Return to the Shadows

by Angie West

  We made our way to the front door of the main house and I, for one, was astonished to find that it looked more like a house door than the typical utilitarian steel frame door one would expect to find in a warehouse. This door was constructed of thick solid wood and bleached a warm golden color that reminded me of honey. The night seemed to be full of surprises, I reflected, taking in the two guards that stood posted like sentinels at the entrance. These two were no less ugly than the pair we’d just passed on the sidewalk, but they were considerably more suspicious of Mark and me. Oh please, just let us in…

  “Halt. State your business.”

  Damn. “Why, we’re here for the ball,” I trilled, doing what I considered to be a fairly good impression of a high society lady. Moron number one didn’t look impressed.

  “Good evening.” Mark inclined his head. “I am Lord Rothington and this is Lady Halsting. We have come to discuss a little business with the woman who runs this fine operation. And of course, to attend the ball.”

  “What business do you have with mistress Lydia?” Moron number two was obviously skeptical. Not that I could really blame him—we were lying, after all.

  “My companion and I run a highly successful brothel near the coast.”

  “Well…” Both men wavered.

  “Are we to stand on the street like beggars all evening?” Mark demanded.

  “I am appalled, just appalled.” My voice rose the several notches required to play the part of an affronted queen-of-the-manor type, though the feat was not difficult. Just when I thought I would pass out from nerves, the real live queen of the manor appeared at the front door.

  Lydia was stunning in—what else—her signature scarlet body-hugging gown. The hem swept the floor and the bodice was cut so slow that she looked like she was forever on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction. She shooed the guards aside with little more than a toss of her regal head before turning wide green eyes upon us.

  “What seems to be the problem here?”

  “We’ve come to attend the ball and speak to the mistress called Lydia,” Mark informed her, pretending to have no idea who she was.

  “I run this establishment.”

  “You’re Lydia?”

  “I am.” Her eyes ran up and down the length of his form in a slow perusal that made my skin crawl.

  “I didn’t realize you were such a lovely woman.” He bowed low before extending his hand. “My name is Lord Rothington, and may I introduce my companion and business partner, Lady Alia Halsting. We’ve come from Coztal to make your acquaintance.”

  “Business partner?” Lydia graced us with a slow smile, though her eyes remained fixed on Mark.

  “That’s right,” I said, then nodded, holding her gaze for a second when her eyes flicked to my own.

  “You’re a long way from home,” she observed, inspecting me from head to toe. “What sort of business are you in?”

  “Word of the annual masquerade ball has reached the coast. According to rumor, it’s an event that’s not to be missed. Lord Rothington and I run a brothel, the largest in Coztal. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  “A fellow business woman like myself, then.” Her lips curved in a sultry smile as she leaned closer to me. I fought to stay composed under her stare. Would she recognize me? I thought not. I knew that tonight I didn’t look a thing like the bedraggled, bruised, and dirt-covered girl she’d seen a year ago at another auction.

  “We’ve come to discuss a business arrangement that could be very…beneficial, to both of us,” Mark broke in.

  “Have you now? Do tell.”

  “Lady Halsting and I are considering a merger, a partnership if you will, and we understand you run the largest operation in this region.”

  “Well then, good evening and welcome to the ball. I do hope the security hasn’t given you too much trouble.”

  “Thank you,” we both responded automatically.

  “Come in then and have a drink. The main event is just getting underway,” she confided, ushering us over the threshold and into the house. “The auction. But have a drink first and then, if you will, we can discuss a little business.”

  As we stepped fully into the room, I nearly stumbled on my heels. So engrossed was I in my new surroundings, I was barely aware of the door being closed behind us. Lydia plucked two flutes of sparkling blue liquid from a passing tray and offered them to Mark and me with a satisfied smile that bordered on smug.

  “I see you admire the finer things in life, too.”

  “This is...wow, this is truly something,” I managed, and meant every word. The house was spectacular and looked nothing like its plain exterior. Mansion didn’t even begin to convey the rich, glittering opulence that surrounded us at that moment. Expensive-looking crystal lighting hung from the high polished ceilings and reflected shards of light across an equally polished dark wood floor. “Are those real diamonds?” I asked, figuring that they were; diamonds weren’t a rare commodity here, although they were still considered lavish and somewhat expensive. It was too bad we were going to blow it sky high in less than an hour.

  “Yes, they are,” Lydia preened.

  What’s in the glass was my second question, but I hesitated to voice it and look like the novice that I was. Instead, I caught Mark’s eye and let my gaze rest meaningfully on his glass. Only when he smiled and raised his own drink to his lips did I taste mine. Champagne, I thought, feeling the cool rush almost instantly. Not bad, and certainly prettier than its amber-hued cousin.

  A man in a jeweled mask came up behind us to put a hand under Lydia’s arm, and she left us then with instructions to drink, dance, and enjoy the party. She would be back later on in the evening—before the auction, I presumed—to discuss business.

  “Would you care to dance, my lady?”

