Return to the Shadows (22 page)

“Where are all the people?” I whispered. I
could have spoken the question at a normal volume, but on this
particular night, Oxborough had a hushed, doom and gloom feel that
seemed to permeate everything it touched, my own voice included. A
rather dim backdrop for a lavish ball, unless you really stopped to
consider the amount of sin that was slated to go on this night, the
sheer magnitude of evil that was housed, for one night only, under
one roof.

“Anyone who’s not already at the ball is
smart enough to stay home tonight.”

“Except us.” I tried to smile.

“Hurry along now, Alia, we wouldn’t want to
miss the first waltz.” Mark’s voice rose a few notches as two burly
guards emerged from around the side of the small wood and tin
outbuilding that stood closest to the main house. The two men
stepped out of the shadows and I forced my breathing to slow,
despite the fact that they paid us little attention aside from a
cursory glance at our formal attire. Either they weren’t running
very tight security around the place or they had quickly determined
that we posed no threat. I supposed it would be too much to hope
for the first option.

We made our way to the front door of the main
house and I, for one, was astonished to find that it looked more
like a house door than the typical utilitarian steel frame door one
would expect to find in a warehouse. This door was constructed of
thick solid wood and bleached a warm golden color that reminded me
of honey. The night seemed to be full of surprises, I reflected,
taking in the two guards that stood posted like sentinels at the
entrance. These two were no less ugly than the pair we’d just
passed on the sidewalk, but they were considerably more suspicious
of Mark and me. Oh please, just let us in…

“Halt. State your business.”

Damn. “Why, we’re here for the ball,” I
trilled, doing what I considered to be a fairly good impression of
a high society lady. Moron number one didn’t look impressed.

“Good evening.” Mark inclined his head. “I am
Lord Rothington and this is Lady Halsting. We have come to discuss
a little business with the woman who runs this fine operation. And
of course, to attend the ball.”

“What business do you have with mistress
Lydia?” Moron number two was obviously skeptical. Not that I could
really blame him—we were lying, after all.

“My companion and I run a highly successful
brothel near the coast.”

“Well…” Both men wavered.

“Are we to stand on the street like beggars
all evening?” Mark demanded.

“I am appalled, just appalled.” My voice rose
the several notches required to play the part of an affronted
queen-of-the-manor type, though the feat was not difficult. Just
when I thought I would pass out from nerves, the real live queen of
the manor appeared at the front door.

Lydia was stunning in—what else—her signature
scarlet body-hugging gown. The hem swept the floor and the bodice
was cut so slow that she looked like she was forever on the verge
of a wardrobe malfunction. She shooed the guards aside with little
more than a toss of her regal head before turning wide green eyes
upon us.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“We’ve come to attend the ball and speak to
the mistress called Lydia,” Mark informed her, pretending to have
no idea who she was.

“I run this establishment.”

“You’re Lydia?”

“I am.” Her eyes ran up and down the length
of his form in a slow perusal that made my skin crawl.

“I didn’t realize you were such a lovely
woman.” He bowed low before extending his hand. “My name is Lord
Rothington, and may I introduce my companion and business partner,
Lady Alia Halsting. We’ve come from Coztal to make your
acquaintance.”

“Business partner?” Lydia graced us with a
slow smile, though her eyes remained fixed on Mark.

“That’s right,” I said, then nodded, holding
her gaze for a second when her eyes flicked to my own.

“You’re a long way from home,” she observed,
inspecting me from head to toe. “What sort of business are you
in?”

“Word of the annual masquerade ball has
reached the coast. According to rumor, it’s an event that’s not to
be missed. Lord Rothington and I run a brothel, the largest in
Coztal. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“A fellow business woman like myself, then.”
Her lips curved in a sultry smile as she leaned closer to me. I
fought to stay composed under her stare. Would she recognize me? I
thought not. I knew that tonight I didn’t look a thing like the
bedraggled, bruised, and dirt-covered girl she’d seen a year ago at
another auction.

“We’ve come to discuss a business arrangement
that could be very…beneficial, to both of us,” Mark broke in.

