thirteen Selena
thirteen
Selena
They talk for a minute, and then he begins asking her very sexy questions.
Over the next two weeks, I will spend every waking moment living, breathing, and researching Shadows.
The podcast I got to be on was a huge hit, and we had so many people write in, begging for more about Shadows.
Every time I go to write, Warren’s warnings ring loudly in my mind.
I push them aside, but like a nagging pest, they keep popping up.
Madison is the only reason I don’t collapse into the walls of my apartment.
Yesterday, she forced me to go to a live author reading at her bookstore.
It was a new indie author I fell in love with, and I read all their fantasy novels.
It was fun and a nice change from the darkness of the world of Shadows that I had been living in.
Warren hadn’t contacted me again, which made me both relieved and unsettled. I knew he was out there, possibly watching me, but every time I glanced around my surroundings, I never spotted him or that dangerously sexy mask.
On day fifteen, I felt myself itching for more information. I needed to get another story out there, but with no sightings from Warren and no activity on the Shadows' social media pages, I was feeling hopeless. That was, until I received an alert.
Masks Hide Your Identity, Not Your Desires. Shadows is opening Friday night. Tickets live now. Get them while they last.
I jump from my couch, excitement building as I click the link and race to grab two tickets. I promised Madison I would bring her the next time, and I know she is going to die over this.
After securing two tickets, I sent Madison a quick message.
Me: Hey girl, still want a night out at Shadows?
It takes only a second before she responds.
Madison: Yes, Bitch!
Me: Great! I just got us two tickets for Friday night. Are you free?
Madison: I had a date with a guy I met yesterday, but I’m canceling it now.
I laugh as I read her text.
Me: Don’t cancel your date.
Madison: Girl, this could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance. This guy can wait. Shadows can't!
Laughing, I give her the time, and we plan to meet up for dinner before heading to Shadows.
I go online and order myself a new mask and dress.
This time, I selected a golden mask with teal feathers on the sides.
I picked a plum purple one with diamonds around the edges of the mask for Madison.
I texted her a picture of it so she could select a dress to match.
I decided to buy a simple dress this time.
It’s black and short, resting just above my knees.
She tells me she had to do inventory tonight, so I settle in on my couch, watch some trash television, and make mental notes of how I’m going to get Warren to answer my questions.
The next day, the box arrives, and I take it next door. Madison answers in pajama shorts and a tank top that says “OVER IT” in big, bold letters. Her face is free of makeup, her eyes sleep-puffy but already laughing. She holds the box up like a prize.
“Unboxing!” she declares, and we sit cross-legged on her floor, slicing open the tape with a butter knife. She pulls out the first mask and whistles low. “Fuck, that’s intense.”
I nod. “Thought you’d like the bird.”
She flips it over, tries it on, and the transformation is immediate: the softness in her face is gone, replaced with a hard, perfect anonymity. I try the other on myself, and the lace is cold on my cheeks, the mask feather-light and suffocating at the same time.
Madison gives a wolf whistle. “Holy shit, you look like a haunted wedding cake.”
I bark a laugh, but my hands are shaking as I touch the edges of the mask. “Good. I want to scare people.”
She grins, then grabs my wrist, the touch grounding. “We’re gonna kill it.”
We finish getting ready and then take my car to a local restaurant for dinner. On the drive to Shadows, Madison keeps the mask in her lap, running a thumb over the beak like it’s a worry stone.
“Are you nervous?” she asks, voice low.
“No,” I say, lying. “You?”
“No, just excited. Your blog and the podcast made me so excited to go, but also a little nervous,” she replies.
We pull up to the same black box of a building, but it looks different tonight.
The windows were glowing gold instead of blue, the entry line longer and more desperate.
The man at the gate is new, or maybe just new to us: shaved head, sunglasses even at night, an earpiece so tight it looks stapled to his skull.
“Tickets?” he grunts.
I hand him our tickets and wait while he scans them. “Masks on at the door.”
We wait, the line moving slowly, the people ahead of us murmuring, flexing, preening. I look for familiar faces, and see none, just the same churn of want and anticipation. When we reach the entry, Madison squeezes my hand, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents.
Inside, Shadows is more than I remember: every surface reflecting fractured bits of movement, every angle hiding something you’re not supposed to see. The crowd is different, too—more masks, more bodies pressed close, the energy gone from predatory to outright animal.
