Chapter Seven: The Masquerade Ball
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the people at the Masquerade Ball are mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews Psycho Llama, Blu Embyr, and DarkCloudRider! I love my fans! Cookies and Abe chibies for everyone! And thank you for waiting for this chapter, between spring cleaning and midterm exams at school, I've been extremely busy! Once again, I am open to your ideas, and you had better get them in because chapter eight will be the last one before an enormous time jump in the story of say, a year and a half. Anyway, guess what happens in this chapter? What else? A Masquerade Ball! Also, Kroenen gets very, very jealous. (Please note: in here, Kroenen still has 'normal' hands, and not a mechanical hand.) Everyone review, pretty please!
Blue Embyr: I'm glad you've caught on that Kroenen 'likes' Erica, I wasn't sure if it was obviously enough. And I promise to update much sooner next time!
Psycho Llama: I did try really hard to make the dancer scene really good. And as for the party, I'm not so sure you'd want to go to it even if you were invited. But, for your sake along with the rest of my reviewers, and I guess, for the people who haven't reviewed, you're all invited! (I'm not so sure that's a good thing, as you'll soon find out.) And as for Rasputin, let's just say he's not finished with Erica yet!
Erica was lying on her bed in her room with her eyes closed. She had just awoken, but couldn't force herself to open her eyes. If she opened them, she might see something that would mean meeting Rasputin hadn't been a dream, and she didn't think she could handle that. It was just a dream, she told herself, not opening her eyes, Just a dream. Like all the others. It just seemed real. I have nothing to be afraid of. It was just a dream…
But she knew that it wasn't a dream. And she knew someone was on their way to her room. Call it a premonition. She simply knew. And she had a good idea of why they were coming.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door.
"Erica, are you awake?" said Ilsa, calling through the door.
Erica opened her eyes and sat up on her bed. To her dismay—though she had expected it — she discovered she was still wearing the long white dress from yesterday. Seeing this, her hands instinctively went up to her neck. Her cross necklace was gone! It was the first time in a long while that she hadn't worn it, so long in fact, that she felt naked with out her necklace, exposed to everything around her. I probably am, she thought, remembering her encounter with Grigory, and the voice that had spoken to her.
"Yes, I'm awake." Erica answered.
Ilsa opened the door and came in, wearing her usual black military uniform.
"Follow me," Ilsa said.
Erica slid off the edge of her bed and stood, and then mechanically followed Ilsa through the mansion's labyrinth of hallways. Her stomach grumbled hungrily, but that made sense. Since my encounter with Rasputin looks like it actually happened, and this is morning, that means I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. Which means that it wasn't a dream, she thought, half sadly, half excitedly. Inwardly she frowned at that excitement. Or, at least, a part of her frowned. The excitement didn't belong to her, it just couldn't! What reason did she have to be excited or happy about what had happened yesterday? What reason do you have to be sad about it? the excited half of her seemed to ask. It was like she was two different people in one body, and they were battling for control.
She remembered when she had first seen Grigory, when she had been coming down the staircase. For being Kroenen's leader, Grigory certainly hadn't looked the way she had expected him to look. She had expected him to be a lot scarier in appearance, though there had been something very odd and disturbing about his eyes, they were wild and dark and full of secrets. But at the same time they looked so alive, there was something about them that was dead and infinitely cold and evil.
She noticed that she and Ilsa were standing in front of the door with the wrought iron handle, the cobra rearing to strike. Ilsa picked up the candlestick sitting on the table beside the door. The candle was already lit.
"This way," Ilsa said, as she opened the door.
"Where are we going?" Erica ventured to ask, as they started down the stairs. The door swung shut behind them.
"You know where we're going." Ilsa replied, not turning around.
Erica shuddered in the dark, because she discovered that she suddenly did know where they were going, as if something were whispering it in her mind. You're going to see him, you're going to see Master, the voice murmured. Erica trembled at the word 'Master'. And it was more than the fact that she was afraid of him. She had a feeling that when she had said — no, whimpered — the word "Master," that she had done something irreparable. The words had felt like they were dragging her soul out with them. For some reason, she was reminded sharply of the black book that had the names of the Devil's servants in it. She shook it off. I'm not his! I don't belong to anyone! she told herself fiercely. But those words seemed so…shallow and superficial, as if a part of her recognized that they weren't true, that she no longer belonged solely to herself. That she had— I haven't lost my soul yet, she thought, At least, I don't think so. After all, it's not like I said it voluntarily.
Oh, but a part of you did, said a darker voice in her head, A part of you wanted to say it, not matter how small it was. It just needed… help overcoming the rest of you.
I didn't want to say it! I fought it as long as I could!
You were fighting your own desire to break down and say it, the voice said, But it doesn't matter now, it only matters that you said it.
No! I— This is ridiculous! I'm arguing with myself!
Erica and Ilsa approached a pair of tall doors at the end of the long stone passage lined with lit torches in iron brackets. The doors themselves were tall, and made of dark wood and iron. As Ilsa continued leading the way at the same pace, still carrying the candle, Erica found herself slowing down. But she couldn't stop, as much as she wanted to. Something that lay beyond those doors was pulling her forward.
I'm so afraid, one half of her thought, trembling. The other half spoke, Coward, it said.
Two people cannot occupy the same place at the same time, Erica thought, One ultimately has to win. Like in a war, one side must win. And until then, no one can say for sure who the victor is.
