Masque of the Red Death (19 page)

“You’re safe now. They won’t come into a building, but they will prey on anyone who looks vulnerable.”

I don’t tell him that they did follow me into a building, because he’s so close, touching my face. He pulls me into a gentle embrace and then eases me into a chair, handing me the mug that he was holding when I arrived.

“Probably isn’t hot now, but drink it anyway. Your hand is bleeding, and your knee.” He wipes the blood from my knee before placing my hand on the table. With a clean rag he dabs at the blood on my hand, and then slides the diamond ring off my finger.

It looks odd against the tablecloth. Glittering, abandoned.

“The ring wasn’t in the way,” I say.

“No.”

Will calls for Elise to bring a needle.

A clock hangs above the sink, and I watch it as he works to extract the splinter. Ten excruciating minutes.

His hands are gentle, but every time he touches me, my nerves flare. As he concentrates on my hand, his dark hair brushes against my upper arm.

I stare into the mug, willing myself to breathe normally.

“There.” He holds up an ugly sliver of wood. “All better.” He leans forward as if to kiss my hand, but Elise scampers into the room.

She twirls, pointing to her mask. “Just like yours, Araby!” she says.

My failure today comes crashing down on me.

I grab Will and hide my face against his shoulder. “I had a mask,” I whisper, “for Henry. I was bringing it to you.” I wince, thinking of how differently this scene played out in my head, how I imagined handing the box over to Will. “Father bought it for Finn.”

Will reaches for my hand, but I pull away, more aware than I’ve ever been of how little I deserve even the smallest happiness.

“I told Father about Henry needing a mask, and he gave me something that must have been precious to him. And now I’ve lost it.”

I’ve cried too many times today. Will hands me a handkerchief and I dab at my eyes. I’m not pretty when I cry.

“You’re punishing yourself for Finn’s death,” he guesses. “This is why you won’t hold my hand?” His voice is painfully gentle. But I’m not sure how he’s figured this out. Sometimes it isn’t logical, even to me.

“I made a vow.”

I won’t cry. When the guilt is this heavy, you can’t. It just settles and stays with you, and it’s cold. Grief is warm, but guilt is very very cold.

“I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever experience the things … that Finn won’t.”

“You were bringing a mask for Henry?” There is hesitation in his voice, as if he won’t let himself believe, but he is smiling slightly.

“Yes, but I hid the box before I was attacked. Why are you smiling?”

“Because that means it’s okay for me to notice you. To like you. I wondered what was wrong with me when I kept watching for you at the club, anticipating speaking to you. I started to despise myself for being so interested. I wondered what you would say when I was testing you, what you and your friend were giggling about.”

This must be breaking my vow, somehow. I am too happy for it not to be.

“I never giggle,” I say, trying to mask my feelings.

He grins.

“You wondered what was wrong with you because you liked me?” I ask finally.

“You already know that I’m partial to girls with bright hair and glossy lipstick, but usually the attraction evaporates. Except with you.”

He looks away. His cheeks are flushed.

“William,” Elise says. The urgency in her voice startles me. “It’s getting dark outside. You shouldn’t be walking to work after dark.”

So Will isn’t immune to the danger on the streets. I don’t want him to go.

“She’s right. I should’ve left already, but I was distracted.” He smiles a slow, flirtatious smile, and then checks himself. “Sorry.” He looks down for a moment, as if weighing some decision. “Stay here. Sleep. I’ll tell my neighbor that Elise and Henry are staying home tonight. Tell me where you left the box, and I’ll do my best to retrieve it. I don’t want your bravery and generosity to be wasted.”

I feel a sense of wonder. Bravery and generosity? I’m not brave or generous, but it’s nice that he thinks I am. I tell him the house number and describe the dark third-floor entranceway.

He hands me one of his shirts, a red one. It is soft when I touch it to my face. “You can’t possibly sleep in that dress. Wear this, think of me.” The flirty tone is back. He frowns. “I want you to do one thing for me. Think of a story that you can tell me about your brother. Not about you and your guilt, but a story that celebrates Finn.”

I go with him to the door. He stops for a moment and then squeezes my hand before walking out. I turn each lock carefully and slip into the other room to change out of my dress.

