Carmilla sat up a little more. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Miranda, putting her mask back on. Carmilla began rubbing Miranda’s shoulders. Miranda shrugged.
“It’s really not so bad here,” said Carmilla.
“It’s horrible. Who are these people?”
“Folks like you and me,” said Carmilla.
“We deserve a better crowd.”
“At least we have each other.”
“Yes, but—” said Miranda, and then Carmilla kissed her. She was so surprised she almost fell over, but Carmilla twined her arms around her.
The kiss went on for some time. Miranda thought she should stop it, but by then almost a minute had already passed. Carmilla’s lips were wet and their bodies were crushed together, the other woman’s breasts pressed against hers. Carmilla’s nails dragged over Miranda’s bare arms and shoulders. Miranda’s heartbeat quickened. Though they’d left the main party, she thought she heard music still. She felt it carrying her away, like it did for a moment on the dance floor in the Blue Room. She imagined laying Carmilla down on the couch, here in their private little nook and kissing her mouth, and neck, and breasts, and then drawing her skirts up.
The mask seemed to press tighter over her face, and Carmilla’s teeth grazed her lips, and then—
“No,” she said, standing up. Carmilla broke away and stood too, turning to face the wall.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” said Miranda. She was glad Carmilla had turned around, so she couldn’t see her blushing. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You must think I’m—” said Carmilla, and Miranda put a hand on her shoulder, though she was careful not to touch the bare skin.
“I got carried away for a second too,” she said. “I don’t think it’s us. Anyway, no harm done.” She smiled and Carmilla smiled back. Continuing on, they walked in silence, picking a corridor almost at random.
“Just think:” said Carmilla. “It’s your husband we’re looking for, but I’m the one dressed as a bride.”
“It suits you,” said Miranda.
“Yes, but I ruined it,” said Carmilla. “I lost part of it earlier tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lost my fangs. See, I’m not just supposed to be a bride; I was a vampire too.”
***
The trail was still fresh, but Richard lost it in the Green Room. Too many sweating bodies too close to one another; there was no chance of following her through this. He growled.
There was a sound of bells and he caught a whiff of Miranda’s scent. Richard saw a man in a mask covered in diamonds and grabbed his arm. “I’m looking for a woman,” he said. “My wife. I think you might have spoken to her?”
“Posso aiutarti?” said the harlequin. “Non ti preoccupare!”
Richard blinked. “Are you screwing with me?”
“Succhiami il cazzo,” said the harlequin.
.
Richard saw a closet and pushed the harlequin inside; the harlequin struggled, but Richard was stronger, and no one could hear the other man shouting. He switched the light on and closed the door, then took the other man’s mask off and threw it away. The man stood there, blinking in the light, looking stunned.
“Chi? Di che cosa…um…I’m sorry, I don’t really know what’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?”
Richard put his hands around the man’s throat and squeezed. “Now, let’s try this again,” he said. “I’m looking for a woman…”
***
It seemed they had moved up another floor somehow, though Miranda did not remember any stairs. “This is the strangest house,” she said.
“Do you hear that?” said Carmilla. Miranda listened, and heard a ticking noise. They looked into an open doorway and at first Miranda thought that the room was dark, but then she realized that no, it was just black: black walls, black ceiling, black carpets, black furniture. In the center of the room was a great black wooden cabinet nearly eight feet tall, and that was the source of the ticking.
“It’s a grandfather clock,” said Miranda. “Like in the story.”
“Story?” said Carmilla.
“‘The Masque of the Red Death.’ This whole party is set up like it, with the colored rooms and everything. That ticking is odd, though…”
“It’s not that odd for a clock to tick.”
“But listen to it. It’s like the music downstairs. It kind of gets in your head and…let’s keep going.”
They skirted past the Black Room. Across the hall was another open doorway.
“Looks like the White Room” said Miranda. “It’s empty though. Do you think we should cut through here?”
“Wait!” said Carmilla, but Miranda stepped in and for a moment she was dazzled by what might have been a burst of light or might have just been the white interior of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
When the spots faded from her eyes she saw that the room was now filled with people. Or perhaps they weren’t people? They were gauzy and unreal, like a film projection on a wall, a crowd of ghostly white dancers almost invisible against the white-paneled walls. Their trailing hands brushed her clothes as they swept past.
There was music, and before she knew it she was swaying in time with it.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” said the Red Death. He put his hand through one of the ghostly figures, scattering it and then watching it melt back together and dance away. “They’re for you.”
He stood next to her, and the ghostly men and women danced in a circle around them, and now Miranda was dancing too. The ghost dancers passed her from one partner to another, and she fell into step with them each in turn. She thought, for a moment, that perhaps something was terribly wrong here, but the light and the music and the touch of intangible hands on hers drowned those thoughts out.
“I really do love Halloween,” said the Red Death. “It’s a night when you feel like you can be anything. Maybe even the person you’ve always wanted to be?”
Miranda put her hands out and felt the touch of the ghostly people. It was cold, but comforting, like silk sheets or gentle rain.
“And what have you always wanted to be, Miranda?” said the Red Death. “A wife? A career woman? Or do you want more? For that matter, don’t you deserve more?”
They were pulling her along now, a dozen spectral hands plucking at her gown and taking her to a sedan chair with lace curtains. They pulled her inside and laid her down, all white lace and white silk. She nodded her head from side to side and sighed, as if dreaming.
“That’s why I made you a queen tonight,” said the Red Death. “I made you a queen, and now I’ve brought your servants. They’ll do anything you want, and give you all of the things that you deserve.”
Miranda felt pleasantly drunk. She lolled on the silk cushions, enjoying the feel of the fabric on her bare skin. Ghostly hands touched her dress, pulling it down and off, allowing her to feel more. She rolled over, letting the fabric tickle her naked breasts.
The hands moved over her, caressing her hips, thighs, legs, and ankles. The tip of a finger glided along the smooth roundness of her backside and up the length of her spine. She felt content. A pair of cold lips kissed hers, and she kissed back. She heard a woman’s voice giggle and was kissed again.
Gentle hands massaged her naked breasts, fingertips tweaking her nipples as they swelled and hardened. She gasped and felt herself flush. Someone (or something?) cupped the underside of her breasts and kissed them, cold lips tingling her hot skin. An invisible mouth began to suck, the wet flickering of a tongue sending chills up and down her as it teased her sensitive flesh.