Deviance. London Psychic Book 3

by Penn, J. F.

  High ceilings were crisscrossed with thin wires at one end and acrobats walked with long poles over the crowd. Trapeze artists swung across the expanse, tumbling across the space to be caught before the long drop to the concrete floor. Long silk ribbons hung down in another area and four lithe women wound themselves up before letting themselves spin towards the ground, plunging in barely controlled descent. The acrobats wore close-fitting, almost see-through body suits with artfully placed embroidery and crystals reflecting the light. Their limbs were etched against the black roof, the embodied perfection of human art in this temple to creation.

  Jamie stood for a moment, looking up in wonder at the kaleidoscope of color and movement above. The sounds of a live jazz band accompanied the performers, although the dancing would start in earnest as the alcohol flowed more freely. Jamie remembered the night she had taken Polly to Cirque du Soleil, a circus that celebrates the extremes of the human body, communicating story through movement and music. Polly's body had been ravaged by motor neuron disease by then, but her eyes had been alive with joy that night.

  With a smile on her lips at the memory, Jamie walked towards one of the bars. Tempted as she was by the multicolored cocktails, she chose a small glass of white wine and took it to stand on the edge of the dance area, scanning the crowd.

  Most wore masks, some attached over their faces while others held them on long poles in the Venetian way. Those who wanted to be recognized held their masks casually, but most were incognito.

  A couple spun past on the dance floor, the woman in an ice-white dress, her face masked in branches of icicles, her lips painted blue. Her partner was a Green Man, his face obscured by the leaves of the pagan god. There were men in the crowd with the long nose masks of the Scaramuccia, a rogue and adventurer from the Venetian Commedia Dell'Arte. The wearers had a swagger that matched their characters. Two women walked past in steampunk half-masks of copper and rivets, cogs and wheels, extravagant Victorian dress with bustles and petticoats. The flash of photographers captured everything, some attendees striking coquettish poses and others turning away from the light.

  The masquerade ball was the society event of the season and Jamie was aware of how her outfit was nothing compared to some in the room. She wore a black chiffon dress with layers that flowed around her legs, with a bodice in a peacock feather design. A matching butterfly mask hid the upper part of her face with its gauzy wings. It fitted well and although extravagant on her budget, Jamie looked forward to wearing the outfit at tango another night. The feeling of the dress swishing around her legs as she walked made her want to dance, but tonight she was here to watch.

  A man walked past in white tie, his black suit tailored to perfection, the lining bright scarlet. He turned and Jamie saw that he wore the mask of the Devil, his face half perfect angel, the other half a demon with twisted features.

  She knew the one she sought wouldn't wear such a mask. His peculiar fetish for flesh made him a demon in her mind, but he would no doubt be as mundane as other criminals she had encountered in her years in the police. Yet she wanted the man to come tonight, and she wanted to face him in the darkness.

  Jamie found it easy enough to spot the police and security guards in the crowd, their bodies alert, eyes scanning the people before them. Some had no masks, their earpieces marking them out in an obvious fashion, but there were others who wore plain black masks and tuxedos in an attempt to blend in.

  A couple spun past as the music sped up. The man wore an eagle mask, its body between his eyes and up onto his forehead, its wings stretching up to meet above his head like a prayer. A woman wore a ragged blue dress, ripped off one shoulder and stained with blood. Her mask looked as if it had been carved from her skin, wet and dripping. In any other setting, Jamie would be rushing to her aid, but the woman's dark smile as she turned heads made it clear she was dressed to win one of the costume prizes for the night.

  Jamie understood this craving to be both seen and disguised. It was how she felt at tango, a separate being from her daytime self when she could let the wild side out and not be restrained by society. Masks are used to de-individuate, so the person behind is lost and they can behave as they might want to in a world with no consequences. There were masks that revealed and there were masks that concealed, and as the night darkened and wine flowed, it became evident why some chose concealment. As the alcohol loosened inhibitions, the dark corners became havens for couples locked together in momentary escape.

  Jamie had arranged to meet Blake under the trapeze artist, so she made her way through the crowd. It parted for a moment and she saw him, looking up at the performers. His suit was understated, a perfect tailored fit showing off broad shoulders and wide chest. His mask was black leather and it looked soft enough to touch. He turned, sensing her presence. His stunning blue eyes met hers, framed by the leather mask, and Jamie couldn't help but go to him.

  "You look lovely," Blake said softly, bending to her ear so she could hear above the band. Jamie beamed, twirling her skirts a little.

  "Glad you like it," she said. "You don't look bad yourself."

  "Shame it's not actually a date then." Blake smiled and Jamie blushed a little, staring out into the crowd, avoiding his gaze. "How do you want to manage tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.

  "There are plenty of security guards here for any obvious trouble," Jamie said. "But I want us to focus more on potential victims. I'm sure the man will be here tonight. How could he stay away?"

  Two women walked past, their low-backed dresses framing their tattoos – one a stylized tree growing out from her spine, and the other of bright fish splashing in a pool of blue.

  "Any skin fetishist is going to get off tonight, that's for sure," Blake said. "So we just walk around and keep an eye out?"