I slide Will’s shirt over my head, and then I collapse into his bed. It feels odd to be here again. His last smile stays with me until a tiny hand touches my shoulder.

“Do you know any stories?” Elise asks. Her face is anxious, as if my telling her a story is very important. I close my eyes. My mother used to tell us stories. It was the thing I missed most during our years in the cellar. Finn would get restless, but I loved her stories.

“I know lots of stories,” I say. “My favorite is about a princess who has to battle a dragon.”

As I begin to speak, I can’t help remembering how it felt to be where she is now, nestled with my brother, listening to a story.

Three stories later, both children are asleep, and I blow out the candle.

I wake once, what must be hours later, in almost complete darkness. I’ve been dreaming, not of crocodiles, but of being held over the water. Of struggling uselessly. Someone is holding me.

When I check that my mask is in place, I brush against Henry. His unmasked face is soft and sweet. Elise, on my other side, is wearing hers. I don’t know whether she always wears it, or if she is trying to emulate me.

I pull the blankets over both of them and settle back, listening to their rhythmic breathing. I wonder where my parents are. I can’t stop thinking of the way they looked at me as I was leaving. As if they might never see me again. I wonder if they still grieve for Finn, or if they feel guilty because they’ve forgotten to feel the grief every day. Like I sometimes do.

It’s morning when the door creaks open and I sit up, frightened. Will is in the doorway, taking off his coat.

“Hello, sleepyheads. I have a present for you,” he says. I see that the bakery box is balanced on a heavy teakwood box.

“You found it,” I breathe, amazed.

“Your directions took me right to it.” Henry and Elise are rubbing their eyes.

“They rarely get to wake up at home,” Will says. “Look, Henry, Miss Araby brought you a very precious gift. Now you can be like Elise. You’ll be able to go to school.”

Henry holds the porcelain mask carefully. His hands are chubby and dimpled. Will shows him where it will rest on his face.

“Before you put it on, let’s eat breakfast. There’s a technique for eating in your mask, and no reason to get it all dirty on the first day you own it. Your favorite brother brought home cinnamon buns.”

I follow him to the kitchen. I’m still wearing his shirt. The way his shirt clings to me feels more revealing than anything I own.

Will smiles, and it’s obvious that he’s going to continue to flirt with me. It isn’t pushy, not like Elliott, and I don’t feel like he expects anything from me, but there’s warmth when he looks at me. An appreciation that I don’t deserve.

“Today is an auspicious day,” he tells me. “We’re going to take the children outside.”

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

I
WAS ALONE WHEN
I
LEFT THE CELLAR FOR THE
first time. All I really remember is that the weak sun dazzled my eyes. I had imagined that when it happened, Finn would be beside me. But he wasn’t.

As I take off Will’s shirt, I tell myself that nothing bad will happen. Both children have masks now.

By the time I manage to get the remnants of my dress together, the children are devouring cinnamon rolls. After my first bite, icing gets in my hair, and Henry stands in his chair to carefully wipe it out.

Will takes a long look at the disaster that is my wardrobe and gives me his coat. I leave what’s left of my own coat hanging in his room. He puts scarves on the children, and we set out. Both children grasp my hands.

The wind is pleasantly cool against my face, reminding me of childhood. Winter seems cleaner, especially when a light dusting of snow covers the city for a few hours. Henry laughs and points to a bird.

“We’ve only seen birds from the window,” Elise explains.

Will looks pained. Guilty. He shouldn’t be. He kept them alive.

“We won’t go far,” he says. “But there is an open space, a little park, a block from here.”

Will is carrying a ball, a rather large one that is easy to catch, and when we get to the park, he throws it on the ground, hard. The children watch it, mesmerized by the satisfying bounce, the sound it makes as it hits the earth. Henry follows the pattern, moving his head up and down, and then he drops my hand and tears after the ball.

We stand watching them play. It isn’t until Will shifts his weight from one foot to the other that I realize my hand is in his.

Elise touches the grass with tentative fingers. I pull gently away from Will and sit on the ground with my bare knees touching the brittle brown grass.