The doors opened as they reached them, and Ilsa left the candle in a small alcove in the wall as she walked through. Erica's feet pulled her onward into the hall, and they shut after her. It was only when the doors had shut that the pulling feeling left.
BANG!
Erica jumped and spun around, looking back at the doors. This side of the doors had huge, black gears on it, and each one spun rapidly, slamming enormous iron bolts into their brackets, locking them in the hall. Erica slowly turned back to face the hall. Like the one she had danced in, this one had a high ceiling. But in this hall, the floor, walls, and ceiling were made of black, glassy stone. However, the chandelier hanging overhead and the thick columns along the walls were made of wrought iron. And inset into the walls were panels of glass, like windows, through which she could see iron gears and levers moving unceasingly. They were lit from behind by a fiery light that threw shifting shadows through the rotating gears and into the dark hall. They provided a dim, red-orange light that supplemented the few black, lit candles on the iron chandelier. And below the chandelier, placed in the center of the hall, was a rectangular block of black stone draped in black velvet.
Beside the block of stone were two figures, on the left was Kroenen in his usual black uniform and trench coat, standing with his hands behind his back. On the right was Grigory, wearing a black robe embroidered in silver.
There was nowhere else to go but forward.
Erica walked forward slowly, feeling like a beacon in her white dress among all the black. She stopped several meters from the black stone block, eyeing Grigory warily. Ilsa walked over to him and stood beside him, a small smile on her face. Erica almost thought she saw him smile back at Ilsa, before he turned once more to face her. For a moment they stood in silence, the only noise coming from the turning gears on the other side of the glass. They were on one side, she on the other, a no man's land in between them. Erica stood tall, though she was trembling with fear, trying to show she wasn't afraid.
"Don't be afraid of me, little one," Grigory said, "I won't harm you, unless you give me reason to."
"What do you want?" she asked calmly, her words echoing in the hall. The words felt like she was reciting a script, like this was how things were meant to happen.
"The real question is: What do you want?" he smoothly replied, "I could always force you to reveal your visions to us. Or you could assist us willingly."
"It wasn't enough that I swore to help you, was it?" she asked, in a level voice, understanding beginning to dawn on her, "It wasn't enough that I knelt at your feet and called you Master, and begged you for mercy. It wasn't enough." She heard her words tumble out. Enough for what? she wondered. Then, "Forgive me for being cautious, but I will never agree or disagree until I know what you say is true. I know that you can force me to do what you want, but even I can't control my visions."
"I can control them through you, if you force me to."
"Prove it," she said, speaking in a level voice. She wasn't challenging him, she simply wanted to know if it was true.
Grigory walked over to her, closing the gap and coming very close, so close that even with how tall she was, she was forced to look up into his dark, wild eyes. As soon as their eyes met, everything around them began to melt away. But his eyes burned into hers like acid, and his gaze, his power, was scorching and searing her inside and out. It was like being plunged into a pool of boiling water and like breathing fire into her lungs all at once. And like last time, Erica couldn't scream, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how severe the pain was. She couldn't even move, and was forced to meet his terrible, blazing eyes. Just when she thought she couldn't endure anymore, they were standing among the rubble of the burning city.
Grigory gazed around at the ashy ruins and then turned his eyes skyward. Seeing the tentacles snaking through the hellish clouds, he smiled. His smile was a frightening thing to see. Through all of this, she was unable to leave the spot where she was standing, but she stood there and gasped for air, reassuring herself that she was breathing air and not fire. Even this nightmarish place was better than drowning in boiling water.
"Acire, look at me." Grigory commanded.
Erica flinched when he used her true name, but she had to look at his eyes, no matter how much she didn't want to. As their eyes met, everything melted, and she was plunged back into the agony of drowning in flaming, boiling water. Except this time, this time it was dark, and she couldn't see Rasputin anymore. And it was cold. How it could be cold when you were surrounded by fire she didn't know, she just knew that it was freezing cold— and blazing hot, and—
She was kneeling on the obsidian floor of the hall at Grigory's feet, her white dress pooled around her.
"And you know I am capable of much more," he said, gently resting his hand on her head.
"I believe you," she whispered softly, looking down at the floor. All her defenses were gone.
"Though I could force you to assist us, you have no idea how much I would prefer that you do it willingly." he said, looking down at her.
Somehow, she— or something inside her— forced her to her feet.
"What do I get if I help you willingly?" she asked, hardly believing she was asking that.
"Training to control your visions. A top position in the Occult. Power, respect from others, and secret knowledge of the Dark Arts that you enjoy studying so much."
"And if I don't?"
"I think you can guess the consequences." Grigory said, with a cold smile.
What a predicament, Erica thought, No matter what I choose, they'll see my visions. And I can either benefit or suffer at my own choosing. The answer would seem obvious, but it's not. There's more to this than that, that much I'm sure. To say yes would be siding with evil, to say no— She looked at Grigory. She couldn't tell what answer he was expecting from her. It was like watching a performance where actors played their parts to the end. Life is a stage, and we are all just poor players, she thought, remembering something from her English class. Strange that Shakespeare would pop into my head when I'm standing at such an important deciding point. It was like balancing on a thread that was fraying and threatening to break, a decision that would impact her irreparably had to be made.She noticed Kroenen and Ilsa were still standing on opposite ends of the stone block, watching her intently. Seeing them, other thoughts came into her head, spoken by her other side. You're only seeing one side of the issue. Say no, and you're not only going to suffer, but you'll be betraying your friends.
