The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige

Chapter 28

CHRISTY

Thirteen taps my arm, drawing my attention back to her. She’s mixing up a new solution, another ointment to combat the infection Twelve has picked up from her wounds. I see the worry in her eyes as she points to a vial of clear liquid sitting on the workbench in front of me.

“You want this?” I ask, picking it up.

She nods. Yes.

Passing it to her I sit in silence content to watch her working and find myself wondering how she ever came to be here. Is it because she’s a healer, using natural herbs, plants and flowers to mix up lotions and potions to cure and soothe all manner of ailments? She has value in that respect, one I suspect is priceless, given the nature of what happens here. Imagine explaining Twelve’s injuries to a doctor. Not likely.

Thirteen is essential to the inner workings of this place.

I have to admit, she’s extraordinarily talented at what she does. Add in perfumes, body lotions, shampoo and conditioners, and makeup to the list of things she can produce, and she’s more of an alchemist. Thirteen’s knowledgeable at what she does, has been willing to let me watch her all morning, but avoids all explanations of how she’d learnt her gift.

“It’s kind of magical, what you do,” I say as she sprinkles ground-up basil, rosemary and sage into her pot of bubbling liquid.

She shakes her head, picking up her pen and scribbling on the pad next to her. I’m only using what Mother Nature gifted us all. If that’s magic, then I guess I’m a magician.

“Or a witch?” I say, catching her eye.

That too,she writes on her pad.

Even the most talented cosmetic scientist wouldn’t be able to do half of what she does with more advanced equipment in a laboratory. Her kind of gift is beyond anything explainable by human laws, much like my visions are. In that we are kindred spirits.

“Leon was right when he said you would’ve been hung from The Weeping Tree.”

She nods, scribbling on her pad. Yes, there’s no doubt. Most witches were simply healers, early scientists. They wanted to help, to cure people.

“So you’re here to cure people? Or is it because you have history with The Masks?” I ask, remembering what Konrad had said about knowing her when they were younger. This is the first time that I’ve had the opportunity to bring it up, and instantly regret it when Thirteen lays her pen down and picks up the wooden spoon, stirring the concoction and ending the conversation there. I let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that no matter how much I ask she’ll refuse to answer questions she’s uncomfortable with.

I just don’t get it.

She’s kind, thoughtful and empathetic, offering me a tonic for the phantom pain from my burns, making sure I’m as comfortable as I can be given the situation. But at the same time she’s secretive and mysterious, refusing to give me the answers to questions that would help me deal with my situation and escape The Masks. I get the distinct impression from the constant interruptions from the Numbers over the past couple of days that she’s well liked, loved even, and I can understand why that is. What I don’t understand is why she’s here. Why she protects the privacy of The Masks by refusing to tell me their story and why, above all else, she seems okay with what happens in this castle I call a prison yet she calls home. Thirteen knows The Masks aren’t good men. I saw it in her eyes when we first met, so why does she protect them?

It doesn’t make any sense.

“How old are you, Thirteen?” I ask, trying a different tactic.

Twenty-four in December, she writes, then points to my chest. You?

“I’ll be Twenty-four next June…”

My voice trails off as my thoughts return to my family, to Grim. Ever since she found out about me she’s made sure that we’re always together on my birthday. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in her life, she’s there for me with a chocolate cake, presents and stories. She’s a good sister. The best.

Thirteen taps my arm to get my attention, then taps my temple. What are you thinking about? she seems to ask.

“My family. My sister, Kate. Most people know her as Grim. The Masks do.” Thirteen nods, then averts her gaze. “I wasn’t lying to you. She will kill them, you know. Grim will kill The Masks for taking me.”

Flicking her gaze back to me, Thirteen swallows, her grey eyes flashing with worry. She presses her lips into a hard line and frowns, then shakes her head. No.

“She will. She’ll be looking for me right now, probably gathering an army so she can come here and save me. The Masks are fools if they think she won’t come.”

Thirteen shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. No.

“Why do you insist on protecting them? Do you care about them that much?” I say.

Thirteen takes my hands, squeezing gently. She tips her head to the side, her grey eyes wary, vulnerable for the first time since we’ve met, as though she’s concerned I’m going to somehow turn my back on her for her honesty.

She nods. Yes, I do.