The surrounding buildings throw shadows across the tiny park, and my happiness is tinged with the fear of unseen things creeping from the dark corners and shadows.

“Look how tall the buildings are!” Elise doesn’t see them as menacing. I pluck a frost-burned clover from the grassy area and twirl it between my fingers.

“If you find one with four leaves, it’s good luck,” I say. “You can make a wish.”

“I’ll find you one.” Henry looks up at me with big eyes.

“What would you wish for?” Elise asks me.

“Maybe I would give it to you, so you could make a wish.” I feel uncharacteristically content, sifting through the plants, touching the earth with the tips of my fingers.

“Oh, no. I’d give it to you,” Elise says seriously.

I pause with my fingers still trailing through the grass, but I am no longer looking at it. I’m unsure whether I should feel sad this child thinks I need the wish so desperately, or flattered that she would give it to me without considering the things she might desire.

Will smiles and shrugs, amused by my reaction to Elise’s words. After I’ve met his eyes, the clover can’t command my attention.

He is sprawled on a bench, a bemused expression on his face. He yawns.

“You haven’t had any sleep,” I say softly, wondering how I can ask him to take me home tonight. He looks exhausted.

“Later,” he says. “I can sleep like a normal person tonight. The club is closed because of the upcoming expedition.”

Like a normal person. I wonder how he and the rest of the staff feel about the patrons of the club and our late-night hours. In the year I’ve been frequenting the Debauchery Club, it has never been closed.

“The prince has decreed that no businesses will be open until the launch of his new steamship.”

“You spoke to him, the prince?”

“Briefly. He was in the club for a few moments last night. Said he had to retrieve a friend who had been living in the city.”

My mother? My stomach drops. Oh, God, my mother. I have to get back to the Akkadian Towers and Elliott.

“You’re killing the grass,” Elise tells Henry.

Henry pulls his hand away guiltily. I start to tell them that they probably couldn’t do much to harm the dried husks of grass, but they’re already playing a new game, rolling the ball back and forth.

They didn’t have to speak to make this change. Finn and I could communicate wordlessly, too. I’m envious, but surprisingly, watching them doesn’t hurt. And Elise won’t lose Henry. I made sure of that.

Will yawns again.

“Time to go home. This neighborhood seems quiet, but I won’t be much good at protecting the three of you if I fall asleep.”

A wet snow starts to fall, clinging to our hair and masks before it melts. Despite the snow, I feel warm and … happy. I hate that we have to leave this.

The apartment house, with the one tiny tree in front, feels … not exactly like home, but safe. It feels safe. As Will locks the door behind us, I take it upon myself to help the children remove their coats and hats and hang them in the closet, pairing the gloves together. Will lays out a paint set, two brushes, and a large sheet of paper.

“I borrowed this from the club,” he tells me. “From your boyfriend’s office.”

Elise frowns, either at Will’s words or at the tone of his voice.

“Elliott isn’t—”

Will makes a dismissive sound. I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to discuss Elliott, or if he doesn’t believe me.

“I took the paper and paint a long time ago, when Elliott only visited the club to get the money for his uncle. Back when he didn’t wear a mask because he thought he was invincible.”

I hate feeling compelled to defend Elliott.

“He didn’t discard his mask because he thought he was invincible.”

The children paint happily. Elise has drawn a bright yellow sun at the top of her paper. Will stops to take a quick look. “She doesn’t usually draw things from outside.” He looks pleased.

I follow Will into the bedroom. I know he doesn’t want to listen to me talk about Elliott, but I can’t help trying to explain.

“It wasn’t strength or invincibility that made Elliott put aside his mask.” Will takes the blankets down from over the windows.

“Now that we all have masks, we can have a little more light, maybe a bit of fresh air will seep in.” He smiles, but it’s obvious that he’s ignoring what I’m saying.

“He believes that the masks are making us inhuman because we don’t see people’s faces. And part of me agrees with him.”

“Or maybe he just wants you to take off your mask so he can look at your face without the obstruction.” Will touches my cheek. His fingertips graze my cheekbone, ever so lightly. It’s warm in here, but I’m shivering. “And it’s impossible to kiss someone with a mask on. In case you haven’t noticed.”