14. April

14

APRIL

JANUARY 1, 1:15 A.M.

The Pierrot is an attack of jazz and smoke and noise. It's like stepping onstage at the ball, only so much worse, because all these people are faceless, hidden behind masks, their eyes watching us through the plastic and shimmering fabric like we're the next course in their Michelin-star meal. As we enter, the din of conversation hushes to a low murmur, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the music crackling through invisible speakers.

We're not the only women here. Milford said no girls allowed, but there are plenty of us in ball gowns and sparkling masks—now, though, I understand what he really meant. Just like Les Masques, every woman here is on the arm of a man.

Just like Les Masques, it's clear who's really in charge.

One of the men approaches Milford. In one hand, he has a glass of amber liquor, and the other is wrapped around a young woman's waist. A slow grin spreads on his face.

"Well, if it isn't Milly Wilcox!" He releases the girl and pulls Milford into a stiff hug, clapping him once on the back. "I didn't think you'd make it, you son of a gun. Your dad still working?"

The man's face is half-obscured by a deer mask, silver with sharp, menacing antlers, but I recognize him from Piper's sunroom. I scan for other familiar faces, but it's dark, and the men are all stock images of the same type: middle-aged, white, wealthy. It's not until the glint of another man's glasses makes my stomach drop that I realize I'm searching for Dad. But it's not him. There's no way he's here. When I came downstairs to leave tonight, he and Mom were tucked together on the couch watching Columbo. I told them I was going to hang out with some friends from the ball, and they were too elated—and mildly wine-drunk from dinner—to care that I was heading out at half past midnight.

"Yeah," Milford says, his shoulders tightening. "I don't think he'll make it."

"Well, good thing you brought friends." Beneath the mask, the man's hazy eyes dance between Vivian, Piper, and me. "Beautiful ones, at that."

Disgust roils through me, and I grab for my camera strap to ground me before realizing I don't have it. My gaze shifts to the woman on his arm. She's watching us with a sort of detached pleasantness, eyes blank behind her masquerade mask. As I look more closely, a chill shudders down my spine. There's no way she's this man's wife. She can't be older than twenty-two.

"Don't go too hard on him tonight, girls." The man chuckles at us. "He's a gentleman." He points at Milford. "Now, I don't see a drink in that hand. Let's fix that."

The man angles toward the bar, and the woman stumbles slightly. I want to do something, say something, but my tongue feels stuck to the roof of my mouth, my limbs frozen.

Because now, looking around, I see the pattern. Every woman here is young, I'd guess no older than twenty-five. And every single one is with a man who could be her father.

Was Margot one of them? Did she come here?

As soon as the man is out of earshot, Vivian turns to Milford and hisses through gritted teeth, "What is this? That girl could barely stand up on her own. And she's, like, our age."

"If she's here, it's 'cause she wanted to be," Milford hisses back. "Same as y'all."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Milly Wilcox?"

Milford's head whips toward the voice, which came from a red-cheeked man sprawled across a chaise to the side of the room. His mask is off, dangling around his neck. Probably because, from the looks of it, he's had enough liquor to knock out an elephant. He has a girl next to him, too, just as young as the others.

"Shit," Milford mutters. He waves, putting on a smile, before turning around to whisper to us. "Y'all stay right there."

He hurries away without giving us a chance to protest. Dread burrows deeper into my gut. Even when he was bossing us around just now, Milford didn't sound authoritative. He sounded panicked.

Piper grabs our hands and tugs us forward. "Come on."

"I don't like this," Vivian whispers. "I think we should leave."

"This might be our only chance to look around," Piper says. "We have to."

Before I can protest, she loops her arms through mine and Vivian's, putting on a bright smile.

"Come on," she says. "Let's make the rounds, shall we?"

I want to argue that someone will stop us, demand to know what we're really doing here, but Piper's already pulling us deeper into the Pierrot. She walks with perfect debutante posture, so assured that I can feel some of it rubbing off on me. And somehow, I don't panic, even as suspicious gazes slide over us. We snake between pairs of laughing men and the masked women on their arms, past waiters with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, like some hellscape version of the Johnsons' party, each of the staff members wearing the same birdlike mask as the man who was guarding the door. But no one stops us.

