Page 53 of Twilight Mask

“Thanks.” I lean against the jackal ear I’ve been working on these last five days. He stares at it, frowning.

“Is that mangled or something?”

“Ripped in half.” I gesture vaguely at the half-formed ear with the ugly, bloody tear down the center. “What do you want?”

“You haven’t come up for air in days. We were getting worried.”

I frown at him and look around. “I do this all the time.”

“Not recently, you haven’t. You were coming up for air, and I guess we were starting to think—” He stops himself, probably at the look on my face. He’s pissing me off. “Alright, fine, you’re all good. Then this is a good time to talk about the art dealer that got in touch with me through Cage.”

“Not interested.” I turn back to my work, yanking the respirator back down over my face.

“This could be serious, Laura.” Angelo comes over and watches me from my workbench. I catch him giving the camera a strange look, but he doesn’t mention it. I’m Laura, weirdo Laura, after all. I have freaky shit like disconnected mangled cameras in my basement. No reason to worry.

“And I’m serious when I say that I’m not interested.” My words come out muffled by the mask.

“His name is Etienne Chacal and he’s got serious bona fides. The man’s a legitimate dealer selling out of New York, and he’s talking about setting up a show for you to meet his more important top-tier clients.”

I hesitate for a moment, my chisel hanging above the stone. Something about that name bugs me. Etienne Chacal… no, I’ve never heard it before. I turn to Angelo and he’s giving me an appraising look.

Annoyed, I push my mask off again. “What do I have to say to get you to leave me alone?”

“Promise to take the meeting. If you don’t like him and want to tell him to fuck off, fine with me. Go for it. But at least meet with the guy.”

I glance away. “I don’t do meetings.”

“You didn’t do meetings, but you have a car now, which means you have the means to travel. Come on, Laura, you’ve been making great progress. I don’t want to see you backslide.”

I look up at the ceiling. I know where this is going. If I don’t play along, Angelo, Elena, and my mother are going to gang up on me and start pestering me about therapy, about going through crisis, about depressive episodes and the like. They’ll be all over my ass for weeks, if not months, and it’s not like I can just explain to them that I found out the masked man I’ve been having a sexual affair with is the former Capo of our most hated enemy.

One meeting won’t kill me. And if I’m honest with myself, some of the enthusiasm I built up during my Jackal phase is still percolating in my system. I liked the attention my work got, and I wouldn’t mind putting it out there, as long as this Chacal guy is fine with my mask requirements.

“I’ll see him for a half hour, no more.” I yank my mask down again. “Now fuck off, please.”

“Sounds good to me.” Angelo walks back toward the steps. “By the way, I don’t know where this whole cat ear thing came from, but it’s pretty cool.”

“They’re jackal ears,” I correct.

“Jackals, whatever. Either way, I like them. I’ll send Chacal’s information over, but he said he’ll be in town tomorrow evening, and you can go meet him at the hotel bar. Be nice to him, even if you end up saying no.”

“I’m always nice.” I hit my chisel hard and a big chip of rock falls off the sculpture.

Chapter 25

Laura

“Idon’t know why I’m doing this,” I mutter to myself as I walk up the front steps of The Gwen, a gorgeous old luxury hotel right in downtown Chicago. I feel totally out of place: the people in here are all beautiful, rich, and well-dressed in business casual button-downs and slacks, while I’m slouching through the front door in dusty jeans and a black tank top. I didn’t even bother getting changed for this. I’m going to be polite to Mr. Chacal, but I’m more than likely going to tell him to fuck off back to New York.

The bar is in a smaller, more intimate room off the main lobby. It’s not too crowded, only a small group sitting at a booth, and a few people posted at the bar. I skim the faces, searching for anyone who might be Chacal, and cursing myself for not getting his phone number before I left so I could call him, when I spot the very last man sitting in the far corner of the room at a small table all by himself.

My heart nearly fucking stops.

The black lacquered mask gleams in the low light. The gold around the ears and the snout glitters from the flickering televisions flanking the mirror behind the bar. Jackal stares at me through the eye slits in his mask, sitting very still and proper, a whiskey untouched in front of him, his hands folded neatly, and his back very straight.

I feel dizzy. I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating, and I’m still not sure. Jackal only sits and stares at me, clearly looking straight into my soul, his back very straight and proper. This is crazy and impossible—but even when I rub my face, he’s still there.

I’m having another break. That’s what’s happening. Except the last time Jackal was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, I nearly killed him thinking it was all just a dream.

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