“I don’t understand why. They’ve hurt people, hurt me. They’ve imprisoned me. I’m Nothing to them,” I say, emphasising the word. “I’m less than nothing. How can you be okay with that? With what happens here.”

Thirteen shakes her head, then picks up the pencil and pad, finding a free page to write on. You don’t understand. It’s not that simple.

I scoff, shaking my head. “It seems simple to me. They’re monsters. Unbearably cruel.”

Thirteen’s fingers wrap around the pencil tightly, her scribbled words dark against the page in her need to get her point across quickly. No! You don’t see what you’ve been shown.

She underlines the last word over and over again and my skin prickles. What does she know? Her eyes meet mine and my stomach lurches. “What are you saying?” I ask.

You have a gift, like me, she writes.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head, refusing to acknowledge what she appears to understand. She couldn’t possibly know about that.

Yes, she insists, scribbling furiously. You are different from the other Numbers, to me, even. You’re important, but you’re fighting your true purpose. Don’t. When we fight what we are, who we belong to, there is only pain and anguish. I should know.

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, taking the opening she’s given me and diving right in. I avoid everything else. How could she possibly know about me and what I’m capable of? The truth is she couldn’t and that makes me distrust this conversation. If she can be evasive, then so can I.

I’m here because I want to be here. Because I had a purpose. I’m staying because I can’t go back to where I was.

“How could you want to be here? How can you sit back and watch the Numbers live a life of enslavement, entrapment? How can you allow any of this to happen? You could stop this. You could help us escape.”

Thirteen presses her eyes shut and pinches her nose. She’s pissed off, exasperated. Well, that makes two of us.

The Numbers want to be here.

“No!” I shout.

Yes! She scrawls furiously.

“They’ve been brainwashed!”

Thirteen shakes her head. Every single one of the Numbers wants to be here. You don’t understand everything. You don’t know everything.

“I understand that The Masks are sick, perverted bastards! I understand they inflict pain, manipulate, and imprison. Look at Twelve, for crying out loud. Look at what they’ve done to me since I’ve been here.They’ve tortured and debased. They’ve shackled me to The Weeping Tree, whipped me for speaking my mind, they’ve cut me open and jacked off covered in my blood. They’ve stolen my orgasms. They’ve punished Twelve because she broke one of their rules just to get their attention because she’s in love with the bastards. Don’t tell me that I don’t understand!”

Curling her fist, she bashes the worktop. It’s the first time I’ve seen her lose her temper, and the flash of anger in her eyes reminds me of my own tempered rage. She’s not as serene as she presents herself to be.

Did you know that all of the Numbers were sold by their family? Their own flesh and blood didn’t want them, she scribbles furiously, her hand flying over the paper.

“And clearly The Collector took advantage of that fact. Rather than setting them free, he passed them off to his sons to degrade and coerce, training their bodies and minds to accept their life here. To become sex slaves. Don’t try to tell me that what they have here is any better than a family who doesn’t care for them, because it’s not! They could have been given freedom as the alternative to a shitty home life, not more enslavement!”

Every number wishes to stay. You can ask them and they will all tell you the same thing. Not everything is as straightforward as you believe it to be. Within these walls the Numbers are safe. The Masks protect them. They give them freedom to be who they truly are. Not everyone gets that. There are more walls and chains and prisons where you come from than there are in this castle.

“Bullshit,” I grind out. “My family is beyond the boundaries of this estate. They’re good people. They love and care for me.”

Thirteen’s nostrils flare. If that were true, where are they now?

“Trying to get to me!” I shout, tears pricking my eyes as I grit my teeth and turn my back on Thirteen, striding across the room towards the window. I stare out at the vast expanse of land that stretches on for miles and miles, making me feel even more trapped, not less.

A moment or so later, I sense Thirteen behind me, but I don’t turn around to face her. I’m angry, disappointed. I thought I’d found a friend, maybe even an ally, but despite her kindness and empathy she’s on The Masks’ side. She’s bound to them in ways I don’t understand and it stops her from seeing the truth of this place and the darkness of their souls.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone,” I say heavily. “You’re no better than they are.”

She reaches for me, urging me to face her. I refuse, and so, with a gentle sigh, she places an envelope in my hand then leaves the room. I wait until I hear the door click shut behind her before opening it up.