The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige

Chapter 23

CHRISTY

“Rise and shine!” a familiar voice says the next morning. Far too chirpy given the circumstances.

“Go away, Nala,” I groan, trying to wrestle back the covers from her as she sits down on the edge of the bed and grins at me. “What are you smiling about?”

“You, performing in The Menagerie, of course!”

“Leave me alone.”

“Nope. No can do. One has sent for you.”

“I don’t care. Tell her I’m not doing it.”

Nala tuts. “She’d love that. You really don’t understand how things work here, do you? I thought you were smart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, sitting up. Next to me the bed is empty. Sunshine pours through the gap in the curtain telling me it’s way past dawn. “Where’s Thirteen? What time is it anyway?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” Nala sasses with a grin as she pulls back the duvet. Her happiness should be infectious, but a heavy weight sits inside my chest this morning that cannot be shifted, won’t be shifted until I’m safely home and The Masks are dead.

“Where’s Thirteen?”

“In her allotment collecting some more herbs.”

“Allotment?”

“Of course. She’s got an acre of land dedicated to growing her herbs and flowers. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it.”

“I’m not. I’m still a prisoner here, Nala. Besides, Thirteen doesn’t really say all that much,” I point out.

In fact, after our brief, stilted conversation yesterday, Thirteen hasn’t made any effort to communicate further, choosing to leave me with my thoughts and immerse herself in her alchemy. I spent the whole of yesterday afternoon and most of last night thinking about how I can escape this place, or at least get word to Grim, and coming up empty. When I did finally manage to fall asleep my dreams were filled with The Masks.

Not visions, thank God, but dreams.

Dreams of me shackled to the bed in their room of sin. Dreams of their mouths pressing against my tender flesh, licking and sucking, fucking and searching. Dreams where I’m crying out for more, not cursing their names. Dreams that confused me, that have twisted me up inside. I feel exhausted by them.

“I’m tired. I just want to sleep,” I say, feeling the weight of my situation sit heavily on my shoulders.

“Sleep is for the dead. Get up. Get dressed. It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom, you know,” she says with a youthful exuberance that pisses me off.

“You’re infuriating, do you know that?” I grumble, forcing the memory of those dreams aside whilst trying to pry the duvet back out of her hands and failing to even grasp it as she yanks it to the floor.

“Renard has mentioned it once or twice.” She grasps my hand, pulling me upright.

“Nala!” I wince, reminded of my humiliation as I swing my legs over the side of the bed at her insistence. Thirteen’s tonic has been incredibly soothing and I’m more than certain without it I’d be in a much worse position, but despite how gifted she is, there isn’t anything that can completely heal a bruise or in my case, a whipped arse, in just a few hours. I’m not going to be able to sit comfortably for a while yet. Then again, this is nothing to what Twelve endured. I wonder how she’s fairing this morning. The poor woman must be in agony.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nala says, opening the curtains fully and allowing the autumn sunshine to pour into the room.

“How’s Twelve?” I ask.

Nala chews on her lip. “She’s been better, but she has Thirteen tending to her wounds so I know that she’ll be fine.”

“What they did was horrific.” I swallow hard, reminded of the blood dripping from the Cat-o'-nine-tails. Leon might’ve wielded it, but all three of The Masks were responsible.

“It was,” she agrees, wincing at her memories of that night.

“And you still think they’re redeemable?”

“One wants you dressed and downstairs in the studio in an hour,” Nala says, ending the conversation abruptly. “I’ve brought you breakfast and Thirteen has left you some clothes to wear.” She points to a loose, knee length, navy skirt, white t-shirt and ballet slippers draped over the armchair that’s situated by the window.

“I asked you a question, Nala—”

“Thirteen also gave me the key so you could, you know…” Nala replies, refusing to engage in a conversation that will make her uncomfortable. She’s still holding onto the hope that The Masks will change, can change. For now, I let it go.

“Is that allowed?”

