The Red Masquerade by BlackRonin
A party where anything goes, and no one leaves. , “We are so accustomed to disguising ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.”
-Francois de La Rochefoucauld
***
Miranda turned to say something to Richard and saw that he wasn’t there. Only then did she realize she had no idea where she was.
She was standing on a patio attached to a house she didn’t recognize. It was night, and the tide was coming in on the beach below, and the fog was coming with it. She hugged her bare arms and retreated inside, closing the French doors behind her.
The lights were off, but the room was lit by a dozen grinning jack-o-lanterns on a table. That’s right, she thought, it’s Halloween. But where am I? And where is Richard?
Miranda circled the room, looking for anything familiar, trailing her fingers over the tops of tables and along the pattern of the wallpaper, but it was no good. She could not remember how she came to be in this house.
She found the door and went into the hall. There were voices coming from somewhere nearby, and music. She followed the sounds.
She started when she passed a mirror and saw what she was wearing. She looked herself up and down, taking in the purple dress, the red and gold embroidered shawl, the white party mask, and the silver tiara she wore on top of her head. She smoothed her hands over the fabric, wondering where the costume had come from, as she didn’t remember ever seeing it before.
She looked at the tiara. Am I princess, she thought, or a queen?
“Do you like it?” said a voice behind her. In the mirror she saw a tall man dressed all in red standing at her shoulder. He wore a red cape with a hood, and a mask of a skull over his face. She turned and threw her arms around him.
“Richard!” she said. “There you are. I was looking for you and—“
She stopped. The body of the man she was hugging was cold and rigid, like a statue. She backed away. The man in red nodded slightly.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said. “I thought you were someone I knew.”
“I am,” said the man. “I am not, however, your husband.” He took her hand and brought it up as if to kiss it, though his mask prevented it. She shivered and took her hand back. It was cold.
“Is this your house?” she said.
“Yes,” said the stranger.
“Then I know this will sound strange,” said Miranda, “but could you tell me what’s going on? I really don’t remember how I got here.”
“That does not sound strange at all,” said the man. “You are here because you are my guest at tonight’s party. Which reminds me: It’s time we both got back. Shall we?”
He took her by the arm and led her down the hall. She followed, bewildered. He opened a door and the sound of voices and music poured in. They came to a great room decorated all in blue: blue walls, blue carpet, blue upholstery on the furniture, a pulsing arrangement of strange blue lights, and a blue crystal chandelier hanging over it all. The man in red closed the door behind them. The room was full of people in costumes and masks, a swirling mass of colors and voices. Miranda felt suddenly dizzy at the sight of it all and put a hand on the strange man’s arm for support, though he was unpleasant to touch
“Would you care for a drink?” said the stranger.
“No, thank you. Do you know if my husband is here? I’m afraid I don’t know what he’d be wearing, but—”
“I know exactly what he’s wearing, and I may even know where he is. Would you like for us to find him?”
Without waiting for an answer, he led her on. A troupe of faceless mummers marched past, and behind them a man in black with a wide-brimmed hat and a ghastly mask, and behind him a woman dressed as a cat, and then a soldier in full dress uniform, and then the Man in the Iron Mask, and on and on it went in a never-ending parade. Everything in the room seemed to spin and the music made her want to dance and dance and she had to stop herself from becoming lost in it.
“This is all so strange,” she said.
“But that shouldn’t bother you at all,” said the stranger. “It’s only Halloween.”
Miranda’s dress snagged on Poseidon’s trident and she had to slow down to keep from ripping it. “Are you sure Richard is here?” she asked.
“Very sure,” said the stranger. “I wouldn’t forget meeting a man like that.”
***
Richard sniffed the air and smoothed the wolf mask over his face. He counted his breaths and rolled his feet with each step to move quietly. He was hunting
There was a woman nearby. He could smell her. He could smell a great many things with the wolf mask on, thousand and thousands of distinctive, overlapping scents. Through the mask, colors looked brighter and objects appeared sharper and more distinct, and he could hear things too, so many sounds he had never even realized were there.
He’d left the main party downstairs. Miranda was out there somewhere, but he’d left her behind too, following the scent. The woman, whoever she was, had gone off alone, and Richard, curious, had followed her. The flickering faces of jack-o-lanterns were the only lights in the hallway, but it was enough for him to pick out her footprints in the dust. Such delicate little feet.
A sour smell wafted out of a doorway, distracting him. Curious, Richard looked and found a small room with a four-poster bed. A man dressed as a legionnaire, his mask torn and his costume covered in blood, lay on the bed, trying to stand but apparently lacking the strength. The comforter was soaked with blood too.
The soldier saw Richard and reached toward him. “Please help me,” he said.
Richard closed the door and walked away.
He followed the scent of the woman’s perfume down the hall. He came to a room that was all in yellow, and though it was a large room set up for the party there was no one here but the woman. She was wearing a gossamer white gown with some kind of elaborate headdress, and a white mask over her eyes.
“Are you the Big Bad Wolf?” she said. She was looking out the window. The glass was tinted red.
“I’m not that bad,” he said. “Are you lost?”
“No,” she said. “I came up here looking for something.”
“What’s that?” said Richard.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t remember. But the man in red said I’d find it here.”
Richard closed the distance between them one step at a time.
“I like your costume,” he said. “What are you supposed to be?”
“Dido, Queen of Carthage,” she said. “Isn’t it perfect? The man in red said that it suits me.”
“He was right,” said Richard. Now that he was closer he smelled what was under her perfume: fear, loneliness, regret, pride, and anger. His mouth watered.
“I think it suits me too,” she said. “But I don’t think I like it.”
“Why not?” said Richard.
She frowned, and the smell of regret became stronger. “You know what happened to Dido, don’t you?”
“No,” said Richard. He was very close now.
“Nothing good,” said the woman.
“Then it’s the part you were born for,” he said. And before she could scream, he grabbed her. He put his hand over her mouth and pushed her against the wall.
For a second he hesitated. And then he imagined that she was Miranda, and his hesitation went away.