Estelle stood waiting for the flight from Toronto to come in. She took another furtive glance at her reflection in the mirror. It had been a huge shock when she woke with her new look in the morning, the long hair and no makeup. Walking down the corridor of the hotel, she even noticed her walk changing to reflect her new identity. It was strange, she thought, catching sight of herself in the elevator. Was she swaying her hips more? The long skirt and tight tank top made her feel as though she wore a costume.
People acted differently as well. They smiled at her more and spoke to her as if she was younger and slightly sillier. To her dismay, she giggled at some stupid joke at the place where she grabbed a coffee.
Giggled.
Her.
Was this what it was like for Stephan and the others? she wondered, taking another peek and straightening her shoulders. Obviously on a much more extreme level, but did they have this feeling of disconnection when they looked at themselves? She shivered. It was unnerving to confront her, this Estelle-who-might-have-been.
The doors opened and a rush of passengers came out. Estelle lifted up on her tiptoes and craned her head to see over the waving people. No. No. Not him. Every time someone came out dragging a suitcase or pushing a heaped luggage cart, she started.
None of them were Stephan.
“Estelle.”
A pale, pudgy man stood beside her in Bermuda shorts, a ball cap and polo shirt. She smiled. “Who are you? I forget.”
“Richard.” A touch of Stephan’s low rich voice remained. Did he do that for her or because there was part of himself he couldn’t change?
They walked through the airport and took a cab to the hotel, speaking of regular tourist topics. The beach. The weather. The food.
When they arrived and Stephan checked in, she accompanied him up to his room.
“What’s with the masque?” she asked, strolling to the balcony to see if his view was better than hers. He had a clearer view of the ocean but was near what sounded like a cooling tank. It was a draw.
Stephan came out of the washroom as his usual self. “Easier to travel as a white guy.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I don’t want a lot of questions and I get hassled less as a white guy who looks like he owns a four-bedroom in some suburb and drives a SUV.” Stephan unzipped his bag. “I got Richard a passport a long time ago and it’s worth its weight in gold for the trouble it’s saved me. I would have used it to go to Orlando with you, but Wavena’s office put the ticket in my own name.”
“That’s terrible.”
“That’s life. At least it is in the here and now.” He lifted out a pile of neatly folded clothes and put them to the side, then pulled out a dossier. “What did you find out about the Dawning?”
She took the hint and sat down at the desk chair, twitching the long skirt out of her way. It had been a long time since she’d worn clothing like this. Naturally, as a girl and young woman in the early twentieth century she’d had little choice, but once shorter skirts had arrived she hadn’t looked back. And thank God for pants.
“They’re definitely at the resort I heard about at the hair salon,” she said. That was the good news, and she’d found it out by tipping the waitress at breakfast and getting her into conversation. “The hard part is getting in there.”
He put his clothes in a drawer. “Why?”
“They’ve set it up as a membership resort. You need to know someone to get in.”
Stephan snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“That’s a really good idea,” he mused, shutting the door. “Creative.”
“If you’re done admiring our enemy, we need to get in and I don’t know anyone.”
“That’s easy enough,” said Stephan. “Get hired.”
Get hired? As what? She must have looked as confused as she felt, because Stephan sighed. “Those places all need maids and cooks. We’ll get hired.”
Not that she loved scrubbing toilets, but it was a good way to poke around. She considered it but then shook her head. “I’m not sure it will work.”
“Why?”
“It might be difficult for us both to get hired as workers. What if we split it up? One tries to get in as a guest and the other as staff?”
He thought it over. “Makes sense but the one doing the hard work gets a prize.”
She perked up. “What’s the prize?”
Estelle held her breath as his eyes traveled down her body, but he said, “Dinner.”
“Done.”
They shook on it. Two rounds of rock, paper, scissors later, Estelle was going as a guest and Stephan as maintenance. Stephan nodded at the bed. “Let’s see what we have.”
At first, Estelle took this as the strangest invitation to sex ever, but she went bright red when he opened up the dossier from the table and spread it out.
Work. He was talking about work. This was all good.
* * * *
Stephan went to the washroom, where he splashed cold water on his face and ran it over his wrists. The voices of the multitude had been a hum in the back of his mind all day, breaking his concentration. The only thing that helped him was Estelle. He hadn’t missed the flush on her face when he’d indicated the bed and the way her eyes had gone from his lips, to his chest, and dropped even lower. He’d had to turn away to keep control.
