The events of the evening refused to abandon Sarah as she meandered about the huge estate. She followed the sounds of laughing and clinking glasses from the ballroom, a far-off buzz that further accentuated her quiet in mind. Her palm slid over the cool marble railing as she climbed the great staircase, the silver mask held firmly in her hands.
Vane's remarks kept running over in her head, their weight far more than they would first seem on the surface. Maybe I see something in you that even you wouldn't.
She shook her head, irritated by the hold his cryptic comments placed on her. She told herself, He lives on games*. *He is simply another manipulative man in an environment full of them*. She tried, but she couldn't get rid of the recollection of the way he looked at her—like he could see straight through her mask and into the parts of herself she kept secret from everyone else.
As she moved farther from the main hall, the commotion of the celebration vanished from the calmer passage she came onto. Beautiful paintings covering the walls tracked her every movement. Here there was a terrible silence that was both unnerving and somehow consoling. She greeted the relief from the throng, from the stifling strain of trying to fit in in a society that seemed so alien.
She paused in her footsteps at a soft rustle. She turned swiftly, and her heart shot to her throat. Her passage behind was deserted; the shadows there were lengthy and silent.
Now jumping at ghosts, are we?
Her breath stopped when Vane left one of the side alcoves; his mask had disappeared. Without it, his face was even more arresting, every sharp angle lit by the flickering wall sconces. His dark hair was slightly messy, as though he had rubbed his hands through it, and his eyes—those sharp, unfathomable eyes—were concentrated just on her.
"What are you doing here? " She insisted, her voice more cutting than she had meant.
"Enjoying the silence," he said gently, sloppily resting back against the wall. His eyes followed her hand to the mask. Also you?
"Trying to escape," she said before she could restrain herself.
His mouth turned into that nasty sneer. "From me"?
"From all of this," she replied, pointing vaguely to the house all around them. "It's... rather plenty."
Vane closed the space between them with smooth motions and pushed off the wall. Stopped only a step away, near enough for her to feel his heat emanating from him. "You seem to manage it enough," he replied, his voice low. "Though I suspect you're better at pretending than most."
Sarah tensed; her chin lifted angrily. You don't know anything about me.
"Don't I?" he said, gently tilting his head. Sarah, you are not like them. Though you do not belong in their world, you wander through it. You're not interested in.
Her chest clenched, his comments uncomfortably near to personal experience. "And what about you? She shot back. "You seem to be above it all, but you are equally much a part of this planet."
Vane laughed gently, the sound personal and dark. "Touché," he remarked, reflecting their prior conversation. The distinction is, though, that I do not lie to myself about who I am.
His words, loaded with unsaid significance, hovered between them. Sarah detested how quickly he could disarm her and how his presence seemed to tear down the well-crafted barriers she had put around herself. < She stepped back, wanting room to inhale.
She remarked, looking toward the stairway, "I should go."
"Rushing away once more?"
Her feet paused at his voice. She whirled back, her eyes ablaze with resentment. Vane, not everything is a game.
"No," he said, his voice abruptly austere. But certain things are worth playing for.
A sound from the far end of the passage attracted both their attentions before she could reply. A shadow moved, fast and purposeful, then vanished into one of the next rooms. Sarah felt her pulse speed up.
She said softly, "What was that?"
Vane's visage hardened, his light-hearted manner disappearing in a moment. His voice hard, he said, "Stay here."
Following him as he headed toward the noise source, Sarah snarled, like hell, I will.
His mouth tightened as he turned back to her. You truly are not impossible.
She lashed back, repeating his earlier remarks: "And you're insufferable."
They arrived at the door at which the shadow had vanished. Vane gently opened it to expose a dimly lit study covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Though the room was empty, the air smelt faintly of cigar smoke, combining with something metallic and cutting.
"Someone was here," Sarah murmured, her voice just above a whisper.
Vane advanced inside the space, his gaze looking about every nook. "And they left in a hurry," he continued, pointing to a glass decanter on the desk whose contents poured over a stack of papers.
Sarah moved in closer, her eyes fixed on the now amber-liquid-saturated pages. Among them was an envelope, its edges charred as though it had been torched. She grabbed for it, and Vane grasped her wrist.
Careful, he cautioned, his hold strong.
Her eyes locked with his, and she murmured, "I'm not afraid."
He said, releasing her hand, "Maybe you should be."
She grabbed the envelope, her fingertips rubbing over the burnt paper's rough edges. Inside was a single sheet of parchment with graceful ink smudges ruining its writing. Though the phrases were vague, one line caught out: *"The masquerade hides more than faces."*.
Heart thumping, Sarah raised her head toward Vane. "What is this meant to mean?"
He fixed his eyes on the page, his face incomprehensible. "It means," he continued slowly, "that the game has only just begun."