  “Oh yes indeed,” I murmured, taking Mark’s outstretched hand and letting him lead me to the crowded dance floor. Really, the entire main level appeared to be a dance floor. A few heavily made up women stood against the wall, and several elegantly dressed gentleman could also be found on the outskirts of the large space that I guessed to be a living room or maybe a hugely oversized parlor. The rest of the occupants were paired on the dance floor, and all were decked out in formal attire. Most wore facemasks that glittered under the light from the chandeliers, but there were a few, like us, that sported bare faces. The men all danced with women who wore barely decent gowns and looked like pale replicas of Lydia. The girls were working tonight, then.

  “We’re in.”

  Mark’s whispered statement was warm against my ear and I closed my eyes for a second, wishing us to be anywhere else in the world, wishing for more time. A little privacy would have been nice too.

  “What’s next?” I spoke the words against his throat.

  “We dance, then we head upstairs.”

  “What’s upstairs?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Oh.” Wonderful.

  And so it went. Around and around we twirled, weaving in and out among fellow couples. I stared from one face to the next; everyone glittered under the light from the cut prism diamonds of the chandelier.

  But it was a facade. It was easier to see once I looked deeper than first glance. Most of the men’s eyes were over bright with anticipation and an emotion that I couldn’t name, but one that made my skin crawl just the same. Beneath the paint and the charm, I imagined that the women looked...resigned. They were harder to read than the men, though, so it was difficult to be certain.

  Most everyone appeared to fall under the lull of the music that came seemingly from nowhere, and yet was everywhere. No one seemed to notice when, as the third waltz began, Mark and I slipped quietly away from the crowd and made our way up the wide curving staircase at the edge of the room. I smiled at some inane comment he made and moved a little closer to him, all the while keeping my expression light and playful, my steps unhurried. The most important thing was to blend in, to look as if we belonged wherever we hap
pened to be at the moment. That was the trick to not getting caught up in our elaborate charade—to not arouse suspicion in the first place.

  We reached the landing, and Mark pulled me to a stop, pressing me into the wall at the top of the stairwell, and leaning in for a kiss that left me breathless. He pressed me into the wall at the top of the stairwell.

  “What was that for?” I murmured.

  “In case anyone below is watching, there’s no question of why we’re up here. And we’re likely to be left alone.”

  “Oh.” I was disappointed. Not that it wasn’t a sensible plan.

  “Don’t think I couldn’t stand here and do this all night,” he grinned, reading my thoughts.

  “But we have a job to do—yeah, I know.” I smiled back, trying not to show any hint of unease at the reminder.

  It wasn’t long before we figured out what the upstairs was used for. The sounds of budding passion could be heard from at least three of the six bedrooms that ran the length of the hallway. The opposite end of the second floor opened into a large room with books lining one wall and a large floral print sectional sofa taking up an entire corner of the room. The ceiling was mirrored.

  “Now this—this is class.”

  “Hah,” Mark snorted, making quick work of placing two bombs in the darkest corner. One he attached under the wide ledge of the windowsill, the other he simply slid beneath the couch.

  “Hallway?”

  “Two on this end. One by the bathroom and the other just before the stairwell.”

  “Okay,” I nodded, slipping from the room and pretending to use the restroom, then walking softly down the carpeted hall, looking for the perfect spot. There, where the stair railing curved over the wall a mere six inches from the landing. I slid the tiny disk-like device under the rail, my finger pressing in the button that would activate the bomb.

  Mark met up with me in the hall and we made our way across the entire second story of the house, taking care not to disturb the occupied rooms. By the time we were ready to make our way downstairs, enough charges had been placed to blow the entire roof from the house.

  “Mark, look.” I paused at the end of the hall, pointing to a large rectangle in the ceiling.

  “An attic,” he nodded.

  “Should we…?”

  “No. Although I would love to know what’s up there. But there’s no time.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. That would be overkill anyway.”

  “We’d better head downstairs now. The charges are set to blow in twenty minutes. We don’t have much time left.”

  Oh Lord. “Right.” I swallowed, heading for the stairs, only to stop a second later. “Mark.”

  He raised a brow, but said nothing.

  “The women up here...” I shivered. “We have to get them out.” But we wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t.

  I knew that even before he confirmed it.

  “There’s no time.”

  “But—”

  “They made their choices just like the rest of us, and we can’t blow our cover. Now let’s go.” His face took on a hard edge, the expression of the warrior I’d encountered on the mountain.

  I took a deep breath. “No.”

  “Claire, we don’t have time for this.”

  “Make time.”

  “I can’t.” He glared.

  “I’m not leaving them here.” I took a deep breath and bit my lip before taking a step toward the occupied rooms. “I’ll stay with them, then.” I wouldn’t, and I was sure he knew it too. But I was hoping that he also knew how important this was to me. I hated the fact that I was putting his life in danger, but leaving these women up here to die, without any hope—well, it wasn’t right.

  “I can’t save them.”

  “Please,” I begged. Then, when he shook his head, I lifted my chin. “Fine, then I will.”

  “Damn it.” He turned his back on the stairway and stalked to the first closed door.

  I followed behind him and watched as he strode into the room and quickly put the man out of commission. He bound the man with a set of shoelaces and used bedding to create a gag. I spoke softly but swiftly to the wide-eyed woman, who sat frozen in the middle of the double bed.