Real friends wouldn't ask this of me, she thought. But she felt uncertain. Ilsa and Kroenen had been, over all, friendly to her. And didn't real friends always do what was best for each other? Were they just trying to help her?
Appearances are deceiving, she thought. The other side replied, You're deceiving yourself that they are your enemies. They're all you have left.
Real friends wouldn't have brought me here in the first place, she thought, losing confidence in herself, Real friends wouldn't—
Stop denying yourself! You know that more than anything else in the world that you want to be able to control your visions. You can either do it yourself, or he will do it for you. You know you want to learn about the Dark Arts, about magic, you've never read anything else! It's a part of you! You cannot deny yourself, cannot deny what you are or what is in your heart.
No, she agreed, I can't. I can't deny myself.
She was hovering on the deciding line, the universe and time stood still as she hovered on the brink.
This is your last chance to turn back! A voice said. Erica recognized it as the one that had asked where her necklace was.
I can't deny what I am, she thought, And good and evil are all relative to your perception. I've actually found people that can help me. This is where I belong, with people like me. And what they're offering me seems like a fair trade.
A fair trade! Nothing is worth your soul. And you think they're like you? If only you knew, the voice said, fading, But if you believe you are like them, then you are truly lost, poor child.
I'm not selling my soul, she thought back angrily.
Then tell me what you're trading in return.
Erica ignored the voice. It was no more than a whisper anyway. It had probably been a figment of her imagination. But still, she had a nagging feeling that this was a bad idea… She looked back at Grigory and nodded once, very slowly.
"You agree to help us?" Grigory asked.
"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Of your own free will?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then we shall seal our agreement."
He stepped back, gesturing with his hand towards the stone block draped in velvet. She approached it slowly. Now that she was standing so close to it, she could see that lying in the center of the velvet, was a knife with a black handle. The sharp edges of the silver blade glinted in the dim light.
What am I supposed to do? she wondered.
Ilsa and Kroenen came towards her and stood on either side of her. Ilsa picked up the knife in her hand and moved slightly so that the three of them were standing in the shape of a triangle. Then, slowly, deliberately, she drew its point across the palm of her left hand, and then across the back of her wrist, making two small, thin cuts. She handed the knife to Kroenen. He removed the glove from his left hand, and when he did, Erica nearly gasped aloud. His hand was covered in scars, some tiny, some long. Calmly, he repeated what Ilsa had done, the knife leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. He handed the knife to her. She grasped the hilt, and being careful not to cut herself too deeply, made two quick slashes, one across her left palm, the other on the back of her left wrist. Erica looked at Ilsa, who placed her bleeding hand palm down on Kroenen's cut wrist. He reached out and did the same thing to the cut on Erica's wrist. Instinctively, Erica grasped Ilsa's wrist, still holding the bloody knife in her right hand. The moment she touched Ilsa, everything that she knew and thought shattered and rearranged, merging into a new reality. She was still Erica, but she was different somehow.
"And then there were three," she heard Grigory say.
She looked at Kroenen and Ilsa in a dazed way, still trying to adjust to herself.
Kroenen considered her. There was something more obviously dark about her now, something different. He had always seen the hint of a shadow in her eyes, which had become more obvious as the days went by. But now, if the light hit her eyes just right, her pupils were pitch black with darkness, a darkness that had no reflection.
Welcome, Erica, he thought, And we've been waiting for you so long.
XXXXX
A day later, in the evening:
Finally, the night of the Masquerade ball had arrived!
Erica had finished recovering from the events in the black hall the day before, and now she was getting ready to go to the Masquerade Ball. Three hours ago, Ilsa had given Erica a costume, telling Erica that she was to go as Fire. Erica examined her reflection in the mirror. She wore a long, flowing dress that was made of several layers of flame colored gauze and silk. Instead of having sleeves, the dress had a very thin red strap that went over each of her shoulders, reminding her of the dresses she had worn to school dances. Because the dress left her shoulders and arms bare, Ilsa had given her gauzy scarf to tie over the crescent scar on her left arm. Erica also had a mask, decorated with cloth, feathers, and sequins so it looked like fire. Ilsa was going as a dragon and wore a dark crimson dress, a small pair of black bat wings on her back, and a black, horned dragon mask. Kroenen, very fittingly, had chosen to go as Death. He wore black clothes, a flowing black cloak with a hood, and a skeleton mask (over his everyday one). He also carried a long black staff topped with a silver snake head. He had to make a good impression, after all, he was the head of the Thule Occult Society, and many of the Society's members would be in attendance that evening.
As she stood in the entrance hall with Ilsa, preparing to leave, Kroenen approached her. "Wear this," he said, as he handed her a necklace. The necklace had a blood red, tear-drop stone on it that hung from a black leather cord. "It will let us know if you're in danger." he explained.
"And, in the highly unlikely event that either of us are unable to reach you, I want you to take this." said Ilsa, handing Erica a small, thin dagger. Its sheath had two leather straps on it, one at either end. "Fasten it around your ankle. No one will see it because of your skirts."
Erica sat on the stairs and strapped the sheath to her ankle. I wonder what kind of party we're going to, if they're concerned about my safety, she thought.
