The threads.
He’d meant the threads he’d put on my mask!
My hand shook as I reached up, hoping to touch the glowing threads around the eyeholes. The heat emanating from them stopped me when my fingertips were only inches away. They’d certainly burn my skin if I tried to touch them. That’s why that man had handled them with a hook instead of his fingers.
My memories were indeed with me, except whether they wereinsidemy head anymore or not, I had no idea. How could I remember what I’d forgotten ifI didn’trememberit?
Then the rhythm of the music picked up speed.
Enough,I told myself and opened my eyes. I was here now, and all would make sense when I started playing the game. I was at a party, and I wasn’t alone, and soon I’d find the others, too. We’d figure this out in seconds.
Then we could get out of this place, and everything would go back to normal.
So, I raised my chin and I walked toward the dancing crowd, focusing on their faces now, on their clothes, so I could quickly find the other Hands—ifthey were already here.
But the more I saw the more I realized that all the people here werereallydressed the same as us. A woman was even wearing a dress that was a copy of mine, down to the silver ribbon made of clear stones!
I stopped again, right by a table, the food eaten, the glasses stained with lipstick here and there. Some women had dark hair, some light, all of them tied in low buns, just like ours. All their faces covered.
The men were the same. They wore suits and tuxedos, some white and some red, some tall and some short, their hair combed back, their masks bigger than ours but just as efficient in covering their whole faces. Shielding their identities.
My mouth opened to call out a name—March?!
My voice didn’t come out.
Panic, hot and red, came over me all at once.I tried to speak again, tried to say another name, another word, but I couldn’t. My voice wasn’t working at all.
Words popped into my head all of a sudden—both in Johnny’s voice, and the dull one of that Heart man:voices are considered an offer already given.
Holy Hour,thiswas what they’d meant. I wasn’t going to be able to use my voice here at all.
It took me a little longer than I’d like to admit to get my thoughts under control, but when I did, my resolve was strong. I really needed to come to terms with the fact that this wasa game,and it would have rules, and I had to play by them and win anyway. Just a game.
So, I started to analyze my surroundings.
First, I found a small bottle of water, unopened, and I drank half of it in one swig. I felt better right away.
Then, I noticed that the music kept on speeding up, and the people dancing followed the rhythm perfectly.
I also noticed that none of them—not a single one—looked my way.
Slowly, I began to circle the room to see more. Partitions everywhere. Not a single chair was taken—everybody was on the dance floor, dancing with one another, but you couldn’t hear a single sound other than the music.
The instruments weren’t playing themselves the way I’d first thought. I hadn’t been close enough to see the metal hands attached to each one of them, coming from somewhere underneath the stage. It was those pieces of metal that moved the violins and the cello. They went up into the body of the piano, too, possibly playing it from the inside so that the keys looked like they were pressing themselves.
I was so caught up on the way they moved, though, that I completely missed the man who’d stopped behind me—untila hand closed around my own, and I was spun around andfellagainst a solid chest.
Screaming was out of the question—couldn’t if I tried. All of a sudden I wasdancing,my hand on a shoulder, my other between the fingers of a man wearing a white tuxedo, with a blood-red shirt underneath. He was a good head taller than me, and he had his hand firmly around my waist, just like Silas when we danced together that night.
Which made me wonder…Silas?
My lips moved but my voice never came.
It didn’t really matter. I realized this guy was definitelynothim—too wide-shouldered, and Silas was taller, too.
So, who was he?
I tried to see, tried to analyze the shape of his jaw, his neck, his fingers, thinking maybe it was one of the others or one of the guests from the cocktail party, but it was impossible. We moved too fast and the light that those chandeliers reflected kept shining in my eyes—or maybe it was the glowing threads around my eyeholes? The mask itself took half my view of the world away, too, and the man kept spinning me around and around, yet we somehow never bumped into another dancing couple.