Madison glides through it like a shark, and I follow, drinking in every detail.
The masks have become currency here; the blacker and sharper, the better.
Some people wear nothing but the mask; others have them perched on top of their heads, faces painted to match.
I catch a glimpse of the man with the tattooed neck at the far end of the bar, but he’s not looking at me. Not yet.
We find a table near the dance floor, Madison dropping into a chair and stretching her legs out with calculated insolence. She orders us both a drink—something clear and botanical, garnished with an entire bouquet of basil. I nurse mine, watching the room.
“I feel like we’re in a wildlife documentary,” Madison whispers, leaning in so close her mask scrapes against mine.
I snort. “You think we’re the predators or the prey?”
She looks around, then back at me. “You tell me.”
On the dance floor, a woman in a leather harness is grinding on a man in a mask shaped like a wolf’s snout.
They move with a kind of reckless, ugly grace, limbs tangling and untangling.
Above, a mezzanine runs the length of the club, dotted with shadowed figures watching the floor below.
Every so often, someone disappears into one of the back corridors, emerging minutes later even more charged.
Our drinks are gone in ten minutes. Madison flags the server for another round, then stands, smoothing the lines of her dress. “Bathroom?”
I shake my head, no. Madison leaves, and I sit at the table alone. I dare a glance at the balcony, and as expected, the three men sit on their thrones, watching the world around them. However, one is only looking at me.
Warren.
His eyes catch mine, and for a second, neither of us moves. Madison returns to the table and catches me staring. She glances up and smiles. “Oh shit, they really do sit up there like kings.”
“More like assholes,” I mutter. Thankfully, the music is too loud for her to hear me.
“Let’s go dance,” Madison announces, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me onto the dancefloor.
I don’t tell her that the last time I was on this dance floor, I was assaulted by some drunk jerk and met Warren. Guilt pangs me as I realize I’ve been hiding information from Madison, but it is in her best interest.
I let her pull me to the dance floor, and as the song switches to something more upbeat, we dance around. I laugh as Madison throws her hands in the air, allowing her hair to fly all around her face.
“This is so much fun!” Madison yells over the music.
“Yeah, it is,” I agree.
“Would you be mad if I hooked up with someone?” she asks, moving closer to talk into my ear.
My eyes go wide. I didn’t even consider that she would want to do that. She’s an adult and can do anything she wants. More power to her if she wants to explore her sexual kinks, but I’m on a mission for a story. Sex can wait.
“Mad? No. You go and get you some,” I say, smiling and laughing as I twirl around her.
Madison smiles and hugs me. “Great, I’ve been eyeing that guy over there,” she says, pointing to a man standing along the wall, who is watching her carefully. He wears a dark mask that looks like a wolf's face.
He sees us looking, pushes himself off the wall, and heads our way. When he approaches, he says something to Madison that I can’t hear, but by the way she smiles and moves closer to him, I can tell she likes whatever he said.
I walk away, giving her space to explore, and make my way to the bar. I don’t want any alcohol tonight, so I just sit and watch.
“You came back,” a gruff voice says, taking me by surprise.
I turn around and spot Warren standing behind me. He looks me over, eyes lingering on the mask, the dress, the barely-concealed tremor in my hands.
“I told you that you couldn’t scare me away,” I challenged him.
His mouth morphs into a grin, and I stare at his lips. My cheeks heat, and I feel heat between my legs. This man shouldn’t get me so hot and bothered, but damn it, he does.
“So, you came here looking to destroy us again?” he questions.
His voice is dark, but there’s a teasing hint too. It’s oddly alluring.
“That’s not what I want.” I can’t believe I’m saying it, but it feels right, like the only honest thing in the world. “I want to see what you see. I want the real story behind Shadows.”
He looks at me for a long time, weighing my words like a judge with a loaded gun. His hand comes up, and for a second I think he’s going to grab my wrist, but instead he presses one finger to the bridge of his mask and lifts it, just an inch.
What’s underneath is both exactly and nothing like what I expect. Strong jaw, the beginnings of a bruise near the temple, lips bitten raw. He’s young, but the lines around his eyes are old. He could be beautiful if he ever let the world get close enough.