"There are some rules you need to know before we leave. Breaking them could endanger your life." Ilsa said, being very serious, "No one at the party should recognize you unless we introduce you to them. And if someone does know your name and you don't remember being introduced to them, you should instantly be on guard. Don't draw attention to yourself if you can help it, not everyone there will be friendly. Stay alert. Don't eat anything that no one else is eating, and don't eat, or especially drink, anything that you don't get for yourself, it might be poisoned."
"Poisoned!" Erica exclaimed.
"Yes, poisoned," said Kroenen, "Though everyone present will be affiliated with the Occult or the Nazis, it is certainly not beyond any of them to remove a perceived threat to themselves, or to strategically murder people in order to gain power."
"So what do I do if someone asks my name?" Erica said.
"Tell them to call you Fire," said Ilsa, "And whatever you do, don't take your mask or your scarf off until midnight. That's when everyone will unmask, and you may show everyone who you really are."
"Okay. So, basically, don't trust people I don't know, watch out for poison, don't take my mask off or reveal my name until midnight. Got it."
XXXXX
Thirty minutes later, they were driving up the driveway of another mansion. As the chauffer drove towards the entrance, Ilsa gave Erica some last minute instructions.
"If anyone bothers you, just tell them you're a friend of mine. They'll most likely leave you alone."
"Most likely?"
"On the other hand they might beg for you to speak to me on their behalf, or, alternately, they might try to kill you. Kroenen and I are in very high positions of power, if you hadn't noticed."
"And be careful," Kroenen said, "Here the Night is not blind, there are unseen eyes everywhere."
Erica nodded and pulled down her mask.
"Stick close for a while," Ilsa advised. Erica nodded and followed her inside.
As they entered the mansion, it quickly became clear to her that the people attending the Masquerade Ball were dangerous. With the majority of them, beneath their proper, aristocratic façade, lay an obsession with the Occult. Just like me, she thought. She shook that off, there were more important things to be thinking about. For instance, from overhearing snatches of conversations, she had learned that the people attending the party were made up of three groups. One was German aristocrats who were part of the Occult, and the second was made up of important political or military figures, involved in some way with the Occult. The third group, much smaller than the others, included people who had been invited to or were interested in joining the Occult.
And everyone seemed to know about her. The news that she was attending the party had certainly traveled fast! All around her, people were talking about her, and little else. It was making her extremely self conscious, and she was glad that no one could see her face because of her mask. I wonder if that's why Kroenen wears one? she thought.
She was sharply called out of her thoughts when she realized that she had lost both Ilsa and Kroenen in the crowd. She wandered around the edges of the ballroom, searching among the dancing pairs and the groups of chatting people, trying to find them. Noticing that both of them were nowhere to be found, she began to suspect that they had disappeared on purpose to see how she would do on her own. Well, fine, she thought, I'm more than capable of dealing with this. I was involved with acting at school, after all.
"Hello," said a voice, interrupting her thoughts, "I don't recognize you."
She turned around to face a young man who couldn't be much older than her, probably about 17 years old. He was tall and slender, and had blue eyes and shoulder length blond hair. By this point, Erica suspected that she was one of the few in attendance who didn't conform to the Arian ideal. He wore a very elegant pirate captain costume.
"How would you recognize me, even if you knew me?" she asked, "I'm wearing a mask."
He grinned at her response. "Judging by your answer, it seems that we haven't met before. Perhaps you should remove your mask, mysterious lady," he said, "Then we may talk face to face."
"But our faces are masks as well," she said, remembering she wasn't supposed to take her mask off, "With a different mask for every occasion. So it doesn't matter whether we present the mask of our face to the world, or if we wear a false one over it."
Hey, I'm good at this! she thought, But where on Earth are Ilsa and Kroenen?
"Very poetic," he said, still smiling, "And very clever. I am Leonard Gilbert. Will you tell me your name, mysterious one?"
"No," she said simply, remembering Ilsa's warning.
Her secretive behavior only increased Leonard's curiosity. "If you will not do me the honor of revealing your name, perhaps you would like to meet my friends?" he asked.
Before she could answer, he had taken her hand and led her over to a cluster people roughly around her age. They turned to face Erica and Leonard, moving aside to let them into the group.
"Leonard, where have you been?" asked a girl dressed like a cat.
"And who is your friend?" asked a boy who wore a snake costume.
"She is a mystery," he answered, laughing, "A very clever mystery. And she refuses to say who she is."
"Refuses to say who she is?" said one very snooty young lady, "How rude. She's too tall. And she has strange eyes."
"As strange as my eyes may be, I'm not being half as rude as you are." Erica retorted, looking down at the shorter girl.
The others in the group laughed. "A mystery and good at comebacks!" exclaimed one young man.
"One must not forget that mysteries can be dangerous, as well as entertaining," said a cold voice.
Erica turned to face s German man with short dark hair that she had noticed staring at her when she first arrived. There was something about him Erica instinctively didn't like, he was obviously in the military, and his ice blue eyes looked on her with nothing but the strongest of suspicion. His eyes briefly glanced at the rest of the young people around her, and, identifying her as being the only one he didn't know, his cold eyes shot back to Leonard who was still standing next to Erica.
"Leonard," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes, "You should know better than to associate with people you don't know. Especially ones that can't speak German."
At his last comment, the man turned his eyes on Erica again, speaking each word loudly and clearly, so everyone nearby could hear.
