Chapter 2
Enter the Masquerade
“I can’t believe you’re going.” Isaac’s voice rose from the voice chat app. My cell phone was currently sitting on the front passenger seat of my car, right next to my pair of silver stiletto heels.
“Oh my god.” I could practically hear Esmer roll her eyes as she responded. “Stop with the conspiracy theories. Goldie’s going to be fine. No one’s going to murder her tonight.”
“And it would really help if you would stop mentioning ‘murder’ for the time being,” I added, my bare foot pressing down on the pedal as I rounded a curve in the road. “It’s kind of a mood killer.”
“You’re the one who’s obsessed with all those serial killer documentaries,” Isaac pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean I want to meet one in real life,” I countered. “Or imagine myself getting chopped up into little pieces for sport by some sick billionaire.”
I didn’t have to see Isaac’s face to know he was unhappy that I was going through with this.
There I was, literally on my way to the Crestwood Estate, and he was still trying to talk me out of it.
Maybe it was because he was the guy in the group, but he seemed to see it as his job to protect me and Esmer.
“There’s practically nothing about these guys online,” he said.
“Do you know how weird that is these days? They must have a whole team scrubbing the internet on their behalf. I can find a few mentions of donations they’ve made and stuff like that, but nothing personal.
Not even a satellite picture of their house. ”
“Maybe they just like their privacy,” I said.
“Or maybe they’re pulling some Count of Monte Cristo shit,” he replied. “No one really knows who they are or where they’ve come from. But they’re rich, so people let them get away with stuff.”
“Mm, yeah,” Esmer offered. “They’ve got that rich dick energy.”
I laughed as Isaac groaned.
“You’ll keep your phone on you all night, right?
” he asked me. Despite his fear-mongering, there was something calming and stable about Isaac’s voice, and I’d always sort of pictured him as a larger guy, the kind who had a warm face and gave great hugs.
I’d never actually seen him—the three of us had decided long ago to keep photos and video calls out of the equation—but I felt like I knew him, better than just about anyone. And I appreciated his concern.
“Obviously,” I assured him. “I’m not an idiot.”
“And she can take care of herself,” Esmer added. Her voice was earthy, but with an edge that left you with no doubt she was a badass. “If anyone tries anything, Goldie, just stab him in the neck with your stiletto.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I promised. “And remember, I’ve got that mini pepper spray in my purse.
” Not that I thought I’d actually need to use it.
I was nervous, sure, but not because of all this talk about murder and stabbing.
It had been a long time since I’d been to a party, let alone one where I didn’t know a single soul.
Even though I wouldn’t have called myself shy—I had no problem interacting with customers at the tea shop, and I’d even been described as “chatty” on more than one occasion—I was still human, and this situation was weird enough to warrant more than a few jitters.
Honestly, there was a good chance I’d spend the better part of the evening hanging out by the buffet table—assuming fancy masquerade parties had buffet tables, of course.
“I hope you packed a few condoms, too,” Esmer said.
“What? No.” I laughed to cover up my embarrassment.
“You never know…” Though I couldn’t see her, I imagined she was waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Better safe than sorry. You never know what could happen.”
There was a part of me—a very secret part of me—that could almost imagine it… Locking eyes with a handsome stranger across the room, sharing a dance, sneaking away to a dark corner to share an intimate moment.
It was exactly the sort of thing I wrote about in my Thrones and Kings fanfic. But even though I spent a good chunk of my life engaged in my stories, I still knew the difference between fact and fiction.
Sighing, I steered my car around another curve in the road.
The Crestwood Estate was about ten minutes outside town, at the end of a winding road bordered by nothing but trees for the last couple of miles.
I’d never been all the way out here before, but at least it was impossible to get lost, even if the towering pines and hemlocks made the route feel somewhat ominous.
Between the looming trees and the dusty purple dusk, it felt like I was driving through some sort of dark, enchanted forest, and I half expected an ogre or dragon to charge out of the misty gloom in front of my car.
And then I rounded another turn and the trees fell away, opening up the view before me and giving me my first good look at the Crestwoods’ home.
My mouth dropped open.
The house—mansion, more accurately—was huge and modern, with multiple tiers and flat roofs and huge windows on all sides.
It almost looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, all shiny silver walls and angles where you didn’t expect them.
It was built right atop the cliff overlooking Graykeep Bay, jutting precariously out over the dark water below.
Graykeep Bay was notoriously dangerous—between the jagged cliffs and rough currents, it had claimed more than a few lives—but apparently the Crestwood brothers didn’t mind living in a house that looked like it was one strong wind away from a watery grave.
I could see why. Tonight, with the silvery moonlight glinting off the waves below, it was otherworldly beautiful.
“Earth to Goldie.” Esmer’s voice drew me back to the present. “You still alive, or was Isaac right for once?”
“I’m alive,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from the house and directing them back at the road. “You guys, this place is insane.”
“You’re there?” Esmer sounded almost giddy.
“Yeah.” The next turn in the road brought me to the front gate, a modern, metal thing currently sitting wide open. “Pulling up right now.”