Nala pulls a face, understanding what I mean instantly. “The Masks gave you to Thirteen, didn’t they?” I nod in agreement. “Then I guess she’s allowed to do what she sees fit, right?”

“I guess,” I respond, not entirely convinced, but going with the flow regardless. I’m grateful for the clothing and the ability to use the bathroom and freshen up. Two basic human comforts I’d taken for granted before arriving here. Funny how a thin piece of material can help protect you against the world, but as I use the bathroom and then pull on the clothing left out for me, that’s exactly what it feels like: armour.

“Now you eat up. One is renowned for her punishing rehearsals. You’ll need your strength.”

“But the Ball isn’t for a while yet,” I say, dropping the key to the chastity belt into the pocket of my skirt. The sooner I can give it back to Thirteen the better. As random as this sounds, I don’t feel safe keeping hold of it, not when The Masks could take it from me, then take what they want.

“Oh no, you misunderstand. They’re not rehearsing for the Ball. The Menagerie will be performing this weekend. We have a small number of guests arriving Saturday.”

“Saturday?! But that’s in just a few days time.”

“Yup. Ardelby Castle is going to be a hive of action as we all prepare for the occasion,” she says breezily as if this weekend’s spectacle isn’t about the Numbers performing for dirty men and women who want to use them up and fuck them.

“Just perfect,” I mumble, pulling at the hem of my skirt.

Nala, sensing my discord, sets about tidying up the room whilst I sit and eat the scrambled eggs and bacon she’d brought me. Even though I’ve only been here for a little while, it feels so much longer than that, despite only seeing a fraction of the castle and none of the grounds surrounding it. If I weren’t a prisoner held captive in these walls then I might’ve appreciated my surroundings. Loved them, even. As it is, every room I enter, every corridor I walk down, every view I look out upon is just an illusion of freedom. I wish the Numbers understood that. Maybe then we could work together to escape.

“So, Grandfather told me you’re a ballerina,” Nala says as she escorts me to the studio half an hour later.

“I’ve never danced professionally. It’s a passion of mine, not a career.”

“Apparently Jakub was impressed.”

“He was?” I find myself asking as we descend two flights of stone stairs that lead towards another courtyard, smaller than the one The Weeping Tree grows out of. Sun streams from above, the warm air lifting strands of my hair and making the silk skirt I’m wearing flutter around my knees.

“Of course he was! Why on earth would he put you in The Menagerie if he didn’t think so?”

“Because I’m a spectacle, a curiosity,” I say, pointing to my birthmark.

I’m not seeking her approval, anyone’s for the matter. I accepted my appearance a long time ago. I don’t despise it, I really don’t. It’s just these men are fucking with my head, bringing out long since buried insecurities. I’m pissed off at myself for letting them get to me.

“You’re not, she protests.”

“Listen, I’m well aware of how people view me,” I say.

Yesterday Jakub had called me naive, stupid for believing his words of appreciation. He was right. I might have gained some control sucking him off and taking his pleasure, but he’d snatched that back the second he’d opened his mouth. I was so fucking foolish allowing myself to believe his lies, because for a brief moment I had believed them.

“The Masks are all kind of messed up over you. They’ve never behaved like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Like their heads are elsewhere. Leon spent all his spare time yesterday in his gym working out until he could barely stand upright. Konrad disappeared into the dungeon for hours on end, which ordinarily wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact he was alone down there, and Jakub…”

“And Jakub?” I prompt.

“Well, he spent all of last night in the forest. Actually, he’s still there. The last time he disappeared for days in the forest he came back even more surly than when he left.”

“What does he do there?”

Nala shrugs. “I’ve no idea, but everyone keeps out of his way when he returns.”

“I see,” I reply, not really seeing at all.

“Like I said, you’ve totally messed with their heads, not to mention the fact that you’re dancing in the show and not doing the other… stuff. I overheard Jakub speaking with One yesterday. He was adamant that you perform but aren’t available for anything else,” she explains brightly. “See, he likes you. They all do.”

I raise a brow at her. “I couldn’t care less if they like me or not, Nala. I’m still getting out of here.”

