Land of Masks and Moonlight (Glimpsing Stars, #2)

by S. K. Falls

  Seeing my expression, Trigger grins. “You’ll see. This is your best shot to get further underground.” He grins mischievously and winks. “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourselves, yeah?”

  I sit back and breathe in slowly, letting my mind adjust. “How do people dress at this yez? How do we blend in?”

  Trigger holds my gaze. "Masks," he says. "You have to wear a mask at all times. It helps with anonymity—for everyone's safety. It’s the place with the best drugs and booze, the cleanest prostitutes. Makes sense there's a dress code, yeah? Only formal wear, like they had in the old days."

  Masks? Formal wear? Does he mean ball gowns and suits? I'm sure he's joking until he points his flashlight at the box in the corner I'd noticed when we first entered. "See for yourself if you don't believe me."

  Holding on to the wall for support, I walk to the box and pry off the lid. Inside is a swath of material I can't see because shadows pool anywhere Trigger's flashlight beam doesn't reach. I pull out the silky fabric on top.

  It is absurdly ornate, an outlandish dress a deep burgundy color. The front of it is covered in small black beads and black lace. The waist is small, but the skirt is full and round. There aren't any sleeves. I hold it up to my body. It seems as if it will fit, but my arms and the top of my chest will be bare. I reach into the box again and pull out something that feels like a mask. It is covered in gold sequins and is meant to fit over my eyes and upper cheeks. One side of it drops down, like a long claw to cover one side of my face. Surely this isn’t real.

  "Are we really expected to wear this?" I look at Shale in wonder.

  "Everyone has to," Trigger puts in. "I'll be dressed up in black and white too, don't worry."

  I look back down at the material in my hands, slippery like oil. “Where do you get this?”

  Trigger smiles. “The black markets here supply much more than le marché noir in New Amana did.”

  Shale comes over and reaches into the box. He pulls out a black suit jacket, much too small for him, and puts it back. As he rummages for his size, I go sit back down, holding the dress and mask in my lap. I run my finger over the bumps of sparkling beads. It feels as if I've stepped through time into another time and place, where I might turn the corner and see New Amana as it was before the War. I wonder where this dress came from, who its first owner was and what has happened to her now.

  I look back up at Trigger, who is now rummaging in the box for his own clothes. “This person we’re meeting there...it’s a woman? From New Amana?”

  He pulls out a white shirt. “She goes by the name Elara Miller. She was a Sympathetic back in New Amana. Here she’s the point of contact for both Rad fugitives and New Amanian officials. She walks that line quite well, but she’s hard to please. When Ananke made a delivery earlier today she told Elara you and Shale want out of that compound. Now she wants to meet you two, but she didn’t say why. Anyway, just do your best and we’ll see what she says.”

  Do your best. Has there ever been a more ambiguous instruction? I’m to convince this powerful woman that she has to help my family, that without her help we will perish just as surely as if she’d called the Chinese officials herself. How can my best be anywhere close to enough? In the darkness, Shale meets my eye. He smiles encouragingly at me, but I cannot bring myself to return it.

  We drive for a while in silence and just as I am falling asleep, Trigger says, "We should be there in about fifteen minutes. Let's get dressed."

  We turn our backs to give each other privacy and I peel off my jacket, tunic, and pants. Then I slide the dress over my head. It smells a little musty, as if it has been waiting in the box a long time. I wonder if Ananke ever wore it. I'm sure it'd suit her rather well.

  It's a bit hard to figure it out since there aren't any sleeves, but I manage it, feeling extremely exposed. Once I zip it up—it's a little snug around my middle—I sit back down with the mask between my hands. The truck floor hums under my feet. I keep my eyes on them in case the men aren't finished changing.

  Two minutes later, Shale and Trigger says they’re done. I look up, and my breath catches in my throat.

  In the dim light, Shale is staring at me much the same way I imagine I'm staring at him. His tall, lean frame is covered in a black jacket and matching black pants, and a white collared shirt with pearl-like buttons. He looks like a man from another time, older than he really is. He looks aristocratic, I realize. He looks as if he is noble by birth, as if that were still possible today.