Once we've crossed to the other side of the large room, Piper lets go. We're in front of a set of tall shuttered doors that open out to a balcony, where two men lean on the railing, one of them lighting a cigarette.

"Let's do a loop around," Piper murmurs.

And then I catch the flame flickering under the man's chin, a silver flash in his palm.

The lighter. I don't need to see it up close to know it's the exact same one as Milford's. As Margot's.

Piper and Vivian drift in the other direction, but it's like a string is tugging me away, pulling me toward the balcony before they notice I'm not following them.

As soon as the two men see me in the doorframe, I freeze, all of the bravery draining from my body. They're both masked, their faces completely hidden. One is a raven, his mask dark and feathered, and the other, the one with the lighter, is a wolf, complete with a fanged snout.

Not a wolf, I think. A Rougarou.

"Looks like we've found ourselves a lost lamb," he says. I can't see it beneath the mask, but it's like I can hear his mouth turning up into a grin. "Now who do you belong to?"

My teeth start to chatter. I clench them.

"Chillier out here, isn't it?" The Rougarou claps the raven on the back. "Be a gentleman. Lend her your coat, huh?"

The raven doesn't move, and the Rougarou chuckles, acrid smoke billowing from beneath his mask.

"Here." He shrugs off his jacket. "You must be freezing."

He holds it out, his eyes slithering down my dress, and all I want is to take the thing and throw it over myself just so he can't see me. But I can't bring myself to touch it. I have a feeling this is the kind of man whose kindness always comes with strings attached.

Suddenly, I wish I hadn't left Piper and Vivian.

"Come on, I don't bite." The Rougarou brings the jacket closer, and I start to take it, just to silence him. As soon as I brush the fabric, he lunges forward, snapping his teeth. I flinch, and he laughs, slinging the jacket back over his shoulder. "No, don't worry. We're all gentlemen here."

There's something familiar in his voice, I think, but a little off, like he's putting on a performance. It's too hard to tell through the muffling of the mask, and too dark to find anything I recognize in the eyes behind it.

A glass shatters somewhere behind us, and I jump.

"Skittish, isn't she?" the Rougarou asks.

"Lay off," the raven mutters gruffly. He glances at me. "She's too young."

"You think?" The Rougarou tilts his head like he's assessing me. "You know, I think you might be right. You look young enough to be in school, don't you?" He laughs. "No, they don't take kindly to that. Against the rules, even here. How old are you. Sixteen? Seventeen?" He looks at his friend. "The other one was seventeen, wasn't she?"

Everything else blurs out of focus except the lighter still clutched in the Rougarou's hand and the beating of my own heart in my ears. "The other one." Those three words laced with so much meaning, twisting into memories.

The flick of Margot's lighter. The look on her face that night.

April, please.

"Margot," I force out. "Is that who you're talking about?"

The Rougarou rears back slightly, like her name has a physical force. "Well, shit."

The raven turns to me, and even with the mask, I don't miss the warning in his eyes. "You need to leave. Now."

I don't hesitate. I stumble back through the shuttered doors, my ankle rolling as I slip in my heels. The pain makes me wince, but I keep moving, back into the noise and the music, as far from the masked men as I can get. I run until I almost collide with a wall of blue chiffon.

"Where the hell did you go?" Piper snaps.

"You can't disappear like that," Vivian whispers.

"I…" My voice won't come out. Suddenly, this dress feels as tight as my debutante ball gown, threatening to collapse my lungs.

And then I see him.

"April?" Vivian's eyes search mine. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head, and Piper and Vivian turn to follow my stare.

There, on the other side of the room, is a man dressed like one of the Les Masques Jesters. His face is hidden by the hat and plastic mask, its lips painted into a permanent red grin, and he's looking straight at us, like he knows exactly who we are.

Like he's been waiting.