“But…”

“But what? Do you think because I’m not actively trying to escape every second of every day, that I’m okay with being here, that I don’t want to go home? They’ve hurt me, Nala.”

I don’t say that they’ve also brought me pleasure, both stolen and given. She doesn’t need to know any of that, and I certainly don’t want to pay it any more attention than necessary.

“Hurt people, hurt people,” she says softly.

I snort. “I won’t feel sorry for them, so don’t even try to change my mind.” Despite my determination to remain unforgiving in that respect, I’m briefly reminded of the boy Jakub was in my vision: bruised, undernourished, and afraid. My heart pangs in sympathy for that boy and what he must’ve suffered. But I quickly shove it aside. No.

“Okay,” she mumbles, clearly hurt by my refusal to accept my life here.

Stopping in front of a door to our left, I can hear the haunting notes of a piano being played and just like the other day, chills run down my spine at One’s incredible talent.

“She’s a gifted musician,” Nala says, smiling gently, affected by the music just as much as I am. There really is something uniquely beautiful about the way the notes lift into the air and caress the senses. My skin tingles with the emotion her music invokes, the hair on my arms lifting just like they had in the Grand Hall.

“Yes, she is...” I agree, my voice trailing off at the look on Nala’s face. “But?”

“Just watch your back with her. She’s used to being number one, and now you’re here. Well…”

I shake my head. “I’m Nothing, Zero, Nought,” I remind her. “Or have you forgotten that?”

Nala reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “You’re far more than that and you know it.”

With that she twists on her feet and walks off down the corridor, leaving me wondering how a sixteen year old child could be more insightful than many adults twice her age.

* * *

The momentI step into the studio, the music stops and every single Number turns to face me. They’re all present, each of them in varying stages of undress, presumably a dress rehearsal given their choice of outfits or rather, lack of them. Even Thirteen stands to the side of the room, dabbing ointment onto Twelve’s raw back. I swallow hard at the deep welts and the lashes that criss-cross her olive skin, wanting to reach out the hand of friendship but knowing it wouldn’t be well received.

“Welcome, Zero. We’re pleased to have you join The Menagerie,” One says, drawing my attention back to her. She has a smile fixed on her beautiful face but it doesn’t cover the fact she’s shocked by my appearance. There’s a manic, almost unhinged part of me that wants to shout surprise and wave my hands in the air just to see their reaction. Of course, I don’t.

“Yes, we’re happy to have you,” Three adds, her welcome sincere, unlike One’s.

“I’m not,” I reply tightly, gritting my jaw and willing myself to keep my head held high. They can all look at me with pity in their eyes, and some with barely veiled hatred. I don’t care. I’ll never be one of them. I will never be a part of this willingly. “I had no choice but to take part in the show, and I’m not going to pretend that this is something I’m happy about because I’m not.”

“Don’t you dare fuck this up for us,” Eight interjects coldly, her bare tits wobbling as she slides into a cupless bra, supported by nothing more than leather straps. “You might turn your nose up at us, thinking you’re better because you don’t agree with what happens here, but this show is our life and there isn’t one person in this room who won’t kill you if you cause us issues.”

“Don’t speak for me,” Six snaps, glaring at Eight.

“Or us,” Seven and Three add.

Eight snorts, rolling her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? You three just love a lost cause. Well, if Zero fucks up, you can be the one who deals with the aftermath of that because I sure as fuck won’t be volunteering for a whipping when our Masters lose their shit again.”

“That’s enough, Eight,” One says, rising gracefully to her feet and ending the argument with a sharp stare. “We’re a family, remember?”

Eight huffs, busying herself getting dressed whilst One wanders over to a rail of clothing on the far side of the studio and starts flicking through the rack. She pulls out a rose-pink, floor length dress made of silk. It has thin spaghetti straps, a low back, and a slit from thigh to ankle. It’s pretty and something I would never dream of wearing. Folding it over her arm she walks towards me, a smile fixed on her face.