  He smiles at me. "That suits you," he says. "Perhaps you should wear it even when you're not at the yez."

  I laugh softly. "I was about to say the same thing to you."

  Trigger clears his throat. "Yes, that's wonderful," he says. Perhaps he doesn't know how memories and feeling can flare up and die down without warning. "Now, remember, when the truck stops, make sure you have your masks on. They won't come off again until we're back in the truck. All right?"

  We nod, serious again.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  When the truck stops, Trigger turns off his flashlight. We wait in silence. We can hear absolutely nothing; not even the bang of the truck door as Ananke gets out or the crunch of her footsteps. When the truck door opens, I feel a swell of sudden fear, as if it's not Ananke who we're about to face, but a Monitor who’s been tipped off about us. But then the door to our space opens and it's Ananke's beautiful face peering in, her perfect lips upturned in a smile in the near-dark.

  "All right, come on out," she says softly.

  Shale gets up and walks out, and Trigger and I follow. Seeing Ananke in her gray wool clothes, I feel even more ridiculous and naked in my flouncy dress.

  The three of them hop off the trailer. Shale holds his hand out to me, but I hop down without his help, pressing my skirt flat so that no one sees more than they're supposed to. I look around. We're in a large empty cement parking lot, with low industrial buildings and warehouses on either side. Beyond lie only wilderness and vegetation, inky from lack of light. It is windier here, and my dress blows against me, goose pimples rising on my naked skin. The mask presses into my flesh uncomfortably and my stomach rolls with anxiety. We’re here.

  "Trigger will take you inside." Ananke's face is defined by soft shadows; the only light comes from the stars.

  "Thank you, Ananke. That’s two I owe you," Shale says.

  She smiles warmly. “I’m not keeping track.” I try to keep my expression impassive, to not let my jealousy show though it burns inside me like a wildfire.

  Trigger pockets his flashlight and slaps Ananke lightly on the back. "Thanks for the ride." Then, turning to us, he says, "Follow me." He leads us to a warehouse on our right; it looks no different than any of the other buildings to my eye.

  I hear Ananke getting into the truck and its engine rev. She pulls away and I feel another spasm of anxiety, as if we've been abandoned somewhere we can never find our way back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the warehouse, we go down some broken stairs and Trigger uses a key to open a rusty metal door. He locks the door behind us and we enter a small, dank room lit by a single wall sconce. If I stretch my arms out, I could touch the walls on either side. I can feel a sort of deep, fast beat throbbing through the soles of my shoes. It moves through my feet into my bones, thumps in my chest.

  I look at Trigger. "What is that? That beat?"

  He smiles as he pushes a button set into the far wall. There is a door there, I realize, one that has been painted the exact same color as the wall so it blends in. There is no knob on our side.

  "The music," he replies.

  A small square panel set high up in the door slides open, and the sounds of the music intensify.

  "Starlight sixty-seven," Trigger says into the open slot.

  There is a click, and the door opens just a notch. The thudding is louder now, and I can distinguish deeper sounds from lighter ones that skim over my eardrums. When Trigger pulls the door open, the sheer swell and stature of the
beat stagger me. I glance at Shale; he looks as I feel, wide-eyed and disoriented.

  "Come on." Trigger motions to the dark ahead of us. It is broken up only by the dim lights of wall sconces and oil lanterns. A light haze hangs thick and motionless in the hall. Farther ahead, the hallway opens up to the warehouse proper.

  Shale walks in and I follow, the last into the yez. I'm absolutely stunned by the assault on my senses. The thumping is loud, so loud I feel an ache deep in my ears. There are no words, just deep, thumping sounds that are vibrations more than they are musical notes.

  The center of the yez is filled with masked people writhing and gyrating wildly to the music. They dance as if they want to tear each other’s clothes off, their hands grasping, their hips grinding on each other. In the smoky light, I see that they are dripping sweat, absolutely shining with it. But yet they dance as if their lives depend on how fast they can move.