  "I guess so," Jamie said. "I don't even know what we're looking for." Her voice trailed off as she gazed into the throng, the myriad colors and textures creating ever-shifting patterns in the great hall, a moving work of art.

  They walked together around the edges of the crowd as the band wound up its final song of the set. The bass made Jamie's heart thump in time and she could see that Blake longed to get out there and dance. Part of her wanted to forget the case and let loose together, darkness and music and collective energy freeing them from daylight responsibilities. Neither of them had any reason to hold back from each other, did they?

  Applause erupted as the band finished up and the lead singer left the stage. Then the lights dimmed and a young black woman walked out, her silver dress sparkling as she moved. She took hold of the microphone and began to sing, her voice rich and powerful as she told of rivers running deep and forsaken love. Couples merged together as her accompaniment joined in, the song lifting the emotion of the crowd.

  Blake turned and leaned down, his breath against Jamie's ear. She shivered at the sensation.

  "Will you dance with me?" he whispered, his gloved hand taking hers, moving so close that all she had to do was take one tiny step and she would be pressed against him. Jamie's heart thumped in her chest. He smelled of pine needles and spice and all she wanted was to be in his arms.

  A moment's hesitation and then she took that tiny step.

  She wrapped her arms around his strong back, her cheek against his chest as he held her. One of his gloved hands cradled the back of her head against him, the other stroked her lower back slightly above her buttocks. The song intensified and they swayed together. Jamie pressed her full length against him and she heard him catch his breath.

  She looked up and met his eyes. They were dark and intense, filled with a stark need that matched her own. Jamie tilted her head slightly, lifting her mouth to his as he leaned down to kiss her.

  Chapter 19

  A flicker in her peripheral vision made Jamie stop and pull away.

  Through a crack in the crowd she saw a man in an ivory plague doctor's mask on the opposite side of the room. The long beak had been filled with herbs when the sixteenth
-century doctors had treated the plagues, but the nightmarish figures reeked of death. The man wore a long black cloak that billowed behind as he stalked through the crowd. Jamie thought she recognized something of his walk, but she couldn't quite grasp who she was reminded of.

  The moment was broken and Blake turned to see what she was looking at. Jamie felt the loss of his touch but pleasure would have to wait.

  "There," she said, nudging Blake to look across the room, but the man had slipped away in the crowd.

  "I don't see anything," Blake said. "What was it?"

  "A man in a plague doctor's mask," Jamie said.

  Blake's jaw tightened as he scanned the crowd.

  "Let's go in opposite directions around the perimeter," Jamie said. "See if we can spot him again."

  Blake looked down at her, his face in shadow but his concern evident. He stroked her cheek with one gloved finger. "Don't challenge him, Jamie. Please. Get one of the security guards if you find him first."

  "Don't worry," she said. "We don't even know if it's him. It is a masked ball, after all, and the plague doctor is a commonly used mask."

  "I'll meet you back here then," Blake said, turning and slipping back into the crowd, his posture resolute.

  Jamie began to walk slowly in the opposite direction, scanning the crowd.

  ***

  The mask was heavy but the freedom of anonymity was worth the pain. Dale Cameron stalked around the perimeter of the ball, his eyes flicking over the skin of those dancing close by. There was plenty to tempt him tonight.

  In the whirl of the dance, he saw the glazed eyes and wide smiles of intoxication. In the corners of the hall, couples were already indulging in the pleasures of the flesh and on their skin, the marks of the tattooist's trade. But he couldn't stop to admire the body art of the deviants right now. He had other plans for this masquerade. He looked at his watch. It was almost time.

  He had been down earlier to inspect the security procedures as part of his day-job role and had brought the bag in then. No one would think to question a Detective Superintendent, after all. Now it was under his cloak and all he had to do was position it, then leave.

  ***

  The band reached a crescendo and the excited crowd screamed and whistled their appreciation. Then the lead singer pointed up to the roof above. The main lights went out and spotlights lit up a net of black and white balloons above.

  "Ten … nine," the crowd shouted.

  The countdown to midnight had begun, when the balloons would be released. Inside were all kinds of prizes, tickets to other events, luxury gifts and getaways. Jamie anticipated craziness on the central dance floor as people dove for the balloons, and she moved as far to the edge of the crowd as possible. There, she stood next to one of the huge pillars that supported the main hall.

  "Eight … seven."

  Her leg brushed against something and Jamie looked down to see a black package resting against the pillar. Cold sweat prickled across her skin. She looked around quickly for a security guard. Something was very wrong here.

  "Six … five."

  She shouted a warning to move, but the attention of the crowd was on the balloons above and the band played so loudly, it was impossible to hear anything. She couldn't see any of the security team near her, but there would be a team by the door. Jamie slid around the back of the crowd, making for the exit as fast as she could.

  "Four … three."

  In the flash of the spotlights sweeping the room, Jamie spotted the man in the plague doctor mask walking towards the main exit in front of her. One of his hands reached into the pocket of his cloak.

  Jamie pushed her way through the crowd after him, her heart hammering in her chest.

  "Two … one."