“Due to her injuries Twelve is unable to partake in the show this weekend. So you’re a welcome addition,” she says, handing me the dress.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking it from her. It looks expensive, and far too revealing.

“What you’ll be wearing to perform in.”

I shake my head. “No. I can’t wear this.”

One raises her brow, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder as she cocks her head and narrows her eyes at me.“You will wear what I tell you to wear.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t wear that,” I insist. It’s bad enough that I have to be in the show, let alone wearing a dress that will do little to cover up the scars on my back.

One steps closer, dropping her lips to my ears and lowering her voice to no more than a whisper. “You will do as I say, Zero, or I shall make your life here very, very difficult. I am the matriarch, the founder of this show. Jakub and I have a special bond. If you refuse my request,” she says, punctuating the word with sarcasm, “Then I will make sure that you suffer injuries far worse than those inflicted on Twelve.”

Spinning on her feet, One sashays towards Five who has been quietly watching our exchange the whole time. She gives me a terse nod of her head, her dark eyes not giving anything away. Yesterday she had treated me kindly, or as kindly as she could given the circumstances. Today, she’s closed off.

No matter.

Forcing steel into my spine, I take the dress and stride over to Thirteen who’s still religiously applying ointment to Twelve’s ravaged back. “Here,” I say, holding my hand out so Thirteen can take the key. She smiles at me, screwing the lid back onto the ointment and handing it to Twelve before securing the necklace safely around her neck. I can’t help but glance at Twelve’s injuries, my stomach roiling. Some slashes are deeper than others. In the worst parts, the skin is split, scabs forming. Those will scar.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses, glaring at me over her shoulder as she pulls on her shirt, wincing as the material slides over her skin.

“I apologise,” I mumble, understanding what it feels like to be gawked at.

“Why? I earned these stripes. Can you say the same?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, aware that Six is approaching me.

Pressing her cool hands on my arm, she draws me away from Twelve, towards a non-hostile corner of the room where Three and Seven are standing. Her eyes are kind, concerned, as she lowers her voice and says, “Don’t engage. Twelve is hurting right now. When she gets like this she’s spiteful. She doesn’t like to play second fiddle to The Masks’ attention.”

“But I don’t want their attention,” I reply tightly. “I was kidnapped, for crying out loud!”

“Regardless, they’ve claimed you in a way they’ve never claimed any of us. Twelve doesn’t like it,” Seven says, his arm wrapping around Three as he hugs her into his side.

“What do you mean?”

Six pushes her auburn hair behind her ear and folds her arms across her chest, pushing up her already ample cleavage barely covered by the blue corset she’s wearing. “I can tell by the look in your eyes that you think The Masks indulge their… needs with us.” Her voice trails off as she waits for my reaction.

“Well, don’t they?”

“No. They don’t seek sexual pleasures from any of us outside of the first time,” Three explains.

“First time? So you have been used by them?” I ask, confused now.

“When a Number first arrives here one of The Masks is tasked to—”

“Let me guess, torture then fuck you?” I interrupt.

“It isn’t like that,” Six insists. “After the initial welcome, they don’t indulge again.”

“Twelve was the last Number to have any sexual contact with one of The Masks, and that was two years ago when she first arrived here,” Seven says, his gaze flicking over to Twelve who’s watching us all with narrowed eyes. “She was assigned to Konrad, and grew attached to him. Up until a few months ago he was taking her into his dungeons regularly.”

“To fuck,” I point out.

“No, for punishment. She’s been trying to get him to fuck her ever since her first time with him. But he won’t indulge her. Then when she realised he wasn’t going to give in, she’s been doing everything in her power to piss him off so he’ll keep punishing her. That’s kind of her thing. Only he stopped doing that too a few months ago.”

“A few months ago?”

“Yes,” Six says with a heavy sigh. “You don’t know this, but you’ve been a thorn in Twelve’s side since before you even got here. Six months ago when The Masks finally found you, Konrad cut all ties with Twelve. It broke her. She’s in love with him.”

