Page 30 of Enzo

“Hello?” I say, but my voice comes out all tiny and tinny.

He doesn't turn around. Like Mysterious Man, he seems to be admiring one of the paintings.

I tap him on the arm from behind. “Hi there.”

When I stand by his side, he turns and looks down at me. That’s when I see his mask. It’s ivory white and nothing like the half-masks everyone else is wearing. This one covers his entire face. There's no opening for a mouth.

No painted-on smile.

Nothing but two dark openings for his eyes.

I stumble back in shock because this man is intimidating. He’s tall, and big. And he doesn't move.

My body freezes. I hold up my mask to my face, as some sort of shield. Grip my clutch tighter. But I remind myself that I'm a kindergarten teacher who is used to handling thirty six-year-olds armed with paint, glue and a million questions.

I can handle a creepy man in a Venetian palace.

“Uh ... hi.”

His head tilts slightly.

“Where did everyone go?”

“To dinner.” His voice is deep. Rougher than I expected.

“Oh.” I look around again. “I wondered what happened. I was ... powdering my nose.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Obviously you didn't need to know that.” I can't tell for sure, because I can't see his face, but I have the strangest feeling I've amused him.

“Dinner is being served in the banqueting hall,” he states.

“Are you not eating?” There’s something strange about the way he stands apart from everything, as though he belongs here and doesn't at the same time.

“No.”

I laugh. “I suppose you can't, given that you have no mouth.”

He doesn't laugh.

I clear my throat, more curious and less fearful now.

“Do you work here?”

“No.”

“Are you a guest?”

He pauses. “Of sorts.”

Well, that's cleared that up. Not.

I glance toward the banqueting hall again. “I'm Molly, by the way. I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

“I know.”

I gasp. “That I'm Molly or that I'm a kindergarten teacher?”