After all the twists and turns of the road leading up here, the driveway felt rigidly straight, but it offered a stunning view of the house, as well as the large stone sculpture sitting out front—three triangles with a rose at the center.
The rose must have been suspended somehow, because despite looking insanely heavy, it swayed slightly in the wind coming off the bay.
There were a handful of cars already sitting in front of the house, being tended to by a small army of valets in red jackets.
I pulled up to the end of the line. Most of the cars in front of me were high-end luxury vehicles—I even spotted a limousine—and the people climbing out of them were all wearing elaborate ball gowns and tuxedos.
My stomach twisted. I couldn’t be the only normal person in attendance, right?
“Well?” Esmer demanded from my phone. “Don’t leave us hanging! What does it look like?”
I reached for my heels on the passenger seat. “This place is huge. And it looks like a futuristic museum.”
“Really?” Esmer sounded surprised. “I was kinda hoping for some sort of creepy, castle-looking thing.”
“Me too,” I admitted, slipping into my shoes. Now that I was here and I’d seen the other guests, the nerves in my stomach had exploded, and my fingers shook as I pulled the final strap around my heel. “I feel a little underdressed compared to these people.”
“There’s still time to go back,” Isaac said.
He’s right. It would have been easy to run, to turn my car around and speed right back down through the creepy trees and back to the safety of my cozy little apartment.
“She’s not going back,” Esmer said. “Stop projecting your fears onto Goldie. She can hold her own.”
Esmer’s vote of confidence was exactly the kick in the pants I needed.
I reached up, my fingers brushing against the delicate edge of my mask to make sure it was still in place.
It had taken some care to get it on just right, where it sat flush against my skin and didn’t shift every time I moved my face.
In that moment, I was grateful this was a masquerade. A mask didn’t offer the same amount of anonymity as say, the internet, but it would make it a little easier to stand next to these people in my silver gown from the mall.
Besides, this mask made me feel mysterious, and even a little beautiful.
On an average day, I wouldn’t have called myself striking, or even especially interesting.
I was average height, average weight, and my hair had been a middle shade of brown for as long as I could remember.
I had a dusting of freckles across my nose and cheeks, but not enough for most people to consider me freckled.
And my eyes were an unidentifiable shade of hazel, shifting from not-quite-brown to not-quite-gray to not-quite-green from day to day.
The most interesting thing about my looks was a three-inch long scar on my left temple that I’d gotten when running through the woods as a child—I’d long thought it made me look kickass—but even that had faded a little bit every year as I’d gotten older.
With this gorgeous mask on, though, I looked different.
Intriguing, even. Certainly the mask did most of the work, but I was almost convinced that the rest of me looked better, too.
Behind the delicate metallic material, my not-quite-gray eyes looked more silver, and against the shimmery gold ribbon that tied the mask to my head, my mousy brown hair had somehow gained more dimension.
You could even see my freckles through the holes in the lace, like brown stars against my pale skin.
And that shivery feeling I felt whenever I touched the invitation seemed to extend to the mask as well.
Even though I’d been wearing the mask for the better part of an hour, whispery little tingles danced across my cheeks and brow, fluttering across my scalp and down over my chin and throat.
It was strange, and almost pleasurable, and I chalked it up to pre-party jitters.
One of those red-jacketed valets appeared just outside my window. “Your keys, miss?”
“I gotta go, you guys,” I told my friends, reaching over and grabbing my phone. “We’ll talk later.”
“Call us if you need any help,” Isaac said just before I hung up. I wasn’t sure what he intended to do, considering he lived on the other side of the country, but I appreciated it just the same.
Cramming my phone into my little purse, I climbed awkwardly out of the car and passed my keys to the valet.
There was no turning back now. I was here.
And someone had clearly wanted me here, or they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of tracking down all my information and sending me this beautiful mask.
Just enjoy yourself, I thought as I climbed the front steps.
Hang out by the buffet table, chat up some of these rich weirdos, and collect some juicy details to share with Isaac and Esmer later.
That’s all you have to do. And if you meet anyone interesting…
just take it one step at a time. When I put it that way to myself, this evening sounded much more manageable.
At the top of the steps, I was greeted by a man in a burgundy velvet jacket and a simple black mask that covered his face from nose to brow. Worried that I needed to prove I belonged here, I pulled my invitation out of my purse and showed it to him.
He glanced at it, and then his eyes snapped back up to my face.
They lingered on me for a touch too long—as if he knew I didn’t really belong here—before he turned and gestured toward a woman I hadn’t noticed standing just behind him.
She was wearing a burgundy velvet dress and another one of those unadorned black masks, and she apparently didn’t need more than a single flick of his wrist to know what he wanted.
She darted off, and then the man looked back at me and, without even a word, indicated that I should enter the party.
I guess that means I’m in.
Relief flooded through me as I stepped past him. There was a little part of me that had been convinced until this very moment that I’d be turned away at the door, but despite my fears—and the doorman’s suspicions, it seemed—that invitation wasn’t a mistake.
There was no turning back now.
And so, with nothing left to stop me, I shoved any lingering trepidation down deep, where it was easier to ignore, and I stepped into the unknown.