“Do you… Love him, any of them?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“I thought I loved Leon once,” she says with a soft smile and wistful look on her face.

“Leon?”

“Yes, Leon. Why is that such a shock to you?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you not see what he did to Twelve yesterday?”

“She broke the rules…” Six’s voice trails off as she chews on her lip. “Twelve knew what she was doing. Like I said, she’s been trying to get Konrad’s attention, and it worked, just not quite in the way she wanted it to.”

“That’s messed up,” I mumble, unable to fathom how she can be okay with this, how any of them can.

“When you accept your place here, you accept the rules. In return we get the freedom to express ourselves the way we choose with no judgement or limitations. It’s a good life,” Seven insists.

“Why Leon?” I ask Six. “Of the three, why was it him you thought you loved?”

“He broke me in,” she replies instantly.

“Broke you in? You make it sound like you were a horse and he’s a trainer.” Six chews on her lips, her cheeks flushing as she glances at Three and Seven. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It isn’t quite like that,” Three says.

“Not quite like that? What did Leon do to you, Six?” I ask, my throat tightening at the look in her eyes. It’s as though she’s battling with herself, with the truth that hurts and the lies she’s told herself so she can accept what he did to her, and her life here.

“He broke me down, and then he built me back up into who I am today. I’m stronger for it. Each of the Numbers have had a similar experience, though not with the same master.”

“Were you not strong before?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“Don’t you want to go home?” I whisper, looking between them all, wanting to shake some sense into them.

Seven grinds his teeth, squeezing Three tighter to his side. “No. This is our home, and the Numbers are our family, just like One said. It may not seem like it, but it’s true.”

“But The Masks are your masters, right? So does that make you their slaves?”

“I suppose you could see it like that,” Three says gently.

“I’m not certain how else I’m supposed to see it. As far as I can tell, this place works because they hold power over you. They’ve broken you, forced you into submission, and you’ve just accepted it.”

“You make it sound ugly, like we’ve given up part of ourselves,” Six says, a look of confusion on her face.

“But you have. You’ve given up your freedom. More than that,” I continue, gripping her arm and urging her to hear me, to understand.

“You’re wrong. I wasn’t free before I came here. I was trapped in a relationship with a man who owned me in the worst possible way. I was dead inside. The Collector took me from a loveless marriage and gave me a gift by bringing me here. I didn’t know it at the time, but I do now. I see,” Six protests.

“Do you hear yourself? The Collector took you which is just another word for stole. You said you were trapped in a marriage with a man who owned you. What’s the difference? You are no less owned now.”

“The difference is, I’m happy here, Zero. You will be too, if you just let yourself,” she says, frustration clear on her face.

“No, I won’t,” I retort, shaking my head and glancing over at One who’s currently talking with Four, Eight and the triplets, Nine, Ten and Eleven. “And One, how does she feel about it all, about me?” I find myself asking, her warning still ringing in my ears.

Three chews on her lip. “One has lived here the longest. This is her home, and The Menagerie is her life. She will do whatever Jakub asks. She always has. People come from all over the world to see us perform in The Menagerie. That’s down to her. She’s not only a gifted pianist but incredibly creative. It’s a spectacular show.”

“You respect her?” I ask, in astonishment.

“We all do,” Six agrees, not quite able to meet my gaze. “One’s priority has always been The Menagerie, us. We’re a family whether you choose to believe that or not. If you’re not a Number then you’re an outsider, and she doesn’t do well with outsiders, unless of course it’s a client and then she does whatever the hell they want. Even if you never like her, you’ll come to respect her like the rest of us, eventually.”

I shake my head. “I won’t, not ever. I’d sooner go home! All these problems I’m causing with The Masks, with the other Numbers, would be resolved so easily if they just let me go.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Seven says, cutting straight to the point. “The Masks have already claimed you as theirs.”

“I don’t want to be theirs. I don’t want any of this!”

Six heaves out a sigh, squeezing my arm gently. “Do you honestly think that matters to them?”

“No, I don’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that it matters to me. I am not theirs. I never will be.”