But neither the décor nor the setting disturbed him. No, that dubious honor was reserved for the costuming. Every single man wore a mask like Joe’s. Every single one.
Why was Brian’s different? Why was it a fucking skull?
“I’ll facilitate some initial introductions.” Walking a foot ahead of Brian, Joe moved with determination, though his voice shook.
Mirrored faces reflected Brian’s death mask as men watched him and the manager cross the floor of the main room. This wasn’t right. All eyes were on him, and not in a good way. He was a person of interest, a curiosity, a player in a game whose rules nobody taught him. An outsider. The other.
Brian caught up to Joe. “I need to use the restroom first.” By that he meant steal a private moment to gather his thoughts and plan how the hell to proceed.
“What?” Joe paused, knocked on a door. When nobody answered, he resumed his stride.
Leaned against rose and black damask wallpaper glossed with an ivory shine, a masked man and his date halted their conversation the second Joe and Brian approached. They stared, and Brian caught a disconcerting flicker in the woman’s dark eyes. Recognition, trauma, empathy. Vestigial memories of humanity lurking behind an otherwise dead gaze.
His intuition flashed the truth in a red light. Something was wrong with the woman, with this party. Plain wrong.
“You heard me. Have to take a slash.”
Joe grunted. “It’s two doors back that way.” He bent his thumb in the direction of where they came.
Brian did an about face and hustled to the spot in question, ducking into a washroom frosted with marble and gold accents. He sat on the closed loo. If he could find a land line, he could call a ride service and leverage his celebrity to insist they venture out into these bleak parts.
The doorknob rattled, a feminine voice giggling on the other side. Shite. In his distracted state, he’d forgotten to lock.
“Occupied.” Brian hopped up from his perch, but he was too late.
A blond bird in a sheer dress leaving little to the imagination backed in to the bathroom, pulling a masked man behind her. They froze when they spotted Brian, the guy undoing his pants as the woman slid the mask to the top of her man’s head.
Time to seize an opportunity.
Brian pushed up his sleeve, revealing the high-tech watch Tilly had bought him for his fiftieth birthday the other week. His cheeky daughter had meant it as a gag gift, because surely her stogy old man couldn’t wield the latest technology. Lucky for him, his precious baby got this one wrong.
He scrolled through apps, found the one he needed, and snapped a photo of the stunned couple, flash reflecting off the bloke’s mirror mask. While the woman cursed, Brian dashed to the door, turned a lock, and stood in front.
“Is this your wife?” Brian asked the man, pointing to the blonde.
The man stammered sheepish nonsense. His date folded slim arms over a chest augmented to cartoonish proportions.
When she moved, Brian caught a glimpse of a vertical scar beneath the see-through fabric of her clothing. The mark began below the dip of her collarbone and stopped at what looked like a brand right above her bikini line. Some kind of sigil or rune, a cluster of swirls and triangles rendered in puffy, raised flesh.
He needed to escape, pronto. This place was not safe, not alright. Brian hung on to his cool. “I’m sure your wife’s divorce lawyer or private detective would love to see this photo. The settlement and alimony payments you’d have to cough up would make a whole lot of people rich and you poor. Mask, please.”
A string of expletives flew from the man’s mouth, but he handed his mask to Brian.
“Thanks.” Brian tugged off his skull mask and slid malleable plastic under his suit jacket, tucking the wad of material beneath his arm. He donned the other man’s disguise. “You lost your costume, and you never saw me. If I find out you tattled, I leak the picture. Now both of you stay in here until half-past.”
The couple nodded in unison.
Brian left the restroom in a casual stroll. Stationed at the entrance, the doorman fumbled to remove a woman’s bulky coat. Brian whisked to the cubbyhole and fished his things from a woven basket.
While the butler slid a fur off an Internet model’s shoulders, her masked escort looking on, Brian passed the trio and slapped the servant on the arm. “Great party, but I have an emergency.”
He left the house and ducked into the shadows flanking the property, calling upon a keen sense of direction earned from distance running to find his way back to the dirt trail leading to the main highway.
Walking along the side of a road, Brian removed his mask and checked his phone. Two signal bars. He powered through reluctance and fired off a text to Helen.
You’re right. We need to talk. Can you meet me in Denver in two days? I’ll cover airfare.
Nine
Denver’s skyline, jagged gray teeth stuck in a pale maw of morning sunlight, loomed on the horizon. Even the drab buildings took on a veneer of menace, like the inside of a monster’s mouth. While her taxi closed in on the city, Helen shook a restless leg. Jitters flew through her system, her sense of responsibility as heavy as lead.
She had to untangle Brian from the hex during her weekend visit. And armed with the grimoire, her crystals, and whatever new info he could offer, she would fight like a boss to get him out from underneath this curse.
During their brief phone call, Nerissa confirmed Helen’s suspicion. The old witch couldn’t diagnose the problem or offer assistance on how to solve it until she saw the stones up close and performed an energy assessment.
Meaning the name of the Denver game was get the transparent talisman into her hot little hands ASAP and ferry the crystal back to Minneapolis. Nabbing the cursed one would
