Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,92

need just this little bit.

All around me, men and women float about the rooms of The Society’s main house in the center of the French Quarter talking, laughing, drinking. Some wear elaborate masks, others simple ones. The women’s gowns are beautiful, each one more so than the last. I see them looking at me, too, both the men and the women. Do they know who I am?

I touch the back of my neck with my left hand, his ring heavy on my finger. Those are the only things that would give me away. The tattoo and his ring.

I glance at my hand. It’s not as recognizable as his. Not like the monstrosity some of the men around me wear. The Sovereign Sons and the rings bearing their crests, their link to IVI. Like a status symbol of the elite. It’s disgusting.

At least Santiago’s isn’t horrendous like some I see tonight. Like the one I remember Holton wearing during my exam. I scan the room, remembering my brother’s request. Remembering if I get him information, he’ll bring Evangeline to see me. But when I do finally find him, recognizing him through his half mask, I realize I couldn’t tell my brother what he wants to know anyway because I can’t see the other man’s face, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, I walk closer, keeping my head down as if I were just making my way across the room. When I get near the two men, I look at Holton’s companion’s hand and take in his ring. He moves his hand quickly, though, so all I can make out is what looks like two hammers, which can’t be right. I’ll need to figure out a way to ask Santiago tonight.

Slipping behind cover in a corner, I watch my husband. He’s still talking to the same man. They’re thick as thieves, and I wonder what they could be discussing. The masks they wear are among those that hide the most. Santiago, I understand. He doesn’t like people looking at him. I wonder what the other man has to hide.

When Santiago raises his head to look in my direction, I quickly turn to walk away. I don’t think he can see me here through all these people, but maybe I’m wrong. I can see him clearly enough, after all.

I hurry out of the elaborately decorated room and out into the courtyard. I pass the place where we had the marking ceremony. It’s so different now. Not so ominous. The canopy of roses and vines is gone. The ornate chair and table nowhere in sight. No brands smoking in any fires. I look down at the ground and see the only thing that suggests anything like that ever took place here at all. The small ring between the stones he attached my leash to.

My leash.

Jerk.

But at least he didn’t make me wear that rosary tonight.

The voices around me fade as I stretch my foot out to touch it with the toe of my flat sandals. I didn’t wear the heels Mercedes provided knowing I’d have Santiago’s support if it came to it. But I should remember it’s not out of concern for me. If I trip and break my neck, his toy will be gone.

Mercedes’s words sting me again, and I swallow the rest of the bubbly champagne to numb their impact. When I look up, I notice more eyes on me and hear whispers around me.

God. I’m as paranoid as Abel. They’re not talking about me. They don’t even know who I am under this mask. That’s one thing Mercedes did well. She’s hidden my face. I’m sure this privacy she’s afforded me in the midst of all this wasn’t intentional, even if the mask is irritating and hinders my peripheral vision.

I set my glass on the pedestal of the statue behind which the girl had hidden on our wedding night, only realizing then where I’m headed as the voices fade behind me and the corridor grows darker. I reach out my hands to touch the walls on either side of me as it narrows, and from here, I can already smell incense.

It’s not a comfort. My association with the church is linked to the nuns who were rarely kind, but when I reach the doors, I don’t hesitate. I push one open and slip inside and away from all those people. There is a comfort in that, at least, and in the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.