The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige
Chapter 8
CHRISTY
Idon’t think, I run.
Hurtling through the bedroom, I push open the bathroom door and within a couple of steps I’m already on the other side of the room and barreling into the corridor beyond. My bare feet slap against the shiny wooden floorboards as I pump my arms as fast as I can, all too aware that I’m being chased.
Hunted.
A part of me knows that I’m giving them what they want, but I couldn’t allow myself to be at their mercy a moment longer. If I’d conceded to their demands, if I’d obeyed and given in, then I would’ve lost myself forever in that moment.
I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.
At least this way I go down with a fight. What had Kate always told me?
“Never let the bastards get you down, Christy, but if they do, you’d better believe you’ll get back up and show them what true strength is.”
That’s how she survived. She fell as Kate and stood up as Grim.
Right now, I don’t have any weapons or fists strong enough to fight back with, but I do have courage and the will to survive, probably a whole dose of stupidity too, but my pride won’t allow me to abide by their demands. As much as I thought I could, I can’t.
Fate can go screw her traitorous arse. I don’t care what she has planned for me. I don’t care that for the longest time I was apathetic, willing to let fate take its course, believing that there was nothing I could do to change it.
I can’t be a slave to these men. I won’t.
Reaching the end of the long hallway I pray with every single part of me that the door has been left unlocked. My hand shoots out, grabbing the handle whilst my brain registers their footsteps behind me. They’re not running, so assured of themselves in their ability to hunt.
My fingers wrap around the metal, my heart pounding in its effort to keep me alive.
“Please,” I beg.
The handle turns.
A rush of adrenaline fuels me onwards. I race into the outer hallway beyond. The wooden floorboards make way to stone floors, walls and archways. I pay no attention to my surroundings other than the innate instinct to flee from what endangers me the most. If I allow myself even the slightest hesitation, I know they’ll be on top of me in an instant.
So I keep going, pounding down stone steps, my feet practically flying across the ground as my hair whips out behind me. When I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I hit a sharp left, following the sudden cold breeze and hoping it means that there’s an exit somewhere that leads out of the castle. Right now I’ll take my chances in the forest.
I don’t look back. I keep running.
I run even though my lungs are screaming and my breath is short.
I run, feeling every inch the prey.
I run, my thoughts sprinting as fast as my legs.
I run through a huge dining hall, with a long wooden table situated along its centre and tapestries hanging on the walls. I run past an empty kitchen, the lingering smell of coffee and vanilla in the air. I run past rooms filled with antique furniture and opulent rugs. I run along corridors with paintings of men and women in various states of undress hanging from the walls. I run until time ceases to exist and I have absolutely no idea where I am.
I run until, eventually, I end up in a large square courtyard, my knees giving out and my lungs busting out of my chest as I fall at the foot of a huge oak tree that rises up out of the stone ground like some prehistoric beast.
Sweat pours from my skin as my hands slam against the ground, the thin cotton material of my dress doing nothing to protect my knees against the gravel. On all fours I hiss and wheeze, my heart and lungs battling to keep me alive. Years of dancing ballet might have made me supple, limber, but it hasn’t strengthened my heart enough to give me any real kind of stamina. I sway on my arms and legs, my hair falling forward in a shroud as stars spot my vision and blackness creeps in, threatening to pull me under.
“Get up. Run!” I hiss between every ragged intake of breath.
Pushing upwards, I stumble forward, a sudden lightheadedness making me dizzy. My hands reach out blindly towards the tree, and when my fingers meet rough bark, I press my body against it, welcoming its support. For one precious moment, I close my eyes against my reality and force myself to breathe, to rest.
“I would’ve at least stopped at the kitchen and armed myself with a knife. That’s what I did when I tried to run the first time.”
“Huh? Don’t you mean the only time, Eight?”
My eyes snap open, my anxiety spiking, and with it another bout of vertigo. “Who’s that?” I ask, still hanging onto the tree.
“I’m Four, and this is Eight. Nice to meet you…” the woman’s tinkling voice trails off as she waits for me to answer.
Shaking more than the leaves clinging to the branches of this great oak tree, I slowly turn around and come face to face with two exceedingly attractive women wearing little more than corsets, stockings and heeled pumps. One is petite, with startling grey eyes and long hay-blonde hair, the other willowy, with ebony skin and a shaved head. Both watch me with interest, not in the least bit bothered by my terror or their state of undress.
“Who are you?” I demand, baring my teeth and scanning the area behind them.
The petite blonde glances at the taller woman and raises a brow before stepping forward. She lowers her voice. Her tone might be gentle, but there’s little sincerity in her eyes. “I’m Four,” she says, pressing the flat of her palm against the dome of her breasts. “And this is my friend, Eight.”
“You’re Numbers.”
“Two of them at least,” Eight replies, a dazzling white-toothed smile making her even more beautiful, if that’s possible. “We live here.”