  “Please dress and rejoin the party downstairs as quickly as you can,” I told her in a soothing tone.

  Mark had another method of persuasion. “Unless you want to die, you’ll tell no one what you saw here, is that clear?”

  And so it went for the remaining two rooms at the end of the hall. Three men were tied up and gagged, unconscious, and three women hastened to rejoin the ball on the main floor of the house, terrified to speak to anyone about what they’d witnessed. I stared at the clock. Six minutes had elapsed. We had to hurry, and I said as much to Mark.

  “Claire, wait.”

  I turned back, raising one brow in question.

  “I’m proud of you, tonight, and for what you just did, even if it ends up getting us killed and ruins our entire mission. And...I love you.”

  “You...love me? Oh no. You’re doing this now? Oh my God, we’re going to die, aren’t we? That’s why you’re telling me this now.”

  “Hey, hey, stop that,” he chided, both arms circling my waist until his hands rested at the small of my back. “We’re not going to die. Okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmured, thoroughly unconvinced. I kissed him anyway before we made our way down the stairs at a steady pace. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you too.”

  Four minutes later, we were casually strolling the wide porch that wrapped around the back of the house, shielded from the road and from prying eyes in general. There were very few guards posted out here, and only a smattering of other couples were out enjoying the night air. Most were inside dancing, and the excitement was a palpable thing now, for both Mark and myself, and the occupants of the ball.

  They were excited because the famous, or infamous, auction was about to take place in five short minutes.

  We were nervous as hell because we were running out of time. To the casual onlooker, I could only hope that we looked sexually frustrated, and not like a couple of party crashers who were up to no good.

  “Oh, would you look at that moon?” Mark took my elbow and steered us toward the south end of the porch, near the guard shacks.

  “Oh my. It’s so big and bright tonight. Perfect for a romantic evening, don’t you think?” I gushed, resting my head on his shoulder and sticking a disk below the waist-high porch railing.

  “Mmm,” he agreed, idly fingering the smooth wooden rail before smiling down at me and nodding toward the double doors that would take us back into the ballroom. “I wonder if Lydia’s free to discuss a little business.”

  “I don’t know,” I mused. “The auction starts in a few minutes.”

  “All the more reason to find her now.”

  As luck would have it, she found us nearly the instant we walked through the door.

  “I trust you’re both enjoying yourselves?”

  “Oh yes,” I was quick to assure our host. “We’re having a lovely time.”

  “We were actually just coming to find you. We’re hoping to steal you away from your guests for a moment.”

  “The auction is about to start. I had hoped to catch up to you a little earlier, but we can talk after, in my study.”

  “That’s what we were hoping to speak with you about,” I hastily added, improvising as we made our way through the ballroom and into a much smaller room where men gathered together over cards and cigars.

  “Oh?” She faced me, and I got the sense, once again, that she was looking into me somehow.

  “Yes, the auction is a fine tradition, of course.” I thought fast, knowing that we would need access to the girls who were set to be sold to the highest bidder. That was the final phase of our plan, unless we wanted to leave them to be blown up, which we didn’t. “But we were hoping to teach the girls a quick little musical number,” I finished, s
mothering a groan. A musical number? It sounded pathetic even to my own ears. Mark, bless him, didn’t move a muscle, but instead put on a smile and nodded next to me.

  “A musical number?”

  “A quick performance. It’s only a couple of steps really, and very erotic. In Coztal, it’s done for good luck.” I continued to bullshit, all the while praying my face wasn’t turning beet red. “Many believe it brings luck and good fortune to the auction.”

  “Good fortune, hmmm...” That seemed to snag Lydia’s attention, as I’d hoped it would.

  “It certainly showcases the girls’ assets,” Mark added with a wink.

  “Yes, so if we may...”

  “Oh, why not,” Lydia decreed, clapping her hands together and motioning for us to follow. “Can you do it in ten minutes?”

  “Might we have the other girls as well?” I pointed to the large cluster of women who were lined up along the wall now that the dancing had come to an end. Three of the women stared at us with fearful expressions, but to my utter relief, it appeared that they had at least kept silent.

  “Sure, why not. Go with them,” she addressed her staff.

  “We only need a few minutes,” I told her, which was true enough. A glance at the clock told me that five minutes was all we had left to get the girls and get out before...bad things happened. Ignoring the cold, clammy feeling that washed over me, I followed Mark, who followed Lydia to a standard-sized white doorway at the rear of the house.

  “The girls ready for the auction are gathered here in the kitchen,” she told us. “I’ll go and tell our guests that we’re in for a special performance tonight. Try not to take too long.”

  She was gone. Mark tapped his wrist once as we pushed through the door and came face to face with what had to be a hundred girls. The message was clear enough. We were running out of time and would have to be quick.

  The girls looked to range in age from preteen to maybe eighteen or nineteen. Young. All wore expressions of fear and mistrust in varying degrees. Most were holding it together fairly well, I thought, all things considered. I had been in their shoes and understood full well the fear and uncertainty they were feeling right then.