakub runs his finger over the mask. It’s as reflective as his black mask, the candlelight flickering across its surface. “She was a fan of Phantom of the Opera. My father said she would ask him to take her to see the stage show every time they visited London.”
“And he’d do that?”
“Apparently so.” Jakub frowns, his eyes glazing over a little as he’s taken back in time. “I only have two memories of my father that are not completely horrific. This one, when he told me the story about my mother, and the time he gave me Star. I’d seen the tiniest glimmer of humanity within him on those two occasions.” Jakub sighs, and the weight of his past sits heavily on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry.”