“Have you now? Do tell.”

“Lady Halsting and I are considering a
merger, a partnership if you will, and we understand you run the
largest operation in this region.”

“Well then, good evening and welcome to the
ball. I do hope the security hasn’t given you too much
trouble.”

“Thank you,” we both responded
automatically.

“Come in then and have a drink. The main
event is just getting underway,” she confided, ushering us over the
threshold and into the house. “The auction. But have a drink first
and then, if you will, we can discuss a little business.”

As we stepped fully into the room, I nearly
stumbled on my heels. So engrossed was I in my new surroundings, I
was barely aware of the door being closed behind us. Lydia plucked
two flutes of sparkling blue liquid from a passing tray and offered
them to Mark and me with a satisfied smile that bordered on
smug.

“I see you admire the finer things in life,
too.”

“This is...wow, this is truly something,” I
managed, and meant every word. The house was spectacular and looked
nothing like its plain exterior. Mansion didn’t even begin to
convey the rich, glittering opulence that surrounded us at that
moment. Expensive-looking crystal lighting hung from the high
polished ceilings and reflected shards of light across an equally
polished dark wood floor. “Are those real diamonds?” I asked,
figuring that they were; diamonds weren’t a rare commodity here,
although they were still considered lavish and somewhat expensive.
It was too bad we were going to blow it sky high in less than an
hour.

“Yes, they are,” Lydia preened.

What’s in the glass
was my second
question, but I hesitated to voice it and look like the novice that
I was. Instead, I caught Mark’s eye and let my gaze rest
meaningfully on his glass. Only when he smiled and raised his own
drink to his lips did I taste mine. Champagne, I thought, feeling
the cool rush almost instantly. Not bad, and certainly prettier
than its amber-hued cousin.

A man in a jeweled mask came up behind us to
put a hand under Lydia’s arm, and she left us then with
instructions to drink, dance, and enjoy the party. She would be
back later on in the evening—before the auction, I presumed—to
discuss business.

“Would you care to dance, my lady?”

“Oh yes indeed,” I murmured, taking Mark’s
outstretched hand and letting him lead me to the crowded dance
floor. Really, the entire main level appeared to be a dance floor.
A few heavily made up women stood against the wall, and several
elegantly dressed gentleman could also be found on the outskirts of
the large space that I guessed to be a living room or maybe a
hugely oversized parlor. The rest of the occupants were paired on
the dance floor, and all were decked out in formal attire. Most
wore facemasks that glittered under the light from the chandeliers,
but there were a few, like us, that sported bare faces. The men all
danced with women who wore barely decent gowns and looked like pale
replicas of Lydia. The girls were working tonight, then.

“We’re in.”

Mark’s whispered statement was warm against
my ear and I closed my eyes for a second, wishing us to be anywhere
else in the world, wishing for more time. A little privacy would
have been nice too.

“What’s next?” I spoke the words against his
throat.

“We dance, then we head upstairs.”

“What’s upstairs?”

“I have no idea.”

“Oh.” Wonderful.

And so it went. Around and around we twirled,
weaving in and out among fellow couples. I stared from one face to
the next; everyone glittered under the light from the cut prism
diamonds of the chandelier.

But it was a facade. It was easier to see
once I looked deeper than first glance. Most of the men’s eyes were
over bright with anticipation and an emotion that I couldn’t name,
but one that made my skin crawl just the same. Beneath the paint
and the charm, I imagined that the women looked...resigned. They
were harder to read than the men, though, so it was difficult to be
certain.

Most everyone appeared to fall under the lull
of the music that came seemingly from nowhere, and yet was
everywhere. No one seemed to notice when, as the third waltz began,
Mark and I slipped quietly away from the crowd and made our way up
the wide curving staircase at the edge of the room. I smiled at
some inane comment he made and moved a little closer to him, all
the while keeping my expression light and playful, my steps
unhurried. The most important thing was to blend in, to look as if
we belonged wherever we happened to be at the moment. That was the
trick to not getting caught up in our elaborate charade—to not
arouse suspicion in the first place.

