Charles.” Vinemont tightened his grip at my waist, pressing the already tight dress into me even more.
The stranger laughed. “Nice to see you, too, Sinclair.” He stared down into my eyes again. “And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you, all of you, very shortly.”
The floor lurched beneath my feet. The only thing that kept me upright was Vinemont’s arm around my waist. He was a prison made of flesh and blood. My very own cage.
The stranger, Charles, stepped away and whispered something to the woman at his side. She frowned at me, giving me an up and down sweep with a critical gaze, her crimson mask turning her into a particularly vicious foe.
The orchestra was playing some elegant tune, one made for the opera or a symphony, not for this. It was so out of place that I wanted to laugh. I stifled my giggle as I glanced away from the crimson bitch.
I ignored the priceless canvases that graced the walls, and the ornate doors and moldings. Instead of letting the beauty of the house lull me, I stared into the masked faces, many of them now staring back at me as word spread that I was an Acquisition, whatever that really meant. Was I so rare? How many Acquisitions were there?
Though light glanced from every surface and sprang from the bright walls and polished floor, I was in a nightmare. The home was only gilded, gold covering the rotten core. I was surrounded by ghouls, all of them hungering for a piece of my flesh. The glitz and glamour did nothing to hide their true natures. No mask ever could.
The quick beat of my heart resounded in my ears, deafening even the smooth sound of the instruments. Vinemont didn’t stop, didn’t say a word, just kept moving forward. Toward what, I didn’t know. We passed through a wide set of high doors and into a ballroom. The floor was a light oak and shone like everything else in the vile mansion.
In the center was a high platform that towered over the ballgoers. It was circular and done in brilliant gold. A fabricated oak tree shot up through the middle, the leaves sprouting artificially green and full almost up to the ceiling, which must have been forty feet overhead, if not more.
Vinemont swept me through the crowd, moving closer to the tree. I wanted to dig in my heels, to stop his resolute forward momentum. It was no use. The nearer we drew to the platform, the louder my instinct screamed for me to run. Something metallic along the trunk caught my eye and my knees almost gave way. Three sets of silver shackles hung from the tree, each attached to chains that ascended into the branches above.
“No.” I pushed back against Vinemont.
“Calm down.” He changed course and led me around the tree and further toward the orchestra.
Another platform was set up toward the back of the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Three men sat atop it, each with a table in front of them at knee level. Each was shirtless. Every bare piece of their muscular skin was covered in ink—naked women, skulls, tribal, even flowers. One in a goblin mask seemed to pick Vinemont and me from the crowd.
“He’s staring at us,” I said. “The goblin, up there.”
“Everyone’s staring at us.”
Vinemont led me toward the goblin. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to retreat and get any closer to the tree, either. We stopped midway between the two, far too close to the tree for my liking.
The orchestra suddenly quieted and then the hall fell utterly silent. All masks turned toward the platform where a man stood, his arms outstretched, a microphone in one hand. Someone worked up in the rafters of the hall, training a spotlight down on the apparent star of the show. His mask seemed to be an array of oak leaves, the same that decorated the tree behind him.
“Welcome to the twenty-fifth Acquisition Ball!” he shouted into his microphone.
A cheer went up from the crowd and then they all clapped as if they were at the opening of the Kentucky Derby.
After a ridiculous span
The stranger laughed. “Nice to see you, too, Sinclair.” He stared down into my eyes again. “And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you, all of you, very shortly.”
The floor lurched beneath my feet. The only thing that kept me upright was Vinemont’s arm around my waist. He was a prison made of flesh and blood. My very own cage.
The stranger, Charles, stepped away and whispered something to the woman at his side. She frowned at me, giving me an up and down sweep with a critical gaze, her crimson mask turning her into a particularly vicious foe.
The orchestra was playing some elegant tune, one made for the opera or a symphony, not for this. It was so out of place that I wanted to laugh. I stifled my giggle as I glanced away from the crimson bitch.
I ignored the priceless canvases that graced the walls, and the ornate doors and moldings. Instead of letting the beauty of the house lull me, I stared into the masked faces, many of them now staring back at me as word spread that I was an Acquisition, whatever that really meant. Was I so rare? How many Acquisitions were there?
Though light glanced from every surface and sprang from the bright walls and polished floor, I was in a nightmare. The home was only gilded, gold covering the rotten core. I was surrounded by ghouls, all of them hungering for a piece of my flesh. The glitz and glamour did nothing to hide their true natures. No mask ever could.
The quick beat of my heart resounded in my ears, deafening even the smooth sound of the instruments. Vinemont didn’t stop, didn’t say a word, just kept moving forward. Toward what, I didn’t know. We passed through a wide set of high doors and into a ballroom. The floor was a light oak and shone like everything else in the vile mansion.
In the center was a high platform that towered over the ballgoers. It was circular and done in brilliant gold. A fabricated oak tree shot up through the middle, the leaves sprouting artificially green and full almost up to the ceiling, which must have been forty feet overhead, if not more.
Vinemont swept me through the crowd, moving closer to the tree. I wanted to dig in my heels, to stop his resolute forward momentum. It was no use. The nearer we drew to the platform, the louder my instinct screamed for me to run. Something metallic along the trunk caught my eye and my knees almost gave way. Three sets of silver shackles hung from the tree, each attached to chains that ascended into the branches above.
“No.” I pushed back against Vinemont.
“Calm down.” He changed course and led me around the tree and further toward the orchestra.
Another platform was set up toward the back of the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Three men sat atop it, each with a table in front of them at knee level. Each was shirtless. Every bare piece of their muscular skin was covered in ink—naked women, skulls, tribal, even flowers. One in a goblin mask seemed to pick Vinemont and me from the crowd.
“He’s staring at us,” I said. “The goblin, up there.”
“Everyone’s staring at us.”
Vinemont led me toward the goblin. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to retreat and get any closer to the tree, either. We stopped midway between the two, far too close to the tree for my liking.
The orchestra suddenly quieted and then the hall fell utterly silent. All masks turned toward the platform where a man stood, his arms outstretched, a microphone in one hand. Someone worked up in the rafters of the hall, training a spotlight down on the apparent star of the show. His mask seemed to be an array of oak leaves, the same that decorated the tree behind him.
“Welcome to the twenty-fifth Acquisition Ball!” he shouted into his microphone.
A cheer went up from the crowd and then they all clapped as if they were at the opening of the Kentucky Derby.
After a ridiculous span
Similar Books