It was hard.
He returned to find Estelle in the middle of sticking a note on the wall. Her arm was stretched high above her head, elongating her body and showing off the high arches of her feet. He was not normally into feet, but Estelle’s habit of walking around barefoot worked on him in a way he couldn’t explain. Her toenails were usually painted red to match her lips but now they were a pale gold.
“Did you get a tan?” he asked abruptly. Her legs were bronzed.
“Spray tan,” she said. “With the new look, it was weird to be so pale.”
“What, that’s paint?” He stared at her arms in astonishment.
She laughed. “Yeah, those of us who can’t take on masques need to use things like makeup and dye. They make you stand naked in a closet and spray you.”
“No shit.”
“I couldn’t make it up.”
He tried not to think of Estelle naked under a golden fine spray. “Ah. The notes you’ve got there.”
The next two hours flew by as they worked through what they had. Midafternoon, they had a conference call with Caro, Cormac, and Evie, the masquerada data analyst. Miaoling was at a meeting, Cormac told them.
“Who’s that?” Estelle thrust her chin out at a figure lurking in the background.
Cormac rolled his eyes. “My shadow. Rendell, you might as well take part.”
Another fey strolled up to the camera and gave a graceful bow. “Well met.”
Estelle cocked her head to the side. “I know you. You were at the Dawning battle commanding the fey troops. You helped Isindle.”
“Rendell is now Queen Tismelda’s chamberlain and our contact to what’s going on with the fey,” said Cormac. He didn’t sound happy.
“I come to this wretched realm as seldom as possible.” Rendell tossed his black hair to the side. “Yet with this information I might have to come more often. It’s disturbing.”
“How does it affect you?” asked Stephan. The fey were of another realm.
“Chaos on the level that is being threatened here goes beyond your petty differences,” said Rendell. “It might damage the forests.”
“And our Ancients,” added Cormac. “We’re concerned it might cause a break in the realm to which they’ve been banished.”
Rendell glared at him. “Must you tell all our secrets?”
“It’s hardly a secret,” said Cormac impatiently. “Do you even know what collaboration means?”
“More than you.”
Estelle interrupted the feys’ squabbling. “What about the Ancients?”
“We have them,” said Rendell promptly. “Nothing more.”
“Oh, shut up.” Cormac moved in front of the camera, effectively blocking Rendell, who peered over his shoulder. “The Fern House mages were able to check. They remain safe in the half-realm.”
The thought of this gave Stephan a chill. Fey Ancients were even more unnerving than regular arcane ones, which were bad enough. They chatted for a few more minutes, then Rendell looked exaggeratedly at a golden timepiece he pulled out of his pocket before saying good-bye.
“Wait.” Cormac held up his hand before Stephan could hang up. “Miaoling wants you to tell her right away if the horde is getting stronger, more distracting.”
“Will do.” It was but he didn’t want to alarm her. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Meeting finished, Estelle turned to him. “Tell me more about the horde, this multitude thing.” She sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by notes and with a pair of glasses perched on her nose.
Stephan sat down on the desk chair and propped his feet on the bed. “I sensed it when I was turned and so did Eric. We think those who have had traumatic transformations can sense it.”
“What are they exactly?”
Good question. “As far as we know, lost souls separated from their bodies when Yangzei touched them. There was an old story that masquerada used to steal a little bit of a person’s soul if they took on their masque.”
“These souls—are they all masquerada?”
He considered this. “I don’t know. I assumed they were, but couldn’t say for sure.”
“You hear them too?”
He hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to share. Sometimes speaking about a thing made it more real, and voices in his head? She’d think he was crazy.
She held up her hands. “I’m sorry. Don’t mean to pry.”
“I do hear them,” he said. “Voices and tones but not words. They’re more than sad. Hopeless.”
“That sounds horrible,” she said softly.
“They’re caught because of Yangzei and when I have the chance, I’m going to kill him. It’s the only way I can think to help them.” It was nice to have a plan because right now, he felt powerless. That was what bothered him—he couldn’t do a damn thing about all those souls, drifting somewhere.
He could no longer bear to talk about them. “Let’s get back to work.”
Estelle touched his hand, and they returned to the discussion. But inside Stephan’s mind, the echoes of the bewildered souls continued.