  The absolute number of people in here is stunning. The outside of the warehouse belied the volume of bodies it could hold—if I were to disappear into the crowd, Shale wouldn’t be able to find me if I didn’t want him to. The tangy scent on the air is fraught with human emotion: fear, lust, anger, abandon.

  Masked men and women mill about, their lips pulled back to reveal the bright smiles of the intoxicated. There are velvet sofas scattered around the edges of the yez and tables piled high with every kind of ingestible vice. A hundred different kinds of wines and liquors, candy glass, and other powders I can’t even name. On the sofa nearest me, a Chinese woman in a short silver dress—but curiously, no mask—straddles a man, both of their heads thrown back in ecstasy. I gasp and look away. Trigger wasn’t exaggerating.

  A quick glance around the room answers the question of why she isn’t wearing a mask. The women and men whose bodies are for sale aren’t masked, perhaps so the clients know whom to approach. As I watch, men and women hand baggies to the unmasked people. Then, with hands entwined, they melt away to dark corners. I look away from the prostitutes quickly, my cheeks growing hot.

  I turn to Trigger, who is watching my reaction with interest. "Where do we find Elara?" I ask, Shale leaning down to listen.

  "No names!" Trigger shouts to be heard above the thundering bass. Chastised, I apologize, but he waves me off and beckons us forward as he begins to walk. We pass near a squirming clot of people. One of the men reaches out to grab me, his mouth beneath his mask open wide. I step on his foot, intending to break a toe or two, but whatever drug he's on makes him impervious to pain. Shale turns, and in one fluid motion, pushes the man to the floor. We keep walking as the man sits there, looking around as if he doesn't understand what just happened.

  In the very back, Trigger pushes aside a green velvet curtain to reveal a door. He pounds on it in a series of knocks, and it swings open. We enter.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The door leads to a small, lit corridor, dotted with rooms down both sides.

  The man who opened the door for us smiles at Trigger, then turns to peer at Shale and me. "Who you got here?"

  "They're okay," Trigger replies. "Kalliope Palmer and Coal Pearson. Come to speak to Elara Miller; she should be expecting them."

  The man nods and leads us down the corridor. This side of the thick wooden door, I can’t hear the music flowing through the yez. The man stops at a door on the left and raps his knuckles on it smartly. A woman’s voice says, “Enter.”

  We step into a large room lined with bookcases on one wall—filled with pamphlets about New Amanian and Chinese laws and policy—and a curtain on the other wall. The air is scented with leather and an undercurrent of something soft and sweet. Behind a large, polished desk sits a New Amanian woman, diligently studying a map. Her shiny black hair is pulled back to the nape of her neck in a bun, and the fringe on her forehead has ends that are pointed like weapons. She is slender, clad in a dark blue beaded dress and a black mask with white feathers coming off the sides.

  She looks up and nods slightly. The man leaves.

  Trigger takes off his mask. "Elara," he says, and I hear the deference in his voice. "These are the people Ananke told you about."

  The woman continues to stare at us, but I notice her eyes are on me, not Shale or Trigger. "Take off your masks.” It is not a request.

  Shale and I hesitate; Trigger turns to us. "It's all right."

  Elara’s deep brown eyes are sharp and intelligent behind her mask."If you want my help, you'll need to trust me and I you."

  Slowly, carefully, I take the mask off my face and Shale does the same. When we are completely bared to her, Elara smiles. "You're Vika," she says to me. "I've heard about you and your sister." Her eyes cut to Shale, her smile slipping a degree. "And Ananke sings your praises, Shale."

  "She's much too kind," he replies, but his voice is cool.

  Elara motions to the chair in front of her. "Please, sit. You’ll want to know, firstly, about the cell that was captured. Yes?"

  Once all three of us are seated, Shale and I nod but she surveys us—me more than Shale—silently. I don’t know what she’s looking for. Something hidden and seething glints in her eyes, something almost feverish. But it’s hard to judge the expression on her face when half of it is masked. Still, it is as if she is holding back something important, as if she’s trying to hide what she’s really thinking. The moment stretches on and on until I consider opening her mouth and extracting the words physically.