"Father," Leonard said, "I'm just trying to enjoy myself. And I'm sure she's not dangerous—"
"Everyone here is dangerous. And appearances can be deceiving," Ahren Gilbert shot a look at Erica's mask as he spoke, "But in this case they may actually have truth in them. Remember, Leonard, play with fire and you'll get burned."
He put a heavy emphasis on the word fire, gesturing at Erica's costume.
"Leonard has nothing to worry about from me," Erica said, "But if you play with fire, I can assure you that you'll be burned."
Ahren Gilbert stiffened at her words. "Just who are you, young lady?" he demanded, his voice deadly calm. Only silence answered his question.
"Really, you must tell us who you are," said Leonard, turning to Erica. It was obvious from his expression that he wanted her to say who she was so that his father would leave.
She hesitated and then spoke. "A friend of Ilsa Haupstein."
There was a collective intake of breath from the young people around her, and all of them looked at her in astonishment. Leonard let go of her hand and looked at her in surprise.
"Are you really?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he was afraid or not.
"I don't believe you," Leonard's father interrupted, staring at her with even more suspicion, "Tell me your name and show me your face and I might believe you."
"No," she said coldly.
He narrowed his eyes, stalking closer to her so they were face to face. She held her ground. He stopped less then a foot from her. Suddenly, an expression of surprise appeared on his face.
"Why isn't there a reflection in your eyes?" he said, but his voice was quieter, almost as if he were talking to himself. "I must be seeing things," he muttered, and then raised his voice. "Who are you, that you refuse to reveal who you are? Are you a spy? Or are you telling the truth? No matter, we'll see very soon."
He reached toward her mask to take it off. Erica stepped back, resisting a strong temptation to hurt him. He was making her very angry.
"How dare you try to touch me!" she hissed at him.
He didn't take the hint and reached out, grasping her arm so she couldn't escape. His other hand reached for her mask. Just as he was about to rip the mask away, and Erica was about to reach for her dagger, they were interrupted.
"If you desire to live, you will release her now."
Leonard's father looked up at the person that had interrupted, but he didn't let go of Erica. The stranger's black gloved hand grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing Ahren to let go of her. Only then could Erica see who had interrupted. It was Kroenen.
Kroenen held onto Ahren's wrist tightly, and twisted his wrist again. Erica could almost swear she heard the bones cracking.
"Touch her again, or try to harm her, and you shall meet a fate far worse than death." Kroenen hissed.
Kroenen towered over Ahren, who was obviously in pain and afraid. He had good reason to be, he had just succeeded in aggravating the Thule Society's leader. Ahren had heard rumors of what happened to people who irritated the Top Assassin, the most recent being Schenck's grisly death. Ahren would never have acted the way he had to the young lady if he had known she was a friend of Karl Kroenen. Which meant the young lady knew Ilsa as well, another powerful and influential person. Ahren's thoughts were interrupted by Kroenen twisting his wrist even further.
"I suggest you apologize to my friend. Now." Kroenen hissed menacingly. With each word he spoke, he turned the man's wrist even further.
"Forgive my unseemly conduct, lady," Ahren said, wincing and grimacing in pain, "I forgot myself."
"Make sure it doesn't happen again." Kroenen snarled.
As he spoke, Kroenen bent Ahren's wrist so far backwards that the unfortunate man whimpered in pain. Satisfied that the man had learned his lesson, Kroenen released him. Ahren backed away, rubbing his sore wrist. Dark bruises were already appearing on his pale skin. Leonard and his friends watched in silence as Ahren then turned and left hastily, looking pale and very shaken. Ahren knew that he was very lucky he hadn't been killed — or worse. Yes, in comparison, he had gotten off lightly for an offense as high as tormenting one of Kroenen's friends. And that mercy would cost the young lady her life. Ahren couldn't afford to have that girl as another enemy among the highest members of the Thule Society, and he had a strong suspicion that the girl had been this 'Erica' everyone was talking about. He quickly disappeared among the crowd of masqueraders, he had plans to set in motion.
"Thank you," Erica whispered, looking up at Kroenen's masked face.
Kroenen nodded once in response, and vanished into the crowd as well. But she had the distinct feeling that he hadn't gone far.
"A mystery indeed!" said Leonard a bit too cheerfully, trying to dispel the fear and anxiety left by the confrontation.
"A friend of Karl Kroenen! Imagine that!" said the Cat, shuddering.
"Who would've guessed?" said the Snake, "You must be a very dark mystery to know both Kroenen and Ilsa."
"Believe me, you have no idea." Erica said, smiling for some reason she couldn't quiet fathom. In a way, she was enjoying the fear and respect she was getting.
"So if you will not tell us your name, what shall we call you?"
"At midnight I will unmask with everyone else. Then you will know who I am. For now you may call me Fire."
"I suppose it's unnecessary to ask who you're with," said a Peacock.
"With?" she asked.
"Yes, the Thule Society or the Nazis?" the Peacock-girl elaborated.
"The Society." she said.
"See? I told you it was unnecessary to ask her. Since she's Kroenen's friend, it's obvious."
"Obvious?" Erica said, "Oh, I don't think anything about me is obvious…"
Intrigue and rumors flew thick and fast as the night wore on, political and strategic alliances being forged in corners where people whispered, or in groups where people engaged in small talk, testing the waters for potential enemies and allies. Every now and again, Erica spotted Ilsa among those groups, and she had a feeling she knew what Ilsa was doing. But just as soon as she would spot Ilsa, or perhaps Kroenen with people cowering away from him, dancers would whirl in front of her, and Ilsa and Kroenen would be gone. But that was alright, she was actually having fun, between talking to Leonard and dancing with him and some of his friends. As one song ended, and the small orchestra began another, Leonard turned to her.
