the door click shut behind him. Quinn turned back to her mirror and snatched up a container of white powder. If possible, the dusty mix made her appear even paler. That was what she needed tonight. On nights when she was the primary act of the show, she needed to look like a ghost—not that it was difficult to do. Cool, glassy eyes stared back at her as she smeared the powder over her cheeks, forehead, and down her nose. Just before she was done, she dabbed a bit over her lips so that even there, she was void of all color.
Laying the container back in its place, she picked up her white skirts and headed for the hallway leading out to the main stage. Several stagehands saw her coming and veered away. She could hear Hastings shouting at someone in the main theater as she entered from behind a tall musty curtain.
The theater was falling down around them. The roof leaked, the walls were thin, and it rarely held any cool relief from the eternal summer Dumas seemed to be in, but it had given her sanctuary when she had none. It may have not been home to her, but it was useful for the time being.
“You needed me?” Quinn asked.
Hastings, a ruddy-faced man with a curly red beard, turned and fixed her with an irritated look. “I heard there was an incident in the market today,” he said.
“Was there?” Quinn stared back at him, her face impassable.
“Mmm hmm.” He stroked his beard. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Why would I?” Quinn replied.
Hastings stopped and dropped his fat sausage fingers away from his face, squinting at her with a dark look. “If I find out you’ve done something to interrupt my business, I’ll—”
“You’ll throw me out,” Quinn cut in dryly. “So you’ve informed me. Many times now, I might add.”
Hastings grumbled his response before brushing past her. “Just make sure you’re ready for your act. The doors open in twenty.” And off he went, yelling at passing stagehands as Caine—his ever-present assistant—came slinking out from behind the curtain and trailed after him.
Quinn watched them go before turning towards the open room where rows upon rows of benches were anchored to the hard floors. In just under a half an hour, the room would be filled wall-to-wall with people of all shapes and sizes and colors. All of them wanting to see a bit of themselves that so rarely came to light. And she was more than willing to give it to them.
For a price.
As the lamps dimmed, Quinn removed herself from the stage. The echo of hushed whispering began to fill the air as Hastings, dressed in his ragged coat, took center stage. His booming voice ricocheted up the walls, silencing the crowd.
“Welcome, faithful citizens, to the Dark Masquerade. If you’ve been with us before, then perhaps you’ve seen some of our acts. Perhaps your curiosity has brought you back. If you’re new and not sure what to expect, then just hold onto your seats, ladies and gentlemen. The show you’re about to experience is like no other…”
When the warning reverberated into the silence of the theater and then teetered out, Hastings raised his thick fist and threw a small vial to the floor at his feet. It shattered against the wood, and a large plume of smoke appeared. A moment later, his big body slipped behind the curtains and he rushed the first act out on stage—a pair of fire-breathing twins with dark black masks covering their faces.
Quinn stood to the side, her own mask—retrieved from her dressing room vanity—clutched in her hands. She watched as act after act approached the stage, wowing the crowds with their strange talents. Near the end, Hastings stepped up alongside her.
“You’re almost up.”
She nodded, raising her hands and tying the soft strands of fabric around her head. The mask wasn’t to conceal her features—merely to accentuate her eeriness to the crowd as she played her role in Hastings’ Dark Masquerade. He glanced down at her as she stared between the curtains, eyes fixed on a point in the distance beyond the crowd.
With a shake of his head, he strode out from behind them as the latest act moved backstage and then off towards the hallway. Something was different about the crowd tonight. They fell in a hush as Hastings lit a single candle in the middle of the dais. His voice carried throughout the room as dark figures