  Finally, abruptly, Elara speaks again. "They were privy to information about the fugitives on Captain Jerome's ship." Elara studies my face carefully. When a small sigh escapes my lips at her words, her gaze drops to my mouth and then travels back up to my eyes. My intuition prickles, my mind trying to tell me something. But the feeling dissipates and fear at what she’s said takes its place.

  Shale's hand presses into my upper back, as if he's trying to infuse me with strength or comfort. "We can't sit around waiting for them to come after us,” he says. “We have to plan for the worst case."

  It is as if he took the words from my brain and said them out loud. I lean forward, my heart racing. "We have to move. I was told there was a compound with less Chinese oversight and more freedom for New Amanians." Elara has to give us what we want. "We can't afford to stay on our current compound any longer."

  "Au contraire.” Elara sits back, and the sleek material of her mask gleams under the lights. "I think it might be best if you stayed for now, just until we know more. It will only raise suspicion if the new people pick up and move. Your sudden absence would raise too many questions." She turns her chair to one side and crosses her long, shapely legs. "Give me a few days, and my contacts will have more information." Elara looks at me for a long moment. “And one more thing, Vika. With your pregnancy getting more and more visible as time goes by, you may as well have a target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before the captured fugitives describe your group to the Chinese. You can’t do anything about Ceres’s distinctive appearance, or the fact that she’s your sister, but the pregnancy is another matter.”

  “What are you saying?” Shale asks, sitting up straighter. A tendon in his neck stands out, his anger evident though he’s controlling his tone. In spite of my own fear, some small part of me takes comfort in this show of emotion on my and Ceres’s behalf.

  “Get rid of it.” There is no hint of apology in Elara’s face as she regards him for a fleeting moment before looking back at me. Her eyes are careful now, whatever she was trying to tell me put away neatly. “Trigger will send you to a woman at your compound.” She stands and smiles again, but it is more a showing of teeth than an expression of goodwill. “Good luck. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  We have been dismissed.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  We walk back out to the small cement room in silence; the weight of the beat presses down on me once more. Neither man says anything, as if they sense that I'm deflated, run down. We came all this way and risked so much simply for Elara to tell us that she couldn't help
us yet. And still, the thought niggles at the back of my mind. Why was Elara so intent on me?

  As for the abortion she’s ordered—I know it’s the right thing. The New Amanian officials know to look for a pregnant fugitive on the run with her sister; it’s only a matter of time before either they or the captured fugitives pass on this information to the Chinese. In a few weeks, my belly will be rounded and visible for everyone to see. It won’t be hard at all for them to piece the two bits of information together.

  But in spite of that, in spite of the utter logicality of Elara’s way of thinking, I can’t but help feel angry, protective, defensive. I dare not think why. Because I can’t afford to. I have to get rid of this baby. There’s no other way to keep all of us safe.

  "What was the point?" I ask Shale and Trigger, trying to control the anger in my voice. "Why did we come today if she can’t tell us anything yet?"

  Trigger sighs. "Try not to be upset. Elara is always suspicious of newcomers. She has to be; she has much to lose. She wanted to speak with the two of you, to make sure you're trustworthy before she put in any effort to help you."

  "Or rather, she wanted to see our faces so she had something to hold over us," Shale says grimly. "Just in case we decide to divulge her identity."

  That makes more sense. I wonder if she trusts us now, or if the abortion will be the way to win it—a test of sorts.

  When Ananke comes to pick us up, I notice the way her shining eyes rove over Shale. "How was the meeting?"

  "We're to come back on Monday, and she'll tell us more then. In the meantime, she thinks we should...take care of the pregnancy." Shale turns to me, and I keep my expression stoic.

  "I see." Ananke looks at me, and the pity on her face grates on my nerves. "I did wonder if that would be something she'd say...pregnancy is such an obvious condition, isn't it?"

  An obvious condition. Is that all she thinks of it? I'm surprised that Ananke isn't one of those bleeding hearts who'd do anything to keep a child safe, even at the risk of obliterating herself. In any case, I do not like the way she looks at me with a sharp edge to her pity, as if I'm a risk to them all. I climb into the back of the truck and Shale and Trigger follow. Ananke closes us in.