"May I have this dance, Fire?" he asked, a smile on his face.
"Yes, you certainly may." she answered.
And they danced gracefully across the floor among the other dancers, and some of the other masqueraders turned to watch as the elegant Pirate Captain and graceful Fire danced. They weren't the only ones watching. Kroenen regarded the two from the shadows near the doors that led into the garden, feeling cheated. He glared at Leonard. In fact, he discovered he wasn't simply feeling cheated— he was jealous. Pull yourself together man! You're jealous of a seventeen year old! Ah well, it's not like he'll be in my way long. After all, it seems his father is planning to poison Erica, he thought. He looked over to a shadowy corner where Ahren Gilbert was bribing a servant carrying a tray of two wine glasses. Ahren then emptied a small vial of liquid into one of the glasses. Ahren then gestured at the now poisoned wine glass and then over to where Erica was dancing with Leonard. Foolish man, you're going to pay for your actions. A pity that Leonard doesn't seem to know, then I'd have an excuse to get rid of him, Kroenen thought. Then, as he noticed Ahren's wife holding the small vial and smiling, a delicious thought occurred to him. He smiled cruelly. The whole Gilbert family seems to be in on this. It seems that Leonard's life will shortly be over. And Kroenen slipped through the crowd, following the servant Ahren had bribed, a few gold coins held in his hand.
The song ended, and Erica and Leonard wandered back over to the edge of the ballroom where his friends were waiting. Just as they got there, a servant appeared, carrying a tray of two wine glasses. "Are you thirsty?" the servant asked, indicating the wine glasses.
"Yes, very." said Erica.
Smiling, the servant handed her one of the wine glasses. To her dismay, it was filled with wine. Oh yeah, like that's a surprise. What exactly were you expecting to be in a wine glass? She thought. She looked over to Leonard's friends who, like the adults, were drinking from the wine glasses, regardless of their age.
"Do you have water?" she asked the servant, "I don't drink alcohol, I'm too young."
Leonard, not to mention the servant, looked at her quizzically. "No, I'm sorry Miss." the servant said, handing the other wineglass to Leonard, who immediately took a drink, nearly draining the glass.
"Well, alright then," Erica said, looking at the wine doubtfully.
Just then the small orchestra stopped playing, and everyone looked to the front of the ballroom where the host and hostess were standing, as if about to make an announcement. "In a few moments, at the stroke of midnight, we will all unmask, and reveal who we are!" the host announced, smiling.
As one, all the eyes in the room turned to an ornate clock hanging on the wall. There was a tense silence as everyone waited for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the clock to strike twelve.
BONG!
The clock had barely struck midnight when Leonard removed his mask with a flourish, followed by his friends as the first stroke of midnight rang in the air like a signal for a spell. They turned expectant eyes to Erica, eager to see who Fire really was. Erica, feeling excited, reached up and took off her mask, and then threw off the concealing scarf tied around her arm. The clock struck for the second time.
Leonard and his friends stared in shock, their eyes riveted on the crescent scar on her left arm. They were so startled, their minds so numb, that they were frozen, unmoving, in place. The clock struck for the third time.
"Erica!" someone in the crowd whispered, breaking the stunned silence. The speaker sounded both fearful and awed at the same time.
Her name spread like the wildfire she was disguised as, catching on individuals and spreading out across the ballroom, her name leaping from mouth to mouth like sparks blown by the wind. Gradually, all eyes in the hall turned in her direction, as people jostled each other and stood on tiptoe to see the object of all the rumors. Erica felt all those people staring at her, saw so many faces turned to her, heard so many voices murmuring, and yet, she wasn't afraid or embarrassed. Instead, she smiled boldly and stood tall, enjoying the attention and the commotion she was causing. Unnoticed by the gossiping masqueraders, the clock struck, its tone booming out for the fourth and fifth time.
"It's her!"
"The rumors were true!"
"Fire is Erica—"
"See her scar? It's her—"
Erica smiled and laughed, unable to contain it. Something was welling up from deep inside her with her laughter, anxious to break free. That something was both her, and not her. It belonged to her, but not to the person she had used to think she was. It belonged to the new Erica.
Around her, Leonard and his friends recovered from their shock and awe, as if her laughter had broken a spell. For the second time that evening, nervous laughter and conversation broke out around her. Elbows nudged ribs and people chuckled as jokes and small talk began again, though rumors and whispers still lingered. They not only lingered, but flew thick and fast about the ballroom, and people shot furtive glances in her direction as they slipped through the masqueraders, trying to get closer.
"What a joke you played on us!" exclaimed the Cat.
"I can't believe we didn't guess who you were!" said Leonard, "With all the clues, I'm surprised we didn't figure it out as soon as we knew you knew Karl Kroenen and Ilsa Haupstien."
"Not all the rumors were true, though," said the snooty girl, taking in Erica's appearance, "They said you had blue eyes. And they said nothing about you being so ridiculously tall."
"You can't believe everything you hear," Erica said, smiling.
"Leonard, I bet your father nearly died of shock when he found out who she really was!"
"Yes, it's a pity we weren't there to see the expression on his face." laughed Leonard.
