Above us, the buyers sit mesmerized, all adorning a sinister look in their eyes.
Within arm’s reach Tyler crouches, his body apprehensive, contemplating.
I crouch next to him, my muscles primed for whatever comes next.
Something lurks just beyond the edge of the moment.
I can feel it.
The music threads through the room, winding itself around my nerves.
The hairs on my arms stand up.
My intuition is warning me that this isn’t over.
The performance was never the main event.
It was the setup, a distraction.
Something far worse lurking in the dark.
The buyers sit forward in their seats.
The prima ballerina is nearing the end of her routine.
The final act is about to commence; I can feel it.
I just don’t know what it will be, but it already feels as if it’s in motion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The final note fades, and a palpable tension fills the theater, thick enough to cut with a blade.
Then the applause starts, subdued and polite, carrying through the theater without a single cheer.
The buyers come to their feet in unison, buttoning their expensive suit jackets.
Sourness coats the length of my tongue.
The performance is over, but the buyers seem more enthralled now than they did during the ballet.
One by one, the buyers pull on black masquerade wolf masks. Matte black and carved with layers of sculpted fur with honed ridges and jagged lines. Pointed ears jut upward while elongated snouts protrude from their faces, stripping away their thin veil of humanity and showing them for what they truly are. Encased by heavy brows, the eye openings become black hollows. Only their eyes remain visible. The wealthy businessmen are gone. In their place is a pack of wolves circling prey too trapped to run.
Shock holds us motionless. I can feel Tyler’s nervous energy, mirroring my own and all we can do is stare at the scene unfolding before us.
Answering an unspoken call, the buyersemerge from their private boxes and descend the curved staircases leading to the stage below. They move with the confidence of men who know precisely how this night ends as they gather on the stage in front of the prima ballerina.
I’m wound so tight I feel moments away from exploding. A spark ignites low in my stomach, feeding the overwhelming urge to end this now.
The prima ballerina remains perfectly still underneath the spotlight, her smile never wavering.
Then a figure appears from the wings.
The doctor.
Dressed in black, he steps onto the stage and takes his place next to her.
A magnet for attention, he draws every eye in the room.