“You mean you’re prisoners here!” I snap, angry at their apparent calm.
“No,” Four shakes her head emphatically. “We live and work here of our own free will. Ardelby Castle is our home, and The Masks are our masters.”
“Then if this is your home, and you’re here of your own free will, why do you refer to those men,” I spit, “As your masters? Do they collar and leash you too? Do you heel like dogs like they expected me to do?”
Four flinches at my outrage, but Eight remains stoic. “We’ve all done many things for The Masks, but they only ever treat you how you want to be treated. Do you want to be treated like a dog?”
“No, of course I don’t!” I shout. “Who in their right mind wants to be treated like an animal?”
“You’d be surprised,” Eight responds, folding her slim arms across her chest, assessing me with a cool gaze.
“Well, not me. Never. I won’t wear a goddamn collar or walk on a leash, and I will never, ever heel. They’re bastards!”
“Hush now!” Four says, her eyes widening minutely. “Do not disrespect The Masks. It’s unseemly.”
“Disrespect? Have you lost your mind? Those men, those monsters kidnapped me. They’ve drugged me, chained me up in a cell, threatened my life and my dignity. They’ve stripped me of my name, your names.” I pant, my chest rising and falling as my palms press against the trunk and my fingers curl into the bark, little shards of wood sliding beneath my nails.
“We’re perfectly sane, thank you very much,” Eight retorts, planting a hand on her hip.
“It’s hard at first for everyone, but truly, you’ll come to love living here,” Four adds, her voice sounds so sincere that I want to puke from the lies. “Ardelby Castle is beautiful. We’re very lucky.”
“They’ve brainwashed you. Don’t you see?”
“No, Zero. We’ve enlightened them,” Konrad says, stepping out from behind a column of stone. This time he’s wearing a mask that covers the top half of his face. It’s white, the bottom curving over the tip of his nose and beneath his cheeks, molding perfectly to his skin. He smiles at the two women and they practically preen in his presence. It makes me sick.
“Master,” Eight and Four say simultaneously, dropping their heads and looking up at him from beneath hooded eyes. They both offer him a hand each, and he takes them, his thumb rubbing gently over the backs of their knuckles. It reminds me how someone might stroke a pet. My stomach tightens into knots.
“Thank you for being so welcoming to Zero. She’s finding it difficult to... settle in,” he explains, glancing over at me, his top lip pulling up in a slow smile. “She’ll soon learn that we have her best interests at heart.”
“Screw you,” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off of him.
Seems like he has the same trouble because he fixes his gaze on me as he lowers his mouth to Four’s hand and kisses it, repeating the action with Eight. I watch in sick fascination at the way they tremble under his gentle touch and sensual kiss, and for the briefest of moments I consider striding over to them, ripping their hands from his grasp and shaking some sense into them. The only reason I don’t is because Leon steps into the courtyard, collar and leash in hand. He too is wearing the same, snow-white, mask.
“I see you’ve met Four and Eight, Nought. You will be introduced to the others in due course. But first…” he holds up the collar, and steps towards me.
“No!” I snap, edging around the tree, my back scraping against the rough bark. I don’t register the pain, only the fear. “No,” I repeat.
“You should’ve kept running,” Leon taunts.
“I should’ve grabbed a knife from the kitchen like Eight did!” I growl back.
Leon laughs. “That was a fun couple of hours. Wasn’t it, Eight?”
Eight lifts her head and looks directly at Leon. There’s no denying the admiration, awe and lust in her gaze. “Yes, it was. I’d like to do it again some day,” she says softly.
Is she flirting with him?
“One day,” Leon responds noncommittally, flicking his gaze back to me. My teeth start to chatter, but I grit my jaw tight and edge slowly around the tree, readying myself to bolt. Leon draws his lips back over his teeth, like a shark about to bite. “Right now I have plans.”
Out of the corner of my eye I notice Konrad stepping away from Four and Eight, dropping their hands. “Be sure to tell the Numbers that we will be having a formal banquet to welcome our new friend.”
“Tonight?” Four questions.
“No, Nought has a lesson to learn before we’ll introduce her to you all,” Leon interrupts.
A look passes between the two men, and Konrad nods. “Indeed.”
“A lesson?” I croak, my stomach turning over.
“Off you go,” Konrad urges.
“Yes, Master,” they agree, before they both give him a seductive smile that leaves no room for misunderstanding. They truly have been brainwashed. Regardless, I don’t want them to leave me alone with these men.
“Don’t go!” I call, my voice cracking, betraying me.
They leave without a backward glance. My stomach drops, nausea rising.
“Now, where were we?” Leon asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to heel?”
A sudden rush of rage replaces the fear. It obliterates it, sets it alight, burns it to ashes. With my next shaky breath I dig deep, drawing on the courage that I know lives within me. Right here and now, I decide that I will not be a victim. I will not obey. I refuse to be theirs. I won’t be owned by anyone. “Never!” I snarl, pushing off from the tree with a rush of adrenaline and new found energy.