Caught up in the moment, Erica forgot about the danger, and feeling very thirsty, she absentmindedly took a drink from the wine glass. Ignored by all, the golden clock struck again and again, ringing for the seventh time. As if on cue, in the midst of her happiness, Erica's grin froze on her face and faded. Her stomach felt so strange, like the bottom had dropped out of it, the way you feel when you find out something terrible. And she was rapidly starting to feel very sick. Something was wrong. The clock chimed for the eighth time as her eyes went to the crystal wineglass she was holding, Ilsa's warning echoing in her mind: "...don't eat or drink anything that you don't get for yourself, it might be poisoned."
The memory of herself drinking from the glass materialized in her head. Someone could have easily slipped poison in my drink. Ilsa did warn me, she thought, And now it's too late.
Suddenly feeling dizzy, she shook her head, feeling off balance. Ilsa, where's Ilsa? I have to find her…Erica looked up, searching for some trace of Ilsa among the crowd. The faces of the people around her, some bare, some having replaced their masks, went in and out of focus before her eyes. The flashy costumes and dazzling colors suddenly looked hideous and garish. Everything's too bright…I feel so nauseous. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and hot. In fact, her insides were blazing hot like she had a fever, but her skin felt like ice.
In desperation, Erica looked around for someone—anyone— she recognized, but unfamiliar faces swam around her, and the ballroom walls wavered and swayed as if she was looking through heat waves on a summers day. And looking at that was making very nauseous. I am not going to be sick! she told herself fiercely. Her stomach lurched, and at the same time, her headache got even worse, it felt like her skull was splitting! Erica swayed in place, letting out a low moan as her hand went to her head.
"Erica? Are you alright? You're skin is so pale!" said Leonard, stepping forward, looking genuinely concerned.
Erica blinked slowly. Here was somebody she knew. His voice sounds so strange and far away... The lancing pain in her head redoubled and she swayed again, nearly losing her balance, but somehow managed to hold onto the wineglass without dropping it.
"Erica?" said Leonard, as he reached out and touched her shoulder to steady her, "Are you okay?"
She tried to answer him, but she could only move her lips wordlessly. But that's alright, it's not like it matters anyway…she thought, swaying slightly. Everything seemed so far off. Even the multitude of voices in the ballroom sounded muffled and deadened. I wonder if I'm going to faint? she mused. She realized in a numb sort of way that the amulet around her neck felt odd, sort of warm and tingly against her skin. That's interesting... As her vision blurred out around the edges, she saw Kroenen and Ilsa pushing through the crowd toward her. The eleventh chime faded just as Ilsa reached out for her. In that moment, a sort of slow understanding crossed Erica's mind, and her eyes lit up, just a little. I'm not poisoned, she realized, It's another vision.
"Too late," she whispered, with a small smile.
The clock struck for the twelfth, and final time.
Ilsa was an inch from touching Erica, but it was, indeed, too late.
As if she had blinked, the ballroom winked out and Erica was standing in the middle of a snowy mountain pass. A very cold mountain pass. Her teeth started to chatter even as she instinctively hugged her arms around herself to try to keep warm. Her feet, ankle deep in snow, and in dress shoes that left her toes open, were painfully cold. The biting wind swirled the snow around her and whipped around the layers of her thin, flame colored dress. The snow landed in her hair and on her skin, the snow stinging her skin coldly as the wind blew through her hair. Erica hugged her arms around herself, her skin pale and slightly bluish with the cold. Well, except for being really cold, I feel a whole lot better, she thought, I just hope I don't freeze to death in the next few minutes. Assuming that this vision ends in a few minutes. Kroenen had to pull me out of the last one.
She looked up at the mountains around her. They were an inhospitable blue-black and covered in snow, and devoid of anything else but rocks and a few stunted evergreens. The mountains surrounded her on all sides, and stretched off into the distance as far as she could see. The sky overhead was overcast and the snow fell down from it, sometimes gently, sometimes swirled by occasional gusts of wind. The scene would have been pretty had she been in a different situation. I have to figure out how to stop this and get back before I freeze to death. Now, how did Kroenen stop my vision the last time? But she couldn't remember. He hadn't said anything, and if he had done anything, she hadn't seen it, since her eyes had been closed. Why couldn't they have started my lessons earlier? she thought, standing in the cold and shivering. And what am I supposed to see here? If this is a vision of the future, what the heck is so important about mountains in the middle of nowhere?
She was about to get an answer.
Erica was jerked out of her thoughts when she heard voices and saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Quickly, she turned and looked in that direction, peering through the falling snow. Nearby, three figures were walking through the snow. And though all three were bundled up against the cold, two of them wore black clothing and boots and carried much newer equipment than the other, who was wearing a combination of furs and leather. This last person left enough of their face exposed for Erica to tell it was a man. The other two wore black masks and hoods that concealed their faces. One of the two dressed in black carried a small, brown leather book in their hand.
As the three people approached and came closer, Erica was almost tempted to call out to them for help. They can't hear you, remember? she thought, recalling the vision of her sister Brittany being hit by a car. So Erica stood shivering in the cold, silently watching the people come closer. The man dressed in furs who was leading the other two, suddenly stopped, looking around at the terrain. The person in black and carrying the book came up beside him.
"What is it?" the person asked.
Erica gasped. I recognize that voice! The person with the book is Ilsa! Maybe she did touch me in time to come with me!
"Ilsa!" Erica called, "I'm over here!"
