Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a clattering of pots and pans, clouds of steam rising, swiftly moving bodies, and shouts from someone standing at a stove. They were in a large kitchen. But he didn’t slow down. And no one seemed aware of their presence.
These people see us, don’t they?
Ceci was used to having eyes on her when she was in public. Except, of course, whenever she was around her father. Then she knew what it was like to feel invisible.
Suddenly the noise and bodies were gone. A few more steps and she shivered as the cold night sky surrounded them and the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath their feet.
He stopped then and let go. She could just make out a maze of gardens in the distance.
She waited for him to ask why she’d run. He didn’t.
“Why is the wig you’re wearing white?” he asked. “I thought Annie Oakley’s hair was brown.”
She wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the question or the fact that his voice still had that low throttle to it, even out here.
When he spoke, it felt like the breath that carried his words had gained physical mass and found its way to her flesh, which shivered at its touch. But that was impossible given the heavy leather of her costume. She was still wearing her gloves. Even her hands weren’t exposed.
She swallowed. “In 1901, the Wild West Show train collided with another train and Annie Oakley was paralyzed. They say her dark hair turned white overnight.”
She blinked. She could swear she’d seen something in his eyes, peering at those slits. And his body. There was a stillness to it.
Is he even breathing?
She waited, but he said nothing. How could silence be so loud?
She shrugged. “It’s not true, of course. It’s just a myth. Like a fairy tale.”
She hastily pulled off her gloves. Her hands were sweating.
“Aren’t you hot in that mask?”
“Nice try.” His tone sounded like he was grinning. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“You’re trying to get me to remove this mask.”
Am I?
Once he removes it, I’ll have my answer.
But she couldn’t decide what she wanted that answer to be.
“I’ll remove mine,” he said, “if you remove yours.”
“I’m not wearing a mask,” she scoffed.
He said nothing. His silence annoyed her.
“You’re just deflecting,” she said.
“As are you.”
She had the sudden thought that he had no intention of taking off that mask. And that made her want him to remove it. Now.
Especially if it was Sir Stick.
She reached for it, but he grabbed her wrist.