I bolt, running straight into a hard chest. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me tight, and I’m immediately accosted by the smell of wet pine leaves and freshly turned, damp earth.
Jakub.
“Nie powinieneś biegać, Nic,” he says, before snapping a pair of handcuffs around my wrist. He walks me backwards, shoves me back against the bark, then yanks my wrist into the air and reaches above my head. “You shouldn’t have run, Nothing,” he repeats in English, clipping the handcuff into a metal loop fixed into the tree trunk, his hazel eyes shadowed beneath his mask.
“No…” I whimper, trying to buck him off me, but he pins his body against mine, attaches another handcuff to my other wrist and yanks my arm upwards, clicking it into place too.
“Yes,” he counters, wrapping his fingers around my throat, stroking, not squeezing. “Perhaps now you’ll understand that we mean what we say. This isn’t a game. You belong to us.”
“Konrad said you like the chase,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Maybe that was once true. Now I don’t like much of anything,” he whispers against my lips, a note of sadness in his voice that’s too confusing to analyze at the moment.
“Let me go,” I beg, the handcuffs digging painfully into my wrists.
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t,” he replies, so close that I can feel his heart thumping against my breast and the heat from his skin seeping through the thin cotton of my dress. He breathes in deeply, running the tip of his nose against my skin, then steps back enough to pull out a white mask from the back of his jeans. This one completely covers the face and has two red teardrops falling from the section cut out from the eyes, and two holes for the nose. He holds it out to the side and Leon steps up, taking it from him
“Put it on her,” Jakub orders.
Leon nods and Jakub steps out of the way so that he can attach the mask to my face. “There, now isn’t that just fucking poetic,” Leon says, his fingers running down my neck and between my breasts before falling away, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” I ask, my voice muffled beneath the mask.
Konrad nods. “Yes.”
My chest heaves as I draw in a breath through the small nose holes and try not to panic at how claustrophobic I feel. Digging my bare feet into the roots of the oak tree protruding out of the stone slabs, I force myself to keep calm knowing that my fear is their sustenance.
“This is The Weeping Tree, Nothing,” Jakub explains. “It’s over a thousand years old and has borne witness to many atrocities, including the hanging of innocent women charged with devil worship and witchcraft. Many, many years ago a foreign nobleman fell in love with a local healer woman named Marie. They were together for ten years, had several children, and lived a happy life until she was charged with witchcraft for curing a family of influenza. In those days, barely anyone survived, but her ability to use natural remedies saved that family. Instead of being praised for her kindness, the family turned on her, afraid they would be charged with devil worship for surviving the unsurvivable. Marie was hung from this very tree.”
“That’s horrible,” I whisper.
He nods, then continues. “Her goodness killed her. It is said that upon her death, this tree wept blood. The whole village witnessed it. It was the first and last time that happened. Legend has it that this tree only ever cries tears of blood when a virtuous soul, pure of heart and mind dies beneath its boughs.”
“Yet here you are shackling me to this very tree, and for what? You’re no better than the men who hung those innocent women,” I accuse.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
“Then why tell me such a story?”
“Entertainment. Curiosity, maybe,” Jakub replies with a shrug.
“Why are you so cruel?” I ask, my teeth chattering with both fear and the feeling that I’m walking on someone’s grave.
“This is your home now, it’s only right you are aware of its history,” Konrad says, backing his brother.
“And your fate,” Leon adds darkly.
I snap my head to look at him. “What do you mean, my fate?”
He doesn’t answer, Konrad does. “Marie’s husband was so heartbroken that he bought this tree and the surrounding land in a fifty mile radius, then built this castle so he could always be close to the soul of his wife. This tree hasn’t wept blood since she died, even though the legend has been tested often over the years.”
“Other people have died here?” I ask, barely able to get my words out I’m so horrified.
“Yes, and many have come close,” Jakub confirms, a muscle feathering in his jaw.
Nausea churns in my stomach with the realisation of where this is going. “You mean for me to die here, is that it? This is your revenge on my sister. This is my fate?”
Leon steps closer, cupping my masked face. “Everyone has to die eventually.”
I snatch my head away. He laughs, and whilst the sound is cruel it’s also hollow, lacking any real kind of malintent. Just a bitterness that I don’t understand.
“You’re ours now, Nothing. That means we hold the key to your fate. See this as a warning of sorts. We will release you when we think you’ve understood the gravity of your situation. Take that time to think about how you wish to behave from this moment onwards.”
“Please, don’t do this!” I cry, all sense of self-worth flying out of the window just as a thunderclap sounds overhead and rain begins to pour in fat, heavy droplets. I’m saturated in seconds, the dress sticking to my naked body beneath, the material becoming see-through. All three men stand and stare, oblivious to the rain as it saturates the four of us.
“You disobeyed us. This is the consequence,” Jakub retorts eventually. With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, Konrad and Leon following close behind him.