We reached the landing, and Mark pulled me to
a stop, pressing me into the wall at the top of the stairwell, and
leaning in for a kiss that left me breathless. He pressed me into
the wall at the top of the stairwell.

“What was that for?” I murmured.

“In case anyone below is watching, there’s no
question of why we’re up here. And we’re likely to be left
alone.”

“Oh.” I was disappointed. Not that it wasn’t
a sensible plan.

“Don’t think I couldn’t stand here and do
this all night,” he grinned, reading my thoughts.

“But we have a job to do—yeah, I know.” I
smiled back, trying not to show any hint of unease at the
reminder.

It wasn’t long before we figured out what the
upstairs was used for. The sounds of budding passion could be heard
from at least three of the six bedrooms that ran the length of the
hallway. The opposite end of the second floor opened into a large
room with books lining one wall and a large floral print sectional
sofa taking up an entire corner of the room. The ceiling was
mirrored.

“Now this—this is class.”

“Hah,” Mark snorted, making quick work of
placing two bombs in the darkest corner. One he attached under the
wide ledge of the windowsill, the other he simply slid beneath the
couch.

“Hallway?”

“Two on this end. One by the bathroom and the
other just before the stairwell.”

“Okay,” I nodded, slipping from the room and
pretending to use the restroom, then walking softly down the
carpeted hall, looking for the perfect spot. There, where the stair
railing curved over the wall a mere six inches from the landing. I
slid the tiny disk-like device under the rail, my finger pressing
in the button that would activate the bomb.

Mark met up with me in the hall and we made
our way across the entire second story of the house, taking care
not to disturb the occupied rooms. By the time we were ready to
make our way downstairs, enough charges had been placed to blow the
entire roof from the house.

“Mark, look.” I paused at the end of the
hall, pointing to a large rectangle in the ceiling.

“An attic,” he nodded.

“Should we…?”

“No. Although I would love to know what’s up
there. But there’s no time.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That would be overkill
anyway.”

“We’d better head downstairs now. The charges
are set to blow in twenty minutes. We don’t have much time
left.”

Oh Lord. “Right.” I swallowed, heading for
the stairs, only to stop a second later. “Mark.”

He raised a brow, but said nothing.

“The women up here...” I shivered. “We have
to get them out.” But we wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t.

I knew that even before he confirmed it.

“There’s no time.”

“But—”

“They made their choices just like the rest
of us, and we can’t blow our cover. Now let’s go.” His face took on
a hard edge, the expression of the warrior I’d encountered on the
mountain.

I took a deep breath. “No.”

“Claire, we don’t have time for this.”

“Make time.”

“I can’t.” He glared.

“I’m not leaving them here.” I took a deep
breath and bit my lip before taking a step toward the occupied
rooms. “I’ll stay with them, then.” I wouldn’t, and I was sure he
knew it too. But I was hoping that he also knew how important this
was to me. I hated the fact that I was putting his life in danger,
but leaving these women up here to die, without any hope—well, it
wasn’t right.

“I can’t save them.”

“Please,” I begged. Then, when he shook his
head, I lifted my chin. “Fine, then I will.”

“Damn it.” He turned his back on the stairway
and stalked to the first closed door.

I followed behind him and watched as he
strode into the room and quickly put the man out of commission. He
bound the man with a set of shoelaces and used bedding to create a
gag. I spoke softly but swiftly to the wide-eyed woman, who sat
frozen in the middle of the double bed.

“Please dress and rejoin the party downstairs
as quickly as you can,” I told her in a soothing tone.

Mark had another method of persuasion.
“Unless you want to die, you’ll tell no one what you saw here, is
that clear?”

And so it went for the remaining two rooms at
the end of the hall. Three men were tied up and gagged,
unconscious, and three women hastened to rejoin the ball on the
main floor of the house, terrified to speak to anyone about what
they’d witnessed. I stared at the clock. Six minutes had elapsed.
We had to hurry, and I said as much to Mark.