  On the final count, the crowd screamed in excitement and drums beat faster as the balloons dropped and the scramble for prizes began. The spotlights swept around the room faster now, whirling in crazy patterns with strobes that took the atmosphere to an edge of hysteria.

  The man turned, surveying the room, his demeanor that of a judge pronouncing a death sentence.

  Jamie emerged at the edge of the crowd. He saw her and met her eyes as she took another step towards him. Jamie felt a spark of recognition as the man turned away and walked swiftly out the exit, as a blast shook the building and the screams of the excited crowd turned to terror.

  Chapter 20

  Screams echoed across the darkness of the Turbine Hall as another blast boomed, followed by the crash of falling masonry.

  The explosions were concentrated at the back of the hall right by the stage, where the crowd was the most dense. Jamie was torn – she desperately wanted to pursue the man in the mask, but Blake was back there in the darkness along with hundreds of other people. This was her community now.

  She turned back into the hall.

  The shouts of the security team could be heard above the din of suffering and those who could walk began to stream for the exits. The dull green emergency lighting cast sickly shadows on their skin, the masks turning them into escapees from a demonic realm. Sirens wailed outside as police and ambulances arrived, the central location at least guaranteeing a swift emergency response.

  Jamie joined the security team, helping people to the exits as she searched in growing desperation for Blake at the back of the hall.

  Body parts lay strewn on the floor amongst pieces of rubber from the balloons, some limbs perfectly intact but ripped from their owners. The bombs had contained tiny ball bearings which acted as bullets in the blast. Jamie brushed back tears as she stepped around the edge of the horror.

  She had to find Blake.

  In triage mode, Jamie stepped through the bodies. Some people were groaning, clutching bloody limbs, others were silent, staring straight ahead. She reached down to check one woman's pulse, her face painted white with dust, her eyes open but unblinking. This one was dead. The couple Jamie had seen dancing earlier lay entwined together a little further in. The top half of their bodies were intact, his eagle mask still perfectly placed and nestling into her neck. But their torsos had separated from their legs and they lay in a pool of blood.

  Jamie pushed aside her desire to run from the horror, calling on her police training to face what lay head. She focused on her search for Blake, checking bodies, rapidly becoming inured to the dead and dying. Around her the paramedics worked quickly and bodies were stretchered away. London was ever ready for disaster, but it had been years since it had visited the capital in such terrible carnage. Jamie's resolve hardened every second, for every body she checked, for every life that was taken. She would find the man in the mask.

  At the very back of the hall, Jamie found a huddle of people behind the stage. The metal structure had shielded them from the airborne missiles and they weren't seriously injured. Blake lay amongst them, blood trickling from the side of his mask to the floor, his blue eyes dazed. Jamie rushed to him, gathering him into her arms, tears coming at last as she lay in the dust at his side.

  "Oh, Blake," she whispered. "I thought …"

  He pulled her into his arms and she heard his heartbeat against her cheek.

  "It's OK," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

  ***

  She had been in too many hospitals lately, Jamie thought a few hours later. She sat in another waiting room drinking crappy coffee, watching the minutes tick by until Blake could be discharged. He only had a concussion but she was well aware of how much more serious it could have been.

  A TV in the corner played the early-morning news on a ten-minute repeat cycle, images from the aftermath of the explosion cut together with smartphone footage shot earlier in the evening and uploaded by eager partiers. The parade of beautiful faces in glorious gowns, smiles under their masks, made the after images of body bags and billowing smoke even more shocking. The media was already calling it the Bloody Masquerade.

  The news came on again and this time, the images were live. Dale Cameron's patrician face was
somber as he read from a prepared statement by the police.

  "This morning we mourn the sixty-four people lost last night in the tragedy at the Tate Modern. Over one hundred remain in hospital, some critically injured. My team is processing the crime scene and we're confident that we will be able to bring the terrorists responsible to justice in the following days." He looked directly into the cameras. "We will clean up the city, and that's a promise I personally intend to keep."

  The camera flicked back to the newsreader.

  "That was Detective Superintendent Dale Cameron, who is heading up the task force for the masquerade attack. He's also running for London Mayor in the elections early next week. His main rival, Amanda Masters, was critically injured at the masquerade ball which she was attending as patron of the arts in Southwark."

  Jamie's eyes narrowed as she looked at the screen, focusing on Cameron's stance. There was something there, a camouflage of respectability, a hard edge that people wanted but that she knew hid a dangerous side. That kind of strength attracted people and made him a pillar of society, but how far did he take his crusade to clean up the city? Jamie thought back to the night in the Hellfire Caves when she had thought she had seen him in the smoke, part of those who dismembered a man in the darkness. And he had definitely been connected to RAIN, a group who used the mentally ill for their own research ends, uncaring of the human cost. Could Cameron be the man in the mask?

  The waiting room door opened and Blake came back in, a dressing on the side of his head. There were dark shadows under his eyes and she saw exhaustion there that reflected her own. She went to him and took his hand.

  "I'm taking you home," she said. "By taxi, not by bike."

  He smiled. "Thought you said it wasn't a date."