But Ilsa didn't turn around or even acknowledge that she had heard Erica.
"Ilsa?" Erica said, not feeling so sure of herself now.
Ilsa didn't move, but continued standing next to the man in furs, appearing to be growing impatient as she waited for him to answer. So it is just a vision. She's not really here after all, Erica thought, But this is strange. I've never had a vision with her in it before. I wonder who the third person is, the other one in black.
"It's this way," the man said, "Not much further."
Further to what? wondered Erica.
Ilsa nodded in response, and they began walking again. Erica watched wordlessly as the man in furs, followed by Ilsa, passed her. As the third figure came close to her, following Ilsa, Erica heard a faint ticking sound that grew louder as the person approached her. That ticking sounded very familiar, along with the raspy breathing. The last figure was Kroenen. But he's not here either, or he would have heard me when I called, she thought, watching as the three continued walking through the snow.
Erica watched them as they got farther and farther away. Suddenly, she realized she didn't want to be left standing there, in the cold and the snow, alone. For lack of anything better to do, she followed after them. Even if I'm invisible to them, it's better than standing on a mountain by myself. Besides, maybe the exercise will warm me up. But I doubt it. Her skin was already turning an unhealthy shade of blue from the intense cold, and her feet were practically numb. No wonder those three are wearing all those clothes!
A blast of wind blew snow in her face, blinding her. She closed her eyes, and at that exact moment, she felts a "pulling" sensation. The sound of the wind stopped, and everything vanished. Well, everything but the cold. She opened her eyes, but couldn't see. Wherever she was, it was pitch black. She closed her eyes again, the dark, cold silence reminded her of her encounters with Grigory—
Just as abruptly as it had stopped, the world started up again, but this time it was full of the babble of voices and warmth. Erica's eyes flew open. The first things she saw were Leonard and his friends grouped around in a circle, but they were giving her a lot of space and were shooting fearful glances in the direction of someone next to her. That was when she realized Ilsa— minus her black dragon mask— was standing beside her, and Kroenen had his hand on her bare shoulder. Barely a millisecond later, Erica felt the wineglass in her hand turn so cold it that felt like it was burning her skin. Her eyes darted to it just in time to see the condensation on the outside freeze, and then the wine inside the wineglass froze solid almost instantaneously. The next thing she knew, the wineglass shattered, the pieces exploding outwards from the abrupt and extreme change in temperature. The tiny, sparkling pieces fell to the floor with a crash and then splintered and skittered across the floor. At the same time, Erica uttered a sharp cry of pain, a cry almost as sharp as the crystal shards that pierced her palm as the glass exploded.
On reflex, her hand curled in involuntarily, driving the glass shards deeper, and she shrieked again. Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her face. She cradled her right hand with her left, and slowly uncurled her right hand. She didn't get far before the pain forced her to stop. Her right hand shook as her scarlet blood poured out over her pale skin in tiny rivers, running around the shining glass shards, crisscrossing her palm and wrist like veins. Erica stared in pain and horror, a horror that was closely matched on the faces around her.
"Erica!"
She realized someone was calling her name, and had been for a while. She looked up. Ilsa was standing in front of her, but unlike the other people around her, Ilsa didn't look at all horrified about the glass embedded in Erica's hand or the blood. Erica felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Kroenen. In her shock and pain she had forgotten they were there.
"You had a vision. I had to pull you out again. It seems I was a bit too late," he said, looking at the glass in her palm, "You were too far gone for Ilsa to do it alone."
Kroenen reached for her wrist, but she jerked away, still cradling her hand, holding it against her chest. Blood ran down her arm and dripped off her elbow onto her dress and the floor.
"Don't touch me!" she said, barely managing to choke out the words.
He moved towards her again and she shrank back, but this time he was handing her a handkerchief made of cloth as red as blood. Accepting it, she awkwardly wrapped it around her hand, leaving it very loose.
"Can you walk?" Ilsa softly asked.
Trembling, Erica took a step and nearly fell. She was barely able to catch her balance. Her legs felt like jelly, they shook unsteadily under her. As if sensing this, Kroenen swept her up in his arms in a whirlwind of her flame colored silk skirts. He held her as easily as if she weighed nothing.
Suddenly, Leonard gave a low moan, and a grimace contorted his face for a moment. He swayed and then collapsed to his knees, and then fell over — dead. Everyone gasped and moved back, and Erica stared at Leonard, looking very startled. A sharp cry of grief came from Leonard's mother, who rushed over followed by Ahren, who looked very pale. He looked from Erica in Kroenen's arms, to his dead son lying on the floor. "How…?" Ahren began, bewildered.
"I warned you," said Kroenen, "Your son has paid the price of your foolishness. He is dead, from the poison that you meant for Erica. I will deal with you and your wife later."
Kroenen turned away and followed Ilsa, who strode in the direction of the door to the ballroom. "Move!" ordered Ilsa, gesturing angrily at the people in the way. Everyone stepped aside, forming a path to the door. Ilsa started down the path, her dark crimson skirts trailing after her. Carrying Erica, Kroenen strode after Ilsa, leaving a trail of blood behind on the floor that led back to Leonard's body lying among the glass on the floor. Seeing the three of them, the masqueraders gave them a wide berth, their staring eyes and whispers following the three out of the mansion and into the night.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me any ideas you have for my story, and remember, chapter eight will be the last one before an enormous time jump! Review, pretty please! (Can you tell I like exclamation marks!)